Verity

by Liese Anning

  'I do not like it,' Lady Harrington had said, 'I do not like it one bit.'

  'It is not our decision to make,' Lord Harrington had then replied, 'Miss Stanford is of an age where she can make her decisions. And, I am confident that she will carry out the correct ones.'

  Verity had been grateful for Lord Harrington's support. He had understood how she felt and knew about the guilt that she had been suffering. The same guilt that had that night haunted her dreams and unsettled her mind.

  That morning, with the first light of dawn lighting up the Brussels skyline, the streets were once quieter. The procession of carts that the previous day had carried the injured into the city was gone, and only a few souls that had ventured out early that morning were going about their business. Verity wrapped her shawl tightly around her shoulders, keeping her head down as she rushed to the house that had been turned into the make-shift hospital. As she entered the large room, that was now full of injured men; the atmosphere was calmer than it had been when she had left the previous day.

  'Morning Miss,' came a cheery greeting from an old man, who had been there the previous day. He was a servant to a family who had left a few days ago, but he had wanted to stay in Brussels on account of his nephew, who was a private in the 95th. 'It's good to see you again.'

  'Thank you, Mr Martin,' she had said, 'how is it this morning?'

  'Quiet,' he said, looking around the room at the injured men lying on make-shift beds, 'very quiet. Mind you,' he then added, 'the fighting hasn't started yet. Once they all get going, we'll be busy enough.' He took a cup of water from a pail. 'The doctor has told me to go around and give the men a drink, would you like to help?' Without answering, Verity took another cup, dipped it into the pail and went around the room, offering the wounded men a drink of water.

  It was not long until the distance sound of artillery could be heard once more, relentlessly thundering in the distance. It was a warm, humid day, and the smell of stale blood and sweat was almost unbearable. On several occasions, Verity had to fight back the urge to vomit. She wanted to be a help, not a hindrance, so she took a deep breath and ignored the growing stench. As she tendered their injuries, she never imagined a human body could survive such severe wounds. Young men, some no more than boys, were dying prematurely, and there was nothing she could do, except give them water and offer them the odd word of comfort.

  By early afternoon, the carts, once more, began to bring in the injured from the battlefield. At first, the injured took the place of those who had not been able to cling onto life and make it through the long night. But, due to the sheer volume of injured men, they soon ran out of make-shift beds. The injured were then scattered across the floor, taking up any available space. The tired doctor rushed between his patients in a feeble attempt to keep them alive. He only had time to administer the necessary care to those he thought had a chance of survival.

  Later that afternoon, Verity left the stifling hot and oppressive room and went out onto the street to get a breath of fresh air and compose herself for the next wave of injured men, that she knew would be coming very soon. As she was leaning against the wall of the building, she saw a woman with blond hair in the distance. She recognised it immediately because it was the same shade as Cassie's. Verity grabbed hold of her skirts and began to run down the street, after the woman, hoping to catch up with her. 'Cassie,' she called out, but the woman did not turn around.

  Eventually, Verity caught up with her. 'Cassie,' she said again. This time, she sounded out of breath.

  'Verity?' came the reply, 'is that you?'

  'Yes, yes, it is,' Verity said almost crying in disbelief, 'how are you?'

  Cassie shrugged her shoulders and said, 'I have felt better.' Indeed, Verity thought her sister looked pale and tired, and her skin had a yellowish tinge. The dark circles that had initially shocked Verity, when she had first seen her in Brussels were now even more prominent. She wore a plain black dress that fitted her poorly. It was two sizes too big around the waist and a few inches too short at the hem. She also wore a light grey shawl, that she had wrapped tightly around her shoulders.

  'Did you manage to leave the club?' Verity managed to say, after an awkward and protracted silence.

  'Yes,' Cassie replied, 'I did. I left a few days after I last saw you.'

  Verity thought her sister looked even older than the last time they had met. It was hard to believe that she was only eighteen years old. 'Cassie,' Verity said with concern, touching her cheek. 'What is the matter? Please tell me.'

  'Nothing,' came the quick reply. Verity saw that her sister had tears in her eyes. 'I am just...' Cassie stopped and looked down. 'I am ill because I have stopped taking laudanum. I cannot take it anymore. I will be better in a few days.'

  'Come back with me,' Verity said, 'I will look after you.'

  'I could not ask you to do that,' she replied, as she shook her head and looked at her feet, 'I have to do this by myself. When I am better, I will find you.'

  'Please, Cassie, I can look after you,' Verity put her hand on Cassie's arm and looked into her eyes.

  'No,' Cassie said, shaking her head, 'I cannot ask you to do that. Anyway, I must stay at my lodgings.' They stood in silence once more, until Cassie spoke, 'how is Reggie?'

  'He is at Quatre-Bras,' Verity said with a sigh, 'he was involved in the fighting yesterday.'

  'Is he alive?' Cassie said with concern.

  'Yes, last I heard, he was still alive,' Verity replied.

  'Thank God,' Cassie said. She stumbled and put her hand out against the wall to steady herself.

  'Let me take you back to where you are staying, you look very unwell,' Verity said, touching her sister's arm, 'you could lie down until you feel a little better.'

  Cassie shook her head and smiled weakly, 'do not worry about me, Verity, I already feel a little better,' she said as she let go of the wall. She then went over to Verity and gave her a hug. 'Goodbye, my dear Verity,' she whispered.

  Before Verity could reply, Cassie had turned around and was running down the street. Verity thought about following her and finding out where she lived so that she could help her sister. And then maybe she could bring her to the Harrington's for safety. But, Verity knew that was impossible. It would put the Harrington's into an awkward social position, and Verity did not want to expose them to the type of gossip that helping Cassie would no doubt bring.

  Verity sighed, and, with a heavy heart, went back to the make-shift hospital.

  Chapter 26

  James was exhausted. It had begun to rain a couple of hours ago, and there was no sign that it was going to stop anytime soon. The water just kept on relentlessly pouring from the leaden sky. And now his uniform was soaking wet and covered in mud. Earlier that day, his horse had been shot from under him, and he was riding a horse that had once belonged to a recently deceased cavalry officer. His new horse was fast but unruly, and James had to muster all the energy he could find to control the wayward beast.

  Everyone he met that evening was just as wet and miserable as he was feeling. The fighting had been fierce, much more ferocious than they had ever encountered before. It did not help that most of the troops were unseasoned and had never tasted battle. Their more experienced colleagues, where possible, had tried to lead the way and show them, by example, what must be done on the battlefield. But, in the deluge, which followed the fighting, they too were beginning to lose heart. Everyone had lost far too many friends over the past two days, and they just wanted the conflict to be over.

  There would be little rest for James tonight. He had to ride the twenty-two miles to Brussels, on an unruly horse, and then make it back before midnight. Once back, he would hopefully snatch a few hours’ sleep before hostilities resumed the next day. Before he set out, he stopped just outside Genappe. There had been fierce fighting that day, and the 7th had been in the thick of it. He had made a promise to Verity to look out for her brother, and he was honour bound to do so.

  A Capta
in from the 7th came to greet him, 'Colonel,' he said, 'where did you get that beast?'

  James dismounted his horse and patted its mane. The horse reared his head in protest at the sign of affection. ‘We were thrown together,’ James said wearily.

  'He looks like he needs to learn some manners,' the Captain said with a smile.

  'I do not care if he likes me or not,' James replied, 'as long as he does not get me killed.'

  'To what do we owe the pleasure?' The Captain said politely, 'I would offer you a drink, but as you can see, you have caught us at a rather inconvenient time.'

  'Do not worry, Captain Curtis,' he replied, 'I have come to enquire after one of your young officers, Stanford.'

  'Oh,' the Captain replied, 'you better come with me and talk to the Major.'

  James followed the Captain into a small tent that was leaking. 'Major,' Captain Curtis said, 'Colonel Mitford is here to see you.'

  'Colonel,' the Major thundered, 'come in, come in.' He tidied a few papers and put them on the floor after he had tried in vain to find a place for them on his small, make-shift desk. 'Please, sit down.'

  The Major motioned to a wooden chair that he had just unfolded. It looked, to James, as though it would not support his weight. 'Please do not trouble yourself,' James said politely, as the rain continued to thunder against the canvas of the tent.

  'No trouble at all, old man,' the Major said jovially.

  'I am afraid I will make the inside of your tent wet,' James said, as he sat down gingerly on the rather unstable chair.

  'As you can see,' the Major replied, 'it is already wetter in here than it is outside.' The Major poured two small glasses of brandy from his canteen and gave one to James. 'What brings you here?'

  'I have come to enquire after Stanford,' he said, as he drained his glass.

  The Major stood up and went over to his jacket. 'I am sorry,' he said with a sigh, 'I know you were looking out for the lad.' He then took a small bundle out of his pocket and gave it to James.

  The bundle consisted of a handkerchief, wrapped around a few personal possessions. James took the bundle and opened it up to find the young man's watch and signet ring. 'How did he die?' he asked, looking at Stanford’s belongings in disbelief.

  'Bravely,' the Major said. 'We lost a lot of good men this afternoon.' The Major offered James another drink, but he refused. It was going to be a long night, and the Major would need all the comfort he could find. 'We were coming towards Genappe, behind Uxbridge and his cronies. The French, in column as always, started to go through the centre of town. Of course, they stopped when they saw us, but, as you know, the street is narrow and crooked, and it was not long until the whole street was completely jammed. Uxbridge then ordered us to charge, which we duly did. But, how could we penetrate the French lancers? It was a damn mess. And then to crown it all, we had to put up with our own damn rockets firing at us. Why we have to put up with the damn things is a mystery.' He shook his head and then continued. 'We rallied several times, and it was in one of these attacks that young Stanford was killed. He was a brave lad.'

  'I was going to start to write to the families of the dead, but everything is so damn wet,' the Major sounded annoyed. 'And tomorrow is the main event,' he said, 'and we will be fighting in wet, sodden uniforms on a field that resembles a bog.'

  'Can I take these?' James said, looking again at Stanford's personal effects. 'I can give them to his sister.'

  'Yes,' the Major replied, 'you are better off with them. I don’t know if I will still be alive this time tomorrow. Tell her that he acquitted himself bravely and that he did his regiment proud.'

  James nodded and stood up to leave, 'yes, I will,' he said as he put his hand on The Major's shoulder. 'Is there anything else you would like me to do?'

  'If you don't mind,' the Major said, returning to the inner pocket of his jacket, 'I have a letter for my wife. Just in case I...' The Major stumbled on his words, 'just in case I don't make it. I have this awful feeling that my luck’s run out.'

  James took the letter, and once he had put it in his leather satchel, he asked the Major, 'is there anyone, in particular, you want me to give it to?'

  'Yes,' the Major replied, 'I shall write down the directions of my uncle. If anything should happen to me, he will know what to do.'

  James nodded, and as he shook The Major's hand, he said, 'goodbye and good luck.'

  ✽✽✽

  The ride to Brussels that would have typically taken just over two hours took James over three. The torrential rains, which had been falling since early that afternoon, had made the road almost impassable. The road was also crowded with carts bringing the injured to the city. The horse was beginning to tire, but James had to keep moving towards the city.

  It was late in the evening when he finally arrived. The sun had set several hours ago, but the streets were still busy, full of the injured that had made their way from the battlefield. After he had delivered his messages, he went back to his rooms for a change of clothes. It felt good to be in a dry uniform once more. But now, he had to go to the Harrington's and break the news to Verity that her brother had died that day. He put on a dry overcoat and walked the short walk to their residence.

  The Butler, who had let him into the house, informed him that Miss Stanford was not at home. However, he did tell him that Lord Harrington would be pleased to receive him. James was then shown into Harrington's study. There was a fire blazing in the grate, radiating heat throughout the room. James was grateful for the warmth. It had been a long, cold, wet ride, and, even though he had changed his clothes, he was still chilled to the bone.

  'Good evening, Colonel Mitford,' Lord Harrington said as he got up from his chair, 'please sit down by the fire. I will get you a drink.'

  'Thank you,' James replied, 'I have just ridden from Genappe, and the weather is just awful. It has not stopped raining for hours.'

  Lord Harrington returned with a drink and gave it to James, and then sat back down in the chair opposite his visitor. 'I am afraid Miss Stanford is not here. She has been out all day helping a local doctor with the wounded. I was hoping she would be back by now. Would you like to stay and wait for her?'

  'Unfortunately, I must leave,' James said, 'I have to go back. I have been away far too long already.'

  'I am sorry to hear that,' Lord Harrington replied, 'is there any message you would like me to pass onto her?'

  'Yes, my lord,' James said, 'but the news will be difficult for her to hear.'

  'Is it about her brother?' Lord Harrington said quietly.

  'Yes, I am afraid it is.' There was a pause while James reached into his satchel and pulled out the bundle he had been given earlier. 'Wrapped up in this handkerchief are the personal effects of her brother. He died today during the fighting a Genappe. Please, could you tell Miss Stanford that his commanding officers said that her brother died with valour, thinking only of others and not himself.'

  'I will tell her, but that will be a small crumb of comfort knowing that her brother is now dead.' Lord Harrington said, carefully taking the small bundle that had once belonged to her brother.

  'Thank you,' James replied as he got up, 'but I am afraid I must now go.'

  'Before you leave,' Lord Harrington said as he got up and walked over to his desk, 'there is something I think you should see.'

  'What is it?' James asked, a puzzled look on his face.

  After Lord Harrington had put Stanford's effects carefully on his desk, he picked up a copy of a newspaper. He brought it over to James and gave it to him. 'Half-way down the second column, you will find a notice that will be of interest to you.'

  James read the notice and then said, after a long silence, ‘may I take this? I would like to show it to my brother.’

  ‘Of course,’ Lord Harrington replied, ‘I take it that this has come as a shock.’

  ‘Yes,’ James said, ‘I thought I had made it clear to her father, that I was never going to marry her.’

&nbs
p; ‘Lady Caroline was here yesterday afternoon, visiting Verity,’ Lord Harrington then added, ‘and I am certain that she showed this to her.’

  James folded the paper, ‘thank you, for bringing this to my attention.’

  James then left the Harrington’s and immediately went to his brother’s house. The Butler let him in and informed him that the family was taking tea in the drawing room. James did not want to have a confrontation in front of his whole family. He just wanted to talk to his brother alone. ‘Please tell my brother that I would like to see him in his study, by himself,’ he told the Butler.

  After a couple of minutes, his brother greeted him with a handshake and beaconed him to follow. When they reached his study, Lord Wrexham sat down in the chair and motioned for his brother to do the same. Lord Wrexham looked pleased to see his brother, but James, on the other hand, was in no mood for a friendly chat. He shook his head and said, ‘I would rather stand.’

  ‘Please yourself,’ his brother replied, as he leant back in his chair and folded his arms. There was a long silence as James paced up to the fireplace and leant against the mantelpiece, looking at the dying embers in the grate. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’ Lord Wrexham then said, ‘or have you just come to stare at the dying fire?’

  James then walked back to the desk and took out of his coat pocket the copy of The Times that had been given to him by Lord Harrington. He threw it onto the desk in front of his brother, ‘this is why,’ he then said, ‘and believe me, it is no pleasure.’

  ‘Oh that,’ Lord Wrexham replied, ‘I thought it was something of great importance.’

  ‘It is of great importance to me,’ James replied angrily. ‘According to that,’ he said as he pointed to the notice, ‘I am officially betrothed to Lady Caroline.’

  I thought you would be pleased,’ his brother replied quickly, ‘she has a large dowry, and you would be able to live comfortably. If you also take into account your inheritance, you will eventually receive from our mother; you will be very comfortable.’