Читать книгу No Place For A Lady - Gill Paul, Gill Paul - Страница 17

Two weeks after their arrival at camp, Charlie and Bill returned from the front with news that the Russians had abandoned Silistria and pulled back across the Danube. ‘We could be on the move again soon,’ Charlie warned, but they waited and no orders came. Meanwhile, the women had slipped into the rhythm of camp life. Every morning, before the heat grew too fierce, Lucy and Adelaide walked out to nearby farms to try and purchase fresh food to augment the chewy salt pork and tasteless dried biscuits distributed by the army. They didn’t speak the language, of course, but the local men seemed receptive to Lucy’s pretty face and Adelaide’s friendly smile and they were usually able to buy a loaf of sour black bread, gritty with sand from the floor on which the dough was kneaded, and perhaps some butter. Occasionally they were offered a few eggs or a scrawny chicken, but the only vegetables available seemed to be onions.

After a nap during the hottest hours, Lucy would venture out to call on some of the other women and chat to them as they washed clothes in the river or sat in the shade of a stand of trees. She began to know several: Mrs Williams, who had now resigned as lady’s maid to Fanny Duberly – ‘I can’t say I’m surprised,’ Lucy told her with a conspiratorial twinkle – and Mrs Blaydes, who had taken her place; Mrs Jenkins, a forthright Welshwoman, and Mrs Higgins, who was said to have too much of a taste for alcohol but whom Lucy found shy and very companionable. She noticed that the women had shed their corsets and petticoats in an attempt to keep cool; in fact, she caught a glimpse of Mrs Williams’ bare leg one day and realised she wasn’t even wearing drawers. Lucy still wore all her layers in order to maintain a fashionably full skirt; she was determined not to let her standards slip, even though the intense heat meant her undergarments were often drenched in perspiration. In her head, she frequently argued with Dorothea: ‘You see? I am sleeping in a tent, making tea on a campfire and, contrary to your expectations, I am perfectly capable of looking after myself.’

At night, they dined with the men on greasy communal stews doled out with slices of gritty bread, unless they had procured a chicken that day, in which case Adelaide roasted it over the fire with great competence. Lucy had never learned to cook and she watched carefully, eager to learn. After dinner, Charlie usually instigated the entertainment: sometimes it was a card game or a musical evening, but he also developed the raucous new sport of beetle racing. The men prowled the undergrowth collecting beetles then raced them along a length of sheet. They placed bets on the likely winners then cheered on their own creatures, to whom they gave names: Horatio the Horrible, Nimrod, Lucan and Raglan (the last two named after the cavalry commander and the army’s elderly general).

Bill didn’t care for gambling so he kept the ladies company on these evenings, conversing about books and music, or telling them what he had learned about the progress of the war: there were other fronts being fought in the Baltic, in the Eastern parts of Turkey and in Crimea, and it seemed possible they might be redeployed to one of them now the Russians had left Silistria.

‘I wish they would make their decision soon so we can fight our battles and go home,’ he told Lucy. ‘I can’t tell you how much I miss our little ones bouncing on my knee, or climbing all over me while pretending I am a big bear.’ He chuckled. ‘I love to hear them chattering in their serious little voices. Martha has an opinion on everything and is not shy of expressing it.’

‘He can never deny her,’ Adelaide smiled. ‘If I have refused her anything, she will go to her father and extract his consent in an instant. He can’t resist her.’

‘It’s true,’ Bill grinned. ‘You remind me of her, Mrs Harvington. I think you have steely determination beneath that pretty exterior.’

Lucy laughed. ‘Thank you for the compliment, sir. I certainly hope I am more than merely decorative.’

At bedtime, Charlie returned to their tent and they made love quietly but Lucy blushed scarlet the next morning when Adelaide and Bill greeted her; she could hear when they had marital relations, just from a change in breathing pattern, a slight shifting of bodies, so she knew they must hear Charlie and her as well.

Weeks passed, June turned to July, and the men had little to do but tend their horses and race beetles. It felt like an anti-climax after all the excitement of the journey and Lucy wondered about the cause of the delay in getting new orders. Meantime, she was concerned that the horses drank from the river they used for their own drinking water, and she had been disgusted to see some soldiers urinating into it. She began to venture further afield to a spring where she collected buckets of water for drinking, enjoying the walk in the cooler hours of early morning. However, one day after she returned from such a trip she felt movement on her legs and lifted her petticoat to find a slimy black slug about two inches long stuck to her calf. She lifted the hem of her drawers to find another. She shrieked hysterically and couldn’t stop shrieking.

‘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 Lucy 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.