The Lost Love of a Soldier

by Jane Lark

  He asked for another tankard of ale and ordered the pork dish. He’d eaten enough bloody rabbit for a whole century during the Peninsular War. He would not touch the rabbit pie. It reminded him too much of the biting pain when hunger gripped inside you and you still had to march or fight. Yet he barely touched the meal, his hunger now was for a certain pale-blue-eyed, black-haired beauty.

  Finding Ellen had been like finding treasure on the battle torn fields in his head. His sanity clung to her, something beautiful to remind him that everything was not ugly. She was someone to fight for. Someone to survive for…

  The clerk arrived. “The day after tomorrow. Would that suit, sir?”

  “Yes.” The sooner the better. Tomorrow would be torment. Now he’d made up his mind, and Ellen had agreed, he simply wished to go. But if there was no choice. “That will suit.”

  “Thank you, Captain.” The man bowed.

  ~

  Ellen’s stomach growled with hunger for the umpteenth time as she lay on her bed. She’d been confined to her room for four days, but this would be the last day… She was leaving. The thought clutched tightly in her heart. No one knew. In ten hours Paul would come to meet her.

  She’d not even told Pippa, she was too terrified her father would hear it from someone if she said the words aloud.

  Every detail of their escape, in Paul’s words, was safely tucked inside her bodice near her heart, pressing against her breast.

  “Eleanor.”

  Heavens.

  “Eleanor!” The sound seeped through her bedchamber door; a deep heavy pitch that made her instantly wish to comply. Obedience had carved its mark into her soul – and yet she was about to disobey. Where on earth would her courage come from?

  “Father?” The key turned in the lock on the outside and Ellen scurried off the bed.

  When the door opened she stood by the bedpost, her hands gripped before her waist, her back rigid and chin high, but her eyes downturned. It felt as though she was one of Paul’s soldiers on parade when she faced her father. She did not feel like his flesh and blood.

  “Your Grace.” She lowered in a deep curtsy sinking as far as she was able, in the hope he would think her penitent and be kinder. She did not look up to meet his gaze in case it roused his anger. But she needn’t even look at her father to know when he was displeased; displeasure hung in the air around him without him saying a word. Yet he never showed his anger physically, apart from barking orders and offering condemning dismissals.

  Those cutting words and his exclusion were enough punishment though. He never looked at her as if he cared, never smiled…

  What I am planning will horrify him …

  Her father’s fingers encouraged her to rise, with a beckoning gesture.

  “Papa.” She lifted her gaze to his.

  Paul’s words, promising faithfulness, love and protection, pressed against her bosom as she took a deeper breath. A blush crept across her skin. She feared even the blush might give her away.

  Compared to her father, Paul was water to stone, something moving and living.

  Vibrancy and approachability – warmth – emanated from Paul.

  Her father hid beneath coldness and disdain. If there was any warmth in his soul she’d never been able to see it. He most often communicated in a series of bitter glares rather than words.

  Yet Paul had experienced awful things. Death. Illness. He had cause to be bitter. He’d seen friends die, and killed others for the sake of freedom in Europe. He never spoke of it though, even when she’d asked. He always spoke of good things. But she supposed his months in England were months to forget the Peninsular War.

  “Well? Have you thought about your behaviour, Eleanor?”

  Paul’s letter was warm against her heated breast. Yes, she had thought, and she had made a choice – to leave. “Yes, Papa.”

  Until this summer she’d thought her father was unaware of his daughters, they’d grown up in the hands of servants, with a daily visit from her mother. But last year she’d reached a marriageable age, and now he saw her – but only as a bargaining tool. He wished her to marry to secure a political alliance.

  “And are you sorry?”

  Ellen’s gaze dropped to his shoes. She felt no regret. “Yes, Papa.”

  “You will take Argyle?”

  Ellen took a breath longing for courage. She did not feel able to lie to that extent.

  “Eleanor?”

  Looking up, she faced his stern condemning glare. His expression was as unreadable as marble. “I cannot, Papa. I do not wish to marry His Grace.” Her father had a way of making other people seem small and insignificant – incapable. “Papa?” Do you love me? Will you miss me?

  “You do not have a choice, Eleanor. You will do your duty.”

  His gaze held her at a distance, blunt and cold.

  Hers reached out, begging for a sign of his affection. “I cannot, Papa. He is so old, and–”

  “You are being wilful and defiant, Eleanor. You will do as I say and that is an end to it.”

  The words inside her pressed to escape catching up in a ball in her throat as she longed to plead, to make him accept Paul, but her father did not like emotion. As children they’d always been taken from his presence whenever there were tears, or shouts or laughter. But today, today she could not quite hold herself back. “Papa, please… What would be so wrong with Paul? I love him and he loves me…”

  He gave no obvious sign his anger had escalated, yet she knew. It was in the stiffness of his body, in the cut of his silver eyes as they glared at her. He was like her in appearance – or rather she was like him. She had his eyes and his jet black hair and pale skin. But she was nothing like him in nature, and she did not wish to be. What possessed a man to be so cold? He would be handsome if he smiled but he never smiled, merely glowered and growled.

  “Do not be ridiculous, Eleanor. Love? What is love?” Something you do not feel, Papa. “You are talking nonsense. There is nothing in it. You are the daughter of a duke. You have a duty and responsibility, and that is what you must think of in a marriage. It seems you are unrepentant then, and you’ve learned no lesson at all. You will spend the next full day on your knees. Study the bible, ask for forgiveness and pray for guidance. You will learn, Eleanor. Your mother has been too lenient, letting you dream of such fanciful things. I’ll return tomorrow.”

  I’ll be gone tomorrow. She could continue to argue, she could beg and try to cajole, but her father would never change his mind; he had never done a single thing out of kindness.

  Eleanor lowered in another curtsy. “As you say, Papa.”

  “As I say indeed, Eleanor. It will be so. You will marry Argyle. I shall write to him today.” You may write, Papa, but I shall never marry him.

  “Kneel at your bed, child.” She turned and did so, she’d never disobeyed him and even now her heartbeat thundered at the thought of doing so in a few hours. Where would she find the courage? From Paul. Her father would be so angry.

  As Ellen lifted her skirt and knelt, her father turned to the door and called to a footman. “Bring the bible from the chapel, my daughter needs time to search her soul.”

  No she did not. She had found what her soul looked for. She’d found Paul.

  ~

  “Ellen?” A quiet knock struck her bedchamber door.

  “Penny?” Ellen stood. It was dusk, her family had probably just eaten dinner, and their father would be sitting alone at the table drinking his port.

  The handle of her door turned but it would not open. Papa had the key.

  “Mama said I must not speak to you, Papa has forbidden it, so of course she will not come, yet I had to know you are well. Are you hungry? Do you wish me to send you something to eat? Has he beaten you?”

  Ellen rose from her kneeling position; she should not move, and yet she could not shout across the room in case someone heard and told tales on them. Then Penny would be in trouble too.

  Ellen pressed her fing
ers against the door, leaning to whisper through it. “I know, and I know Mama cannot defend me, she must obey Papa. I do not want him to be angry with her or you. You should go, Penny…”

  “Why?”

  “Paul made an offer. Papa refused it. He is angry because I encouraged Paul. Do not become caught up in this or Papa will confine you to your room too.”

  “Paul? Captain Harding? Oh Ellen. I like him.”

  Resting her forehead against the wood, Ellen smiled. “As do I, but Papa does not. He wishes me to accept the Duke of Argyle.”

  “Ellen… I shall come through the servants’ way and speak with you. You cannot marry that old man. He is awful.”

  “No. Papa would be furious. Do not take the risk. I can manage, I am merely a little cold and hungry,” and I will be gone soon…

  “But you will not agree to marry that old man. I saw him in the summer and–”

  “Of course not.” An urge to share the truth and speak of her elopement shot through Ellen’s heart, another arrow of love passing through it, but it would be wrong to involve Penny. Penny was fifteen, she would not be able to hide her knowledge if their father questioned her, and Ellen would not have Penny hurt.

  “I miss you. Rebecca and Sylvia do nothing but play silly games. Life is so dull without you.”

  Penny’s words tugged as if a cord was tethered to the arrow through Ellen’s heart, and Penny pulled it.

  But Ellen could not stay. She wanted to be with Paul.

  Her hands trembled as her palms pressed against the wood and she leant closer, feeling the presence of her sister on the other side in every fibre of her body …

  This life, this house, was all Ellen had known. She’d never travelled beyond the local towns.

  Paul had travelled the world. He’d told her what life as an army officer’s wife would be. Hard. She was not to expect luxury. But she would be loved and cared for and adored by him. She longed for it. Her heart ached for it. But voices in her head whispered, be afraid …

  “You will manage without me Penny.”

  “I know I shall. It will only be for a few days Papa cannot keep you locked away forever.”

  “Yes, only for a few days…” Years. A desire to speak the truth to Penny fought to break the words from Ellen’s lips. But if her father discovered Penny had been told he’d hurt her. “You’d better go. I’d never forgive myself if you’re caught.”

  “As soon as Papa allows you to come out, find me and tell me everything. Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  “Good-bye.”

  “Good-bye.” Tears flooded Ellen’s eyes as she heard her sister go.

  Leaving Penny behind without explanation, would cause Penny pain, but it tore at Ellen’s heart too.

  ~

  The room had become bitterly cold. Her father had forbidden anyone to tend the fire. It had burned out hours ago. Ellen’s knees ached from kneeling, yet still she’d not risen, even though no one watched her. Her father’s will had been forced upon her for so many years it was her instinct to obey. Yet she’d break that tether at midnight.

  She read through the Ten Commandments for the thousandth time. “Thou shalt honour thy father and mother.”

  Was she about to sin then, because she was going to run away and betray them? Her mother would be heartbroken – she knew how to love. She was even loyal to Ellen’s father, respecting their marriage vows despite his coldness towards them all.

  Ellen could not do the same. She could not stay here. She wanted a life with Paul – even if it was sinful and selfish.

  It had been dark for hours, and every time the clock in the hall struck she’d counted the chimes. It was past ten.

  Pippa had brought her some bread and cheese at eight, wrapped in a cloth, but Ellen had sent her away with a need to obey her father, at least in that. It was a penance for the moment she would break free and shatter any feelings he had.

  Excitement and anxiety warred with guilt and sorrow; sadness weighing down her soul. She did not want to leave her sisters and her mother.

  But the sadness was out balanced by the gladness and expectation which hovered in her other half. She was going to Paul. Running towards love. Yet what else? All she knew was his love bore more weight than her mother’s or her sisters’. It owned her heart and made it pulse – not simply made it feel tender.

  The clock began to strike again, the sound echoing. One, two…

  Ellen knew how many times it would chime.

  Leaving the bible open, she rose, even now unable to fully disobey and close it.

  Her feet were numb and her knees stiff, the payment for what she was about to do.

  Everyone in the house retired early to avoid wasting candles. They rose with the sun and retired with it. They would all be in bed.

  The chilly air made her shiver, or perhaps it was the overwhelming mix of excitement and fear. She still could not believe she was doing this. She took a leather sewing bag from a cupboard and began empting it of embroidery threads and ribbons. The clock outside chimed nine… ten… eleven…

  Ellen’s eyes adjusted to the shadows cast by the moonlight pouring through the open curtains, she looked about the room.

  One hour.

  She picked out undergarments and three of her muslin dresses. Then she fetched her hairbrush and the mirror her mother had bought her when she’d reached six and ten. That had been over a year ago, but she could remember the day as if it were yesterday. She’d been here in her room, and Pippa had been brushing her hair out before bed with her usual one hundred strokes. Her mother had come in to say goodnight and she’d carried a beautiful wooden box containing the set.

  When she’d given it to Ellen, she’d said it was to mark Ellen becoming a woman. She’d kissed Ellen’s cheek and wished her happiness.

  That is what she was running to – happiness. But she couldn’t fit the beautiful box in her bag, so she left that behind and just packed the brush and mirror.

  She sifted through her gloves and picked four pairs, and she picked a dozen ribbons to change the look of her dresses, and some lace.

  She had no ball gowns, she’d never been to a ball, although she’d watched one through a door that had been left ajar when her father had held one here. She did pack two of her evening gowns though. But there were many things she had to leave behind, bonnets, shoes, dresses, her lovely room with its pretty paper painted with birds – her sisters – her mother.

  Pain caught in her bosom, sharp and tight, like the press of a little knife slipping into her flesh. How would she live without them, and yet how would she live without Paul? And if she chose to stay, what if Papa would not bend and he forced her to take the Duke of Argyle? No, she was doing the right thing.

  She stopped and looked about the room. She could take nothing else. But she wished she’d thought to cut a lock of her mother’s and Penny’s hair at some point in her life to keep as a reminder.

  She wiped a tear away before closing the bag and securing the buckle. Then she took her riding habit from where it lay in a drawer and began changing. The thick velvet made it too hard to fit in the bag and it would keep her warm as they travelled.

  It was a fabric her mother had urged her to buy, a burgundy red, as deep a colour as port. She was lucky that it fastened at the front so she could dress in it without Pippa’s help.

  When it was on, she looked in her long mirror which stood against the wall in the corner of her room, and saw a woman. Not a child anymore. A woman about to desert her family. Sighing rather than face the guilt which crept in, overlaying her excitement, she turned away to collect her bonnet, cloak and a pair of kid leather gloves. She would have taken her muff, but she feared carrying too much. Lastly she put on her half boots, and laced them neatly.

  Then she looked into the mirror again, at the Duke’s daughter. She would not be that now. She would be an officer’s wife. She would no longer live in luxury but in simplicity. It was what she chose. It was what she wante
d.

  Her gaze spun about the room, looking at everything one last time. “Goodbye, Mama,” she whispered into the darkness. “Goodbye Penny…” Her voice caught as tears burned her eyes. “Goodbye Sylvia and Rebecca. I will pray for you, I will pray for your happiness and good fortune.” She paused for a moment as though she half expected them, or the house, to reply. But no sound came. She picked up her bag and went to the servants’ door, then out into the narrow hall. It was little more than a person wide and pitch black. She hurried down the spiralling steps which would take her to the service area and the stables; the fingertips of her free hand skimming across the cold plaster on the wall to guide her way, while her heart pounded out a rhythm that made her light-headed.

  Chapter Two

  “Ellen?” Paul whispered her name into the night as he heard the rustle of frost bound leaves on the ground. His breath rose in a mist into the cold winter air. He was on the Duke of Pembroke’s land. He’d not dared encourage her to take a horse, so he’d come close enough that she might walk from the house and find him.

  He waited at the end of an avenue of yews, out of sight of the house, in a place she could easily see him. His horse whickered, sensing something, or someone. “Ellen?” he whispered again.

  Still no answer.

  He stayed quiet. Listening. Wondering if she’d been caught as she left the house. He hoped not. If she’d been caught her father would give her no freedom. Short of leading a military assault on Pembroke’s home, he would not be able to get her out then.

  The horse shook its head, rattling its bit, and snorted steamy breath into the cold air. The chill of the winter night seeped through his clothes. There would be a hard frost. He hoped she’d dressed in something warm.

  He’d have to buy more clothes for her before they sailed. She would need garments to keep her warm in the sea breezes she’d face on their journey to America.

  There was another sound.

  “Ellen?”

  “Paul?”

  How did this woman manage to make his heart beat so erratically whenever he saw her? He could run into battle and not be so affected.