by Liese Anning
Verity smiled, 'yes, it is rather glorious.'
They continued to kneel on Verity's bed, looking out of the window and listening to the twittering of birds, enjoying an afternoon bath.
'Verity,' Maisie said, 'it is now the beginning of April, and you have not ventured out to explore the city, even though we have been here nearly six months.'
'I am happy just to sit reading in the gardens,' Verity replied, 'listening to the birdsong.'
Maisie sighed. She was worried about her friend. The only time she ever ventured outside the front door, of the school, was to attend Sunday service at the local church. 'Next Wednesday afternoon, we shall go out together,' she said, with some force, 'and I will not take no for an answer.'
Verity's routine in Brussels was similar to the one she had left behind in Bristol. During the morning, she taught lessons to the older girls. The pupils, a mixture of both local and English girls, were polite and, overall, hardworking. She rarely ventured out of the school, even on her day off, much to the consternation of Maisie.
'Oh, Maisie,' Verity said, trying to think of an excuse not to go. The crowds of people, who had gathered in Brussels over the past few months, drawn by the political situation in France, worried Verity. Recently, the military had also joined the ranks of the civilian immigrants into the city, until every corner of Brussels seemed to teem with them.
The prospect of war that was continually discussed in the staff room did not bother her. However, large crowds of people did intimidate her. This ongoing fear had prevented Verity from leaving the school on numerous occasions. She found it difficult to tell Maisie about how she felt as she thought her friend would not understand.
'As I said,' Maisie said firmly, 'I will not take no for an answer. We could go for a walk in the park and then do some shopping.'
Verity sighed and resigned herself to her outing. 'I will come.'
'Excellent,' Maisie said, unable to hide her excitement, 'we will have a marvellous time.'
The following Wednesday afternoon, with the sun brightly shining, the two women set out on their adventure. Dressed in their identical dark blue dresses and wearing similar straw bonnets, they walked arm in arm to the centre of the city. Maisie kept Verity amused with her constant stream of amusing anecdotes. The warm afternoon sunshine lifted her spirits, and, for the first time in years, Verity felt happy. All the worries, which she had been carrying around for the past eighteen months, disappeared as she walked arm in arm with Maisie.
The centre of Brussels was crowded. The pavements were full of people, and it was impossible to walk in a straight line, without bumping into someone. The thought of crowds, a few days ago, would have frightened Verity. But, with Maisie as a companion, the hustle and bustle were not as stressful as she had first imagined. They slowly made their way down the streets, stopping to visit various shops, and spending their money on, what Verity termed as, frivolous items. Maisie had talked her into buying a bright pink ribbon and a matching silk scarf. Verity had tried to explain to her companion that she would never wear either item, but her protests fell on deaf ears.
The two women were about to make their way home when Verity suddenly stopped. The blood drained from her face as she stared across the street at a smartly dressed young officer standing on the other side. Partially hidden by his shako were familiar blond curls of hair. The gold frogging, of his uniform jacket, glistened brightly in the afternoon sun. He was tall, much taller than when she had last seen him, but as he laughed with his companions, she recognised him.
'Reggie,' she said, in a whisper, under her breath.
As she said his name, the familiar blue eyes of her brother looked at her. As he stood, laughing with his companions, she detected a flicker of recognition in his eyes. He looked away and continued to talk with his friends, ignoring the possibility that his sister could be standing only yards away.
'Reggie,' she whispered again.
'What is wrong,' Maisie said when she realised that her friend had come to a halt.
'My brother, I must talk to him,' she muttered. And before Maisie could answer, Verity ran across the street towards him. 'Reggie,' she called out, 'Reggie.'
He turned slowly towards his sister and looked down at her loftily. 'Verity if you have come to make a scene, I will have to ask you to leave,’ he said, making no effort to hide the annoyance in his voice.
'I thought you were at school,' she said, looking at him in horror, 'what are you doing here?'
'What do you think?' he said flicking a piece of lint from his blue uniform, 'I have come to fight the French.'
'I do not understand,' she whispered, 'you are meant to be at Harrow.'
'Verity,' he said dismissively, 'Harrow is such a bore.'
After a long pause in the conversation, he then continued. 'My guardians helped me buy a commission in the Hussars,’ he said with pride, puffing out his chest as he spoke.
'Your guardians?' She replied puzzled. She knew his guardians would not even know where to begin to buy a commission in a smart cavalry regiment.
'Yes, my new guardians. Not the old fuddy-duddies our father thought would be suitable.'
'What new guardians? I was never told...'
He took his sister by the arm and turned her around. He was obviously embarrassed by her and did not want his new friends to discover the familial connection between them. 'My neighbour, Lord Melrose, and his friend, Major Ellington. They agreed to take on my guardianship, just after father died.'
Verity looked at him in horror, 'but those two men cannot be trusted. They are not honourable, and I know they do not have your best interests at heart.'
'What do you know about my best interests?' he growled at her. 'I think you better leave.'
'No,' she said, grabbing his arm, 'you are too young. You are meant to be at school and then Cambridge or Oxford; not fighting someone else’s war.'
He pulled his arm away, 'you never did know me, did you? I was never cut out for learning.' He brushed his uniform where his sister's hand had been, 'my guardians came and visited me at Harrow, after my spot of trouble, and offered me a commission in the Hussars. It is a great honour because Major Ellington served in the same regiment. Verity, how could I refuse his generosity?'
'But Reggie, you are not yet sixteen years old.' Verity said in distress
'They do not care about my age; they treat me as a man; not a boy.' He looked at her, anger dancing in his eyes, 'why are you suddenly concerned with my affairs? I have never known you to take an interest in them before.'
'That is not fair, Reggie,' Verity replied, tears were beginning to sting the corners of her eye, 'I have always loved you and Cassie. And since Cassie's death, I have been...'
He interrupted her with a burst of laughter, 'do you still believe that our dear, sweet sister died. You are even more naive than I first thought.'
'What do you mean, she is not dead? The solicitor told me...'
'You were told what they wanted you to hear. I thought, when I first saw you again just now, you must have...' Reggie stopped suddenly in the middle of the sentence, and Verity felt that he was hiding information about Cassie’s whereabouts.
'I came here to do what?' Verity said, again resting her hand on his arm, 'is Cassie alive? Is she here? You must tell me.'
He looked down at her hand, that was now gripping his arm. 'Please remove your hand from my person. You will crease my uniform.'
'Where is she?' Verity said, this time in desperation.
'I do not think I will tell you,' he said coolly, 'why should I? She is much happier without you and your infernal interference.'
Verity looked at him in shock. 'My interference?' she whispered.
'Yes,' he replied forcefully, 'your moralising sermons about good conduct are a bore. And if you think, for one minute, that you can make me the recipient of one of them, you are very much mistaken. I will live my life the way I want to, with or without your blessing.'
'Come on Stanfo
rd,' she heard his companions shout from just behind, 'we will be late for the card game.'
'You are not gambling, are you?' Verity said, looking at her brother, 'you will lose it all, just like our father.'
'As I said earlier,' her brother replied, narrowing his eyes, 'it is none of your business how I lead my life.'
'Oh, Reggie, please,' she said pleading, 'you will lose Hadlands.'
He took her by the shoulders and shook her hard, 'I told you, do not interfere in my life.'
Verity felt as though her world was crashing around her. Hope that she had felt upon hearing that her sister was still alive, quickly faded as her brother spoke to her. Did Cassie run away to get away from her? Or was this another untruth being told to her by someone she should be able to trust.
In the depths of her despair, she heard a familiar voice. 'Good afternoon, Miss Stanford.' As she turned around to return the greeting, she noticed her brother's demeanour had changed. Gone was the insolent look he had been giving her only moments before. He now stood to attention.
'Good afternoon, Major Mitford,' she managed to say. As she stood, trying not to stare in disbelief, at the man she barely recognised standing in front of her. The dark circles, which had once been a permanent feature below his eyes, were no longer visible, and his dishevelled apparel had been replaced with a smart military uniform.
'Is this young man bothering you,' he said, in a steely tone looking at her brother, who stood perfectly still. His rowdy group of friends, who had surrounded him only moments before, had disappeared.
'No, please,' she said, realising what it must have looked like, 'this is my brother, Sir Reginald Stanford.'
'Colonel Mitford, Sir,' Reggie said, still standing upright, staring in front of him.
'I see you belong to the 7th.'
'Yes sir,' was the clipped reply.
'And you think that this is appropriate public behaviour,' was the immediate answer from his superior officer.
'No sir.'
'So why were you behaving in such a manner?'
No reply came forth.
'I would like you to come to my quarters at seven tomorrow morning.' Colonel Mitford said, still glaring at the young man. 'And do not be late.'
'Yes sir,' he replied.
'You are dismissed.' Verity's brother marched quickly down the street, all the time conscious that his superior officer was watching him.
When he had turned a corner and had disappeared out of sight, he turned once more to Verity. 'He should not do that again.'
'It was nothing,' Verity said, nervously, looking down at her feet, 'really nothing.'
'It looked like something to me,' came the short reply. 'Your brother had no business manhandling you in the street like that. I expect more from the young officers.'
They stood awkwardly on the pavement for several more minutes. In the silence, that seemed to stretch out forever; Verity noticed that Maisie was staring at her, unable to take in the encounter she had just witnessed. Verity saw the look of disbelief on her friend's face. 'Oh Maisie,' she said, breaking the long silence, 'where are my manners. May I introduce to you Major, I mean, Colonel Mitford. Colonel Mitford this is my friend, Miss Jones. I first met Maj... Colonel Mitford at Hadlands, just after my father's funeral.'
Maisie, still staring in disbelief, curtsied and mumbled something entirely unintelligible in greeting. It was at this point another gentleman stepped forward. He too was dressed in full military uniform. 'May I introduce Captain Richardson.'
Again, Maisie curtsied and muttered something unintelligible.
'Would you like to join us for a stroll in the park. I know it is late, but it will be quiet, and I would like to talk to you,' Colonel Mitford said to Verity.
'I do not know,' Verity replied nervously, 'we have to get back to school and...'
'We would love to,' Maisie said, as she interrupted Verity, 'I am sure Madame DuPont would not mind one bit if we are a little late.'
The colonel offered his arm to Verity, and she placed her hand on his sleeve. She turned around to Maisie to see that the captain had offered her his arm, and the party set out towards the park.
Chapter 11
James had arrived in Brussels three weeks ago. He had been sent from Vienna, by the Duke himself, to plan for his anticipated arrival. Since last year, when peace had been declared, James had been working on Wellington's staff. The Duke, notorious for surrounding himself with young, inexperienced men of noble birth, had sent his most senior officer to smooth the way for his arrival. James knew, from experience, that his superior would not be at all pleased with how the men, soon to be under his command, had been lead.
He had spent most of the day, wasting his time, trying to smooth out a domestic dispute, between one of the young officers and the wife of a local dignitary. That morning he had dressed in full uniform, as the severe nature of the incident had warranted formal attire. After many hours, shuttling back and forth from one residence to another, he was now looking forward to an evening dining with his closest friends.
His good friend, Captain Richardson, who was also on Wellington's staff, had agreed to join him. They had spent most of the day, trying to placate all the aggrieved parties. And, after many unsuccessful attempts to come to an arrangement, they finally reached an agreement where pride, on both sides, remained intact. And now, they were finally on the way back to their rooms for a well-earned drink.
They were just about to enter their hotel when James's attention was drawn to an incident occurring on the other side of the street. A young officer, with his hands tightly gripping a woman's upper arm, was making a scene. There was an unmistakable look of anger in the young man's eyes as he continued to berate the woman publicly.
After the day, he had just had, his first inclination was to turn around and ignore the unfolding drama. He sighed, and his shoulders fell when he realised he would have to intervene.
Captain Richardson, sensing his agitation, then said, 'let us go, James. I could do with a stiff drink.'
James bristled with indignation. He was tired of sorting out problems caused by the arrogance of the younger officers. He felt responsible for their actions because he wanted them to be an example to the men under their command. 'I am sorry, Arthur. I must postpone that drink.'
Captain Richardson sighed. He knew that there was nothing he could say or do, that could dissuade his friend from interfering in this dispute.
As he walked across the busy street, avoiding the steady stream of traffic, he became aware of something familiar about the young woman. It was Verity Stanford. It had been a long time since he had thought about her and that strange house-party he had attended at Lord Melrose's estate. She looked out of place, in this colourful, vibrant city, with her plain dress and unfashionable bonnet, but the warmth of his feelings returned as he walked over to her. As he looked at her, he saw the same woman he had left standing by the fireplace in the drawing room at Hadlands. The intervening eighteen months seemed to melt away, and it felt like it was only yesterday when he had last seen her.
The young man, recognising the authority of a senior officer, now stood to attention. There was something very familiar in this young man's facial expression and general demeanour.
'Good afternoon, Major Mitford,' she had said to him as he approached. But, James could not help but notice the look of surprise on her face.
Miss Stanford then introduced the young man. It was her brother, Sir Reginald Stanford. Now it made sense. He did not look like Verity, but there was a strong resemblance between him and her younger sister, Cassie.
Now James knew the identity of the young man; he was even more angry with him. Sensing the young man's discomfort, he challenged him about the treatment of his sister. James wanted the young officer to at least to acknowledge that his public conduct, regarding his sister, was not acceptable. Even though there was very little he could do to discipline him; he was not, after all, his senior officer, he could, however, make hi
s life a bit harder, by sending him on some errands outside the city. 'I would like you to come to my quarters at seven tomorrow morning.' James said, to the young officer, before finally dismissing him.
'He should not do that again,' James said to Verity after he had gone. He felt satisfied with his handling of the situation, even though Miss Stanford tried to excuse her brother's behaviour. She looked nervous and unable to look him in the eye, and he had a slight suspicion that she resented his intervention.
Behind Verity was another woman, dressed in the same dull looking uniform. And standing next to her was Captain Richardson, who had also crossed the road to join them.
James, probably due to exhaustion, had lost his confidence. He had been pleasantly surprised by the sudden reappearance of Verity, but a little concerned about her reaction to his handling of her brother's conduct. He just stood staring at her, unable to explain to her why he had had to intervene.
It was Miss Stanford, who, at last, finally broke the awkward silence and introduced her companion. James knew from the formality of the introduction, done purely out of politeness that she was about to leave. He did not want her to slip away into the crowds; the moment lost forever. Over the past eighteen months, he had come to terms with Isabella's memory. He no longer blamed himself for her untimely death. It was a tragic event that could not have been avoided. Of course, he still mourned her, but he no longer felt that intense guilt that had eaten away at his soul. James knew that if he let Verity go without asking after her, he may never see her again. She would disappear into the streets of Brussels, like the morning mist. On the spur of the moment, even though he was exhausted, he invited her to walk with him.
He was pleased when she had, with some persuasion from her friend, excepted his invitation. As they walked towards the park in silence, he held her arm.
'How are you?' Colonel Mitford eventually asked her as they entered the park gates.
'Very well, thank you,' Verity replied, looking down nervously at the path.
'I do not wish to pry, Miss Stanford, but what are you doing here in Brussels?' he said as they continued to walk down the main promenade slowly.
