Lord Philip's Christmas

by Michele McGrath

  “Benson!”

  Benson turned abruptly and then pulled aside a horse which had fallen on his rider, pinning the man’s legs to the ground. He knelt beside him.

  “Thompson, where are you hurt?”

  “My legs…”

  They were a mess, crushed and bloody, but the bleeding had obviously dried some time ago. Despite their need to find Edward, both men did what they could for the trooper, lashing his legs between two swords and giving him water.

  “Did you see where the Major went?” Benson asked him when they finished.

  “Over there. He was ahead of me but I lost sight of him and I can’t tell you what happened,” he replied waving his hands toward the left. “Oh my God, Benson, this hurts. Don’t leave me here to die.”

  Benson glanced at Philip who said, “We won’t, Thompson, but we have to find the Major. We know where you are and we’ll be back as soon as we’ve found him. Lie still for now.”

  Thompson was not convinced and his wail followed them as they left. Their search continued. A few more wounded lay among the dead, some of whom breathed their last even as the men passed by.

  “You can’t save them all, my lord,” Benson whispered as Philip faltered. “It’s getting dark. We’ll never be able to find the master by lantern light, not among all these others. If we come back again at dawn, we might have a chance.”

  Philip nodded and began to turn around. The space was small and the horse’s movement caused a pile of bodies to shift. A gleam from the lantern glinted on gold braid, catching Philip’s eye.

  “There’s an English officer here,” he said, bending down to look at the face.

  “The uniform’s right,” Benson said. “Glory to God, it’s the master, however did we manage to find him in all this mess?”

  “Lucky that I turned the horse when I did.”

  “Is he alive?”

  Edward’s face felt cold and clammy. Philip held his wrist, feeling for the pulse.

  “I think… he might be.” He opened the jacket and slid his hand inside. “There’s some warmth but he’s barely breathing. We must get him to a doctor.”

  Philip had brought a stretcher with him from the hospital, lashed to the side of his horse. They tied it between their mounts and laid Edward on top of it. Benson covered him with his coat. Then carefully they retraced their steps. The place where Thompson lay was near a tree whose broken stump protruded above the chaos. Fortunately, they had taken special note of it before they left and the shape was stark against the sky. They stopped and lifted the wounded man up in front of Benson. He fainted during this manoeuvre so they managed to make him fast before he regained consciousness. He slowed their journey, but neither of them could bear the thought of leaving him behind.

  While they had been searching, dressing stations had been set up in the fields beyond the battlefield. They found one of these, but there were many wounded lying on the ground outside waiting to be treated. Philip decided that Edward and Thompson would stand a far better chance of surviving if he took them to the convent, despite the additional length of the journey. They rode through the night and it was not until an hour after dawn that the weary horses stumbled into the convent’s courtyard with their burdens. The place was still busy, but willing hands unstrapped the stretcher and lifted Thompson down from the horse. The poor man had regained consciousness by this time and groaned mightily as he was carried away to have his wounds attended.

  Philip and Benson took their mounts to the stables, rubbed them down and fed them before going to find Edward. One of the doctors was working over him and looked up when Philip approached.

  “Will he live, doctor?” Philip asked.

  “Perhaps. He’s lost a lot of blood. I heard you brought this one in – why?”

  “Edward’s my sister’s husband. She’s here by the way and will want to see him.”

  “Not a good idea yet. Can’t have her fainting on top of everything else.”

  “She’s been helping on the wards. I doubt she’d faint.”

  “Well you can bring her, but everything’s different when it’s your family rather than a stranger. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Philip left Benson with Edward began searching for Alice. She was with Grace, feeding the patients in one of the outhouses. Grace saw him and got to her feet, causing Alice to look around and then jump up to face him.

  “He’s alive,” Philip immediately told her and she swayed, “but wounded.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Here. Benson’s with him. I’ll take you there.”

  “You go Alice, I can continue.” Grace glanced at her husband who shook his head slightly and she turned away, tears starting to her eyes.

  Grace remembered the next three days as a period of the greatest anxiety. In all that time Edward lay silent, unaware of the world around him. The doctors said that he had a long cut at the back of his skull, probably a glancing blow from a cavalry sabre, broken ribs and a bayonet slash on his right arm. The head wound was the most severe. One doctor even wondered aloud how Edward had managed to survive so long and to endure the journey from the battlefield.

  Alice became hollow eyed as she sat holding his hand and occasionally moistening his lips with water. Philip, Benson and Grace took turns to look after her, for she would not leave her husband for any but the shortest time. She had to be coaxed to eat and fell asleep only when her eyes involuntarily closed. This was never for long and never without starting instantly awake at the smallest noise.

  “She’ll become ill, if she doesn’t rest,” Philip said to Grace, late on the second evening.

  “She won’t truly relax until we have some sign that Edward will recover or…” she broke off the sentence abruptly.

  “… Or until he is dead?” Philip murmured and she nodded then quickly looked away.

  The change came on the morning of the fourth day. Grace had taken Alice’s place while she dozed beside the paillasse on which Edward lay. His eyes fluttered open for a second and then closed again. Grace sat rigid, wondering if she had imagined it. When he did it again, Alice saw him too.

  “Did he?” she asked and when Grace nodded, she burst into tears for the first time since he had been brought to the convent.

  Edward’s recovery was very slow, for he could not understand words or respond to the people around him. He knew who Alice was and liked to have her beside him. Later on, he recognised Benson although he could not say his name. As Edward improved physically, Philip arranged for him to be moved to a pleasant farmhouse outside Brussels, away from the bustle and noise at the convent. Little by little Edward’s memory returned and his injuries healed. He was able to walk in the woods and the fields with Alice by his side and Benson hovering nearby, ready to catch him if his strength failed. By the end of September, he was judged well enough to attempt the journey to England. A coach drove him slowly to the coast and their passages were booked on a merchant’s ship. They were not the only travellers. Other soldiers returning from the battle after recovering from their wounds made the crossing with them. Everyone agreed that they were lucky to be alive for, in the Duke of Wellington’s words, Waterloo had been a ‘damn close-run thing’.

  For once the unpredictable English Channel proved benign and the ship arrived in Dover after a quick and easy passage. Once there, a message was sent to London which resulted in the dispatch of Edward’s own travelling coach in charge of his servants. This vehicle was well sprung and, as the roads were firm, Edward was more comfortable than he had been since they left the farmhouse. They were three days on the road, driving slowly until they reached the Maitland residence.

  There the travellers were greeted by Lady Maitland, Edward’s stepmother, who almost fainted at his appearance. She also exclaimed over Alice, who still had not recovered her beauty after her ordeal. Edward’s young sisters Lizzie and Clara hugged him gently. Kitty, nearest to him in age and big with child, jumped at him like the hoyden she used to be.

&n
bsp; “But I am so glad you are safe,” she cried when she was immediately called to order.

  “If you knock him over, my dearest, he certainly won’t be,” Captain Roper, her husband, admonished her. He put one arm around her shoulders as he held out his other hand to Edward.

  “Welcome back.”

  A buzz of chatter erupted while everybody demanded an account of what had happened in France and the travellers tried to satisfy their curiosity. After letting them continue for some time, Philip rose at last and ordered,

  “Enough. Look at Edward’s face. He isn’t recovered yet. Let him retire now and you can quiz him again in the morning.”

  The party started to break up, but Philip lingered until only Captain Roper remained. Once the door closed, Roper said,

  “You have changed your appearance again. You’re a man of many faces, my friend. I had to look hard to recognise the Baron de Vezey in the new Earl of Kirkmore.”

  “Let’s hope that others are less observant than you. It’s good to be home and I’m not desirous of going on my travels again anytime soon. I owe you an apology, Charles, for my conduct towards you last year. If you received my letter, you already know my reasons for concealing my true identity. I swear to you I did nothing to harm England, during the time I was here or when I worked for Caulaincourt after I returned to Paris. Do you believe me?”

  Roper looked hard at him, then nodded and held out his hand. “I do. You’ll be interested to hear that, in addition to your word, all the evidence supports the explanation you gave me in your letter. I had a duty to make sure and I did so. Although I cannot approve of some of your actions, there’s no reason why we cannot leave our differences behind us in the past.”

  “And resume our friendship?”

  Roper nodded. “Since I am now married to your cousin, I see no alternative.” And then he laughed.

  Epilogue

  The air was crisp and a layer of frost iced the fields. The horses’ breath steamed as they pulled the carriage along the winding lanes. A village came in sight, grey-steepled church and rows of cottages, huddling together as if for warmth on this cold December day. Inside the carriage the travellers were snug, wrapped in rugs with hot bricks at their feet. They were excited, because this was the day before Christmas and Philip was bringing his countess to his ancestral home. He wished to spend this first Christmas ‘under our own roof’. Alice and Edward came with them, the latter almost himself again, although he had not recovered the full use of his arm, nor the ability to read properly. These he deemed small matters considering the multiple deaths in the battle that Wellington christened ‘Waterloo’ and the Prussians ‘Belle Alliance.’ He was alive and would never fight again.

  At the end of the lane, the carriage turned into the driveway and drew to a halt. Walters, at the lodge, obviously expected them because his son John had been set to watch and whistled shrilly to alert his father. The whole family tumbled out to greet them.

  “Welcome back, my lord. Welcome, my lady. How nice to see you again, Lady Alice, Sir Edward.”

  Corn stalks had been twisted into a traditional shape, a bell containing small pebbles. The youngest daughter shyly presented these to the two ladies while her parents wished them the compliments of the season. A short drive brought them to the doorway of the hall and again there was an outpouring of both family and servants. It would have been overpowering to Grace, had she not been acquainted with some of the people present. She managed to command her countenance and to accept their good wishes. She remembered later the moment when Philip’s sister, Matilda drew back at the doorway to the salon and gave her precedence.

  “For I never believed I would see such a thing in my lifetime,” she said to Philip later.

  The dowager had made the short journey from the Dower House to the hall to greet her son and new daughter-in-law. She looked both severe and ill-pleased but she had obviously made up her mind to accept the inevitable for she was, at least, civil. This first awkward evening was not marred by family bickering.

  The next morning, the party walked to church in the austere chapel just outside the grounds. Grace was entertained to realise that her husband sang lustily but often strayed from the tune. She tried not to giggle when she noticed the glances of the neighbours who obviously remembered Philip’s lack of ability. Indeed, several of them mentioned afterwards that they had missed him during the years he had been absent. Alice, too, was welcomed by those who had watched her grow up. Everyone wished the new countess well and remarked on the years when her father had been the vicar in this place. ‘Sorely missed’ they called him.

  It took some time before the family could break away and return to the hall. A yule log blazed on the hearth and every surface in the reception rooms had been decorated with sprigs of holly and ivy. Mistletoe hung from the chandeliers and Philip took full advantage of this when his mother was not looking, causing Grace to blush. A sumptuous meal followed which included many of Philip’s favourites including roast duck, brawn and mincemeat tarts. Then they opened their presents, an elegant snuffbox for Edward, fine lace for Alice and the dowager. Philip removed the pearls from around Grace’s neck and replaced them with a sparkling diamond necklace which he had made to his own design in London.

  “Oh, Philip, how lovely.”

  “Not as lovely as the lady who is wearing it.”

  Her present to him was a book of sonnets including several of John Donne for whom he had an admiration.

  “It does not match your gift to me, but it says all that is in my heart.”

  Later, when they went for a short walk together in the grounds of the hall, Grace said,

  “My darling I have another gift for you.”

  “Oh?”

  “Do you remember the corn dollies that Nan Walters gave to Alice and me at the lodge?”

  “Yes?”

  “Did you know that they were rattles?”

  “Were they? I didn’t look at them too closely.”

  “An appropriate gift for a new bride, wouldn’t you say? What would you like best in all the world?”

  “You, of course and… you’re not?”

  She nodded and he immediately engulfed her in his arms. When she could speak again, she said,

  “I wasn’t sure before but I am certain now.”

  “Then that is the most wonderful gift of all, far better than mere diamonds,” he said as he held her close.

  “Or even a book of sonnets.”

  “What a difference a year can make in a man’s life,” he mused as they turned back towards the hall. “Last Christmas I was cold and frozen with grief for Celia, may her soul rest in peace. Now I have everything a man could possibly want. I have you, a baby is on the way and my home is restored to me, which I never believed was possible.”

  “And I have you,” Grace said. “I, too, never thought that I would ever be so happy.” She stood on the doorstep and looked out at the grounds of her new home. Here I will live, she thought. Here we will raise our children. We will grow old together, please God. I have passed through adventures and I hope that I will never have to do so again.

  Copyright © 2016 by Michèle McGrath

  All rights reserved

  No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the author.

  Most of the characters and events in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. A few characters and events are historical.

  My books are fiction set in history.

  Front cover artwork:

  Copyright © Sheri McGathy 2016

  All rights reserved

  No part of the cover image may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the illustrator.

  Written in English (UK)

  Published by Riverscourt Publishing

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ou did, please consider leaving a review on Amazon or the site where you bought it from.

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  About Michèle McGrath

  Award winning author, Michele McGrath, was born on the beautiful Isle of Man in the middle of the Irish Sea. She has lived in California, Liverpool, France and Lancashire before returning home. Living in Paris and Grenoble taught her to make a mean ratatouille and she learned the hula in Hawaii.

  Michele is a qualified swimming teacher and manager, writing self-help books on these subjects. Although she writes in many genres, her real loves are historical romance and fantasy. She has won numerous writing competitions, had second places and been short-listed many times. She has had tens of thousands of sales and downloads.

  **Visit her blog at http://www.michelemcgrath.co.uk/blog

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