Diaries of a Heartbroken Duchess: A Historical Regency Romance Collection

by Hamilton, Hanna

  The Ottoman Sultan had allocated the structure to the British for the duration of the war. Upon the arrival of Florence Nightingale and her corps of thirty-seven nurses at the beginning of October 1854, they had begun to convert the makeshift infirmary into a fully functioning and professional hospital. There still was much to be done.

  Clementine swallowed when she remembered Nightingale’s first order upon entering the building that was the incarnation of hell, misery and filth. The building sat on top of a large cesspool, which contaminated the water and the infirmary itself.

  Already the first of the casualties from the Crimea had taken up residence and their discomfort was horribly apparent. The proud soldiers of the Empire lay in their own filth on rickety stretchers strewn throughout the hallways. Rodents and bugs had scurried about. More of the soldiers were dying from infectious diseases like typhoid and cholera than from the injuries they had sustained in battle.

  But Miss Florence Nightingale had seemed to shake off the fatigue of the long journey from England as she took in her insalubrious surroundings. She appeared to beam with an inner, peaceful, and almost joyful glow. It was what she had trained for. It was what she had taught her nurses for months. It was the moment that would announce her fame to the world for generations to come.

  Before Nightingale could speak, Sally had blurted, “Miss Nightingale, this is so terrible, I hope we can begin at once to tend to the needs of these poor souls.”

  Florence had smiled at her warmly and then with a stern look at Sally and the other nurses she had said, “The strongest shall be needed to wash the insides of this disgrace of an infirmary with soap and scrub brush. Get the most able patients to assist you in this task. Now come along ladies, don’t shilly-shally, it’s straight to work for us.”

  And so, the work had begun. The wards and corridors that were crammed with the sick, many suffering from cholera and dysentery, their bodies suppurating with sores, their bedding unwashed for weeks, were scrubbed clean. The whole enormous building was alive with lice, fleas and rats, the water supply polluted with dead dogs. It had been a monumental task that Clementine had thought insurmountable at the time.

  And since that day, Nightingale and her corps of nurses had spent every waking hour tending to their patients. In addition, they had greatly improved the sanitary conditions of the hospital. Also, there was an invalid’s kitchen, a laundry providing the patients with fresh clothes and sheets, a classroom and a library.

  Clementine studied her surroundings. All around her the nurses that were predominantly middleclass girls because they were considered more manageable than the lower classes, and who would be more accustomed to take orders, milled about with industrious intent. Also, the fat and matronly were preferred, since they would be less likely to cause sexual tension among the patients. Clementine realized that she and Sally were exceptions to that rule.

  Florence Nightingale herself spent most of her time not ministering to the sick but stuck behind a desk twelve hours a day running the vast Scutari hospital. She was a brilliant and determined administrator, and the results of her endeavours could be seen everywhere Clementine looked. Within the shortest time, Florence Nightingale’s hard work was paying off. New surgeries had been built; boilers, baths and stoves had been installed; each man had a comfortable bed.

  “Clementine, Sally, Major Hodges needs you in the operating theatre, quite smartly please,” said Nightingale bringing Clementine back to the reality of the present.

  Sally and Clementine exchanged quick glances. They knew what was coming next. Instinctively, they followed their superior who was dressed in her signature elegant but simple black, full dress with a white lace collar and a white lace scarf on her head. Different to Clementine and Sally who wore long grey ill-fitting dresses, white caps and mid-length woollen cloaks, and a brown scarf across their middle embroidered in red with the words “Scutari Hospital”.

  They entered the operating theatre, that despite the cleaning, was dank and gloomy. The reek of laudanum was everywhere. Clementine could smell the tanginess of blood radiating off the floors and operating table. Men cried out in pain. Nurses ran to them in an attempt to ease their discomfort. Due to the archaic nature of the structure, sconces containing flames lit the hallways and rooms. It was like something out of a different time, but it worked thanks to their industry.

  “Next,” shouted a perspiring Major Hodges as he threw away a severed leg that still had the boot on it as if it was a mere bit of litter. The discarded limb landed on a heap of body parts that was already starting to grow. Despite having seen this countless times before, Clementine had to control herself not to be sick.

  “Make sure those are removed immediately,” ordered Nightingale, floating into the operating theatre calmly as if she was strolling through Hyde Park.

  The two Turkish workers who were standing nearby immediately started collecting the body parts and hurried them out of Florence Nightingale’s sight. Neither of them had dared protest to a woman giving them orders because everyone in the hospital, whether Muslim or Christian, knew not to stand in the way of Miss Florence Nightingale when she was on a roll.

  “Thank you, Miss Nightingale,” said Major Hodges smiling briefly.

  At first, he had protested to women entering the male domain of a military hospital. However, Nightingale’s persistent nature and steely resolve had soon convinced him that she was a force to be reckoned with. As the days had gone by, his objections diminished until he accepted the corps of nurses as a much-needed addition to his team.

  “Sir, we mustn’t present the men with such a sight. They are here to survive and convalesce,” said Nightingale seriously.

  The doctor just nodded while the Turkish workers removed the man, and carried in another wounded soldier and laid him on the operating table. The moment she saw the new patient, Clementine swallowed, he was so young and he still wore the torn and dirty remnants of his once beautiful uniform.

  “Sally and Clementine will aid you, Major Hodges. They are my very finest,” said Nightingale.

  “Thank you. It is going to be a long day. Hundreds more will be coming through those doors. There has been a battle and we besieged Sevastopol,” said the doctor, speaking of the latest news from the front lines that had reached them by ship.

  Clementine could’ve fainted. Stirling! What had become of him? It was all she could think of. Clementine could visualize his mangled corpse lying in a pool of his own blood. She could imagine the red and blue of his once magnificent uniform clinging in shreds to his disfigured body. Was her lover dead? Had he survived? And if he did, would his legs be the next limbs to be sawn off and unceremoniously discarded?

  “Clementine, I need you to have your wits about you. We can no longer help the dead, but the living are what matters. There will be time to mourn our comrades and loved ones once we have done our duty,” said Nightingale, noticing Clementine’s discomfort.

  Clementine nodded. It took all of her willpower to banish the image of her cherished Stirling from her mind. He would want me to be strong, she thought, turning to the wounded soldier and immediately doing her duty.

  “There’s a good lady,” said Nightingale.

  Since that moment and for the following weeks, wounded men continued to pour into the Scutari Hospital in a steady flow. Clementine was exhausted but so was everybody else. She just functioned as best she could and Dr Hodges loved her for it.

  In the evenings, Clementine would often join Florence as she moved through the dark hallways carrying a lamp while making her rounds, ministering to patient after patient. The soldiers, who were both moved and comforted by Nightingale’s endless supply of compassion, took to calling her “the Lady with the Lamp.” Others simply called her "the Angel of the Crimea." Clementine, who was also loved, was referred to as “Miss Sunshine” and Sally was “Miss Bossy.” Their hard work and dedication reduced the hospital’s death rate by two-thirds.

  At night, Clementine would often c
ry herself to sleep. She missed Stirling terribly and there was still no news of his whereabouts, let alone his survival. Fate had dealt her a rough blow. To have finally found love, and to have it ripped from her tender hands so shortly after it had begun to blossom was a cruel twist of fate.

  One morning, Clementine was summoned by Miss Nightingale to join her outside on the terrace overlooking the magnificent city of Constantinople.

  “Miss Nightingale, you asked to see me, Ma’am,” said Clementine when she arrived.

  “Yes, this gentleman needs your cheerful disposition, Miss Sunshine,” said Nightingale with an amused glint in her eyes. “His name is Brian. Captain Brian Reynolds.”

  “Of course, Ma’am,” said Clementine, smiling because Florence had never called her by her sobriquet before.

  When Miss Nightingale left, Clementine turned to face the man sitting on a chair overlooking the Dardanelles. She swallowed in an attempt to keep her tears at bay. Oh my God, what happened to him she thought?

  “Hello is anyone there?” he croaked.

  “Yes, I am here. My name is Clementine,” she said, moving closer.

  “It is a beautiful name for a beautiful…”

  The man with a dreadful burn on his face smiled wanly, stopping in midsentence. He looked haggard and what remained of his uniform hung listlessly off his body. He turned his head around, eyes blinking, but not finding anything. His gaze stared into the empty space that separated them, seemingly not registering a thing.

  “I am blind, nurse,” he said, starting to cry.

  Clementine immediately took him into her arms. The officer held onto her as if for dear life.

  “It was so horrible,” he croaked. “I can still smell the smoke, the burning flesh and the stink of fear. It was a nightmare.”

  A brief flash of Stirling’s face shot past her eyes. She could not think about him. The mere thought of her beloved fiancé suffering the same fate or worse ate away at her soul. Clementine had seen so much suffering, so much death in spite of the nurses attempts to keep mortality rates low. The stream of newcomers to the ward never ceased to end. Each day the ships brought more men from the front with every man speaking the same words of death and disease.

  “There, there, Captain, all is well now. Soon you will be back home in England,” said Clementine.

  “She will hate me,” he lamented.

  “Who will?”

  “My beloved, Lucy. My wife.”

  “No, she will love you no matter what. And now, pull yourself together. This behaviour is what will drive her away,” said Clementine severely. She had learnt so much from Florence since she’d entered her life that she knew how to inspire men with a bit of harshness.

  The words had the effect Clementine had hoped for. And after that, and with Brian growing more confident, he told her everything he remembered about the war. After about half an hour, Clementine could no longer contain herself.

  “What happened to the cavalry? Have they seen any action?” she blurted.

  Brian swallowed. “It has mainly been a war of the infantry so far. The cavalry has hardly ever engaged. When I left, they had only been employed in skirmishing and the chase of the retreating Russians.”

  “So, we are winning. The war will be over soon?” asked Clementine, hope lacing her words.

  He cleared his throat. He did his best to turn his head to face Clementine when he spoke to her. It would take time for him to get used to not having his eyesight.

  “I very much doubt that. The enemy have dug in close to the town of Balaclava. It is heavily fortified with cannon. I don’t know whether our lads will be able to break through.”

  Instinctively, Clementine wanted to shout at Brian but she didn’t. “That sounds bad,” was all she managed.

  He nodded. “It is. When we left on board ship to come here, we heard different rumours but none of them seemed to bear much credence.”

  Clementine gulped. “What news?”

  Brian shrugged weakly. Clementine could see that she had already taxed him enough. Instinctively, the will to do her duty usurped the burning desire to know more about Stirling. She had waited so long already; there will be time to get more information later.

  “You’ll be heading back to England for Christmas shortly,” said Clementine moving on to something happier.

  Brian sighed with relief. “Yes, and you, will you be coming too?”

  “No, I’ve still got work to do here,” said Clementine with determination. “Come along let me take you to the cafeteria for some tea.”

  Brian nodded gratefully. “Yes, some tea would be nice.”

  After Clementine had left the captain in the midst of his fellow military men, she walked back to the operating theatre.

  “Clementine, a letter has arrived for you! It must be from Stirling!” yelled Sally running after her.

  Clementine’s hands flew to her mouth. It had been such a long time since she had any word from him. She knew that it was due to her passage from England. Finally, the mail had traced her to Constantinople.

  When she took the envelope from her friend, the first thing she did was to check the writing on the back of it. It was his – Stirling’s. She hopped about as she ripped open the seal with violent vigour.

  “Careful, you’ll destroy the letter inside,” chided Sally.

  Clementine did not answer. She started to read her beloved’s words that filled two pages of neatly scripted lettering.

  My dearest Clementine,

  It feels like an eternity since I last held you in my arms at the docks of Portsmouth. I can still feel your sweet embrace and the touch of your lips against mine. We had been engaged for merely a day and I had asked your father for your hand in marriage the day before after that magical afternoon by the Thames. Those are sweet memories that give me strength in these harsh times.

  It seems so long ago now after everything I have seen. I pray most days that I will be able to get a glimpse of your face to alleviate myself of the horrors of war. Just the sight of you would give me hope that this endless suffering and butchery will come to an end.

  I am sure you have seen some of it in your position as a nurse in the Scutari. Every day hundreds of men leave the battlefield on stretchers. Their cries of anguish fill my nights with the horror of their plight. I so hope that most of them make it to receive your tender and able ministrations. Thinking about you, I know that you will do everything it takes to save as many of them as you can. Your strength and loving nature is a tonic on its own. It is what I love about you, beloved Clementine.

  I do not have much time to write, for the officers are ordered to a briefing with the general staff. As I put these words to paper, I know that something big is in the offing. Some say that Lord Raglan plans a major offensive on the morrow. I hope so, anything to bring the retched war to an end.

  Royce and I have not seen much action since arriving in this accursed land. So far our duties have been reduced to scouting the lay of the land to chasing off the occasional Russian foe. It is something I feel in my bones will come to an end soon. The day of the Light Brigade will come and I beg for it. I know this will make you worry and I don’t want that, but if I can contribute in some way to the enemy’s defeat, I would gladly give my life.

  But do not despair, my love, for I will always be with you. No matter the distance that separates us, I have never left your side. It is this knowledge that gives me strength and it is with that I am certain I will survive the hard days to come.

  For ever your man in heart, body and soul, I affectionately remain yours dearest Clementine,

  Stirling

  Tears streamed down her face as she folded the letter and carefully placed it in her uniform. Next to her, Sally looked at her with a quizzical expression on her face. Clementine shook her head, indicating that all was well. The thought was short-lived when an orderly came rushing into the ward, racing past them shouting at the top of his lungs.

  “There has been another
battle. The noble six hundred have charged into the valley of death.”

  Chapter 26

  A large Russian assault on the allied supply base to the southeast, at Balaclava was rebuffed in the early morning on the 25th of October. This action heralded the start of the battle of Balaclava. A large body of Russian cavalry had charged the 93rd Highlanders, who were posted north of the village of Kadikoi. Commanding them was Sir Colin Campbell.

  Rather than form a square, the traditional method of repelling cavalry, Campbell took the risky decision to have his Highlanders form a single line, two men deep. Campbell had seen the effectiveness of the new Minié rifles, with which his troops were armed, at the Battle of the Alma a month before, and was confident his men could beat back the Russians. His tactics succeeded.