The Swan Maid

by Dilly Court

  ‘Where does it hurt?’ Lottie asked anxiously. ‘You might have broken some bones.’

  He stared at her with a puzzled frown. ‘What happened? I don’t remember. Where am I?’

  ‘You had a bad fall,’ she said gently. ‘Your mates brought you to us last night, but they’ve gone on to Chatham. Lieutenant Gillingham said you were to follow as soon as you were able.’

  ‘Gillingham …’ Gideon repeated dazedly. ‘I can’t place him.’

  Lottie perched on the edge of the bed. ‘He is your commanding officer, Gideon. I may call you that, mayn’t I?’

  ‘Gideon, yes. I think that’s my name.’

  ‘Don’t you remember anything? Like what you were doing before you fell?’

  He shook his head and winced, raising his hand to his temple. ‘My head aches, miss.’

  ‘Lottie,’ she said firmly. ‘I am Lottie, and you are in room fifteen at The Swan with Two Necks.’ She waited for a moment to see if this meant anything to him, but his blank expression was answer enough. She tried again. ‘You were brought here by Lieutenant Gillingham and Private Benson.’

  He dashed his hand across his eyes. ‘Nothing seems to make sense. Please leave me alone.’

  ‘I will, but only after you’ve had some breakfast.’ She went to retrieve the mug and bowl, and placed them on a chair by the side of the bed. ‘Would you like a sip of tea?’

  He nodded. ‘I’m parched.’ He struggled to a sitting position and Lottie plumped up the pillows behind him.

  It took some time, but in the end she managed to persuade him to drink the tea. He took a few spoonfuls of gruel, but the effort exhausted him and he lay back, closing his eyes.

  ‘I have to leave you now,’ Lottie said in a low voice. ‘I’ll return as soon as I am able.’ She was not sure if he heard or understood. She would have liked to stay longer, but the sound of the post horn announced the arrival of the mail coach and there was work to do. ‘I’ll come back when I have a spare moment.’

  Mrs Filby was in the kitchen talking to Jezebel. They both turned to stare at Lottie.

  ‘Well?’ Mrs Filby fixed her with an enquiring look. ‘How is the soldier?’

  ‘He seems to have lost his memory,’ Lottie said carefully. ‘I think he ought to be seen by a doctor.’

  ‘Do you? And who are you to make decisions, I might ask?’ Mrs Filby bristled angrily. ‘I or my husband will decide whether or not to call in a physician. The lieutenant left money for the young man’s keep, although not sufficient to pay a doctor’s fees. You will look after him, Lottie, but only in your spare moments.’

  ‘Yes, don’t think you can wriggle out of your duties,’ Jezebel added fiercely. ‘Take the coffee and toast into the dining parlour, and be quick about it.’

  ‘Don’t stand there like a ninny, get on with your work.’ Mrs Filby sailed out of the kitchen, leaving Lottie to struggle with the coffee pot and a plate piled high with toast.

  Jezebel impaled a slice of bread on the toasting fork. ‘Hurry, girl. There’s another coach due any minute.’

  Snatching odd moments of calm in between the frantic turnaround of coaches and private carriages, Lottie visited Gideon as often as possible. She gave him sips of laudanum diluted in water to ease the pain of his bruised ribs and his persistent headache, and at midday she helped him sup some broth. He remained dazed and confused, but she was pleased to see a little colour creep back into his previously ashen face.

  Her frequent absences did not go unnoticed. Ruth was the first to comment when she passed Lottie on the first-floor gallery. ‘I dunno what makes you so special. Why were you given the job of nursing the soldier? I could have done it better.’

  ‘I expect you could,’ Lottie said calmly, ‘but I happened to be there at the time, and you were off flirting with Lieutenant Gillingham. Didn’t it go as you’d hoped?’

  Ruth tossed her head. ‘I ain’t interested in military men. Here today and gone tomorrow, that’s soldiers for you.’

  ‘I thought you fancied him, Ruth.’

  ‘To tell the truth I did, but then I discovered he was off to the Crimea. I ain’t interested in someone what’s going to get blown to bits. I think I’ll stick to Trotter; at least he comes here twice a week and he’s got the money to treat a girl now and then.’

  ‘And a wife and family to support.’

  ‘You don’t know that for sure. Anyway, I’m up for a bit of a laugh now and then. I don’t think I want to get hitched and end up like my ma with a new mouth to feed every year.’

  Lottie smiled and hurried on to the sick room to check on Private Ellis.

  Despite the Filbys’ refusal to send for a physician, Gideon began to improve. His memory returned gradually, and his headaches lessened. On the third day he was able to get up and sit in a chair by the window that overlooked the stable yard.

  Lottie was late bringing him his bowl of soup and a cup of tea, and she apologised as she set them on the small table in front of him. ‘I couldn’t get away sooner, Gideon. We’ve been even busier than usual.’

  ‘I thought they worked us hard in the army,’ he said with a wry smile. ‘But you never seem to stop.’

  ‘I’ve been doing this since I was twelve. I suppose I’m used to it.’

  ‘This smells good.’ He lifted the spoon to his lips, but the movement seemed to hurt him and he hesitated, pulling a face.

  ‘Are you ribs still hurting?’

  ‘Just a bit. Maybe you should stay and help me if I can’t manage to feed myself.’

  She hesitated, eyeing him suspiciously. ‘Are you saying that to keep me here?’

  ‘Of course I am. I get lonely, and you need to take a break every now and then.’

  ‘Mrs Filby wouldn’t agree with you, neither would Jezebel.’ Lottie perched on the edge of the bed. ‘I’ll get shot if they catch me.’

  ‘I’m a soldier. I’ll protect you.’

  ‘You can hardly stand,’ she said, chuckling. ‘But it’s good to see you looking so much better. I was really worried when your mates brought you here.’

  ‘I’ve got a hard head. It would take more than a tumble to put me out of action.’

  ‘You won’t get better if you don’t eat. I should go and let you get on with your meal.’

  ‘No, please stay. I’ll finish this up if you’ll stay and talk to me, Lottie. Tell me about yourself.’ He picked up the spoon and held it poised. ‘I’m waiting,’ he said with a wry smile.

  ‘You win, but I can’t stay long.’ Lottie frowned as she recalled the trials of her childhood. ‘There’s not much to tell. My pa is a soldier, like you. He’s a sergeant in the Bombay Sappers and Miners stationed in Poona, or he was the last time he wrote to me. I used to get a letter from him every now and then, but I haven’t heard from him for ages, and I haven’t seen him since I was six.’

  ‘So you come from a military family.’

  ‘I was born in India, but I don’t remember much of my time there, although I do recall a white house with a beautiful garden and sweet-smelling flowers. I often dream of walking up the path and knocking on the door, but I always wake up before it opens.’

  ‘Why did you leave? It sounds too good to be true.’

  ‘When Ma died of a fever, Pa sent me to England to be looked after by my Uncle Sefton. I’m sure I was a miserable little thing, and he didn’t want to be saddled with me in the first place. Anyway, as soon as he could, he packed me off to boarding school.’

  ‘So how did you end up slaving away in a coaching inn? It seems such a waste.’

  ‘Uncle Sefton married late in life and his wife didn’t want me around. I was just twelve when I was sent to work here. I didn’t have any choice in the matter.’

  ‘Didn’t your father have anything to say about such a decision?’

  ‘Of course I wrote to Pa, begging him to let me join him, but I had to wait months for a reply, and when it came he said he was stationed on the North-West Frontier, and that I’d be safer i
n London – so here I stayed. That’s my life in a nutshell. What about you?’

  ‘My father died some years ago. He was a soldier, and it was taken for granted that I’d follow him into the army. My mother lives in Whitechapel, close to the Garrick Theatre. She takes in lodgers, and I help her as much as I can financially. That’s me in a nutshell, too.’

  Lottie jumped to her feet at the sound of someone bellowing her name. ‘Oh Lord! That’s Mrs Filby. She’ll be furious if she knows I’ve been sitting here chatting to you. I have to go, Gideon, but I’ll pop in later, when the rush is over.’

  ‘Don’t forget me, Lottie.’

  She glanced over her shoulder, smiling. ‘As if I would. Drink your tea.’

  On the fourth day Gideon was dressed when she brought him his breakfast gruel and a cup of tea. He had shaved and, despite the bruise on his forehead, he looked dashing in his uniform.

  ‘What are you doing, Private Ellis?’ She placed the bowl and mug on the washstand. ‘You mustn’t overtax yourself.’

  ‘I’m a fraud, Lottie. I can’t stay here any longer, much as I would like to remain and be cosseted by you. I have to report to my unit.’

  ‘Oh, well, I suppose you know best.’

  He smiled and took both her hands in his. ‘You’ve been wonderful. I owe my speedy recovery to you.’

  ‘Nonsense. I didn’t do much other than to bring you food and drink.’

  ‘I won’t have that, Lottie. A trained nurse couldn’t have done better.’

  She withdrew her hands, aware that she was blushing furiously. ‘It’s very kind of you to say so, but I know nothing about nursing. It was a matter of luck and Mother Nature was on your side.’

  ‘Maybe, but you did your part, and I’m truly grateful.’

  ‘You’d better eat your breakfast. You need all your strength if you’re to ride all the way to Chatham.’

  ‘This is one thing I won’t miss.’ He sat down and began spooning the thin sops into his mouth. ‘I could do with a plate of bacon and eggs and a nice fat sausage.’

  ‘You are better,’ she said, smiling. ‘I’m so glad to see you up and about. When they brought you here I thought you were going to die.’

  ‘If the ladder hadn’t given way I would never have met you, Lottie. I’m just sorry that I won’t have the chance to get to know you better.’

  ‘Do you think you’ll be leaving for the Crimea very soon? They’re talking about nothing else in the taproom.’

  ‘I can’t say for certain, but I don’t think it will be long.’ He dropped the spoon into the empty bowl. ‘There, are you satisfied now? It’s all gone.’

  ‘I’m not your mother, Gideon,’ she said, laughing. ‘But I will be sorry to see you go.’

  ‘Will you?’ His smile faded and he reached out to clasp her hand. ‘I wish I could say that we’ll meet again, Lottie, but I’m afraid this really is goodbye.’

  She was struck by a sudden and almost overwhelming desire to cry. She had known him for only a few days, but it seemed that he had become a part of her life, and now he was about to leave and she would never see him again.

  ‘You’ll be back, Gideon,’ she said, forcing herself to sound more cheerful than she was feeling. ‘You’ll return covered in glory.’

  ‘Will you be waiting for me?’ He dropped his hand to his side and his expression was bleak. ‘I’m sorry. That was wrong of me. I couldn’t ask that of anyone, least of all you. I’ll be going into battle, even if we’re just digging saps or laying wires for the telegraph. The chances are I won’t return.’

  Acting on impulse, Lottie flung her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek. ‘You will survive, Gideon. I know you will.’ She backed away, blushing. ‘I just wanted to wish you good luck.’

  Gideon’s cheeks flamed and his eyes were suspiciously bright. ‘I’ll take that kiss with me to the Crimea, and if I get downhearted I’ll remember how it felt to be embraced by the beautiful girl who saved my life.’

  Lottie was momentarily lost for words, but the door burst open and May erupted into the room. ‘You’re wanted in the kitchen, Lottie. Mrs Filby’s been looking for you and she ain’t best pleased.’ She gave Gideon a cursory glance. ‘There don’t seem to be much wrong with you, mister. Anyway, there’s someone waiting for you in the stable yard. He says he’s come to take you to Chatham, and he’s in a tearing hurry, so you’d better not keep him waiting.’

  Gideon grabbed his cap and rammed it on his head, wincing as it touched the tender part of his scalp. ‘I’ll be off then. Take care of yourself, Lottie.’

  ‘You, too.’ Lottie turned away, and began stripping the bed. Her first instinct had been to rush out onto the balcony and wave to Gideon, but May was already suspicious, and she was a terrible gossip.

  ‘Give me a hand, May,’ she said casually. ‘I’d better get the room ready for the next occupant.’

  ‘He’s sweet on you.’ May pursed her lips. ‘I bet you’ll miss him something chronic. You’ve spent every spare moment up here.’

  ‘He was sick. I looked after him as best I could. That’s all.’

  ‘Maybe you think you’re a touch above us chambermaids now. Perhaps you should sign up with Miss Nightingale and her nurses. You’d have lots of injured soldiers to look after then.’

  Lottie recognised the signs of jealousy. May could be very mean when she thought someone was getting preferential treatment. ‘Maybe I will. It would be better than slaving all day, and sometimes all night, in this place.’

  Lottie stood outside the Institute for the Care of Sick Gentlewomen in Upper Harley Street, trying to pluck up courage to knock on the door. She had dressed in her Sunday best, which she realised now was sadly lacking in style, and was shabby compared to the attire of the well-dressed ladies who frequented this part of London. She had walked from Gresham Street and the hem of her skirt was caked with dirt and bits of straw, but there was little she could do about that now. Taking a deep breath she knocked on the door, but she was seized by a moment of panic when she heard approaching footsteps and the turn of the key in the lock.

  The door was opened by a parlourmaid wearing a neat black dress with a spotless white cap and apron. She looked Lottie up and down. ‘The tradesmen’s entrance is round the back, miss.’

  ‘I came to see Miss Nightingale,’ Lottie said boldly. ‘I understand she is interviewing nurses to travel with her to the Crimea.’

  ‘Miss Nightingale is at the Middlesex Hospital at present. She’s nursing cholera victims from the East End. You might catch her there, although I doubt if she’ll have time to see you.’

  Lottie opened her mouth to speak, but the door was slammed in her face. She stood for a few moments, shocked by her reception, but not really surprised. She had not expected it to be easy, and she had not told anyone at The Swan where she was going. They would think her quite insane, and perhaps she was, but helping Gideon back to health and strength had given her a new purpose in life. It seemed quite natural to want to follow the young man who had made such an impression on her, and to be of service where it was desperately needed. She was now even more determined to see Miss Nightingale. She was familiar with the Middlesex Hospital, having been taken there with a suspected broken arm when she was much younger. It had turned out to be a bad sprain, needing no further treatment, but the grand building had made an indelible impression upon her. She set off for Mortimer Street.

  It was a hot day and the stench from the Thames hung in a pall over the city. The river was said to be little more than an open sewer, and as London suffocated in the sweltering heat of August, the outbreak of cholera in Soho had caused many people to flee for safety. Lottie covered her nose and mouth with her hanky and quickened her pace.

  The hospital waiting area was crowded, and the desk clerk was overworked and impatient. Despite Lottie’s entreaties, she was told that Miss Nightingale was too busy to see anyone, and the wards were closed to visitors, but Lottie was not prepared to give up easily. Her
one day off a month was too precious to waste in a futile exercise, and she decided to wait. She did not have a plan in mind, but she had not come this far to give in at the first setback, or even the second.

  She took a seat at the end of a row where she had a good view of the comings and goings. She was hot and thirsty, and as the hours went by her stomach cramped with hunger pains, but she had set her mind on having a word with the illustrious lady, although whether she would be able to pick her out amongst the nurses who flitted around like so many pale moths, was another matter. Somehow, Lottie was convinced that she would know Miss Nightingale the moment she saw her.

  It was getting late. Even so, the seats in the waiting room were crowded with victims of accidents and muggings, and anxious mothers holding small children who were limp with fever. She knew she ought to be getting back to Gresham Street, and yet she was reluctant to give up. Then, she saw her. The slight woman, pale-faced with exhaustion, walked with her head held high, looking neither to her left nor her right.

  Lottie leaped to her feet. ‘Miss Nightingale. It is you, isn’t it?’

  Chapter Three

  ‘If you’re unwell you must wait your turn. I’m off duty.’ The voice was cultured, but the tone was clipped and impatient.

  ‘No, I’m not ill.’ Lottie hurried after her. ‘Please could you spare me a moment of your time? I’ve waited here all day for a chance to speak to you.’

  Florence stopped just short of the street door. She turned slowly, her face a pale oval in the light of a gas lamp. ‘What do you want of me?’

  ‘I’d dearly love to accompany you to the Crimea, Miss Nightingale.’

  ‘Are you a trained nurse?’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I can’t help you.’ Florence was about to leave the building, but Lottie caught her by the sleeve.

  ‘Please give me a chance.’

  Florence fixed Lottie with a piercing gaze, from which there was no escape. ‘You’re very young. How old are you?’

  ‘I’m twenty, Miss Nightingale. I’ll be twenty-one in January.’