The Lost Love of a Soldier

by Jane Lark

  Then both men turned to leave the room.

  “Paul…” she said, gripping his arm a moment before he turned to look.

  He did not hesitate when he saw what was happening but broke free and began crossing the room in quick strides. She followed, hurrying to keep up. Captain Montgomery was already there.

  “What is it, George?”

  “Word has come.”

  As she heard the answer to Paul’s question, Ellen saw a man in a muddy uniform standing among a huddle of women who had been gossiping. Now they were offering him food and a drink, while behind him the orchestra still played and people danced, even as the news passed about the edges of the room.

  “Napoleon has already struck our left side. He’s caught the Duke of Wellington off guard. We are to march. There will be a battle within hours.”

  Ellen’s heart dropped into the soles of her dancing slippers. No!

  ~

  Ellen had known the battle would come. But knowing, and accepting it was a reality, were very different things. At the ball Paul had left her sitting in a chair for nearly an hour, as he’d found the other officers of the 52nd and then disappeared with the Lieutenant Colonel in search of the Duke of Wellington. When he’d returned, he’d carried an air of determination. His jaw had been taut and the grip on her arm firm, as he’d told her they must go home.

  She’d known then they were not only leaving the ball, he was about to leave her.

  Yet what could she do? Nothing. It would be wrong to plead with him to stay; it was his duty to go, and it was honourable and right. But the thought made her heart hurt so much.

  What if he never comes back?

  Ellen pushed the thought away – she did not want to even think it.

  As they walked back through shadows the moonlight cast across the streets, she didn’t speak, afraid that if she did she would sob.

  He was silent too. She could tell from the tenseness in his muscles and the intent look in his eyes as he stared ahead, his mind was on the future. On war.

  When they reached their rooms, he changed immediately, stripping off his best uniform coat. Then he put on another. When he strapped his sword on, something tumbled over in her stomach. Horror. Fear. Her voice came out at last. She could not let him leave without speaking. “May I do anything to help you?”

  He looked up at her as if only now he remembered she was there. He’d been leaning forward, throwing a few things into a canvas bag. “No, Ellen.” He straightened, then his eyes glowed a beautiful heated blue, and he opened his arms. “Come here.”

  She went to him, her arms slipping about his lean waist. She could not hold the tears back.

  “You will manage, Ellen, whatever happens, because you must. Do you understand?”

  She nodded against his chest. She knew she would; he’d told her what to do if he did not come back. But… She did not wish to lose him. Physically she knew what to do… But, her heart… how could she breathe if anything happened to him?

  His fingers stroked through her hair, knocking out pins as she wept against his uniform which smelt of soap and starch from washing.

  He’d had it washed to wear into battle. To perhaps die…

  She could not think of it.

  But even as she pushed the thought away, her mind saw the image of the highwayman lying dead on the road, so many months ago.

  Paul held her away a little, looking into her eyes. His own burned with concern – with the word he never spoke. Sorry. Only thrice in their marriage had they argued and on each occasion it had been Paul who began it, and mostly because he was tired and she had not been ready to dine, or had been speaking of something he considered mundane when he’d merely wanted to eat and rest. His mood afterward was always apologetic, but he never said sorry. Now though his touch said the words I am sorry I brought you here.

  She wiped the tears from her cheeks. She must cease crying. It was making this worse for him. She met his gaze. “I do not regret marrying you, not at all. You’ve made me happier than I ever thought it possible to be.” He leaned and pressed a kiss on her lips, a chaste kiss. When he pulled away, she said. “And you will fight for our country, and I shall be proud of you, and you will come back and make me even happier.”

  He nodded, but then his head bent and this kiss was not chaste at all but searing with intensity. “I love you,” he said in an earthy voice when he broke it.

  “I love you too.”

  His eyes looked regretful again, yet he smiled, before saying, “I’d better pack.” She nodded, but he was already letting her go and turning away.

  “I’ve told you what you must do.” He stated as he continued throwing spare items of his uniform into the bag. He did not say – if I die.

  She knew. “Yes.”

  “And you remember…” he glanced over his shoulder meeting her gaze for a moment.

  “Yes.”

  He looked towards his packing again. “And swear to me, if there is any news that we’ve lost, you will do everything possible to get out of Brussels and back to Ostend, with anyone who will take you. When you reach there, sell whatever you have to get a passage back to England and go to my father. If I survive I will come and find you there.”

  She gripped his arm to stop his hurried packing. “You will survive.”

  He did stop, straightening again and looking at her. “If fate and God are on my side, but I have long ago learned there is no ordering either of them. As I have said before, Ellen, what will be, will be – we must make the best of it.”

  His hand lifted then and brushed over the skin of her cheek. “You are so beautiful. I have been a very lucky man these last few months. I do not regret marrying you either, though I feel that I should.”

  “You should not.” Ellen answered, vehemently.

  He smiled, but then turned back to his packing.

  ~

  It took Paul an hour and half to walk back from the ball and pack his kit, much longer than it should have taken. His mind was only half on his duty, the other half was focused on his pretty wife who hovered close, like a delicate butterfly drawn by the colour of his scarlet coat.

  When he’d packed his canvas bag, he pulled the drawstring closed and tied it off. He had to ride out to his men. They were to march at three; the army was being moved to defend the critical crossroads of Quatre Bras, and his regiment was to be used to form part of a cavalry screen to the west and south west of Brussels. Wellington’s orders wished them in position before six as Napoleon’s army was known for moving early.

  Paul straightened and turned. Ellen had not moved from beside him. Her arms hung limp and helpless at her sides.

  He wondered if he should have called Jennifer for her. Now the last moments were here, he did not know what to say. Sorry? But sorry was a useless, pointless word – he had done what he had done. There was never any going back, only forward. Yet this could be the last time he looked at her face, and those perfect pale eyes. “I love you.” The words whispered over his lips, as he opened his arms to her once more and fear gripped cold and hard in his stomach. His fingers ran over her hair, which was a mess from his earlier embrace.

  “As I love you,” her words were warmth and vibration seeping through the fabric of his coat.

  He held her tightly for a moment more, her soft weight pressing against him, as her breaths filled her lungs, her breasts pressing against his chest, and her back lifting beneath his fingers.

  He did not in general pray before a battle, he was never convinced that God would take sides in war, but he prayed now, not for himself, but for her. That she would be safe. That he would come back to her. Let me return to her. The words whispered through his thoughts as he looked up to the ceiling, as if God really lived upwards within their room and he might see Him.

  Sighing when there was no immediate echoing voice announcing that He had heard, and it would be so, Paul let his hand run over Ellen’s hair once more, possibly touching it for the last time. He lifted her c
hin and kissed her, deeply, slipping his tongue into the haven of her mouth and wishing he could slip into the haven of her body too. But there was no time.

  He broke the kiss. “I must go.”

  She nodded, although he saw the sheen of tears glittering in her eyes. He knew she tried to fight them.

  “Goodbye,” she whispered as he turned to collect his bag and then threw it over his shoulder.

  He turned back. The tight feeling in his stomach became excruciatingly painful. He had never imagined, when he’d decided to allow himself the luxury of a wife, that it would feel like this when it came time to fight – so horrible to leave her behind. But leave her behind he must. And then again, he had never made a decision to take a wife, he had just wanted Ellen. And now… now she was the whole world to him, and he might never come back.

  “Goodbye.” What a final word. He would not have it be his last to her. “My beautiful, precious wife, I shall hold you in my heart as I fight. I shall not be alone on the field.”

  Tears sparkled even more intensely in her eyes, and she merely nodded. Then when he turned and left the room, she followed him down the stairs to the street. At the door, when he turned to say a final goodbye, she threw her arms about his neck and sobbed against his collar.

  “Come now, Ellen. This is not how I wish to leave you.” His voice seemed to roll out over gravel as emotion welled in his throat too. “Let me remember your smile as I leave.”

  She pulled away nodding, swallowing back and wiping away tears. Then she bit her lip as she fought to control her emotion.

  “I must go.”

  “I know. I shall be thinking of you, and praying for you, and waiting to hear word.”

  He smiled.

  At last she smiled too, a pretty smile, though there was still moisture in her eyes.

  “I will do my best to come back to you.”

  She nodded, and then he bent and pressed a last kiss on her lips. But as he did so, the feeling of love within his chest swelled. His hand lifted to cup her scalp as his tongue swept over her lips to part them.

  He showed her with his last kiss how little he wished to leave her too, even if he could not bring himself to admit such dishonour in words.

  Her arms slipped from his neck as he pulled away.

  “God go with you.” She whispered.

  But he wished God to stay with her. Could God’s grace be in two places at once – in a hundred thousand places? Every man on the battlefield probably prayed for divine protection.

  His hand ran over her hair. “I love you. I will always be with you in my heart, Ellen, no matter what.” He turned away then, because he had to, if he did not, he would never leave.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ellen returned to their room exhausted and empty, having watched him from the door until he turned the corner at the end of the street. She lay down on the bed, her arms cradling her stomach, and prayed, whispering the words aloud.

  “Protect him. Save him. Bring him home. Bring him back to me…” Tears slipped from her eyes rolling onto her cheeks, a gentle sensation of pain.

  She’d not realised she’d slept until the call of a bugle woke her, the loud piercing ringing sound echoing ominously about the streets outside. She rose, still wearing her ball gown and moved to look down from the window. There was another bugle call, shouting for the military men.

  Leaning her shoulder against the edge of the window she watched the street, listening out for the calls which roused any soldier who may not have heard the news. But surely it must have travelled about Brussels last night like a flood, sweeping into every street and alley.

  At only a little after three, when it was barely dawn, and still mostly dark, men came marching along the street, rifles clutched in their hands and balanced on their shoulders. The beat of the drum she’d become so used to on their journey here paced their steps, while notes of tin whistles echoed on the air.

  Paul would be with his men, marching. Her stomach tumbled over. More men passed through the street, and women hung out of windows wearing their nightdresses, waving and blowing kisses at the men below. A soldier looked up and his gaze caught Ellen’s as she looked through the glass. Let me remember your smile as I leave. This soldier looked younger than her and fear shone in his eyes.

  She lifted her hand and smiled at him, mouthing silently, “Good luck.”

  He smiled too, then looked away.

  The men kept coming and she opened her window, crying out God’s blessings to them as others were. Some people had even hurriedly dressed and gone down into the street. She did not go down.

  When the last man walked past, almost an hour after the first, her heart bled like an open wound and her stomach turned with sickness. But resolutely, she shut the window. Her misery would not help Paul; he’d told her she had the strength to carry on, she would keep breathing, and living… She moved to call for Jennifer. She would change and go for a walk in the park. She needed air, and she needed to feel Paul, and somehow, if she was outside, knowing he was outside would make her feel closer to him.

  It was not until one past midday that they heard the first cannons firing; deep heavy booming sounds which rumbled over the city.

  As they’d walked through the streets earlier, with dawn fully broken, more people had been leaving.

  It was desertion to leave behind the men they had all cheered only hours before. But by midday the exodus had broadened and just like the moment when the news had come of Napoleon’s parade through Paris, there was now at least one cart being loaded in every street.

  It was cowardice to leave the soldiers behind. They risked their lives.

  Ellen looked at Jennifer. They were sewing. The sound of another cannon firing resonated through the window. Jennifer looked anxious. There was another. They became constant; the sound rumbling over the city like a persistent thunderstorm. But there was no guessing the distance the noise came from – how close they were to the battle. Ellen’s heart was held in a firm embrace that made it hesitate a little each moment before it beat, and she had to force air into her lungs as she worked on another shirt for Paul and refused to think of him fighting amidst that cannon fire.

  Another boom rattled her nerves as Jennifer made a little frightened sound.

  Ellen began talking, they’d hardly ever sat and spoken. Jennifer had made it clear by her stilted answers, she felt uncomfortable speaking. But today was different; they both needed to absorb their minds with something. Ellen spoke about the ball…

  It was about two when the gunfire ceased, and then an ominous quiet fell over the city as people waited for news. What was happening? The words swept through Ellen’s mind a thousand times as the clock in the room ticked away minutes which felt like hours.

  At three, she stood. “Let us walk out again, Jennifer.”

  It was not for air this time. It was for the possibility of hearing news. Any news.

  But when they got outside the streets were virtually empty, eerily so. They went down to the nearest park and walked all about it in silence again, as Ellen could think of nothing to say and Jennifer would not speak.

  When they walked back towards the lodgings though, there was a different atmosphere. More people were about, and some moved from group to group, while others knocked on doors.

  Ellen walked towards one man dressed in livery, who had knocked on a door and spoken to a woman then moved to knock on the next.

  She stopped, standing in his path. “Is there news?”

  “The Allied army has been overcome. We are to leave the city. Everyone must leave.” He walked around her moving onto the next door.

  She had no idea who he was or where he had come from. Or most importantly whether she should believe what he’d said. So many thoughts fought for attention in her head as her heart kicked. Something punched in her stomach. Paul had said she must leave if such a message came; he’d made her promise – and yet… How can I go?

  People who’d come out into the street wer
e now turning and hurrying home, and the conversations became louder.

  “Let us go home,” was all Ellen said to Jennifer, but when she reached there she could not sit and sew. She went to the window and looked down on the street as Jennifer hovered by the door. People hurried past, and some doors were open as urgent, rushed, conversations took place. Then others hurried off.

  Within an hour the mood in the city had turned to panic. There had been no sign of any soldiers, but a new exodus began and this one was more urgent than the previous evacuations.

  The street before Ellen’s window was packed with carriages and carts all badly piled with crates, furniture, trunks and bags, as people hurried to flee the city before the French arrived. Around the vehicles were others on foot, begging for horses, or space. They waved watches, notes and jewellery for any of those things.

  It was bedlam, a nightmare – disloyal.

  Paul would have had her doing the same, but she could not bring herself to go.

  Four times Jennifer suggested they pack. Four times Ellen denied the suggestion, her stomach tied in a tight knot, full of fear – not for herself, but for Paul…

  She could not get the vision of the highwayman’s bloody body from her mind, only it had Paul’s face. But he could not be dead. She would know. She would feel it.

  She turned to Jennifer her heartbeat pacing out the seconds. “Let us go back out and see if it is like this all over Brussels.”

  “Ma’am, we should not go out, we should leave with everyone else. If the city is over run we shall be…” Raped and murdered. Jennifer did not have to say the words, they had both heard many rumours of the Peninsular War on their journey here, and Ellen knew that was why Paul had told her to run. But how could she desert him? It would be a betrayal to leave him behind, as though she believed he was dead. She refused to believe that.

  “Just humour me, Jennifer, let us go out on to the streets.”

  For the third time that day Jennifer held up Ellen’s pelisse for her to put on, but the maid was not happy.

  When they stepped onto the street they were immediately jostled by the crowd, as a man who had been trying to free a horse from its harness received a blow from a sharp flip of the driver’s whip.