The Queen at War

by K. A. S. Quinn

  Mary Seacole gave Katie a curious look. ‘I notice you’re not asking about yourself. Well, it’s a miracle you are sitting up right now,’ she said to Katie, whistling low. ‘If anyone should have been killed, it’s you, child. But that letter you’re carrying in your bodice has some fine magic. Young Felix couldn’t pierce it. Don’t worry, I didn’t take your mama’s letter, just had a peek when I was checking you for breaks and bleeds.’

  Katie looked about her, to a sad and sorry sight. Strewn across the valley were the dead and dying. Horses with their guts spewing out, men lying face-down, their hair matted in blood. Even more frightening were the living, crying out for help, for anything to stop the pain. ‘I have my mules here,’ Mary Seacole said, ‘and I have my work cut out. You make your way up the hill, child, and rest. I could be here for hours.’

  Katie got to her feet. Already the smell of gunpowder was overlaid with the stench of death. ‘I think I’m fine,’ she said. ‘I’ll stay and work with you.’ She dreaded it, but she needed to know if Jack was lying there, in need of help. Mary Seacole looked at her with affection. ‘You sure are one fine young woman,’ she said, and handed Katie a canteen filled with water, a sponge and a tin basin. ‘They’re raving with thirst, some of them,’ she said. ‘Find the ones you think will live. Give them a drink, and wash their wounds before the gangrene sets in.’

  All afternoon Katie moved among the broken men. Time and again she returned to Mary Seacole to fill her canteen and rinse her sponge. When they ran out of water, she washed her hands with sherry, and ladled it into the men’s mouths. ‘Probably better for them at this point,’ Mary Seacole commented. ‘They’ve been lying in the sun a long, long time and they’re sinking fast. Best make their last moments more comfortable.’

  They were not alone on the battlefield. Medics from the different regiments heaved the wounded onto stretchers and carried them to the field hospital. The wives of the cavalry came streaming down the hills, calling for their men, willing them to be alive. And then there were those less generous. The scavengers, picking through the bodies, looking for medals, coins – anything a dead man might not value. They took weapons, rifled through pockets, pulled rings from limp and lifeless fingers. Not far from Katie, a filthy urchin was cutting buttons from a dead man’s uniform. As she looked closer, she noticed the child was opening the corpse’s mouth, looking for gold fillings. She shuddered and turned away, not wanting to see what happened next.

  ‘Katie, come quickly,’ Mary Seacole called. She ran over, thinking Mary Seacole must need help, but slowed once she saw the look on her face. ‘Come, my dear,’ she said gently. ‘There is no more I can do for this young man, not in this life. I can only do what I can at the very end. And I think he would rather spend his time with you.’ Katie knew what she would see and, kneeling down, she took Jack’s hand.

  ‘Jack, it’s Katie,’ she said softly. ‘I wish I could be James and Grace too.’

  ‘And Riordan,’ he said, barely audible, ‘I would love to see that round little face. And beautiful Grace. And James, my dear brother. He will do great things, that brother of mine.’

  Katie knew this was not the moment to cry. She must not break down. ‘Where does it hurt?’ she asked. ‘How can I help?’

  ‘It’s such a strange pain,’ he said. ‘At first it was awful, but now it comes in waves, and after each one I feel a bit better, though so weak.’ He stopped talking, as the pain moved through his body, and he twitched and gasped and closed his eyes. For a moment Katie feared he had died, but then he opened his eyes.

  ‘It was terrible,’ he told her. ‘Not like I thought it would be. We were so excited, at the charge, but then it all went wrong.’

  ‘Don’t talk,’ Katie said. ‘It will just tire you.’

  ‘But I must,’ he answered. ‘You must know, everyone must know. Nolan was wrong; he knew it. He led us the wrong way. I was next to Nolan when a shell hit him. He screamed like a child.’

  Katie shuddered. ‘Jack, I think Nolan had been led astray. I think he’d been used. I’ll explain it all when you are better, when you are well.’

  Jack’s mind began to cloud, his voice to ramble. ‘Where is Embarr? The smoke, the noise, it was dreadful. The men were dropping. Ahead of me, Captain Allread fell, I could see his brains on the ground. A cannonball hit my sergeant; his head went clean off. But oh, Katie, he carried on, like the headless horseman, for thirty yards, upright in the saddle, his lance at the charge, firmly gripped under the right arm. And then I felt this piercing, this burning, and I was down, and the horses thundered over me.’

  Jack began to gasp, his breathing shallow and quick. Katie lifted his head into her lap, and smoothed back his hair. A grimace of pain passed over his face, and his eyes were frightened. But his head and face were untouched by his injuries; he was still the young handsome man she was just getting to know. She shifted him slightly, to try and make him comfortable, and realized he was lying in a pool of his own blood. ‘I’ll get Mary Seacole back,’ she said. ‘I’ll get the medics, to put you on a stretcher. We’ll take you back to Scutari. We have the best nurse in the history of the world there. Trust me, I know these things. She can make you well.’

  With a faint smile, he tried to reach up, but was too weak. ‘You are quite the girl,’ he whispered. ‘There isn’t another like you, in any place or any time, as you say.’

  Katie took his hand, and kissed it. She tried to smile back at him, but panic was rising up in her. Jack needed help, and not the kind that she could give. What did Mary Seacole mean – ‘I can only do what I can at the very end’? Katie needed her now.

  The day was still beautiful, not one cloud in the sky. ‘I know what happened,’ Jack said, ‘we charged the wrong way, towards the wrong guns.’ His body twitched again and he cried out. Katie bent down, resting her cheek against his, trying to soothe him in any way she could. And then Jack grew very still. The pain seemed to leave his body. For a moment Katie thought, ‘he is recovering; he will survive.’ Then, with a lurch, she realized it wasn’t just the pain that was ebbing away, it was his life’s blood.

  ‘Oh Katie,’ he whispered, ‘someone has blundered.’ The agony and terror drained from his face. He turned his gaze from her and looked straight up, his bright blue eyes meeting the flat blue of the sky. And as Katie watched, his eyes became as blank as the arch of colour above them.

  The Plain Facts

  The days that followed were a blur for Katie. Vaguely, she remembered Jack in her arms, and Mary Seacole swooping down, taking him from her. Mary Seacole had opened the amulet, the vessel around her neck, and held it to Jack’s lips, then pressed it against his heart and head. She chanted softly, and Katie heard the same words she had heard in her dreams, on the eve of the battle.

  Lost for now, but found again, in another place and another time. Tempus fugit, libertati viam facere. Time flies, making a road to freedom.

  Sealing the flask shut, Mary Seacole kissed his forehead and closed his eyes. ‘I can only do it at the end. And I have done what I can,’ she told Katie. ‘You will thank me one day.’

  But it seemed to Katie that, for all the chanting, Mary Seacole had not done much. Jack was still dead. Amidst all the carnage, chaos and confusion, decisions still had to be made. There was no question of Jack’s body being shipped home. So many soldiers had been killed; and many, especially those of lower ranks, were buried together. William Howard Russell used his influence and charm to obtain a separate grave and headstone for Jack. He was buried on Cathcart’s Hill, within striking distance of Sebastopol. The city was still under siege.

  The Little Angel lay in the field hospital, and even before she could sit up, Mary Seacole whisked her, and the Countess Fidelia, to the British Hotel. ‘I believe in Florence Nightingale with all my soul,’ Mary Seacole said to Katie, ‘and Florence has told me to bring this child back to her.’ Once she had built up some strength, the Little Angel was stretchered onto a hospital ship to Scutari. The military
baulked at this: only soldiers were allowed on these ships. But again William Howard Russell used his contacts. Not only the Little Angel, but Katie too, was able to board the ship.

  The Countess Fidelia stayed behind. Her ankle was broken and travel at this point could lead to an infection, and much worse. She needed bedrest. It took all of Mary Seacole’s powers of persuasion to get her to stay behind, leaving Katie to tend to the Little Angel. The Countess was distraught, but Katie could see the beginning of an enduring friendship between the two colourful ladies. They had both led lives of great adventure. She would have liked to have heard the tales they would tell over Mary Seacole’s cosy camp stove.

  ‘Goodbye, dear Katie,’ Mary Seacole said, giving her a hearty kiss as they boarded ship. ‘As I’ve said before, I don’t hold much store with Americans. They are harsh on people with a skin my colour. But it seems to me Americans might have changed over time. You are as good a girl as God could make. I am sorry for your troubles, dearie. I know you think the world has ended, losing that young man. Time’s a strange thing though, as you know well. Jack’s still with us. I’m keeping him close to my heart.’

  She smiled down at Katie and fingered the amulet that always hung around her neck. Katie looked at her with curiosity. What was she really saying? But Mary Seacole felt she’d said enough. She only added, ‘Believe in the future and trust your friends. Time might bring you what you least expect.’

  Katie blinked hard. ‘I don’t know my future,’ she said. ‘Mother Seacole, I only know I want to go home.’ She had borne everything until now, but Mary Seacole’s sympathy made her tearful.

  The Little Angel reached out from her stretcher and squeezed Katie’s hand. Katie shook away the tears. There was still so much to do; there was no time for weeping. She looked towards Sebastopol, towards Cathcart’s Hill. There Jack lay, cold in his grave, no matter what Mary Seacole said. But she couldn’t think of Jack. That would have to wait.

  Mary Seacole noted the direction of her glance. ‘I will go visit him, dear child,’ she said. ‘I won’t leave him too lonely. I’m keeping him warm in my heart.’

  The Little Angel and Katie sailed together. The journey back to Scutari was a sad affair. The Little Angel’s mind would wander, and she spoke of many other times and many places: the great plague of Danzig, the famine of Bengal, the French Revolution. Then she sang herself to sleep with old French lullabies. And so she sang and rocked herself and talked until she lost her voice – and, Katie feared, her reason. Katie looked at the young beautiful face and felt infinite sadness. To see so much that is bad, and to live on and on. She did not leave her side.

  Each knot they sailed took them further from Jack’s grave and closer to Scutari, where Alice and James were waiting. News travelled slowly. Katie doubted they would know; she would be the messenger. Katie grieved for Jack, but she equally grieved for James. Something had been growing inside her – a tender green shoot of feeling. But that had been cut down, destroyed in a fierce and futile battle. For James, his brother was the attachment of a lifetime. He had fought with Jack, laughed with him and loved him. This, Katie knew, was a far greater loss. She dreaded what she must tell James.

  They disembarked in the last hours of the night. Katie had hoped no one would meet them, it was so late. But Florence Nightingale stood at the quay, scanning the small boats. ‘Thank God!’ she cried, spying Katie and the Little Angel. Katie had never seen her look so emotional. With dismay she saw that Miss Nightingale was not alone. James and Princess Alice stood with her, looking tired and worried. They knew of the catastrophe of the Charge of the Light Brigade, but they did not know the details: who had lived and who had died.

  As they touched the river bank, Florence Nightingale lifted the Little Angel into her own arms and carried her up the muddy slope. The medics protested, but Florence Nightingale replied brusquely, ‘I will entrust her to no one but myself.’

  Katie did not look at her friends. She simply took James by the arm and followed Miss Nightingale up the steep bank. ‘Come with me,’ she said. ‘We need to talk in private . . .’

  Katie didn’t blurt out the news, but neither did she sidestep it. As clearly as she could, she explained the battle to James and Alice. She told them about finding Jack on the battlefield. She would never forget, in all her years, the look on James’s face – it was almost more than she could bear. To stand with her two best friends in the world, and to bring them this terrible message.

  She talked and talked, trying to soften the blow. ‘There was nothing I could do,’ she told James. ‘Jack, he’d been hit. His injuries were so bad. But I promise you, James, I was with him the whole time. I did everything I could.’ James just continued to stand there, staring at her, defiant, as if she were making up some horrible lie. ‘We talked,’ she said, ‘until he couldn’t talk any more. We talked – mostly about you, and Grace and Riordan. He thought of you until the very end. It was the last thing to make him smile. Little Riordan, and beautiful Grace, and you, of course – he admired you so much. He wanted to be with you, James, he . . .’ She couldn’t stop talking; the silence would have been worse.

  Finally James spoke. ‘You say the Light Brigade tried to take the wrong guns? That they charged directly into the Russians?’

  ‘Yes,’ Katie replied. ‘That’s what William Howard Russell said. And Jack knew it too. The last words he said were “someone has blundered”.’ James’s shoulders twitched at this, but his face remained stony, furious. Alice tried to comfort him. She rested her hand on his shoulder and squeezed it gently.

  ‘We must honour the charge they made,’ she said softly, ‘we must honour the Light Brigade. Jack died a hero.’

  James struck her hand from his shoulder as if it were on fire. ‘A hero!’ he cried, ‘Jack died a fool! Following the orders of Cardigan – of Lucan! Vain, puffed-up, class-ridden parasites! They know the ballroom, and the gentleman’s clubs; they are not fit for the battlefield. And Raglan, doddering, elderly – if he had murdered the Light Brigade in their beds he could not have committed a more criminal act. “Someone has blundered.” Even Jack knew, though God knows Jack wanted to fight; he couldn’t wait for action.’ James shot Princess Alice a look of pure poison. ‘Your mother will be happy,’ he said bitterly. ‘The Queen has another hero, a cold, dead, fool of a hero, lying . . . I don’t even know where . . .’

  Princess Alice flinched, but she accepted his rebuke. Katie tried to put her arm around him. ‘Jack lies on Cathcart Hill’s,’ she said. ‘We made sure he had his own grave. We did the best we could . . .’

  James shook her off, staring at her as if she’d run his brother through with a sword herself. ‘I’ve heard the facts now, and I must write to Grace,’ he said. ‘I hate to think how this will affect her health. Perhaps I should write to her about heroes, to try and spare her. Heroes – God help us all.’ And turning heel, he left the room.

  Only then did Katie break down, sitting on the floor, weeping. Princess Alice was at her side in seconds, arms around her friend, her wimple falling over Katie like a shelter. ‘There, my dear, my good, brave Katie. James knows how hard you’ve tried.’

  ‘I didn’t know he’d take it like this,’ Katie sobbed. ‘I knew he’d be angry, but not with us. Alice, he’s been just awful to you. When you, of all people, only want to help.’

  Alice smoothed her friend’s rough hair, and dried her face with the hem of her white nun’s habit. Her hands were shaking, but her voice was steady. ‘You know James,’ she said, ‘Anger is an easier emotion than hurt for someone like him. He doesn’t hate you, or me. He hates losing his brother. He needs time . . .’

  Katie sobbed and sobbed. All the journey back, she’d tried to hold it in. She had helped to get Jack buried, nursed the Little Angel and watched over her on the journey home. Now she was back, and James blamed her for everything. How would he ever get over this? She needed him now more than ever, but she feared they would never again be friends.

  ‘No mat
ter what James says; this is a noble cause,’ Alice added. ‘Jack died a hero’s death, and we must celebrate his great achievements on the battlefeld.’

  Even as Katie sobbed into her hands, she knew she didn’t agree with Alice. James had been right and so was Jack. Someone had blundered.

  ‘Have your cry, dear Katie,’ Alice soothed her. ‘When you are calmer, there is much to do here. The wounded are pouring in faster than we can care for them. And while the doctors have relented, and let the Nightingale nurses help – there simply aren’t that many of us. Between the lack of skilled nurses and our lack of medical supplies, we are fighting our own battle in the hospital.’

  Katie tried hard to control her sobs. She looked up to study her friend. In the small time she had been gone, Princess Alice had changed. She was paler and thinner. Her grave grey eyes were ringed with circles. More than that, she seemed to have changed inside. The suffering she’d seen had swept away her girlish sweetness. Her essential goodness was still there, as was her patience and loving heart – but she seemed years older.

  ‘Of course you’re right,’ Katie sniffled slightly. ‘I’m blubbering like a baby, while you do the work of a grownup. You’ve become so strong.’

  ‘We’ve both grown up,’ Alice assured her, ‘though I’m not as strong as I seem. I’m so pleased and so relieved that you are back. Your friendship makes it all bearable.’

  Alice helped Katie up, and they made their way to Miss Nightingale’s room. She had put the Little Angel into her own bed. ‘Shhhh, she is finally sleeping,’ Miss Nightingale admonished the girls as they entered. ‘I have given her a draught – I hope she will sleep for many hours. You must know, Katie, that her return to health is vital. I have received a letter from William Howard Russell. He tells me that without you, Katie, the Little Angel would not be alive today. You are to be commended. I will relieve you of these duties and nurse her myself. That is the only way I can be assured of her safety.’