The Lost Love of a Soldier (14 page)

On a street away from the docks he managed to hire a hansom cab, but the streets were overflowing with carriages and people, just like the docks, and it took an age for the man to navigate through it. The world had truly gone mad.

It was only a few streets. They would have probably been better walking. But to his relief the boarding house he’d used previously still had a room. It was nothing grand, yet it was adequate and they would not be in Ostend for long.

“Stay here. I’ll go back and bring our things.” Ellen only nodded. She looked exhausted. “Rest. I know you have not slept well during the journey.” He had slept in the bunk above her as she’d been bleeding but he’d heard her moving restlessly each night.

She nodded and then bent to unlace her half boots. He moved forward, knelt, and took over the task. Once her boots were off she unbuttoned her pelisse and he slipped it from her shoulders. Then she lay down on the bed, not even looking at him, she was so tired. He watched her, unwilling to leave her, but he needed to go back and tell the men where to bring their possessions, and of course he had to fetch Jennifer and bring her here too.

“Do you have the headache still?” He leaned and brushed a lock of hair from her brow, gently stroking her temple. She nodded. “I shall have a maid bring up some remedy.” She nodded again, her eyes closing.

There was a pain in his stomach once more; the one that kept challenging his ability to protect her.

Ignoring it, he left her.

Two hours later, Paul returned to the room to wake her, before allowing his men in with their private articles.

When he let them in to set the items down, Ellen sat in the only chair in the room, still looking pale and tired.

They were to move on in four days. Then Ellen would discover what it truly was to be the wife of an army officer; there would be no laying abed.

Once his men had gone, he shut the door. He’d left Jennifer with the female proprietor, to be shown to her own room in the servants’ quarters. He could stay with Ellen now, until tomorrow.

“Is this all too much for you?”

Her eyes focused on him. “No, I am simply unwell. I shall be well again tomorrow now we are off the ship, and my bleed will cease in a day or two.”

Fortunately before it was time to depart. At least they’d have a month before she would have to endure this again.

Hopefully within that month they’d reach Brussels. The plan was for the Allied Forces to wait there while their leaders argued over the politics of Europe at the Congress of Vienna. Napoleon had already been named an outlaw though, it was only a matter of time before war began again.

“Let me help you undress, and then you may rest properly.”

She stood and let him begin releasing the buttons at her back. Once they were all undone, he helped her step out of her dress and put it aside, then unlaced her light corset. When it slid off, he kissed the skin above the line of her chemise at her shoulder. She shivered beneath his touch.

He knew she was in no condition to be bedded, but his body longed for it. “Lie down, Ellen.”

Thoughts of war, memories, dreams, had been haunting him since they’d left Cork.

She slipped beneath the sheet and the coarse blankets covering the bed, shut her eyes and fell asleep in moments.

It was only three in the afternoon. He could go out, but he did not like to; he preferred to stay here and watch over her. There would be so many times to come when he would not have that choice.

He sat in the chair she’d vacated, and ran his fingers over his face.
Damn it
. Why had that bastard Napoleon had to continue this bloody war? Paul was tired of the endless hunger and effort, and the need to close himself off to avoid the pain of seeing constant death.

He looked out from the window at the street below. Numerous people flooded it, people who thought this fun. Ostend held a party atmosphere. These people had come to cheer on the soldiers while the soldiers, all tired of war, longed to sit back and let others fight.

Paul could not help being reminded of the amphitheatres he’d seen on the continent, those he’d heard, that hundreds of years ago, would entertain the crowds with men battling until death. It was macabre. These people had come to play audience to men killing and being killed. It turned his stomach. It did not hearten him.

Chapter Eleven

By the time they reached Ghent for the first time in his life, Paul regretted joining the army. They’d travelled from Ostend by barge to reduce the time it would take to reach Brussels but Ellen had not been allowed to travel with the regiment; she’d journeyed on another craft, and the isolation from her had been unbearable. He’d worried over her, although by all accounts it was as good as a pleasure cruise with excellent food and entertainment, as if this was no more than a festival parade.

There were so many tourists.

They did not understand war.

He did not wish them to.

He wished them a hundred miles away.

At least now though, having reached Ghent, he could be with Ellen again.

Paul sighed and let his hands settle at his waist as he watched Ellen sorting out items to be laundered and passing them to Jennifer. They had four days in Ghent. He was to meet with the other officers in an hour and speak with other regiments and find out how the 52nd fitted within the whole, and obtain their orders before progressing.

He knew Ellen was relieved to have a break from travelling, but he did not really know what to say to her. He did not apologise for what could not be different. He did not think she expected him to. She had been stoic and resilient throughout their journey. He had no complaints. It was just that damned tense queasy feeling in his stomach that feared for her and wished to protect her – and it was from things he had no capability to protect her.

“I shall come with you, Jennifer, when you seek supplies.”

Ellen had already changed. She’d learned how important it was to plan ahead. She’d travelled to Ghent with the other women and they had clearly been educating her about the next weeks they would spend marching.

“Is there anything I may fetch you?” he said at last.

She turned and looked at him, smiling, though it was not the carefree stunning smile he’d received at the time they’d wed. It was careworn. He smiled back, feeling the same weight she probably felt in her chest. Tonight he would retire early with her and love her. That would make them both feel better.

“There is nothing I can think of…”

“Well then, if I can be of no assistance here, I shall return and meet with the officers.”

She nodded.

“Goodbye, Ellen.” He longed to move forward and kiss her, but Jennifer was still in the room. “I will return soon.”

She nodded again.

~

Ellen clasped the edge of the cart. She was sitting beside the driver and the Lieutenant Colonel’s servant. Two of the other wives and Jennifer sat in the back on top of some of the regiment’s supplies.

Ellen gripped more tightly as the cart rocked, jolted, and creaked along the muddy track. They’d had to stop and climb down from it on three occasions today to lessen the weight so the horses could pull the cart out of the mud. She’d secured the skirt of her dress by tying a knot at her waist so it would not spoil, but her petticoats were stained with mud and there would be nowhere to wash them. A year ago she would not have worried, but now… everything was precious. She could not simply buy more.

She’d not imagined an army life would be as hard as this, yet it had not even really begun; the regiment were not fighting.

She gritted her teeth as the cart jolted heavily to the left. She had not complained to Paul. That would be unfair. He was marching towards a battle, wading through the mud, and striving to keep others moving.
She
had the luxury of a cart. But she was black and blue with bruises from being thrown about on it, and he knew that, and at night he would kiss all of her bruises in the privacy of their narrow canvas tent.

Then there were the times when they sat about the campfire among his men, with Jennifer and the other wives. Those times felt special. They would huddle together against the cold and Paul would be beside her, his muscular thigh against her softer one, and at times, because it was dark he’d even put an arm about her waist, when others might not see.

The conversations around the campfire were unlike any she’d known before. Her father would have called the language coarse, but it ran so easily among the men, and Paul would laugh with them; a laugh which seemed to come from low in his stomach. His laughter had become a precious sound.

“Lieutenant Colonel.”

Ellen jumped a little as one of the women in the back of the cart spoke.

“Mistress Porter.”

The man beside her looked back. “Sir.” Ellen’s knuckles whitened as they gripped the edge of the cart harder.

The Lieutenant Colonel was the only man on horseback; he often road alongside the cart. Ellen’s teeth clenched. It was an involuntary thing. But each time he chose to ride beside them her skin prickled, as if a million beetles crawled over her. She wished him to stay away.

She could feel his eyes on her.

He stared all the time and he spent hours riding beside the cart as the men marched. She felt as though he only rode beside it to watch her.

Why did he watch her? That thought had slipped through her head a thousand times since they’d begun this journey.

Paul had deliberately chosen not to tell anyone in the regiment which family she came from. He thought she would be safer if no one knew her status, so if anyone was captured during a battle, they would not be tempted to tell the enemy. In battle, if anyone was captured, they would not be tempted to give away her status.

She wondered if the Lieutenant Colonel suspected. Her father’s black hair and pale eyes were distinctive and she and all her sisters had inherited his colouring. That still did not really explain it, though. Even if he knew, why did he stare constantly?

She’d thought of saying something to Paul. He had no idea how many hours the Lieutenant Colonel spent beside the cart watching her. Yet this was his superior officer.

If the Lieutenant Colonel spoke, it would be easier. It would at least break the unbearable atmosphere. But he did not speak, merely rode in silence, staring.

She’d thought of speaking, but she had no idea what to say to him. So she said nothing, only speaking with the women. He did not participate in their conversation, and that was always stilted anyway because of the gapping class divide between her and them.

As they rode on, she wondered if the others in the cart found his presence uncomfortable. If they did though, they would not share their thoughts with her – an officer’s wife.

“Nancy, is your wrist better?” Ellen looked back at the woman, trying to set aside her awareness of the Lieutenant Colonel. Nancy sat behind Ellen on top of a chest in the cart.

“It is a little, ma’am.”

“Well Jennifer will help you with the meal and washing if you need her to, if it is still too painful for you to work.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jennifer responded from her position on the opposite side of the cart.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Nancy answered. Nancy was only a couple of years older than Ellen, and she had fallen onto her wrist as they’d walked earlier, twisting it, meaning she’d have difficulty fulfilling her role in supporting her husband and the regiment. The soldiers’ wives did not just help their own men, but others too.

Of course as an officer’s wife, and genteelly bred, it was not for Ellen to do the same, but she loaned them Jennifer, and supported where she could.

She had not really formed friendships with the other women, they were too mindful of her class, but they did speak to her, and she spoke to them.

When they set up camp later, she helped Jennifer sort out the bedding once the men had put up the tent she shared with Paul.

Ellen wondered again whether or not to say something to Paul about the Lieutenant Colonel.

When she came out of the tent, with Jennifer beside her, the sky was a rich deep blue waiting to turn to black as dusk hovered. Ellen looked for Paul. He was nowhere in sight.

“The Captain will be among the officers, Jennifer. Shall we stretch our legs a little and walk across?” The woman nodded.

She got on well enough with Jennifer, but not as well as she had with Pippa, her nurse since childhood. She had felt a part of her family to Ellen, but Jennifer was simply a maid; she did not welcome Ellen’s conversation although she spoke with the other wives. She walked with Ellen now because it was her responsibility. Having been brought up, waited on and cared for by servants, Ellen wondered if the maid’s awkwardness was her fault. She had never had company or friends beyond her sisters, perhaps it was because
she
did not know how to speak and act among others.

Mistress Porter looked up as Ellen passed. Ellen lifted a hand. Mistress Porter smiled, stopping in her task of sorting through cooking provisions, straightened and bobbed a shallow curtsy. Smiling too, Ellen acknowledged the gesture with a little nod.

Facing ahead, Ellen walked on. She could think of nothing to say to break the silence between herself and Jennifer. She was imprisoned by it – by her past – she was unable to really fit within this life. Would she ever?

Sometimes her heart longed for all the luxuries she’d left behind – quiet rooms, tea, and easy conversation. She missed warm baths to bathe in, spare hours to embroider pretty images, her pianoforte to play music – music she could escape into; afternoons spent with her sisters talking of the fashion, and the books they’d read.

Her pace increased as she hurried to see Paul, longing for his company – and the time of day that made up for all other times.

The officers stood gathered about a large table within the marquee that was set up for the use of the Lieutenant Colonel. This was his living space.

Ellen was permitted entry. She’d left Jennifer to return to the area where Paul’s men camped.