Damaris shivered. “You were fortunate,” she said. Belle nodded in agreement. All of them knew what was said about the public charity wards in London hospitals, even if none of them, except Belle, had ever seen one.
“Baron Seaton left for the Continent with rather unseemly haste following your mother's death, didn't he?” Michael observed with calculated indifference. His remark stung her as he’d intended and she looked at him, her expression briefly showing both her puzzlement and her hurt from his callus words. He regretted it, but he looked for clues about her today as much as for information about her time on the peninsula.
Jules watched Belle closely, his gaze filled with harsh appraisal. “You expect us to believe that your stepfather, who'd planned on your marriage saving him from debtor’s prison, simply shrugged his shoulders at your disappearance?” Michael noted the look she gave him in return was equally hard.
“It's true. He'd hoped I’d make a good match, but I'd been something of a disappointment on that score, hadn't I?” There was a challenge in her gaze, a warning and it said clearly, ‘Tread carefully, your grace, you don’t want certain things revealed any more than I do.’ Jules also picked up the message and his lip curled in derision.
“And your mother?” Damaris asked quietly. “You must have been devastated when you learned of her passing.” Her head was turned from the group and she looked at the far wall of the parlor as though making a studying of its paintings grouped there. Thankfully she’d missed the looks exchanged between Belle and her husband. It was Damaris' softly spoken observation that made Belle falter.
“As I said, my mother was terribly ill at the time and hardly in a position to search for me.”
Damaris turned to her and opened her mouth to speak, but Michael jumped in with a question of his own to turn the conversation to safer ground. “What made you decide to become a nurse?” he asked bluntly.
“I had to do something. As the weeks passed and no one appeared to be missing me,” Belle replied with a self-deprecating smile, “I realized I needed some sort of future. Once I’d regained my strength I took to roaming the halls of the hospital asking endless questions about treatments, procedures and so forth. One night a young woman stumbled in from the streets.” Her face held that sad, remote quality of someone relaying a memory that time could never quite dull. Michael suspected that too many of her memories were like that.
“I was the first person she saw. She was covered in blood from her waist to the hem of her dress. She carried a bundle in her arms – her dead infant.” Damaris gasped and Jules clasped his hand on her shoulder. Belle leaned forward noting the other woman’s distress and spoke earnestly, as if talking to Damaris alone. “She asked me to help her, but I couldn’t,” Belle said simply. “I didn’t have the first notion of what to do. I cried for help and held her hand until an orderly came, but it was too late. She died holding my hand. I never wanted to feel so helpless again.” She took another sip from her glass and Damaris followed suit.
“Why didn’t you seek help from your family once you’d recovered your memory?” Michael asked. He almost feared her answer. Would she truly rather have taken on a life of servitude and deprivation than face the humiliation of her broken engagement – the humiliation of facing him?
“When my memory returned Dr. Gillian made inquiries. He learned that my mother was dead and that my stepfather had fled to Paris to avoid creditors. There was no home, nor anyone awaiting my return. Frankly,” she said, looking Damaris in the eyes again,“I didn’t particularly like what I remembered about myself. I was not a nice person.” Damaris make a sound to indicate the depths of Belle’s understatement. Belle gave her a half smile.
“Surely you could have turned to your father’s family,” Michael pressed. Parts of her story didn’t add up. She was omitting something and he wanted to know what it was.
“My relationship with my father’s family ended upon his death.” She said matter-of-factly. “My uncle inherited the title and the entailed properties, but my mother had remarried against his wishes. He washed his hands of both of us – not that it mattered to me. I’d found what I wanted to do with my life.”
Michael believed this part of her story if he believed nothing else. He nodded and he could swear that for an instant, Belle looked relieved.
“So after you finished training as a nurse, you accompanied Miss Nightingale to the Crimea,” Jules stated.
“It was a little more complicated than that, your grace. Miss Nightingale originally volunteered to go, however the War Office decided that military hospitals were no place for women. It wasn’t until the public read Mr. William Russell’s articles about the deplorable treatment of the wounded in Scutari and demanded that something be done about the conditions that Miss Nightingale was enlisted to take volunteers to Constantinople. I applied to go with her and thankfully, I was accepted.”
“Thankfully?” Jules leaned forward and studied her intently. “You mean you sincerely wished to go?”
Belle smiled at all of them. “Gracious, you all thought I had no other options?” She appeared to take their silence as her answer. “Yes,” she said, firmly, “I sincerely wished to go. Please make no mistake – if I had it to do over I would make the same choice. It wasn’t easy and is was far from pleasant.” She shook her head. “Besides the genuinely horrific conditions we faced no one wanted us there – not at first – not the military, not the surgeons, not even the orderlies, but knowing all of it I'd still board that ship today.” Belle settled back in her chair and quietly began to tell the tale they'd come to hear. “There were four miles of corridors inside Barrack Hospital,” she began, “and we smelled every inch of them before we’d even set foot across the threshold. We called it the Four Mile Hell.”
During the next three hours Belle recounted the horrendous sights and sounds of the infamous military hospital located in Scutari, an area outside the city of Constantinople. Through her words, images of the wounded and dying men filled the minds of her audience. Michael could almost smell the filth and decay around him, see the rats gnawing at the wounds of dying men. He had his own experiences in Calcutta with similar conditions, but nothing on the scale of what that gently bred girl of nineteen had faced those first weeks in Turkey.
Jules wrapped one of his arms around his wife’s shoulders. She sat small and pale within the curve of his embrace. At times, Michael contemplated ending the interview for Mari’s sake, but he wanted all of them to know what Belle experienced during the Crimean campaign – what she’d survived. Perhaps understanding it would bring some sort of peace between all of them, especially the two women.
“We became rather good at knocking rats off the rafters in such a way as to avoid them falling on the patients,” Belle said. “Rodents were a constant battle. Still, once the floors were repaired and the men placed in actual beds, they became easier to deal with – the rats, that is, not the men.” She smiled at her own humor, but the rest of them were still too shocked to join in. Michael grabbed the decanter and poured more whiskey into everyone’s glass. He didn't bother with water. Belle murmured her thanks and continued. “Yellow fever, cholera, malaria and the ever present dysentery were our biggest concerns. Some of the nurses fell victim to them, but fortunately, I didn’t.”
Jules gestured to Michael with his glass. “I understand from Stowebridge that you were also at Sevastopol.” Belle nodded. “How did you end up there?” he asked, regarding her with a mixture of incredulity and grudging respect.
“Simple enough, your grace,” she replied. “I’d accompanied Miss Nightingale on one of her inspection tours. It was a way for her to understand what supplies were most needed at the front and to make suggestions about the treatment of the wounded soldiers who would be evacuated to the hospitals.” She drew a shaky breath and offered Michael a tiny smile. “If not for the bravery of the blockage runners delivering medical supplies to Balaklava we would have lost many more men. I’d met Mary Seacole when she’d visit
ed Scutari and once I saw the need for nurses in the field hospitals I stayed. Not that I was particularly welcome there at first either. I stayed at the British Hotel and learned a great deal about herbs and the treatment of cholera from Mother Seacole.” The shadows lifted from her face at her mention of the other woman’s nickname. Mary Seacole’s role as ‘mother’ to British troops on both sides of the Atlantic and had earned her the love and loyalty of soldiers and officers alike. “We also tried to assist the wounded who were being sorted for the evacuation ships,” Belle continued, “though we were allowed to do little more than offer them water, or hold their hands as they lay dying.” Her voice was calm, collected and her manner demure as if she spoke of nothing more consequential than selecting the menu for an afternoon tea.
“Drew came to Scutari on one of those evacuation ships,” Michael said to the group at large. He cleared his throat before continuing. “Would you tell, his grace, what you told me about his condition?” It was important that Jules and Damaris had a clear picture of Drew’s condition and Belle’s role in his survival. It didn’t exonerate her past behavior, and frankly, Michael worried that his own anger with her might return, but nonetheless, it was important they all be furnished with a complete portrait of the woman in front of them.
“It was a miracle he survived,” Belle stated bluntly. “We’d only been at Barrack for a few days when the ships came in filled past their capacity with the wounded from the battle of Inkerman. Many made the journey just lying out on the decks exposed to the elements. Some either fell, or were washed overboard during the voyage across the Black Sea. It was said they were the lucky ones, because there was precious little food and water for the men on those ships.” Belle held her glass with both hands, slowly rotating it between her fingers. “Those who survived the journey came to us in very bad shape indeed.” She went on the explain the function of the admittance tent and her discovery of Drew.
They were all silent for a moment and then Damaris spoke. “I can’t comprehend what you must have been through, Belle. I don’t believe I could have endured it.”
“Yes, you could have,” Belle replied, meeting the other woman’s gaze. Something passed between them in that moment that Michael didn’t fully understand. They’d both taken each others measure while seated in this room and though they were not friends by any stretch, they held a respect for one another. “You would do what needed to be done,” Belle continued. “None of us were saints or sinners, your grace, just women doing our jobs – what we’d been called to do to the best of our abilities, limited as they were.” She turned her gaze to all of them. “It’s reckoned that more than 19,000 young men died during the Crimean Campaign, but 16,000 of them died from disease, neglect and infection. You couldn’t have stood by and simply watched any more than I could.” Belle rose smoothly from her seat and walked slowly to the window overlooking the maze. “I saved lives, but I closed the eyes of so many more brave men. I will never forget any of them.” She turned back to look at the Duke and his Duchess. Her face looked strained, but sincere. “You wonder why I don’t try to reenter society. Ball gowns and house parties lost their appeal five years ago, though there were days I fervently wished I had just one of my gowns or necklaces to sell so that I could buy more morphine or carbolic solution.” Damaris dropped her eyes.
“As I told you before,” Belle said, addressing Michael. “I was nineteen-years old. Very stupid, very full of myself, but the world has a way of knocking pride and vanity out of you. At least it did for me. I was offered a choice of either continuing to destroy myself and those around me, or rebuilding my life into something worthwhile. I chose the latter.”
Jules crossed the room to her. “I applaud your service, Belle,” he said stiffly. “I still can’t forgive you for what you tried to do to Mari, but I appreciate that you’ve tried to put it behind you and better yourself.”
Belle squared her shoulders and lifted her head. She still had her spirit, Michael noted, and absurd as it was, he felt proud of her and proud for all the things she'd accomplished. “I’ve never sought your forgiveness, your grace,” she began, her words, though spoken quietly, carried the force of a metal gauntlet tossed upon a stone floor. Jules drew himself up as if ready to serve up her head to his wife. “I wouldn’t forgive me either if I were you,” she continued. “I do sincerely apologize to both you and Damaris for being such a wretched girl, but I can live without your forgiveness. I have to.” Jules looked as taken aback as his wife. Belle spoke to Damaris. “I knew my stepfather plotted to ruin you. He wanted you out of the way by fair means or foul. He was convinced that if you were ruined, his grace would eventually offer for me.”
“I never would have,” Jules responded coldly. “I’d had far too many opportunities to see you dash young men’s hearts to pieces just because you could, or ruin a young woman’s chance in society because doing so amused you. You made a pretty picture, but there was nothing else to you – nothing I found attractive at any rate.” His words were both cutting and brutal in their honesty, his expression, riddled with contempt. Michael thought of his own brother’s heart. She’d broken it as easily and thoughtlessly as all the rest. And now Drew’s legs and his spirit were broken as well. He tried to remind himself that she’d atoned for her actions and that she was here for Drew’s sake, however, Jules’ recounting of Araby’s crimes reminded Michael that he was still a long way from forgiving her. He’d come to terms with his desire for her, but forgiven her? Not by a long shot.
Belle made no response to Jules. Instead, she turned towards Michael. “If that’s everything, sir, I’d like to return to my patient.”
Michael nodded curtly, not meeting her eyes. He sensed rather than saw Belle’s hesitation, as though she were asking him for some personal acknowledgment of all that she’d shared with them in this room today. As much as he would have liked to, he couldn’t give it to her. Not now. He remembered the pain and anger in Jules’s face when he’d come to tell Michael about the circumstances of his marriage to Damaris. He saw Andrew’s pale and withdrawn face on the docks of Scutari. “I’m certain we’ll have other questions for you later, but that will do for today.” He inwardly cringed at his impersonal manner and the coldness in his tone, but he was incapable of changing it right now. Belle curtsied quickly and left. He turned to his friends. “I’m sorry. I know that this afternoon must have been difficult for both of you.”
“She can live without our forgiveness,” Jules said, shaking his head. “Of all the arrogant...”
Damaris cut him off with a snort of disgust. “You weren’t listening to her, Jules. She said she wouldn’t ask for forgiveness. She never said she didn’t want it. She’s made some sort of peace with herself, but she also offered no excuses for her conduct.” She frowned at both men. “I appreciated her honesty. Something changed for me today. I have respect for her. Yesterday I didn’t.” Damaris touched Jules’s arm. “I also think there’s a great deal she’s not telling us.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Michael said. “Did you notice that she said that they found her near the docks, not that the accident occurred near the docks.”
“What of it?” Jules asked irritably. Clearly, he was uncomfortable with his wife’s curiosity about Belle’s tale. Michael didn’t blame him. If Mari discovered the events that led up to Belle’s alleged accident she’d hold all of them to blame. “I think you’re both building a case out of nothing.”
“I don’t.” Damaris persisted. “As unpleasant as Arabella was to me, I saw her with her mother. She truly loved her. The woman was very ill and I don’t believe Belle would have stayed away if she’d known her mother was dying, the Season, an engagement at risk, or not. Certainly, the woman I met today wouldn’t.”
“I heard she died in a fall,” Jules interjected.
“Yes,” Damaris affirmed. “It’s believed she wandered from her bed one night and in her weakness fell down the main staircase and broke her neck. A tragedy to be sure.”
“That’s another thing,” Michael began, “how could her stepfather send her on a trip when he had no way to pay for it? He’d used up his wife’s inheritance long ago. What if something else happened to her that night?”
He had Damaris’ interest, if not her husband’s. “Like what, Michael? Do you think Iredale, I mean, Branfel, did something to her? No one ever knew why she broke their engagement, but there was a great deal of speculation at the time – a lot of snickering about it too that he’d allowed her to end it rather than end it himself.”
Jules jumped in quickly. “Branfel is not the violent sort. He is happily married and by all accounts spoils his wife and children something fierce. Why bring up old gossip and risk hurting a man that’s done nothing to deserve it?”
“I agree. Branfel's not the type to seek vengeance.” Not like Rafe , Ambrose or myself, Michael thought. “Besides, I spoke with him about Belle when I was in London recently.”
Damaris arched an eyebrow. “'Belle,' is it, Michael? How interesting.” Jules frowned at Michael's slip of the tongue. He scowled at both of them in return.
“The point is, Mari,” Michael said with determination, “that there are a great many unanswered questions and I intend to discover everything I can about thisaccident. In the meantime....”
“In the meantime,” Damaris interrupted, “I will make a point of getting better acquainted with the mysterious Miss Winslow.” Jules started to protest and Michael was impressed how quickly the diminutive beauty hushed her husband. “I want answers too, Jules,” she said. “Arabella Winston has been a ghost in my closet long enough. I’ve disliked her from the moment we met at school, but oddly, Miss Belle Winslow is a woman I could like.” Michael looked towards the door. He felt the same way, but he couldn’t be certain if he’d ever be able to forgive her and completely put the past behind them.
A Terrible Beauty (Season of the Furies Book 1) Page 29
