“How could I complain? You have saved me a great deal of shopping!”
“That is not a complaint I ever thought to hear from a lady,” he quipped, “although these two sisters frequently test the bounds of what ladies should do. Do you remember the time, my love, when I came home to find you picking brambles out of Tobin’s… ahem… backside?”
“Of course, I remember!” she said, trying not to laugh. “I do not think Tobin would appreciate the recollection in front of his new friend, however.”
“His new friend is delighted to hear it. I might need the information one day,” Bridget added, relishing the mischief of the conversation.
“I have known him for ages and I might need the information,” Lady Amelia chimed in, starting to giggle. Soon, both sisters were laughing, with tears streaming down their faces. “I would have given anything to witness such a scene and Luke’s reaction,” Lady Amelia sighed when she had recovered.
“In Tobin’s defence, he was trying to rescue you, Amelia.”
“But you asked him to climb the trellis in the first place, sister,” Amelia retorted.
“I should not have brought it up,” the Duke said, shaking his head at the feminine merriment.
It was on that note that Lieutenant O’Neill entered the house, causing all of them to burst into laughter again.
“Tobin!” the Duchess declared through her tears.
“Dare I ask?” he said, looking at Bridget for help.
“They have been telling funny stories while helping me tear and roll bandages. I had not realized the hour had grown so late. I must return home for dinner, if you have already been released for the day.”
“As long as you are not leaving on my account,” he replied with a devilish grin.
“If we keep telling stories about you, she will do so for certain,” Amelia chimed in.
“Bad cess to ye. I wasn’t actin’ the maggot alone,” Tobin grumbled, which sent everyone in the room into peals of laughter again.
Bridget rose to leave. “I do not know how to thank you for your help today. You barely know me, yet you have eased my burden considerably.”
“We are more than happy to be useful. Besides, this should not be your burden to bear alone. We can start where we left off in the morning,” the Duchess reassured her as she took her sleeping daughter from her husband’s arms. “We can leave everything in here as it is for tonight.”
Chapter 4
The next two days saw Tobin and the rest of Wellington’s staff bunkered down, poring over maps, writing reports and sending dispatches.
Some of the men spoke of the Duchess of Richmond’s ball, which was taking place that evening, but Tobin had no intention of going to such a lavish affair. His mind was centred on the battle ahead, and from the intelligence he had gathered from his superiors, it would take a miracle for them to win this conflict. Some of the best regiments were still not returned from fighting in America, and no one was certain when the Prussians would arrive. However, Wellington, being who he was, would not allow the fact they anticipated the news to arrive at any moment to put a damper on the Duchess’ festivities that night. Many of the staff had left to dress, but the only thing Tobin would be doing was having a nice meal and packing his kit.
He had always had a sixth sense, and he knew they would march out that night. He had not spoken with the Duke since the picnic, but neither was Tobin surprised to find the household packed up to leave, and the servants loading a carriage.
“Tobin,” his Grace greeted him when he entered the entrance hall to see the Duke surrounded by trunks.
“I was afraid we would miss you. We are leaving to return to England, if we can manage it. I am taking only the carriage horses and will leave the others for you and Philip, should you need them.”
Tobin was never one for goodbyes or displays of emotion, but the Duke meant as much to him as any brother would. He gave a swift nod, afraid to try to speak.
“Amelia will stay here with some servants and Miss Murphy will be next door. Both of them felt the houses would be very useful as makeshift hospitals.”
“I will look after them,” Tobin said, though there was never any question.
“You will send word?”
“Of course.”
The Duke nodded and pulled Tobin into a manly hug. “I wish I could go with you.”
“You have served your time, Major. From what I hear, we need you at the War Office as soon as possible.”
“I will do my best. There are money and supplies in the safe should you need them. Philip also knows.”
“Now, will ye be getting your Duchess and daughter on the way? I intend to bounce your babe on my knee when this is over.”
“I consider that a promise, Tobin,” the Duchess put in as she came down the stairs holding the little cherub.
The entrance hall was now empty of baggage, removed unobtrusively by his Grace’s servants. There was nothing left to do but see them on their way.
“You intend to travel all night?” he asked the Duchess.
“I would like to be on board the ship by tomorrow morning.”
“At least you have a few days’ start,” Tobin agreed, kissing her on the cheek.
He waved farewell as the carriage pulled forward and away down the cobbled street. He stood there until the rhythm of the horses’ hooves faded and only then turned back to the house. At least Captain Elliott and Lady Amelia were still in residence or he might find himself weeping.
Tobin found Philip and Amelia finishing their dinner and about to depart for the highly anticipated ball.
“Are you not joining us?” Lady Amelia asked with a frown.
“Not tonight.” His eyes met Philip’s knowing ones, but neither husband nor wife said a word.
“I know you are leaving soon,” Amelia declared, almost defiantly, after a moment. “I will enjoy the ball with my husband, however.”
“You should,” Tobin agreed. “I prefer to have a nice meal and quiet evening alone. Who knows how long it will be until the next one?”
Tobin could see tears in Amelia’s eyes, but she smiled and nodded. He saw them on their way before heading to the kitchen to see what was left for a meal. Most of the servants had been hired with the house, but some had left with the Duke and Duchess.
There was plenty of roast meat, potatoes and carrots, and pudding for him to eat his fill. Afterwards, he climbed up the stairs slowly, taking in everything around him. Perhaps it was silly, but for him, everything leading up to battle seemed to be happening in slow motion, as though he were in a tunnel.
He ordered a bath, and then he very methodically folded and packed his belongings, ensuring he took what he must have if he were on his own to survive. He did not think that was very likely with this battle, but it was best to be prepared. It was very likely he would be running dispatches from place to place, and anything could happen.
Once he was ready, he lay down on the bed and rested until he heard the call, knowing that this was the eerie quiet before the storm; that it would be replaced with chaos and bloodlust once the first shot was fired.
At last, he heard horns blow, followed by the loud, repetitive thumping noise of the drums. The call to arms.
Tipping his satchel over his shoulder, he walked towards the stables. He suspected Patrick and Philip would be there shortly to retrieve their own horses, so he saddled them in anticipation, preferring to do for himself.
It would be easy to feel sorry for himself, for he had no sweetheart to wish him farewell. Previously, he had been part of a battalion that camped together and fought together.
“Are you leaving so soon?” a sweet voice asked, as though he had conjured her out of his thoughts.
He finished tightening the girth on his horse and set his head down on the saddle. “It is time,” he said, wishing he could taste her sweet lips just once. He had become a romantic, he thought sardonically.
“I brought you something,” she said and finally, h
e looked up to meet her gaze.
“You might think it is silly, but I promise they will be welcome and will hopefully make you think of me,” she said with a sad smile, holding out a cloth bag to him.
“What is it?” He took the bag from her hand.
“Look and see. It is not a lock of hair, I promise.”
He laughed and opened the bag. “Candies?” He looked up, surprised. “Thank you.”
“You may not believe me now, but you will be thankful during the battle. Going hours without food and drink will make you happy to have one of these.”
“I believe you. I don’t think anyone has ever given me something quite as thoughtful.”
“Father and Patrick swear by them.”
“I will use them and think of the pretty face of the lady who gave them to me.”
“Thank me afterwards, if you please.” She stepped forward on tiptoe and placed a kiss on his cheek, almost how a sister would. If only he could think of her as a sister.
She paused, her face right next to his and he knew what she wanted, for he wanted it to. “This is not a good idea, mo álainn,” he whispered.
“Was I mistaken? I want it very much,” she said boldly, causing his resolve to turn and run straight out of the stables. He wrapped his arms around her as hers twined around his neck and their lips met. At first it was tender, but then he kissed her with the fear, desperation and abandon that a soldier tended to feel before putting on his armour and charging the enemy. She seemed to understand. She would more than any other lady would, he thought, as he tried to memorize the feel of her: how she fitted in his arms and pressed against him as though she were made for him. He drew his lips from hers, but took her face in his hands and placed kisses over her ears, her eyes, her cheeks, her neck… He could die tomorrow having at least known this.
He could die tomorrow. That crashing reality caused him to pull away.
“Do not apologize,” she said. Wordlessly they stood, forehead to forehead, trying to catch their breaths.
Then, as she stepped back, Tobin gave a swift nod and brushed his hand down her cheek.
“Godspeed, Lieutenant.”
Catching the sobs in her throat, Bridget watched Lieutenant O’Neill leave. This was not characteristic of her, but he was not like other men and she felt drawn to him. War did that to you.
She bit down on her fist to control her emotion. Memories of saying goodbye to her captain before Badajoz assailed her. This leave-taking felt remarkably similar, and she knew a deep foreboding which would not go away.
Goodbyes were the worst part, she reflected. Well, waiting is horrible as well. Indeed, there really is no good side to war. Sometimes, when they were encamped, she could hover on the periphery and help, but that was not possible here. There would be plenty to do, nonetheless.
She knew she would not sleep that night, after she bid her father and brother farewell, so she walked, almost absent-mindedly, to the park to watch the soldiers leave their dwellings and walk towards the south gate of the city. They were to camp that night near the small village of Waterloo. It had begun to rain and Bridget pitied the soldiers, most of whom would have no cover.
As dawn began to break, she finally returned to seek a few hours of sleep. Once the fighting began in earnest, the wounded would not stop coming because of her hunger, thirst or exhaustion.
She heard the first sounds just before noon the next morning. Cannon fire sounded like thunder and she felt a chill creep up her spine. She stopped to say prayers for each of her loved ones out there and for those she did not know—especially the scared young boys who had no choice.
Having risen and dressed, she was splashing cold water in her face when she heard a knock at the door downstairs. There were two servants left in the house with her; her father’s and brother’s men had gone to the field with them.
Once she had pulled a comb through her hair and bound the tresses into a tight knot, she descended the stairs to see who was calling. Lady Amelia had been admitted into the small saloon at the front of the house.
“It has begun, has it not?” Amelia asked, looking sickly pale.
“Yes. We must keep busy or we will go mad with the waiting. In a couple of hours, we can go to the Namur Gate to help. The walking wounded will begin arriving then, I expect, and that is where they plan to put makeshift tents for those able to reach this far. Some will merely need bandages and water, while some will need more serious care and may be brought back to one of our houses.”
Lady Amelia swallowed hard but nodded her head.
“You will do very well. Once you get over the initial shock, you will be too busy to notice your sensibilities. Have you broken your fast? I recommend a good breakfast, for I cannot guarantee another meal today.”
They removed to the breakfast parlour, where both forced themselves to eat. Bridget was more worried than usual, but she knew she must be strong for this young wife who was so new to the rigours of army life.
“What is a battle like?” Lady Amelia asked. “I assume you have seen some, even though I expect your father tries to keep you as far from harm’s way as possible.”
Bridget nodded. “I used to imagine there was an invisible line drawn across a field and a marshal would wave a flag, then each side would charge.”
“How does it begin, then?” Lady Amelia frowned.
“Someone shoots first. Sometimes you can see the enemy, but sometimes you cannot. There is an initial charge by each side, but then the best way I can describe it is chaos. Imagine if a child threw their toy soldiers down and they scattered, and then filled the air with smoke.”
“I had not considered the smoke. Can they not see until the enemy is upon them?”
“Often not, Father has told me. They try to form into squares to make them more defensible, but frequently they find themselves in hand to hand combat.”
Lady Amelia looked green.
“Forgive me. I should not have been so candid.”
“I did ask… and it does me no good not to know. It just makes the waiting more unbearable.”
“It is why I try to stay occupied. Soon there will be dozens of wounded arriving and you will be too busy to fret.”
Once they had finished some toast, eggs and tea, Bridget fetched a bag of bandages and supplies for each of them from the linen cupboard, as well as a bucket and cup they would fill at a pump near the gate. As they left the house and began their walk, it felt eerily quiet.
“Has everyone abandoned the city?”
“Many have. Many take refuge inside their houses.”
“Do you think the fighting will reach here?”
“Only if we fail.”
A sobering thought, which, on reflection, would have been better left unsaid, Bridget chastised herself as Lady Amelia blanched.
Bridget had calculated correctly. By the time they reached the Namur Gate, there were soldiers on foot beginning to arrive. Not serious enough to warrant the sawbones’ continued attentions on the battlefield, or one of the few beds, yet they were too badly injured to continue fighting. The first young man they saw had been shot in the arm, had had the bullet dug out and been bandaged. His hand would no longer hold his rifle so, pale and sweating, he had wandered the ten miles back to town, walking as though dead on his feet. He nearly collapsed at the gate. Bridget quickly hurried to him and helped him find a place to sit in the shade. Amelia brought him a drink of water, which was what he needed most.
The soldier was no more than a boy, Bridget realized. He would be lucky if he survived the infection that was inevitable from the bullet wound.
The trickle of wounded rapidly became a deluge. Soon, there were more wounded than they could attend to quickly. Fortunately, other ladies were there to help as well. Wagon-loads of incapacitated soldiers began coming into the city. One driver stopped and called to her.
“Are you Miss Murphy?”
“I am.”
“The sawbones said to bring these men to you. Do you
have somewhere for them to go?”
She nodded.
“I’ll take you up next to me,” he said.
Bridget looked with concern at Lady Amelia, who shooed her on. “I will stay here and come with the next load.”
“If you are certain?” Bridget hesitated.
“I can tie a bandage and give a drink of water as well as the rest of them.”
“Thank you,” Bridget mouthed as she climbed onto the bench next to the driver.
“The doctor knew you would be here,” the driver said. “He said you would know what to do.”
“I hope so,” she said with a half smile.
“How bad is it?” she asked.
“It is an awful mess—and that is saying something, ’cause I’ve been serving since I was of age.” He was a burly sergeant of about thirty-five or forty years. “It is muddy, as you would expect after the hard rains, but between the fog and the smoke ’tis impossible to see. The losses are heavy after only a few hours and I hear the Prussians have not arrived yet.”
It was slow going through the streets as local people had come out to help and many of the wounded were littered through the streets, too exhausted—or in shock—to go on. Bridget had never seen anything quite like it. She could only imagine what the battlefield must be like. The medical tents must surely be overflowing, for the doctors would have kept those patients too severe to be moved and those they could help. There would be many more loads of injured before the day was done, she knew.
“Have any particular battalions suffered heavy losses?”
“Aye. Picton’s Division. General Picton was shot dead on his horse.”
Bridget swallowed hard. “Have you seen the 1st Battalion, by any chance?”
“Oh, you have family with them? I see. No, I cannot say as I have seen them.”
She nodded. “My father.” Bridget glanced at the men who were laid out in the back of the cart.
“What of these poor souls?”
“The sawbones had to amputate a limb on each of them. He said they might have a chance if they survived the infections, and you would give them the attention he could not. I tell you, miss, there have not been many we could save today.”
An Officer, Not a Gentleman: A Traditional Regency Romance (Brethren in Arms Book 3) Page 4
