by Lily George
She glanced away from the mirror and saw Ada regarding her with a thoughtful air. “What is it, Ada?”
“I was thinking that we might arrange your hair in a new fashion, Miss. To complete the picture, so to speak.”
Harriet laughed, a wry grin passing over her face. “Ada, my hair is stick-straight. There’s very little I can do to make it look pretty. It won’t hold a curl for more than a few minutes.”
Ada shook her head decisively. “Curls wouldn’t suit you. But your hair is shiny and thick. We might try a new low chignon, weaving some braids in and out of the back. Something soft and relaxed, not as severe as your usual style.”
“I’m entirely in your hands, Ada. Work your magic at will.”
Brookes raised his head, heart pounding in his chest, when Harriet walked gracefully into the vestibule. Her appearance was markedly different. His eyes narrowed as he studied her. Had she changed her hair? It looked different—still dark and glossy, but more attractive than usual. The gown she wore was looked richer and more elegant than her customary style of dress. He flicked a glance over Harriet again, allowing his eyes to briefly caress her figure. This was no mere cosmetic change. No, indeed. A glow emanated from her, illuminating her features. What made her so happy? A wayward thought grabbed him. Was she in love? The question made his mouth go dry.
“My dear, you look divine.” Aunt Katherine crossed over to her and took her hands. “That gown is the perfect shade for your complexion. Look, John, how it brings out the sapphire of her eyes. She is stunning.”
Brookes struggled in vain to keep the heat from rising to his face. Trust Aunt Katherine to point out the obvious. To cover his blush, he made a low bow in her direction. “Harriet, you look lovely.”
“Thank you.” She smiled, dazzling him with the warmth of her gaze. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask why she looked so blissful. But he bit the question back. Perhaps she met someone in Bath. It wasn’t any of his business, was it? They had only shared one dance together. Indeed, Harriet must regard him more as a business partner than a suitor. So it was far too personal to ask her any intimate questions until he was a completely free man. He ran his eyes over her graceful collarbone. Stoames was right. His mother’s sapphires would suit her beautifully.
“Shall we go?” Aunt Katherine tucked her arm around Harriet and led her through the door to the waiting carriage. Brookes handed both women up with courtly grace, allowing himself the momentary indulgence of holding Harriet’s hand a bit longer than was absolutely necessary. Settling beside Aunt Katherine, he rapped the window of the carriage and they were off.
“Well, my dear, I shall have to chaperone you closely this evening. There’s no telling how many eligible young men will crowd around you once we arrive.” Aunt Katherine patted Harriet’s shoulder, but smiled meaningfully at Brookes.
Jealousy chewed at his gut like a ravenous wolf. He glowered at his aunt, willing her to be quiet.
“Oh, no, Aunt Katherine,” Harriet demurred with a pretty wave of her hand. “I am on the shelf, you know that. I am going simply for the pleasure of hearing such glorious music.”
“Tut, tut.” Aunt Katherine reached over and patted her shoulder. “Hardly on the shelf, wouldn’t you agree, John?”
Was choking a meddling aunt a punishable offense? He shot her a warning look from under his brows and turned pointedly to Harriet. “You look very well tonight, Harriet, and most of all, you look happy.” He sat back, hoping he had made his point to Aunt Katherine. She didn’t need to coax flowery compliments from him. And feeding the fire of his jealousy would not help matters either.
“I had a letter from home that made me overjoyed, but I cannot discuss it until later.” Harriet smiled, turning her head so she could peer out the window. He could not see her eyes, but watched in fascination while a blush crept up her smooth neck and over her right cheek.
“Ooh, a secret. I do love a mystery. But I shall try to pry the answer out of you soon, my dear.” Aunt Katherine rubbed her hands together with glee.
Brookes’s head ached. Why would Harriet be so happy about news from home? He closed his eyes, trying to drown the drumbeat throbbing against his temples. Perhaps her mother was improving. But if so, why keep the news a secret? He sighed. He might never understand women.
Aunt Katherine patted his shoulder. “Are you all right, John?”
He opened his eyes, turning toward his aunt a bit to put her mind at ease. “Yes, of course. Bit of a headache is all.”
“Ah, well, this fine company will soon put you in the right spirit.” Aunt Katherine smiled.
“Some people have a most lifting effect on my spirit,” Brookes replied in a low tone, meant for Harriet’s ears only. He noted, with pleasure, the deepening of her blush and the way she cast her gaze to the floor of the carriage.
Tomorrow he would take Harriet around to meet Cantrill. Perhaps when they were alone, without Aunt Katherine meddling and scheming, he could find out what was behind that special glow of hers. The path still had to be clear for him to pursue her. If she was happy about her mother or some benign news from home, all would be well. But if she had another admirer—Aunt Katherine seemed so sure—his heart flipped in his chest with jealousy. He gripped the carriage seat and willed the organ to return to its normal beat. Harriet might love another, younger man. A man who was whole—not bitter or broken and lame and sometimes a drunkard. If she loved such an Adonis, well, it was up to John to prove himself worthy of her. ’Twas his duty to make Harriet see she was meant to be Mrs. John Brookes.
Chapter Twenty-One
Harriet’s stomach lurched as she followed John to Captain Cantrill’s door in Westgate Buildings. Ada, acting as Harriet’s chaperone, trailed a few paces behind. Twice on the brief walk from Mrs. Crossley’s flat, she decided to turn back, grasp Ada’s arm and ask John to make her excuses. But the prospect of admitting her nervousness kept her from following through. If he faced French artillery fire, she could complete a simple interview.
Brookes rapped on the door with one gloved hand, and looked down at her. “Cantrill’s a good fellow. I wouldn’t bring you by if I didn’t like him so much.”
Harriet nodded. His solicitude calmed her nerves a bit. “Thank you.”
The door swung open, and a masculine voice—a little more tenor than Brookes’s bass tones—called, “Brookes, come in. Do you have your colleague with you?”
“Of course, man, she’s here.”
Cantrill stepped into the doorframe. He was about an inch or so shorter than the captain, and thinner, too. Brown hair curled back from his forehead in a wave, and his brown eyes held warmth. Harriet liked him on sight. He was not dangerously attractive, like Brookes, but his open and friendly countenance gave him a brotherly air. She had no reason to fear him. Harriet extended her hand. “Lieutenant Cantrill, thank you so much for agreeing to speak to me. It will be very helpful to my book.”
He grasped her hand and pulled her inside. “Not at all. If Brookes says you are trustworthy, then I have no reason to doubt it. In fact, I have been looking forward to meeting you. Let’s sit in the parlor. It’s the only room I’ve got besides the kitchen for entertaining, and the kitchen gets dreadfully hot. Mind you, it’s nice during the winter.” Cantrill led the way into a tiny parlor, almost the same size as the one at Tansley Cottage. Harriet looked around, trying not to let her surprise register on her face. Cantrill was the second son of one of the wealthiest merchants in England. Aunt Katherine told her so. But these were decidedly reduced circumstances, even for a second son. Did his treatment regimen cost too much? Perhaps he couldn’t earn a living while missing one arm.
Cantrill pulled a few chairs over next to the two already by the hearth with ease and assurance. He gestured to Harriet and then to Ada to sit, but Ada bobbed a curtsy and retreated to another corner o
f the room. She silently pulled out her knitting, leaving Harriet free to pursue her interview without interruption or censure.
Harriet glanced over at Cantrill. No artificial limb protruded from the sleeve of his jacket. Again—why? Cantrill was definitely an enigma. Her curiosity piqued, questions filled Harriet. She sank down into one of the chairs, preparing to start her interview. Cantrill sat before her, and John chose the chair slightly to her left. Cantrill bent down and poured three cups of tea from a pot resting on the table between them.
“First, a toast. To Wellington.” He raised his cup high.
“To Wellington,” Harriet and Brookes echoed.
“Now, Brookes says you want to know more about the war.” Cantrill set his steaming cup on the table and sat back, as though ready for her to proceed.
Harriet set her cup on the table, too, prompted to begin her tasks. “Yes. You see, I understand a bit about the cavalry charge, but I would like to know more about your regiment. Captain Brookes told me that you were at Hougoumont?”
“Yes. I’m a Coldstreamer. My men and I engaged in conflict with the French at the front gate of the farmhouse.”
Harriet nodded. “Lieutenant, you can tell me whatever you think is important for me to know. I shrink from asking questions that might seem too intimate, since we’ve only met. But I would love to hear anything you wish to share.”
“I won’t tell you any of the facts and figures surrounding the war, Miss Handley, because I am sure Brookes has already told you everything you need to know. And of course, Stoames can fill you in on any details you may need. The man’s a walking military encyclopedia.” He paused, and sighed. “The thing that I remember most is the confusion. You know, I am a career military man. I was well used to battle. There was no precision to the mess. Waterloo was a mass of misunderstandings. No one knew when the battle began, or what our orders were, and the orders changed by the minute. Most puzzling battle, eh, Brookes?”
Harriet glimpsed Brookes’s nod out of the corner of her eye. “Stoames said no one knew what to do when it ended. Even Wellington has said that after Waterloo, he has no desire to fight again. Everything was a muddle.”
“Everything was mud, too.” Cantrill shrugged. “The stickiest muck you could imagine, Miss Handley. Hard to march through, I can tell you that.”
Harriet curved her lips to acknowledge the little joke, but stayed quiet. Interruptions and unnecessary chatter could sidetrack their memories.
“I lost my arm when one of Soye’s brigade cut me through. Two of my men carried me into the farmhouse, against orders. They wrapped what was left of my arm in bandages and went out to rejoin the fighting. Their actions, I am sure, saved my life. I blacked out for most of the battle. When I awoke, Hougoumont was secure, and two other men of my regiment were carrying me to the field doctor. The courage and selflessness they showed that day are the reasons why I am here, and able to talk to you about my experience.”
Harriet beamed. Thank God his soldiers looked after him properly.
“I was very fortunate to have such stalwart men under my command. But Miss Handley, I must say that I feel more compelled to talk about my recovery than my experience during the battle. Is that all right?”
“Of course. Tell me whatever you wish.” Harriet sat back in her chair, seeking a more comfortable position.
Cantrill sighed. “War is about death. That much is certain. But for me, war was also a chance for rebirth. My journey, learning to live without my left arm, has been a most rewarding one. I would not trade it for anything.”
“Indeed?” John interrupted in a surprised rumble.
“Yes. I can’t say I am glad I lost my arm, but I am blessed by the journey I have taken. Before the war I was an empty-headed fool. But losing my arm made me realize how very fleeting physical beauty and strength can be. I began to delve deeper, to find a truer meaning to life than playing cards and flirting with pretty girls.” His brown eyes twinkled merrily at Harriet. “Not that I mind those things now. The difference is they are no longer my raison d’être, as the Frenchies say. I began to regain the faith I had put aside from childhood. And now, I find that my belief in God—my true faith—is more rewarding than any material possession I cherished before the war.”
Harriet’s heart expanded as she listened. “That is beautiful. I have found my own faith carrying me through some very difficult times. Nothing compared to what you and Captain Brookes suffered, of course.” She nodded in Brookes’s direction. “But I, too, lost a good deal of material things, and I find myself stronger for the loss thanks to my faith in Him.”
He nodded and quirked his mouth in a half grin. “I take the waters to speed my physical healing, but it’s my own spiritual well-being that is paramount in my life. I live simply, you see. I’ve made sure that all the families of the men of my regiment who perished received some sort of financial reparation.”
“Out of your own pocket?” Harriet raised her eyebrows in surprise.
“I didn’t say it was much.” He chuckled ruefully. “Besides, mere coin could never replace the husbands and brothers and sons who died. But sometimes, it eases the burden they left behind. Those of us who survived meet every few fortnights to talk and laugh about old times. It eases the strain of getting used to civilian life again.”
Harriet shook her head in wonderment. Cantrill’s tale of recovery and rebirth opened endless possibilities for J. H. Twigg. No longer would his wound be a millstone, hampering his life. It could instead be a reason for a new start. Seized with a sudden need to write, she sprang from her chair. “Goodness, I almost forgot. I promised Auntie I would accompany her to the shops this afternoon.”
Brookes and Cantrill looked up at her in confusion. Brookes began to rise from his chair. “Aunt never mentioned it. But I would be happy to walk you back.”
“No. Her home is around the corner, and I would hate to break off your visit simply because I was silly and forgot an appointment. Ada will go with me.” Ada glanced up sharply from her knitting and rose. To put everyone off the scent, Harriet waved her hands with a flighty air, hoping the gesture would cover her urgency and still allow her to leave and get to work. “Lieutenant Cantrill, it was a pleasure. I hope I will see you again before I leave Bath.”
He rose. “Please do. I’m usually at the Pump Room in the late afternoon. Drop by, and I will be happy to talk with you more.”
Harriet curtsied, nearly knocking the little table over with her knee. “Goodbye, gentlemen. I’ll see myself out.” She fairly flew to the door and out into the street, hearing the hurried patter of Ada’s footsteps behind her.
Brookes shifted over into Harriet’s vacated chair, staring at his comrade. He never knew that Cantrill personally provided for the families of his fallen men. Hearing him speak of faith at all was baffling. He showed precious little of it before the war.
Cantrill stared out the doorway, as though Harriet’s retreating figure could still be seen. “What a lady.”
Brookes looked at him, quirking one eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Cantrill looked at him squarely, tapping the arm of his chair with his forefinger. “If you won’t marry her, I will. She’s one in a million.”
The same savage jealousy that tore at Brookes the night before returned with a vengeance. “I’ll marry her.”
“Is that so?” Cantrill smiled, with the hint of a challenge in his eyes.
Brookes’s fingers curled around his cup. “Yes, to be sure. But first I must extricate myself from Sophie.”
“Well, if you can’t, then I will be most happy to court Harriet. You said she was an original, but she’s actually an incomparable. Pretty, intelligent and deeply spiritual. I doubt very much that any young woman in Bath can hold a candle to her.”
Brookes’s jealousy flared. Cantril
l needled him often in this same manner during the war. But when he teased Brookes about Harriet, it didn’t seem the least bit funny. Brookes cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. “Let’s cease praising Harriet for the time being. I’ll still plant you a facer even if you’re a good friend. I’ve said I’ll marry the lady, and I will.”
“Plant me a facer? With my bum arm and your bum leg, we’d be an equal match.” Cantrill laughed. Brookes couldn’t resist the urge to laugh, too, and the tension was broken.
Brookes drained the dregs of his tea. “I never knew about your work after the war. Helping the soldiers’ families and all that.”
“Well, I never told anyone before. I was hoping to impress Miss Harriet.” He ducked as Brookes pretended to throw a punch. Their sparring was familiar—comfortable, even.
“Enough balderdash, man.” He cleared his throat. The words were forming in his mind with the greatest difficulty. Why was his own spiritual growth harder to discuss than his physical health? He sighed. “Harriet spoke with me a while ago. She believes that God—” He broke off and tried again. “She believes God was with every man who died that day. Do you believe that is true?”
“I do.” Cantrill gazed at Brookes with a contemplative air. “He was with us all that day. I survived, others didn’t. I don’t know why I stayed alive while others perished, but I feel that God had a purpose for me in life that I could not accomplish in death. So I have spent my time since Hougoumont trying to live in a manner that celebrates Him.”
“But what of ‘Man’s inhumanity to man’?” Brookes leaned forward, as if he could will the answer he sought from Cantrill’s thin form.
“‘Makes countless thousands mourn,’” Cantrill finished. “God cannot stop the things we do to each other. He can only be there to help us all pick up the pieces. That is what I am trying to do with my men and their families. Pick up the pieces. Move on. Live more deeply and fully. It’s what I wish for you, my friend.”
