No Place For a Lady Page 11

  She comforted several other men that day, but Iain was the one who stuck in her mind for his ability to laugh while seriously, perhaps mortally wounded. That struck her as unbelievably brave.

  When she returned to their tent, Charlie was lying on his back staring into space. She gave him some tea and he drank it, but he refused food and didn’t want to talk. He seemed pale and dazed, for all the world as if he had genuinely suffered a bout of cholera and was slowly coming back to health.

  ‘Spend another day or two resting,’ she urged him, thinking that it would appear more convincing to his comrades than a rapid recovery. ‘You don’t seem yourself yet.’

  That evening when Lucy went to the cookhouse, she only picked up one bowl of stew. ‘This is for me. Charlie’s still poorly,’ she announced to the group present. She didn’t look at any of the women directly because she didn’t want to see the suspicion she imagined on their faces. Let them whisper behind her back if they wanted to. She would not fuel their malicious talk.

  Charlie managed a few mouthfuls and Lucy ate the rest, then they lay together, faces close, and in a whisper she asked him if he was feeling better.

  ‘A little,’ he replied.

  ‘Bill’s death hit you hard. I miss his calm presence, but for you it must be ten times worse because he was your trusted colleague as well as your friend.’

  ‘He was like a brother. Closer than a brother.’ Charlie closed his eyes. ‘He was certainly a better man than either of my real brothers.’

  ‘Tell me, is there a chance that you might make peace with your brothers one day?’ Lucy spoke tentatively. It hardly seemed an appropriate time to be asking, but for once this subdued Charlie seemed prepared to speak of personal matters.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Surely, when they know what you have been through out here, your family will feel sympathy?’

  Charlie shook his head. ‘Never. They never will.’

  ‘But why?’ She was exasperated. ‘Why would they cast you off forever because of a little debt?’

  He sighed hard, his breath brushing her cheek. ‘It was a gambling debt and my father hates gambling … But it wasn’t just that. I drank too much. And I seduced the daughter of a friend of my father’s …’

  Lucy flushed: ‘You seduced her?’ She felt a sharp stab of jealousy. ‘What do you mean?’ Her imagination flew away with itself. Had there been a child? Why had he abandoned her? Did he love her still?

  ‘I led her to believe I might marry her and then … couldn’t. All in all I was a dissolute rake and they’d had enough of me. Father bought my commission in the army to keep me out of trouble. Oh God, if only …’ He sounded on the verge of tears and turned to muffle his face in the pillow.

  Reassured there was no threat from another woman, Lucy spoke gently. ‘Bill said that a tragedy led to your argument with your family. He said you would tell me when you were ready.’

  Charlie made a choking noise. ‘I couldn’t bear you to think ill of me. I would rather die than lose you. You must know that.’

  ‘There is nothing you can tell me that would make me leave you. Nothing. I know you are sometimes carried away by high spirits, and I know that sometimes you are scared, but you are a good man and I love you with all my heart.’

  There was a long pause and when Charlie spoke his words were muffled by the pillow. He couldn’t look at her. ‘It was five years ago, but to me it’s still like yesterday. I took home Tempest, my horse before Merlin, who was a glorious bay. A beautiful creature. As soon as she saw her, Susanna wanted to ride her – she was a decent horsewoman – but I said only if I ride with you, holding on to you, because she can be skittish.’

  That name: Susanna. Lucy’s cheeks burned at the thought of Charlie sitting on horseback with this woman.

  ‘And once we were both on his back, trotting down the paddock, nothing would do but she wanted us to canter. And so we cantered and then she urged me to gallop. And I agreed because I wanted her to be impressed with my new posting as a Hussars captain and to show off this spirited new horse of mine.’

  Lucy rubbed his shoulder, trying to speed him up so she could know the worst.

  ‘There was a gate in front of us and Tempest ran at it, then refused. I landed on my shoulder – dislocated it – but Susanna landed on her head and her neck broke. It just snapped, and she was dead. Oh God, I loved her so much. She meant everything to me.’ Charlie sobbed.

  Lucy’s heart raced. It was hard to hear him say that of another.

  ‘They wouldn’t even let me go to her funeral. I wasn’t allowed to say goodbye.’

  ‘It’s awful but it was not your fault! Such accidents happen with horses. I myself broke my wrist in a fall when I was younger.’

  His voice lowered to a whisper. ‘It was the last straw. After Susanna died Father told me I was no longer their son. I had to leave home forthwith.’

  ‘No one stood by you?’ Lucy was astonished. ‘Not your brothers, your mother?’

  ‘Only Bill. He spent night after night talking to me, forcing me to carry on. Without him, I should certainly have killed myself.’

  ‘Oh, please don’t say that. I know you loved Susanna and it was a shocking, heartbreaking experience but you must make the most of your own life. She would want you to.’ Lucy tried to form a picture of her predecessor in her mind’s eye: it could have been Susanna camping in that soggy field rather than her, had she not died so suddenly and tragically. Would she have fared any better?

  ‘Charlie, listen to me: you were not to blame. It sounds as though she was too impetuous and you both got carried away in the moment. If anything, the fault was more hers.’

  ‘But Susanna was only seven.’

  Lucy froze. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Susanna, my beloved sister, was only seven when she died. When I killed her.’

  ‘I thought … I assumed you were talking about the lady who was the daughter of your father’s friend.’ She stumbled, lost for words, the full horror of the incident just beginning to dawn on her.

  ‘That lady could never look at me again after Susanna’s death. I saw a look in her eyes such as I now see in yours: disgust.’

  ‘No, Charlie, no!’ She bent to kiss him hard on the lips. ‘I misunderstood – that’s all. I didn’t know you had a sister; you never said.’ She wrapped her arms around him, struggling to find the right words. ‘If anything, I love you more knowing that you have endured such a cruel loss.’ She held him and stroked his hair. ‘Pray, tell me about Susanna. What manner of girl was she?’

  ‘I can’t talk about her. I simply can’t.’

  Lucy wanted to probe further, but Charlie refused to say more.

  ‘You know the truth now and I would rather we never spoke of it again.’

  Lucy was left with dozens of questions. Inside she was deeply shocked. The revelation was worse than anything she had imagined. Charlie’s family would never forgive him – she saw that now – and he would never forgive himself either. It would forever cast a shadow over his life – over their lives.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Some autumn days were oppressively hot, with sharp sun glinting like diamonds; others were chill, drizzly and damp, with heavy, purply-grey clouds like bruises blotting out the sun. On hot days, Lucy washed their clothes and hung their bedding to air, in an attempt to dispel the musty odour and get rid of the creeping mould that invaded their possessions. She ventured to the cookhouses of neighbouring companies, trying to strike up friendships, but the cool reception made her wonder if word of Charlie’s cowardice had spread. She was lonely and yearned for a friend, just one, but none were forthcoming no matter how much she tried to make cheerful conversation. Charlie went back to his duties but he was withdrawn and spoke little.

  The provisions Lucy had brought were running low and the army rations of a pound of biscuit (or a pound and a half of bread) and a pound of dry or fresh meat per man sometimes did not materialise. She knew there were difficulties in g
etting supplies through Balaklava and that the shelves were bare at the general store in Kadikoi, but she overheard some women saying that it was possible to buy basic supplies in Balaklava harbour. Lucy decided to make the trip herself and begged a lift on an army wagon, which took her across the plains and down into a steep little harbour, much smaller than she had expected. It was just one row of shops and houses fronting onto a harbour packed with ships stretching five or six deep off each wharf, a forest of masts bobbing. In the first shop she managed to buy some potatoes and a small bag of sugar; in another she purchased two carrots. As she emerged, Fanny Duberly was saddling her horse in the road, wearing smart green and beige plaid riding attire. Lucy looked at her directly and said, ‘Good day,’ in a loud voice, forcing Mrs Duberly to return the greeting.

  ‘Will you ride up to the camp today?’ Lucy asked. She did not much care for Mrs Duberly but was so lonely she would have endeavoured to engage any lady she met in conversation that morning.

  ‘Perhaps. First of all I plan to ride to that Genoese fort on the clifftop. They say the view is magnificent.’ Lucy turned and saw a tiny ruin overlooking the bay.

  ‘It certainly looks pretty. How is your accommodation on the ship, Mrs Duberly? I trust you are comfortable?’

  ‘Indeed, I can’t complain. Of course the cabins are rather cramped but we dine exceedingly well. Last night there was foie gras and duck, served with rather a fine Bordeaux.’ She finished strapping on her side-saddle and climbed onto the horse by first mounting the sea wall. ‘I wish you good day, Mrs Harvington.’

  Mrs Duberly clicked her tongue, pulled on the reins and rode off without once asking after Lucy. Her behaviour was insufferably rude but since none of the soldiers’ wives were talking to Lucy, she was grateful for the slightest human interaction.

  That evening there was no meat available and as she and Charlie dined on mashed potatoes and boiled carrots, she thought of the luxurious fare being enjoyed by Mrs Duberly and the officers on their ships. Whoever was responsible for supplies was getting their priorities wrong because the soldiers were becoming weaker and soon would be in no condition to fight. Why could they not establish a reliable supply chain? She’d heard the French dined well in Kamiesch. It seemed they were better organised for this war in virtually every respect, while conditions in the British camp grew more challenging by the day.

  On the night of 12th November a fierce storm blew up. Lucy and Charlie lay awake watching flashes of lightning through the canvas and listening to the pelting of rain and the lashing of the wind. It grew stronger and tugged insistently at the tent until around three in the morning, the pegs on one side lifted and the entire structure flipped over, leaving them exposed to the elements. Charlie leapt to his feet and pulled the tent back but he had no mallet to hammer in the pegs. Using a cooking pot, he banged them in as firmly as he could, but the repair lasted less than a minute before coming loose again. Looking around, Lucy saw they weren’t alone. Some tents had been lifted clean into the air and men were chasing them across the camp. Hardly any were still standing. After struggling fruitlessly to re-erect theirs, Charlie suggested they simply wrap the tent around themselves for some protection from the rain. However, as soon as they settled down a corner would lift and the whole tent would strain to fly away. Lucy was sodden right through her undergarments, her hair was soaked and she had never felt more demoralised in her life.

  It seemed like the final straw, but in fact conditions just continued to deteriorate, with each day bringing some fresh challenge. Charlie managed to re-secure the tent but from then on it leaked through one of the seams no matter how hard Lucy tried to patch it, and they often woke to find themselves lying in a puddle of cold water. The army ration of coal was reduced and any trees in the vicinity had long since been chopped down for firewood, so Lucy could no longer light a fire during the day. She saved their precious supplies to make tea and a warm meal when Charlie came off duty, and the rest of the time she huddled in blankets, never truly getting warm or dry. She thought with longing of her extra-warm, cherry-red winter coat and her fur hat and muff: she hadn’t brought them as she hadn’t expected to be here in winter. She wrote another letter, this time directly to Dorothea, begging that she send out warm clothing, listing the items she would particularly like to receive, but she no longer had faith that letters were getting through. Either that, or Dorothea had abandoned her – a thought too painful to consider.

  When Lucy next begged a lift down to Balaklava, hoping to purchase fuel, she found the shops bare. The stormy weather had whipped the sea into a thick yellow foam and the village street was a river of mud and filth. She walked right to the end of the row, and suddenly noticed what looked like a red British army tunic in the water. She went closer, curious about the way it was bobbing in the surf, then a wave pushed it towards her and she realised it was a body. A human body. A short scream burst from her lungs and she sat on a wall, worried she might faint. The soldier was clearly dead, his head beneath the surface: why was no one recovering his body? Had standards slipped so low? Everyone deserved respectful treatment after death.

  When she felt calm enough to walk again, Lucy headed back to the village entrance, where she knew the harbourmaster’s office was situated, and went in to inform him of the body. He was a small, bespectacled man, who looked up from a pile of papers.

  ‘What’s that you say? Well, he’s hardly the first. I’ll send someone to fish him out.’

  ‘I couldn’t tell which regiment he was from. Will you inform his commanding officer? There sh … should be a funeral …’ She still felt shaky from the discovery.

  He gave her a shrewd look. ‘Yes, you’re right, there should be. Well, we’ll see what can be done.’

  ‘But how do you think he got there?’ Her voice rose. ‘He couldn’t have been shot by the Russians, could he?’

  The harbourmaster opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it. ‘I expect he fell off one of the cliffs and got washed round on the current. There are some tall cliffs hereabouts.’

  ‘It’s such a waste! Well, if I can be of any assistance … I’m going back to the camp now and could take word.’

  ‘I suspect identification will require a little longer than that. Depends how long the poor chap has been in there. Don’t you worry; I’ll deal with it. Now, is there anything else I can do for you?’

  Lucy hesitated. ‘I don’t suppose you know where I might find some fuel? Our ration of coal has run out … Is there anywhere I could try?’

  ‘We haven’t had a delivery of coal since before the storm. But tell you what …’ He rose from his chair and went into a room behind, emerging some minutes later hauling a sack full of coal. ‘You take this. I don’t like to see a lady going cold.’

  Lucy’s eyes filled at his kindness. It was the first time in weeks that anyone had been kind to her. ‘Are you sure? Please allow me to pay for it.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of it, Ma’am. Now, if you’d care to sit here for five minutes, I will arrange a lift back to the camp for you. We can’t have you carrying that sack all on your own.’

  He left her in the office and she looked around. There was a mirror on one wall and she caught a glimpse of herself, her cheeks hollow, nose red from the cold, blue-grey shadows under her eyes, and hair an unspeakable bird’s nest. How could he tell she was a lady? Not by her appearance, that was certain.

  On his return, he hauled the sack of coal out to a wagon about to leave for the British camp, and helped her to climb on board. Lucy was overwhelmed, thanking him effusively until the poor man seemed embarrassed.

  ‘Not at all. Please drop in next time you are passing.’

  Back at camp, she extracted a heap of coal for her own use then took the rest to the women congregated in the cookhouse, inviting them to share it amongst themselves. They regarded her suspiciously.

  ‘Please take it. We are all in the same situation here,’ she said, and gave a weak smile before leaving them to d
ivide the fuel.

  Later, she decided not to tell Charlie about the soldier floating in the ocean, but she described the harbourmaster’s generosity and showed him the pile of coal. He barely listened and made no comment, sunk in such gloomy spirits that it was hard to communicate with him. When he returned from duty the first thing he did was pour himself a large drink. He had run out of army rum but purchased a spirit called arak from a contact in the Turkish camp. It was a clear liquid that turned cloudy white with the addition of a few drops of water. Lucy took a sip and found it vile but Charlie had developed a worrying taste for it. Whereas rum had usually lifted his spirits and made him sociable, even garrulous, the arak seemed to make him morose.

  ‘I don’t know how you can drink that stuff,’ she teased. ‘To me it tastes of aniseed drops and I’ve never been able to bear them.’

  He said nothing but she persevered, trying to keep her tone light and carefree.

  ‘Mint humbugs are your favourite, are they not? Remember the day in Warwick when nothing would do but we toured the shops till we found some? That was just before our wedding.’

  Charlie was polishing his buckles and didn’t comment.

  ‘Do you think the attack on Sevastopol will be soon? Has Major Dodds said anything?’

  ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘Surely they must attack before winter sets in? The temperature drops by a degree every night. We can’t survive out here in tents, can we? … I hear the French have been building huts.’

  ‘What a shame you didn’t marry a Frenchman then.’

  ‘Goodness, Charlie!’ she exclaimed. ‘You are in a low mood tonight. Why don’t you organise a card game? I’m sure you could put together a four for whist.’

  He wasn’t interested. ‘It’s too cold for cards.’

  Lucy wondered if he was embarrassed in front of his men because they knew of his not riding out at Balaklava. Perhaps that’s why he no longer socialised. She longed to chat after a day spent alone and friendless but he wasn’t in the mood for conversation. There was a growing chasm between them and she had no idea how to breach it.