“Easy, brother. It is Philip and Miss Murphy. We are trying to save your leg.”
He was staring at Captain Elliot and as that gentleman spoke soothing words to him, Lord Thackeray seemed to recognize the voice and settled. His brow was covered in sweat and he began to tremble again.
“You are safe now. ’Tis over. It is all over now,” Philip whispered.
Lord Thackeray swallowed and nodded his head. Bridget continued to work on the wound while Captain Elliot and Lady Amelia tried to soothe and calm their friend.
Suddenly, what had happened clearly came back to him and Bridget almost lost her practised imperturbation when he broke down in tears. She assumed he was remembering that Colin had died.
“Colin!” he wailed and Captain Elliot hugged him hard and wept with him. Bridget and Amelia met each other’s gaze and had to turn away. Bridget knew if she gave in to emotion now, she might not stop crying for days.
She stitched what she could of the damaged flesh and re-bandaged the wound. “I must look in on my brother. I will return in a couple of hours to see how Lord Thackeray is doing. If his fever rises, give him some willow bark tea.”
Lady Amelia nodded, still unable to speak as the men wept.
Bridget escaped before giving way to her own grief. She could not afford to cry in front of the men. Where, oh where, were her father and Lieutenant O’Neill?
When she returned to see how Patrick was, one look told her all she needed to know. His breathing had deteriorated into gasps. It would not be long now. She curled up on the bed next to him and held him until the end.
Chapter 6
Tobin took a moment to rest against a tree. He had been searching for hours and refused to quit the battlefield. He would not allow someone else to find his friends first or dump them in a mass grave. He knew the cavalry had made a final charge at the same time as General Murphy’s battalion. It had been near the farm. They had to be there somewhere. The sight and smell and overwhelming carnality had caused Tobin to retch several times that night.
“Tobin.” He heard Philip’s voice call to him and looked up through his haze of pain.
Philip dismounted and tied his horse next to Trojan. He handed him a fresh canteen and Tobin took it and drew on it with appreciation. “Are you a mirage?”
“Hardly that. I am all too real. Are you looking for Colin?”
Tobin choked, too tired to hide his emotion. He nodded. “And General Murphy.”
“Does she know?” Philip asked.
“I could not bear to tell her. I left her brother there to die. I thought the least I could do was find his body for her.”
“What happened to your head?” Philip asked as the first grey of dawn was beginning to breach the sky.
“The same cannon ball that hit Captain Murphy. We were together.”
Philip looked away. They were both seasoned soldiers, but the aftermath was always untenable. You always lost someone you knew. Murphy had been on staff with them—it did not take long to get close.
“What of the rest?”
“Thackeray is at the house, delirious from a gun shot wound to his left thigh. Miss Murphy had to clean it out, and I stayed to help. I have not heard from James, but if he was unharmed he would have followed on after the French.”
Tobin nodded.
“Where have you looked?”
“Only this side of the farm from there to this tree. It is hard work lifting the bodies and horses. I’ve had to threaten many of the looters with violence. Gommeril gobshites.”
“I do not know how you have gone at it alone, and with the look of your head ’tis a wonder you are still standing.”
Tobin did not want to think about his head. It was being a nuisance, for it was pounding like a hammer from the inside.
“Both of them should be in this vicinity. It was the last I saw of them. I wanted to be methodical. It would be too easy to miss them.” Tobin did not need to explain, he knew. Many of the bodies were destroyed or mangled beyond recognition. He might never find them, but he would continue to search until he could go on no more.
“You are sure their men did not recover them?”
“I am sure of nothing. But I was afraid not to look. I heard only one officer survived from the 27th.”
“Then we shall continue.” Philip took a pistol from his saddle-bag and holstered it. It was coming on to daylight, but those who robbed the poor soldiers’ bodies had been known to be violent. They were not the only ones out looking. Wails of horror and cries of despair echoed through the valley as more people joined the search. Hell could be no worse than this. Tobin would never be able to forget.
“There have to be twenty thousand dead out here, at least,” Philip remarked as they began to move body after body to see if it was a friend or dear one. Two hours later, after making a circuit of La Haye Sainte, they finally found General Murphy buried in his square underneath the red uniforms of his men, the look on his face one that would never leave Tobin’s memories.
“They really were ambushed by the cannon,” Philip said as they both barely held back their bile. “I will fetch the horses.”
Tobin ran over to a rare patch of grass to vomit again as soon as Philip had passed behind the building. One never got used to this part—so full of life one moment, and inert the next.
Give my love to Bridget.
He could still hear the pain in the general’s voice echoing through the valley. How was he to tell her? How could he help her?
I would like to know someone would look after my sister should something happen to my father and me. There is only an elderly aunt and she is not someone you would choose to know willingly. He could hear Patrick’s voice saying the words to him.
Philip returned with the horses and they managed to place the general’s body on top of Trojan, who shied a bit at the smell, but calmed when Tobin told him quietly to stand.
“Every one of these men deserves a proper burial,” Tobin said achingly, knowing most would end up in unmarked, mass graves, here on the field of battle.
There was no response from his companion.
“Colin must have gone further,” Philip said, looking out over the valley.
“I have not crossed the road.”
“Hopefully, there is not too much farther to go.”
It took them another hour to find Colin, and Philip dropped to his knees and wept openly. Quiet, steady, conservative Colin; the haunted last look on his face as he realized his fate.
His horse had fallen with him and they had to pull his body out from under the dead beast. By the time they pried his body out, the sun was already warm in the sky. You would never have known by looking up at the peaceful heavens how Hell’s bowels had opened the day before to enact one of its scenes on this valley. No doubt Satan had a hand in yesterday’s work.
The men began the slow walk back to Brussels, leading the horses. Neither spoke a word the entire way, even though at times Tobin did not know if he would reach the Flemish capital. Now that his self-imposed commission had been completed, he could feel every place he had been hit.
It felt like a funeral procession along the road as the people looking for kith and kin, and some of those who had been called to bury the dead, would stop and bow heads or salute as they passed. It would take days, if not weeks, to bury what amounted to a small city of dead. Bodies were scattered along the road back to Brussels, many those who had survived the battlefield only to die on their way to seek help. There had to be as many on the French side as well.
Tobin was dirty and dizzy, and felt as though he would die of thirst. He experienced again the sensation of being in a tunnel. At least walking through the forest provided some shade, a slight reprieve from the sun’s heat.
By the time they halted the horses in front of the two houses, Tobin was seeing double and could barely put one foot in front of the other. Miss Murphy and Lady Amelia must have been watching for them for Miss Murphy rushed out to him. He was aware of utter
ing the words, “I am sorry,” before he surrendered to his own injuries and collapsed to the pavement at her feet.
“You stupid man!” Bridget said, exasperated with Lieutenant O’Neill as he fell at her feet. She barely caught his head before it hit the pavement.
“Help me get him inside!” Bridget called to Captain Elliot, who had been greeting his wife and had not seen O’Neill fall.
“Tobin!” Captain Elliot shouted, immediately running over to help. Two of the servants must have heard the commotion, for they came hurrying down the steps.
Bridget directed them to her bedchamber; it was the only place left to put him.
“Why, you idiotic man?” she asked him as she began to strip away his uniform. It was covered with mud and blood. “He needs water,” she said to Amelia, who was standing a few feet away, waiting to help.
“He would not stop until he found them both,” Captain Elliott said softly. “I confess, I did not realize how badly he was hurt. He must have suffered dreadfully on the walk back. The day was sweltering.”
Bridget’s eyes filled with tears. She knew he had done this for her. That had been her father’s body lying across his horse… but she could do no more for her father and she still had the chance to save Tobin—Lieutenant O’Neill.
“Help me undress him and bathe him,” she said briskly to cover her feelings. “I want to look at his head. It was the most severe of the injuries he had sustained when I saw him yesterday.”
All three of them worked on Tobin for some time. Amelia tried to hydrate the man—in small amounts so he would not choke—after Philip had helped her to change and bathe him. Meanwhile, Bridget doctored the various wounds, two of which Tobin had pulled open during his search through the night.
“You foolish man,” she muttered at least a hundred times. Yet, he was already so very dear. She could not lose him, too. At that moment, she would have given anything for those green eyes to open and for him to make some cheeky remark to her, but she knew it would be some considerable time before that happened, if at all. He had exhausted himself and he would become feverish. It was inevitable.
The three of them had done all they could for the moment. Walking out into the hall, Captain Elliot leaned negligently against the wall while Bridget and Amelia perched against the banister. No one wanted to speak of her father and brother, Bridget knew. Nevertheless, she could not ignore the fact they must be dealt with soon. The death-cart had, that morning, taken away the six men they had lost, between the two houses, during the night.
Bridget had maintained her composure fairly well, considering. Once everyone was gone, the knowledge of her loss would hit her hard, but for now she had to stay strong for those people who still had a chance of living.
“I do not know what to do,” she said quietly.
“We will take care of you, Bridget,” Amelia answered.
“It is not so much myself I worry about. Father said he had provided for me. I do not know how to bury them here. I cannot fathom trying to return to Ireland with their bodies.”
“Is that what you wish to do?” Philip asked.
“I do not know,” she whispered. “Is it possible? I think my father would want that. My mother is buried there.”
“I can try to make arrangements, but it must be done quickly. There are others who will be returned for burial.”
“It seems selfish of me. There are so many here who need my help.”
“I will go and discover what arrangements are already being made. You do know it is never expected of you to run a hospital by yourself, do you not? There will be ships taking as many of the wounded back as can be managed. I will see if I can arrange passage for you.”
“I will not leave Lieutenant O’Neill behind.”
“Tobin is as tough as they come. He is too stubborn to die of something as menial as a wound from shrapnel,” Philip teased, trying to lighten the mood. “None of us will leave Tobin behind. The sneaky rogue would not leave me in peace; I will not let him go without equal suffering.”
He kissed Amelia on the cheek and took Bridget’s hands and looked her in the eye. “I am so very sorry, Bridget. We will help you with this dreadful situation.” He dropped a brotherly kiss on her forehead and hurried down the stairs.
Amelia wrapped her arms around Bridget and somehow they slid to the floor, sobbing in each other’s arms.
“Thank you. I feel better now,” Bridget said, wiping away the remnants of her much needed cry. “I must go and look in on Lord Thackeray. Take a few minutes to rest. There is a truckle bed in my bedroom and you will be there if Tobin awakes.”
“I will agree to rest if you promise you will do the same when I wake up.” Amelia sighed.
“I do not think my body will allow me to do otherwise,” Bridget said with a reluctant smile. She had not slept for more than a few minutes here and there in the last two days. There should be no more influx, and hopefully, the patients would be stable enough over the next day or two that the nursing shifts could be rotated a little better. If she was to leave for Ireland, though, arrangements would have to be made for all the soldiers. For now, she was too tired to worry or even grieve properly. She walked next door to see how Lord Thackeray was healing. He had been in the depths of a fever when she left him last. When she entered the room, she found the doctor was with him.
“Good afternoon, lass. I saw them bring your father in. I am so very sorry.” He had already seen Patrick’s body. “They were both very fine men.”
“Thank you,” she replied softly.
“Do you know what you will do?”
“Captain Elliott is trying to make arrangements. If possible, I will take them to Ireland to bury them beside my mother.”
“If you need anything, you need only ask—including a home. It will not be the same if you are not my best assistant.”
Bridget forced a smile. It was true; she knew no other life and Dr. Wheeler had always been kind to her. She would have to marry him to stay, and she just could not imagine being wed to someone who was more of a father figure.
“I do not know what I will do yet. It will take some time to make arrangements.”
“The offer always stands, lass, though I know I am not much to offer. A pretty lady like you could have anyone she wanted.”
“You are very kind.” She reached over and touched his hand. “Now, how is my lord doing?”
“You did a good job cleaning his wound. It looks as well as can be expected. The fever is in his blood and it is now up to him to fight it.”
“Lieutenant O’Neill is next door. Would you have a look at him? He was hit by the same cannon shot as Patrick, but did not bear the brunt of it. I pulled four pieces of shrapnel out of his leg and head and cleaned him up, but the idiotic man went out searching for my father and a friend. He was out all night. He collapsed at my feet earlier today, in front of the house.”
“Idiotic indeed.” He shook his head. “Loyalty and honour. They put it above good sense.”
They walked back to her house and she followed him up to where Tobin was resting. Amelia was resting on the bed nearby. Bridget stood at the door while the doctor examined Tobin.
He came back out into the hall and spoke to her quietly, though Bridget was sure nothing shy of a cannon shot would wake either of them at this point.
“He needs rest and water more than anything just now. He will probably have to fight the fevers. You know all this, lass. You just wanted reassurance?”
“I want to know if he is strong enough to make the trip back to Ireland.”
He looked her in the eye and seemed to understand. “If he has you to care for him, he will do as well on a boat as in this bed.”
“I cannot leave him here,” she explained. “He brought Patrick and father back to me. I owe him that much, at least.”
“Do not do it out of debt alone, lass. That is a life sentence if not done for the right reasons.”
“I know it, and I appreciate your concern. I
believe it is the right thing to do. I hope he wakes up before I have to make the decision alone.”
The doctor took his leave and Bridget peered back into the room where Tobin was seemingly sleeping peacefully on the bed. She knew he would take care of her out of honour, but was it what he wanted?
Bridget wrestled with what to do. If only he would wake up.
Chapter 7
Wellington stood beside Tobin’s bedside several minutes. “I have lost too many friends in this bad business. I was growing fond of O’Neill. He had best recover.”
Tobin heard familiar voices in the distance, and he felt as if he were in a dream he could not wake from. He was so tired but he was drawn to the voices from the depths of somewhere far away.
“He has the best nurse there is.” Captain Elliot’s tone was reassuring.
“Yes, Miss Murphy. That is a rotten situation; both were damned fine soldiers. What will she do?” Wellington asked.
“She asked me to arrange for the bodies to be sent to Ireland. I assume she means to accompany them,” Captain Elliot replied.
“Alone?” Wellington asked with his disapproving voice.
“I have not yet asked her. I assume that, at the very least, her maid will accompany her. Amelia and I are to go to Paris with you.”
“I do not like it,” the Duke stated.
“Nor I, but it is unfortunately what happens some times.”
“See to it that she has what she needs, and send O’Neill home for convalescence.”
“Yes, sir. I am already working on it.”
“Good, good. I plan to head to Paris on the morrow.”
“We will be ready.”
“Ah, Miss Murphy. May I offer my deepest sympathies? I cannot say how troubled I am by your losses,” Wellington said.
“Thank you, your Grace. They both died for something they believed in. Thank God we won, so their loss is not in vain.” The voice of an angel, Tobin thought drowsily.
“By God, I hope not. We will miss having you to help us. My door is always open if you have need of me.”
An Officer, Not a Gentleman Page 6
