An Unwilling Alliance

by Lynn Bryant

  “No. And it is likely to start up again tonight. Split the watches, Mr Durrell. Essential duties only, while this goes on, make sure they have the opportunity to sleep for a few hours during the day.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And get some rest yourself.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Durrell moved away and Hugh watched his retreating back. He realised that the lengthy speeches which had driven him mad during the early months with his first lieutenant had dried up. These days Durrell’s communication with him was short and to the point. Hugh was slightly shocked to realise that he was beginning to miss the younger man’s volubility. It was clear that Hugh’s dressing down on the subject of his junior officer’s indiscretions to Sir Home Popham had been taken very much to heart. It was like living with a mute.

  It was early evening when the guns boomed out again. Once more the naval attack came to nothing, but this time there was the whining hiss of rocket fire. Hugh had very little opinion of William Congreve’s incendiary rockets, which had begun production at Woolwich two years ago. They had proved useless in the duels with the flotilla of Danish gunboats several weeks ago and some of the naval officers had nicknamed Congreve, who was not well liked, as Commodore Squib.

  The effect of the rockets during this bombardment was a different matter. Trying to count them and watching their progress, Hugh realised that the British artillery was doing far more damage to the battered city. But the rockets were shocking, crossing the sky with a high-pitched whine which cut through the noise of the bombardment, some from small boats and others from Cathcart’s batteries.

  “Like dragons,” a voice said beside him and Hugh realised that Durrell had come to the rail.

  “Dragons?”

  “That noise, and the fire trailing behind them. I used to read stories about dragons as a boy. That’s what they make me think of. It must be terrifying to know that they are coming towards you.”

  “Aye, those poor people. When the hell are they going to put an end to this?”

  “I don’t know, sir, I’m not as well informed as you think,” Durrell said, moving away. Hugh stopped himself from calling the boy back. He realised suddenly that he was not the only one nursing a resentment here.

  The bombardment ceased once again the following morning, although this time the guns continued to fire sporadically through the day as more refugees flooded out of their burned and battered city. Hugh went back to his cabin and slept for several hours. Rising to eat, he sat at his desk to write to Roseen, wondering how she was getting on in the care of the 110th infantry.

  He also wondered how Major van Daan was bearing up. He was glad that Wellesley’s reserves had remained well back from the city, taking no part in the bombardment. Something told him that Major van Daan would find the sight of the miserable refugees pouring out of the city clutching their possessions, looking back at their burning homes, very hard to take. None of Hugh’s officers were enjoying the spectacle, but Hugh had quickly realised that Major van Daan was an officer with a tendency to go off like one of Congreve’s fiery rockets at a perceived injustice and he was in quite enough trouble as it was. The vision of him ordering the 110th over the bridges to assist the fleeing citizens was not nearly as unlikely as it should be and Hugh was thankful that he was out of reach.

  There was a respite of a few hours during the afternoon but at seven o’clock the guns crashed again and a lone rocket, fired from one of the ships, soared through the sky, taking fire and destruction down into the city again. Hugh watched its progress through the air and was suddenly very depressed. There was no glory in this relentless battering of a beautiful city and a helpless people. He had told himself that he was a realist who could live with the exigencies of war but this was not war and he hated it.

  The bombardment was heavy and unrelenting through the night and into the following morning. By noon it was clear that the rockets had done their work. With so many defenders either dead or fled with their families to safety the fires were out of control and there were not enough men to fight them.

  It was the worst night and the destruction of the city seemed complete when the tallest church spire which had been a target throughout the bombardment caught fire and came crashing down. When the artillery fell silent at around noon on the 5th, an uneasy silence seemed to hang over the devastated city. There was little sign of life and the fires still burned fiercely.

  As the day went on, the Iris went about its daily routines, albeit more slowly than usual. Hugh gave them some leeway, given how little sleep any of them had managed. He finished his letters and went back up onto deck to find a messenger in conversation with Lieutenant Durrell.

  “News, Mr Durrell?” Hugh asked, coming forward.

  Durrell saluted and stepped back. “For you, sir.”

  Hugh took the letter and then frowned as his first lieutenant moved away. “One moment, Mr Durrell. Don’t you want to know what’s in it?”

  Durrell stopped. “If you require me to, sir.”

  Hugh opened the letter and scanned it then looked up. “We are to remain here to await further orders. It seems that General Peymann has reopened negotiations and the bombardment is suspended until talks are held.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Hugh studied him. “Don’t you have anything to say, Mr Durrell?”

  “Probably nothing useful, sir.”

  Hugh wanted to point out that it had never stopped him in the past, but the attempt at humour felt ill-timed. He nodded. “Dismissed then, Mr Durrell.”

  He watched his first lieutenant walk away across the deck and felt his depression deepen. More than anything else he suddenly wanted Roseen here to lift his mood and make him smile again.

  ***

  For Roseen, life in the Roskilde mansion was a wholly new experience. For the first twenty-two years of her life she had barely been off the island, and finding herself in a strange country surrounded by men she barely knew, with servants and grooms speaking a different language was, for the first few days, completely terrifying.

  The Roskilde royal mansion was by far the grandest house she had ever been in. Built in the Baroque style, in yellow-washed masonry with red tile roofs, there were four wings connected by curving galleries. With the royal family having fled from the city, the house was occupied only by the British, with Sir Arthur Wellesley and his small staff taking up rooms in the main wing and the officers of the first battalion of the 110th infantry occupying one of the other wings.

  Outside were spreading grounds and a variety of outbuildings, including extensive stables and a large barn-like structure which had been designed as an indoor riding school. The seven companies of the 110th were camped in these under the strict supervision of their NCOs.

  Roseen’s found herself taken firmly in charge by Major Paul van Daan, who was relieved of all military duties by his arrest and seemed determined to devote his time instead to her entertainment. She had seen nothing of him for the first day. He remained closeted with Sir Arthur Wellesley for several hours, then apparently retired to his room and remained there. Around her, Roseen was conscious of the barely restrained anger of his officers who seemed very protective of their colourful young commander.

  He reappeared at breakfast the following day, smiling and pleasant and when the meal was over he formerly handed command over to Captain Wheeler of the light company then came to join Roseen.

  “I am very glad you are here, Miss Crellin, since I seem to have a good deal of time on my hands at present. Would you like to walk in the park with me? It’s a fine morning and they’ll be a lot happier if I’m out of the way. They’re going to keep coming to me for orders that I’m not able to give.”

  “I would like to,” Roseen said. “Are you allowed to? I am not sure…”

  “Nor was I,” Paul said, offering her his arm. “You are going to laugh when I tell you that the worst part about yesterday morning was that I had not the least idea what I was supposed to do or what was g
oing to happen to me. I deal with disciplinary matters all the time, but I’ve never yet needed to send an officer for court martial, let alone be arrested myself. I was standing on that drive wondering if I was about to make a complete fool of myself when Wellesley appeared. Thank God for him.”

  “He seems very attached to you, Major.”

  Paul smiled. “You wouldn’t think it when you hear what he’s been calling me. But he’s always there when I need him. He can’t dig me out of this one, though. But since he is currently my commanding officer he has given me a very generous parole although I am not allowed to wear my sword, which seems odd, since I’d always rather thought of it as a weapon, not a badge of office.”

  “When will the trial take place?” Roseen asked. She was beginning to relax in his undemanding company.

  “They’ll hold it in London once this campaign is over. Wellesley tells me I could insist on them doing it sooner and out here, but he advises against it. I rather suspect he is hoping to do what he can to find somebody with some political leverage over the navy here, since I do not have a host of influential political patrons.”

  “Unlike Sir Home Riggs Popham,” Roseen said and he shot her a surprised glance.

  “Did Captain Kelly tell you about him?”

  “Yes, back home last year. He was surprised, I know, when Captain Popham received nothing more than a reprimand for what was effectively an illegal invasion.”

  “Ah yes, but that was merely another nation, Miss Crellin. I, on the other hand, invaded a Royal Navy vessel.”

  Roseen laughed aloud and was pleased to see him smile properly. “Major - I hope I do not have to tell you that both Captain Kelly and I will testify on your behalf at the trial.”

  “I wouldn’t ask that of you.”

  “I shall insist,” Roseen said firmly.

  “Thank you. Although I’m not sure how the captain is going to get around the fact that I called him a variety of rude names and allowed my lads to point a couple of Baker rifles at him without lying on oath.”

  “That is because you are not Manx,” Roseen said serenely. “Until you have heard a Manxman explain to the harbour master how he came to be herring fishing at the wrong time, in an unregistered boat without a penny paid in dues and is still able to claim that he’s complied with all legal requirements, you can’t possibly imagine how easy it is. Trust me, Major, an army court martial is going to present Captain Kelly with no problems at all.”

  She had been thinking aloud, but Paul van Daan stared at her for a moment and then started to laugh. Roseen had not really heard him laugh properly before and she found it very infectious.

  He took her back to the house before she became too tired and found her a comfortable sitting room with a footstool and a fire. The afternoons were becoming much colder with the approach of autumn. A servant brought her a cup of rich hot chocolate and her host reappeared later, surprisingly, with several books which he set on a side table.

  “I have been raiding my officers’ quarters for literary matter,” he said gravely. “A hopeless task in general, if they read anything at all it is likely to be a book on light infantry training or the latest scurrilous broadsheet. But I have not come up empty handed, there are a couple of novels there. You still need to rest for some of the day but there’s no reason to be bored to tears.”

  Roseen looked up from the perusal of the books, neither of which she had read. “Major van Daan - thank you. You are being extraordinarily kind to me.”

  “I owe Captain Kelly a debt, Miss Crellin. But it isn’t just that. You’re helping. Being around the others at the moment is completely unbearable. They all want to say the right thing and to reassure me but they can’t and I’m sick of talking about it. Or avoiding talking about it. There is something particularly delightful in your complete absence of embarrassment on the subject. Look - this may be too much to ask, but would you mind very much keeping me company at dinner? I’m not ready to sit in that dining room and be social just yet. I’ll get over the worst of it in a day or two, but Wellesley has suggested that I get the servants to serve dinner in one of the small rooms - since there seem to be a lot of them. I don’t want you to feel awkward…”

  “I would very much like that,” Roseen said fervently. “Like you, I am not really ready to be very social. Your officers are very kind, but…”

  “But they watch you like a pack of jackals,” Paul said with a grin. “I’m sorry, I’ve tried to beat the manners into them but they’re starved of pretty girls to flirt with. The new Mrs Kent seems to be enjoying it immensely. I’d hoped she’d be company for you but it is very clear to me that she is not; she has no interest at all in anything that is not wearing a scarlet coat.”

  “That’s all right, Major, I’d rather dine with you. Mrs Kent is extremely useful in that she is providing a nominal chaperone to an unmarried woman alone in an army camp, but to tell you the truth I would rather be here.”

  They sat down to eat and Roseen was pleased to realise that she was regaining her appetite. He was an amusing dinner companion but Roseen was surprised that he was a good listener as well. It reminded her of those long months with Hugh back in Mann and she missed him suddenly with a fierce longing.

  They were halfway through the meal when a sound reached them, faint but very definite in the distance. Roseen was puzzled.

  “What was that?”

  Her companion had gone very still. He got up and walked to the long window, struggling for a moment to open it. Roseen felt the cool early evening air coming into the room and along with it, more low booming sounds.

  “Gunfire,” Paul said. “They’re bombarding Copenhagen.”

  “Oh. Oh - poor Hugh.”

  Paul turned to her quickly. “I know. I’m sorry, ma’am. He isn’t going to like it. He might not be involved, Murray’s plan mostly involved the army batteries. But even so, he’s there. Lost your appetite?”

  “A little.”

  “So have I. Let’s take the wine and go through into the parlour, shall we? We will keep the windows firmly closed and I am going to tell you about my wife and my children.”

  Roseen smiled. “I didn’t even realise you were married, sir, but I should have guessed. You are so very comfortable at talking to females.”

  She saw him grin but he said nothing. “Come along, we’ll leave this for them to clear. It’s going to be a long few days, but I am reassuring myself that at least I have a captive audience for all my most tedious stories.”

  “So do I,” Roseen said demurely, and was pleased to hear him laughing.

  ***

  Sir Arthur Wellesley summoned Paul shortly after the guns finally fell silent.

  “I am going to Copenhagen, Major. It appears that Lord Cathcart wishes me to be one of the negotiators for the Danish surrender.”

  “I think he’s chosen well, sir, although I’ll miss you.”

  “You bloody liar. You’ve hardly seen me, you’ve been spending every minute of the day with that very pretty female deposited upon us by Captain Kelly. If he had any idea what you’ve been up to, Major, I suspect he would end your career in a heartbeat.”

  “You have a very nasty mind when it comes to me, sir,” Paul said conversationally. “I have been up to nothing at all with Miss Crellin and I’m sure Captain Kelly has the sense to know it. She’s lonely and starved of company but I can tell you now that she wouldn’t let me within a mile of her. She’s a girl in love and she’s got it badly.”

  “Clearly she has better sense than most other females then,” Wellesley said. “Under normal circumstances I would ask you to accompany me to the negotiations but I cannot do so.”

  “I know, sir.”

  “Campbell will come with me. He’s a good man, reliable. But I think you should come to Copenhagen anyway.”

  “Can I do that, sir? I’m supposed to be under arrest.”

  “The terms of your parole are completely in my hands,” Wellesley said. He was studying Paul gravely
. “Are you sleeping at all? You don’t look as though you are.”

  “Not much,” Paul admitted. “I don’t think that racket from the batteries has helped.”

  “Come to Copenhagen. I will need to stay at headquarters but you can put up at the same inn you stayed at before. Once the terms are agreed and signed I intend to write to London and ask permission to return home. I’ll need to visit my brother and report to one or two of the ministers and then I have my duties in Ireland to attend to.”

  “And your wife, sir.”

  “Indeed,” Wellesley said in forbidding tones. “Have you written to your wife and family about this affair?”

  “Not yet. I keep putting it off. I don’t want to worry her.”

  “Do so. It is going to come out long before the trial and they should hear it from you. How much do you know about how this process works?”

  “Very little, sir. I’ve dealt with a lot of regimental courts martial, of course, sat on a fair few juries. But not a general one.”

  “When I leave, you should come with me. There is a man in London - a lawyer. He cannot represent you of course but then you are very capable of doing that yourself. But he is very knowledgable and can talk you through the process. You will have time to call witnesses and gather your evidence.”

  “Who will they call?” Paul asked.

  “Sir Home Riggs Popham. The boatswain and possibly one or two of the crew. But they are obliged to provide you with a list. Solomons will go over all that with you.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you. I’ll write to my family from the inn.”

  “Do you wish any of your friends to accompany you?” Wellesley asked.

  Paul shook his head. “No, sir. I’d like Carl, but if Johnny is in command, he’ll need to take charge of the light company. I’ll take Jenson with me, it’s all I need. Would you object if I brought Miss Crellin? I’m sure Captain Kelly would like to see her and besides…”

  “Well?”

  “If I’ve nothing better to do, I thought I might organise their wedding,” Paul said cheerfully.