No Place For a Lady Read online

  ‘Get them off me! Get them off me!’

  Adelaide came running at the sound of Lucy’s terror: ‘Those are leeches,’ she quickly identified. ‘Don’t worry, they won’t harm you.’ She pulled a stick from their woodpile and used it to flick the creatures from Lucy’s leg to the ground. A thin trickle of blood ran down from each of the bites. ‘Perhaps you should check the other leg,’ she suggested, and when Lucy rolled up her drawers she screeched anew to find four leeches attached there as well. Adelaide removed them then picked them up one by one on her stick and tossed them onto the fire, where they squirmed and crackled.

  When she had done, Lucy burst into hysterical tears, still patting her legs in case she had missed one. ‘I’m sorry …’ she sobbed. ‘I didn’t mean to make a fuss. I wanted to be brave.’

  ‘You are extremely brave, my dear. For all you knew they could have been poisonous. In fact, they have long been used in medicine for bloodletting and their bites do not have any harmful effects but it’s understandable you got a fright. Go lie in the tent and I’ll bring you some tea.’

  ‘Please don’t tell Charlie. I don’t want him to think I can’t cope.’

  Adelaide put an arm round her shoulder. ‘Of course I won’t tell him. And I think you are coping extraordinarily well, given your tender years and sheltered upbringing. Every morning you manage to look so spruce and well turned-out you put me to shame! And every day I find you chatting to someone new; you are one of the most popular women in the British camp and an inspiration to all. I’m proud to call myself your friend.’

  Still Lucy was ashamed of her outburst and determined to be stronger when next she was challenged. She wanted Charlie to think her a worthy officer’s wife. And although Dorothea wasn’t there to witness it, she was determined to prove herself to her as well.

  On the 19th July, Mrs Blaydes came to Lucy and Adelaide’s tent with some alarming news: a soldier in the Royal Horse Artillery had died of low fever.

  ‘Oh my goodness!’ Lucy panicked. ‘There must be poisonous vapours in the earth here. What can we do to avoid them?’

  ‘Perhaps we should stay out of company until we can be sure there are no further cases,’ Adelaide suggested. ‘We could halt the beetle races and card games, just for now.’

  ‘Seems a shame,’ Mrs Blaydes said, ‘but I ’spect you’re right.’

  Four days later sixteen men had died and it was confirmed as an outbreak of the deadly cholera. Lucy listened with shock to Charlie’s description: ‘I’ve heard a man can drop dead within hours of the first bout of diarrhoea, and his final hours are spent writhing on the floor with liquid spewing from both ends.’

  Adelaide admonished him for scaring Lucy, but he continued: ‘It’s the truth. One captain in the Horse Artillery took an overdose of laudanum after his diagnosis as he couldn’t face the horrors of such a death.’

  ‘We must all keep out of harm’s way,’ Adelaide said firmly. ‘If we are careful, I am sure we will avoid it.’

  Lucy wondered if Dorothea had encountered any cholera sufferers in her hospital and might have some advice. If only she could write to ask! But even if her sister replied, the letter would take too long reaching them to be of use and Dorothea would probably just tell her to come home. She had not received a reply to the letter she sent her father from Malta. She knew some letters were getting through to the troops because in Constantinople Adelaide had been handed several, with coloured drawings made by her children, which had left her withdrawn and silent all afternoon.

  In camp, there were whispers about those affected by fever, and Lucy steered well clear of sufferers’ tents, anxious about vapours. She stopped wandering out to chat with other women at the cookhouse or down by the river, keeping close to the area around their tent in the hope that they had chosen an area of healthy soil. But her precautions were in vain. One evening, Bill was unable to eat his dinner but rose unsteadily and lurched towards the latrine trench where they emptied their bedpans. Shortly afterwards they heard him throwing up. Adelaide’s face turned pale as she rushed to help him. His forehead was hot and his eyes glassy. The diagnosis seemed clear.

  ‘Should I take him to the hospital tent?’ she asked Charlie.

  ‘Don’t,’ was his advice. ‘No one who goes there comes out alive. I hear it’s best to nurse patients in isolation. Lucy and I will move out of the tent to give you space, and will leave supplies for you outside.’

  Lucy’s throat was tight with fear – what if their patch of land was poisoned? What if Charlie caught the cholera? – but she was determined to be strong. ‘Don’t worry about anything but caring for your husband,’ she told Adelaide. ‘I’ll bring water and food, and will empty bedpans if you leave them outside. Tell me whatever you need and I’ll find it.’

  Adelaide helped Bill to lie down in the tent and moistened a cloth to wipe his brow. ‘A cure,’ she said, her voice choked up. ‘I need a cure.’

  Charlie and Lucy retrieved their bedding and slept under the stars, as they had done on the first night in Varna. They clung together, both terrified but unwilling to put their fears into words. Lucy decided she would write to her father asking if he knew any remedies and presumably he would then ask Dorothea’s advice. Perhaps she would send some miraculous medicine post-haste.

  Next morning, Lucy called to Adelaide from outside the tent and was relieved to hear that Bill’s condition was not any worse. She set off to get fresh water, the legs of her drawers tied tight to deter leeches. While she was filling her bucket, she saw one of the Sisters of Charity who accompanied the French army and in her best French asked for advice on treating cholera.

  ‘The doctors give calomel for purging,’ the Sister told her, ‘but we believe it only increases the agony. Keep your friend’s temperature down with cool cloths and feed him tiny sips of water and chicken broth. May God be with you all.’ She made the sign of the cross.

  Lucy took a bucket of fresh water back to their tent and called to Adelaide, telling her the advice she’d received and adding that she was setting out to beg for a chicken from one of the farmers. At the same time she would post the letter she had written.

  ‘Don’t take any risks on our account,’ Adelaide called. ‘Stay well clear of others. I couldn’t forgive myself if anything happened to you …’

  Lucy had never made chicken broth before but with Adelaide calling instructions from inside the tent, she managed to produce a palatable brew and she left a large bowl of it by the tent flap, along with half a loaf of black bread.

  For two days and two nights, neither Bill nor Adelaide emerged and there was little sound from inside the tent but Lucy could tell from the contents of the bedpans that the illness continued. She felt desperately lonely and scared during the day when Charlie went about his duties, and every evening she examined him for possible symptoms – was his brow slightly warm, his complexion pale? – but he seemed fine. Fatalities multiplied and coffins had to be constructed from any materials that could be found: Lucy saw one that read ‘Bass’s Superior Pale Ale’ on the side, which seemed horribly disrespectful to the dead. Was life really so cheap that a man could be full of life one day and buried in a beer crate the next?

  On the third day of Bill’s illness, Charlie went hunting and brought back four quail. He plucked them then Lucy roasted them, following Adelaide’s method, and she was delighted to hear that Bill had managed to eat a small portion. He must be on the mend, and, thank God, Adelaide was showing no signs of having caught the disease.

  Only when she and Charlie lay down to sleep that evening did Lucy dare to put into words the fearful thought that had been in her mind these last days, making her chest tight with nerves: ‘Promise me you won’t die out here,’ she whispered.

  ‘Of course I’m not going to die,’ he replied, stroking her hair back from her face. ‘I’m Lucky Charlie! I didn’t catch the cholera and I’ve got you for a wife.’

  They made love for the first time since Bill had fallen ill, and Luc
y clung to him, feeling the warmth of his skin, the beating of his heart, the rise and fall of his chest, all the signs that his body remained healthy. He stroked her hair and kissed her eyes, her nose, her neck. ‘You are extraordinary,’ he whispered. ‘Lord knows, I don’t deserve you but somehow I am lucky enough to have you in my arms and nothing could make me let you go.’ His voice cracked with emotion and Lucy had never loved him more; this must be what Adelaide meant when she said love deepens in times of adversity.

  During the night she woke to hear Charlie mumbling in his sleep. She leaned in to listen and suddenly he grabbed her in a tight embrace and whispered ‘Susanna’ with such longing in his voice that her blood froze. The name had been clear, no question. Her insides twisted with jealousy. Who was Susanna and why did it sound as if Charlie felt so passionately about her? Was she a woman with whom he had been in love before he met her? If so, why had he not mentioned her? Perhaps he loved her still. She dismissed the thought – Charlie’s love for her seemed beyond question – but all the same she found it hard to get back to sleep.

  Chapter Eight

  Once Bill had recovered sufficiently to emerge from the tent and rest in the nearby shade or go for gentle strolls to regain his strength, Adelaide was able to keep Lucy company once more, and the women became closer than ever. They were chatting together when Mrs Williams came by to ask after Bill.

  ‘He is much better,’ Adelaide replied. ‘Thank you for your concern.’

  ‘The 8th has been hit bad,’ Mrs Williams told them. ‘We’ve lost several men, and poor Mrs Blaydes has perished.’

  ‘Mrs Blaydes? Oh no!’ Lucy was distraught to hear of the loss of someone she had known, albeit slightly. ‘And some of our men? Which ones?’

  Mrs Williams rattled off a list of names, and tears filled Lucy’s eyes. ‘Their poor wives. What will they do now? I must visit them.’

  Adelaide extended a restraining hand. ‘Perhaps you had best not visit. I’m sure Mrs Williams will extend your heartfelt sympathies and let you know if there are any services you can perform for them.’

  ‘Of course,’ Mrs Williams agreed, her head bent.

  After she left, Lucy told Adelaide about her letter to her father and her secret hope that Dorothea would write with advice that would help all cholera sufferers in the camp.

  Adelaide poked the fire with a stick to stir the embers. ‘My dear, if it is a painful subject then you needn’t answer, but I am curious to know more about the argument with your sister. Was it simply because of Charlie or were you never particularly close?’

  Lucy tried to answer truthfully. ‘I think we were close once but it changed after my mother fell ill when I was seven years old. Dorothea appointed herself chief nurse and I was only allowed to see Mama when she said it was convenient. She often scolded me for making noise while Mama was trying to sleep and I suppose I began to resent her for keeping me away. Whenever I visited, Mama seemed cheerful and pleased to see me so it didn’t appear I was doing any harm. She always liked me to play and sing for her, right up to the end …’

  ‘How many years was she bedridden?’ Adelaide touched Lucy’s arm with empathy.

  Lucy tried to remember. ‘Six years, more or less. Sometimes she came down to the parlour but such occasions were rare. They scared me because she looked so frail that I worried she would slip on the staircase. She seemed safer in bed, propped up on her pillows, and that’s where she spent most of her time until she died. Dorothea didn’t waken me that night but told me in the morning.’

  Fresh tears came to her eyes, even five years on. ‘I had no chance to be there as she passed away, to hold her hand and tell her how much I loved her, but Dorothea thought I wasn’t old enough, that it would be too distressing for me. She made that decision on my behalf.’ Lucy was surprised how angry she felt talking about it, even now.

  ‘I expect she did what she thought was best.’ Adelaide pursed her lips.

  ‘No doubt she would say she did what she thought was best when she wrote to Charlie’s family trying to prevent our wedding, and got a barrister friend of hers to write to Major Dodds.’

  An intake of breath signalled Adelaide’s surprise at this disclosure. ‘Goodness! I can understand her trying to persuade you that eighteen is rather young to come to war, but perhaps she went too far. I’m sure she only did it because she loves you.’

  Lucy shook her head. ‘She has to be in charge. After Mama died, she was constantly scolding and correcting me. I was always in trouble for taking my gloves off when etiquette said I should not, or wearing a coat she thought was not warm enough, or talking too much in company. But although she may be thirteen years older, she is not my parent and does not have the right. So I often disobeyed, knowing Papa would take my side.’

  ‘And he consented to your wedding?’

  ‘Of course! He likes Charlie. Why wouldn’t he?’ Lucy felt defensive.

  ‘I suppose he too must have worried about you coming out here with a man you haven’t known for terribly long …’ Adelaide’s voice trailed off.

  Lucy looked at her. Was she taking Dorothea’s side? ‘Papa simply wants me to be happy.’

  ‘So Dorothea was twenty-six when your mother died? I suppose devoting herself to nursing her meant she had missed her opportunity to marry. Such a shame.’

  ‘I’m not sure Dorothea was ever interested in men.’ Lucy picked up a stick and began to trace a pattern in the dusty ground. ‘She’s too domineering. She volunteered to work at the Pimlico Charitable Hospital after Mama died, where I imagine she is very bossy. She has no time for anyone who doesn’t agree with her.’

  ‘It’s good that she lives a useful life. I hope she enjoys her work?’

  Lucy pondered this. ‘I suppose she wouldn’t do it if she didn’t enjoy it. She talks about it a lot. I only hope she writes soon, and maybe she will be able to send us some medicine to cure cholera. I expect it will be accompanied by long lists of instructions about what to do, what to avoid; you can count on that.’

  ‘A family rift is such a sadness. I worry about you and Charlie both being estranged from your kin. Promise me you will make peace with Dorothea after the war.’

  ‘Only if she will respect our marriage and treat me as an adult.’ Lucy folded her arms, determined that any apology should come from her sister since she had done nothing wrong.

  That evening, Charlie and Lucy went for a stroll in the moonlight, arms linked, and she mentioned that she had written to her father and very much hoped that Dorothea would send advice on preventing cholera.

  Charlie seemed hurt. ‘Why did you write to them? We have each other now. Dorothea only ever caused trouble for us and, to be frank, your father doesn’t know the day of the week. You and I don’t need anyone else.’

  Lucy squeezed his arm. ‘Of course we don’t, darling. I only wrote because of the cholera. Don’t be cross with me.’

  He fell silent and she could tell from the way he stiffened and peered into the distance that he was cross about it. He wanted her all to himself. Perhaps he was worried that Dorothea would try to persuade her to return home again – as no doubt she would. But nothing would make Lucy leave now. How would Bill have survived cholera without Adelaide’s tender care? If anything should happen to Charlie, she wanted to be there to offer the same comfort.

  *

  The summer passed slowly and Lucy grew increasingly frustrated with the delay in any fresh orders coming through. She missed her home, her friends and her father, and the novelty of living in a tent had long since grown tiresome. Towards the end of August, rumours began to spread that the troops were set to sail for Crimea but that officers’ wives must be left behind in Varna, since there would be no decent accommodation for them once the army was on the move.

  ‘I am not staying behind,’ Adelaide declared firmly. Although Bill had returned to his duties he was still weakened by his illness and she could not contemplate waving goodbye to him. ‘I will go along by hook or by crook.’


  ‘And I’ll come too,’ cried Lucy. She could think of nothing worse than being left alone in this land of cholera and leeches.

  Charlie told them that Lord Lucan intended to patrol the quayside watching every person boarding the ship, and they tried to think of ways to avoid his eagle gaze. Lucy suggested she could hide in her trunk, but Charlie pointed out that she would soon suffocate.

  ‘Why don’t we dress as soldiers?’ Adelaide suggested. ‘We could borrow some trousers and tunics and hide our hair under busbies.’

  Lucy laughed at first but her friend was serious. She rushed into their tent and emerged some minutes later wearing Bill’s spare uniform. While the blue tunic was baggy on her, and the red trousers with a yellow stripe threatened to fall down at any moment, she could have passed for a man if you didn’t look too closely.

  ‘Charlie’s would be far too big for me. Perhaps I can borrow a spare uniform from Mrs Williams’ husband Stan, who is slighter,’ Lucy suggested, feeling a surge of excitement. ‘I’ll ask her. It doesn’t seem fair that soldiers’ wives are allowed to go along while we are not.’

  ‘They plan on putting the soldiers’ wives to work, cooking and laundering clothes,’ Adelaide explained, ‘but we can do that just as well.’

  At daybreak on the 31st August, when the Hussars struck camp, Adelaide and Lucy were already dressed in their borrowed uniforms. It meant they couldn’t beg a lift on a gun carriage for the eight-mile march to Varna and even had to carry a bag apiece (although Charlie managed to arrange transport for Lucy’s trunk, the bath and her heaviest bags). Their feet blistered in army boots several sizes too large, stuffed with socks so they didn’t fall off, but both marched with determination and kept up with the others, chatting along the way.