The Lost Love of a Soldier (25 page)

“Madam!”

Ellen closed her eyes as she collapsed back. She was too tired to fight. Too much had happened to her, too many awful things. What was there to fight for?

“Madam!”

She wished to die. Let it all just be over now.

“Madam!” The last was shouted as her next contraction came.

Ellen gripped the sheet and cried out, longing for the one person who would never come – could never come.

“Paul!” His name came on an agonised cry, not from the pain of labour, but from the pain of her broken heart. It was shattered. She was shattered. “I cannot…”

“You have little choice, ma’am, the child is within you and it wishes to get out.” the mulish midwife barked.

Ellen screamed at the woman, opening her eyes and clutching the filthy sheet beneath her, as she glared and yelled out her anger. “Ahhhhh!”

In that instant she hated Paul for dying, and she hated fate for leaving her to survive alone and seek the help of a man who was cruel. Four more times he had used her mouth as Paul had used her body, urging her to be compliant and allow it. Each time he had been drunk, and each time, the day after, he could not look her in the eyes due to his guilt; though he’d send his staff to insist she came down to dine with him.

She would sit at the table feeling the heat of a blush –
unclean
– oh, and hatred, revulsion and anger, roared inside her as she pushed her food about the plate.

She no longer wanted to be in his house eating his food, but where else was there to go, with no money?

She’d asked him once to take her home to England, or at least to pay for a passage home for her. But he would not. He may feel guilty after doing what he’d done, but not enough to give her the means to leave.

Life, fate – was cruel. “Ahhh!” She screamed her pain out into the room.

“Push.” the midwife urged her.

Ellen did not wish to push, or try.

“Madam!” The glare she received, when she made no effort at all, condemned her. She would be bullied into bearing this child.

Her eyelids fell again, and behind them hiding in darkness she saw Paul’s face. He leaned towards her. “Ellen.” She could hear his voice and his fingers touched her face and brushed her hair back. “Ellen, you are strong. You can survive anything. You will survive. You have an inner strength.”

His image disappeared and she screwed up her eyes, crushing them tightly closed as her heart poured out its misery. She was not angry with him; she missed him. She missed him so much. She opened her eyes and he was not there. Of course he was not. But his child was inside her, fighting to live.

“Ahhh!” She pushed.

“That’s better, madam.”

“Harder now.”

Ellen’s grip firmed on the sheets, as another contraction clasped at her stomach, tightening her muscles in an excruciating hold. She did push, she pushed hard, and she kept pushing, as though pushing might bring sanity back into her life.

“Oh, God!” The blasphemy slipped from her lips as the pressure inside her suddenly burst and was gone and then a child’s wail filled the air in the room. She was panting and crying as she looked at the purple being, curled up in the midwife’s hands. She lifted the infant as its arms and legs stretched out. The child had come early. It was lean.

“Hold your child while I take care of the afterbirth.” The infant was covered in white slime but Ellen took it, and looked down. It was a boy. A son. Paul’s son.

Her tears streamed, blurring her vision, as she held the wailing child to her breast.

~

Ellen looked down into the cradle. John was asleep. She rocked it gently for a moment, looking at his perfect face. He was more like her than Paul, and she hated that, she had wished for him to look like Paul, and yet here he was – a small thing to love and hold – draw comfort from.

“John,” she said the name quietly, so not to wake him. She had chosen the name because it meant the grace of God. He was here with her by the grace of God, and Paul did not even know he existed, yet even if he did not look like Paul, he was a little piece of Paul on earth. A memory. Something to live for.

She could not resist. Her fingers reached out and touched his little head, feeling the soft patch on it.

He was sucking, as if he was dreaming of suckling milk from her breast.

He was the most precious treasure she’d ever had.

She straightened still watching him for moment. He’d not long been fed. He would sleep a while longer.

She turned and looked at the blank paper which lay on a table across the room. Once again she’d intended to write to her father but could think of no words. Yet she knew she had to get away from Lieutenant Colonel Hillier, and get John away from him too. She did not wish to stay here and the only hope they had of escape was via her father or Paul’s. She moved across the room and sat down before the dreaded empty page. Then after a moment picked up the quill.

Papa,

I have a child. Paul’s child. A son. I am still in Paris. I am with Lieutenant Colonel
Hillier, Paul’s superior officer. He has been providing for me, but he cannot do so forever. I wish to come home, with my son, John.

I am asking you if you will either come and fetch us, or send money for me to make my own way. Will you let me return to you now? I need somewhere safe for John to grow up, Papa.

Please tell Mama I love her, and tell Penny, Rebecca and Sylvia also.

At the thought of her sisters Ellen could write no more. They knew nothing of life – of the truth about the world. Tears filled her eyes, but she wiped them away, and said a silent prayer, that she and John would get away from here and home safely, and for her sisters to experience none of the things she had in the last few months.

Then she signed the page,
Eleanor
, not that she used her full name at all anymore. She had gradually, without even realising it, slipped into anonymity. Now, after what had happened over recent months, she did not like to make it known to anyone who she was, that she was a duke’s daughter. Although she thought Lieutenant Colonel Hillier knew because he’d posted the letters previously to her father and Paul’s.

She wrote a letter to Paul’s father now too, telling him she’d given birth to Paul’s son. His grandson. Then she sealed both letters and addressed them as she’d done before. But her father’s she held to her breast for a moment, willing him to come, before leaving the room and walking downstairs to put the letters for posting in the hall.

None of the footmen were there, and there were four in the house.

It was just past midday, a time when the house was always silent as Lieutenant Colonel Hillier was out undertaking military activity of some sort. It was the first time she’d come downstairs since John had been born, a month ago, and it felt strange to find the place empty. Megan had gone. She’d been dismissed within days of the first time the Lieutenant Colonel had assaulted Ellen. It was another expression of his embarrassment. He did not want a proper ladies’ maid to know the truth.

Now one of the general maids had been assigned to help Ellen dress and such.

Ellen returned to the security of her rooms and her son. Once she was there, she pulled up a chair beside his crib and sat, then watched him sleep, love overflowing inside her. It was so wonderful to feel love again.

At about five in the evening, the door to her sitting room suddenly opened without a knock. She rose and turned. John had been asleep for hours and she expected him to wake for a feed at any moment. It was the Lieutenant Colonel. She did not wish his intrusion. But this was his house; what could she say?

“You’ve spent enough time recovering from childbirth, and enough time in blacks. I expect you to dine with me again tonight, and I expect you to wear a pretty dress and not cover your beauty behind those dull rags.” His gaze held hers for a moment, his hand still on the door handle and his foot only one step within the room, but then he pulled back, stepping out and closed the door – as though he’d never been there.

Her heart plummeted.

At the sound of the door closing, John made a little whimpering noise in his cradle.

Ellen turned, bent, and lifted him to her chest; holding him secure as love swelled and rocked inside her, like the surge of the sea when they’d sailed to Ostend.

She pressed a gentle kiss on his temple then whispered over his skin as she cradled him in one arm and began releasing the buttons of her bodice. “I love you…”

She almost expected the tiny living soul in her arms to say it back.

She moved the baby to her breast and felt him clasp and suck as she sat again.

Once John was fed and sleeping once more, having sung to him for a little while, rocking him gently, Ellen called the maid to help her dress. She wore a pale pink dress, made of very fine muslin. She did not mind giving up her blacks. Now she had John, it was time to leave her mourning for Paul behind.

Her fingers shook as she went downstairs. She did not wish to speak with Lieutenant Colonel Hillier.

As she entered the dining room, she saw a box on the table.

It rested in the middle of her place setting.

Terror cut through her.

“I bought a new gift for you.” the Lieutenant Colonel said as she sat, and a footman pushed her chair under.

It sat in a box before her, a silent threat.

“Open it.”

She did not wish to; she knew it meant he wanted a gift in return.

“Go ahead, Ellen.” His words became snappy, and his tone the one he’d use on a parade ground.

He was in a beseeching mood – a dangerous mood.

She opened it, because there was nothing else to do.

Inside the box rested a string of pearls.

He stood.

She did not.

She remained seated, facing the table; her legs would not have held her up. Her hands shook. She slipped them beneath the table.

As he leaned across her, his breath touched her neck, making the small hairs on her skin rise as they had done even the first time Paul had introduced her to the Lieutenant Colonel. She wished she could run. But to where, and what about John? How would they survive without Lieutenant Colonel Hillier’s shelter and his food?

He slipped the pearls about her neck, his fingers brushing her skin as he secured it.

She shivered.

It felt as if he had secured a collar about her neck, a collar with a chain upon it.

“There, they look perfect against you skin, and your hair, Ellen.” He sat.

Ellen said nothing, unable to look at him.

“Are you not going to thank me?” His pitch had changed from the tone he used when he believed himself to be expressing love, to the one that forced.

Ellen looked at him, her eyes accusing.
I hate you
.

He held her gaze, his look becoming harder. “I said, say thank you.”

“I do not need them or want them,” Ellen answered quietly, hoping the footmen would not hear.

“You will be grateful for them.” His pitch lifted in defiance.

Damn. Damn
… The coarse words she’d learned among Paul’s men spun through her head. She wished to throw them all at Lieutenant Colonel Hillier… “Thank you,” her answer was whispered, while the words in her head were shouted.
I hate you.

He looked away and bid the butler, “Serve the meal.”

No matter her fear, when dinner was served, her stomach growled at the prospect of a proper meal; she’d been eating only leftovers, cold meat and cheeses in her room.

Her plate was filled by a footman, as another poured her wine, and then she ate, listening to the Lieutenant Colonel speak without replying in anything more than words of a single syllable, “yes,” “so,” desperate to finish the meal and leave.

He drank constantly, taking a gulp of his wine between nearly every sentence. By the point her glass was empty his had been replenished thrice.

Ellen held her hand up, covering her glass when a footman sought to refill it.

“Let the man pour.” Lieutenant Colonel Hillier barked.

Ellen looked at him, discomfort unravelling in her nerves. “I do not wish for more wine, thank you.”

“You are living in my home, if I say have more wine, you will have more wine.”

Embarrassment and anger prickled up Ellen’s spine, and she moved her hand, she could not bear the servants hearing his rudeness.

Looking down at the remains of her dinner, she was no longer hungry. She moved her knife and fork together and left them on the plate. Her hands fell into her lap, as her gaze rested on her full untouched glass of wine.

“Well, drink it as it has been poured for you.”

The man was obnoxious. She looked up and saw that he’d drained another glass and held it up to be refilled. Her stomach tumbled over, unease closing in on her as if the walls of the room were moving forwards.

“Drink,” he ordered. With the servants in the room to watch, she did, uncomfortable to even live within her skin. She wished to get out of this house.

Sipping only a tiny little taste of wine she watched him smile, as if pleased. He talked again, between mouthfuls, as Ellen continued sipping her wine and watched him, saying nothing now.

The plates were taken away and dessert presented – a grand statement of meringue and orange jelly. The sweetness was oddly bitter in Ellen’s mouth, as across the table she saw Lieutenant Colonel Hillier’s glass refreshed again. He was edgy, and irritable, and she was afraid of doing or saying something which would…
No
, she could not think of that nor endure it, not now John was upstairs sleeping in his crib.

But he had bought her a gift and she knew what that meant.

The pearls lay heavily about her neck.

They ate the last course in silence, as the footmen stood back and watched, and while Ellen occasionally took tiny sips of her wine to prevent the Lieutenant Colonel’s anger, he took great gulps and then waved a man forward to refill his glass.

Ellen longed for home, and yet what was home? Somewhere she felt safe. It had been her father’s house for most of her life, and then it had been with Paul. And now? Now there was nowhere.