Her Gallant Captain at Waterloo

by Diane Gaston

  His words were like a knife to her belly. There were so many carts. Would Rhys be among those placed in them? She stopped and said a prayer that he would survive unharmed.

  She started back to the hotel door, suddenly feeling achingly alone. She wished David was here. He could never be counted upon to provide solace, but she would not feel so alone if he were with her.

  Though it was still early, she decided to check on Wilson. Surely they would have been awakened by the call to arms, the sounds of the army on the march, the rumbling of wagons. She’d arrange for breakfast for Mrs Jacobs, Louise and Wilson. Louise would likely come soon to be at Wilson’s side.

  She entered the hotel and walked to the dining room, passing the guests still clustered around the hall servant. To her surprise there were diners in the dining room, including two officers seeming to take a leisurely breakfast with a young man and two young women. She ordered food and drink to be sent to Wilson’s room and hurried there herself.

  A distressed Mrs Jacobs opened the door to her knock. ‘Oh, mademoiselle! Such commotion.’

  Helene entered the room, surprised to see Wilson fully dressed and seated on the side of the bed, equally surprised to see Louise, seated at his side.

  ‘Wilson! You are up.’ He made an effort to stand, but Helene signalled him to remain seated. ‘You must be feeling better.’

  ‘Much better, m’lady,’ he said.

  Mrs Jacobs broke in. ‘We decided it best if Mr Wilson dressed today. Goodness! We do not know what will happen. What if the French are at the gates of the city?’

  Helene was not certain Brussels had city gates. ‘Things are not so bad, I assure you.’ She turned to Louise. ‘I did not expect you here so early. You must have seen the army on its march.’

  ‘I stayed the night, Lady Helene,’ Louise said. ‘After you left, there were so many carriages going to the ball that I waited, but then Wilson did not want me walking home so late.’

  ‘So, you’ve had no news of what is happening?’ Helene asked.

  ‘None at all, m’lady,’ Wilson said.

  ‘Let me tell you what I know, then,’ Helene said. ‘The French are marching towards Brussels, but they are still some distance away. The Allied army is readying to meet them. Wellington sent troops to a place called Quatre Bras today, but Rhys believes the major battle will take place later at another location.’

  Mrs Jacobs’s eyes brightened. ‘Rhys? You were with your Captain?’

  Helene’s throat tightened and tears again pricked her eyes. She could not speak, but simply nodded.

  Louise rose and came over to her, folding her into a hug.

  Helene had resolved not to cry, but her carefully constructed dam broke and tears spilled down her cheeks.

  ‘There. There.’ Louise patted her back.

  Helene sobbed.

  Mrs Jacobs joined them, engulfing them both. The two women held her until she gained control of herself again.

  Helene reached in her pocket and took out Rhys’s handkerchief, but she did not want to dampen it with her tears. She put it back again and wiped her face with her fingers.

  Wilson, his expression full of concern, shuffled over and handed her his handkerchief. ‘Come sit next to me, m’lady.’ He walked her to the bed.

  She had a fleeting memory of Wilson drying her tears when she was a little girl, sitting her next to him and listening to whatever tale of woe had upset her.

  Louise sat on the other side of her.

  ‘You are all so—’ She broke into a sob again. ‘You are all so kind.’

  ‘Tell us what makes you cry,’ Wilson used the same soothing voice she remembered as a child.

  ‘Rhys might be killed,’ she blurted out and the tears spilled again.

  There was a knock at the door, which Mrs Jacobs answered. A servant handed Mrs Jacobs the tray of food and a pot of tea, then hurried away. Mrs Jacobs placed the tray on the table and fixed a cup of tea, handing it to Helene.

  It helped.

  There was another knock at the door. Another servant appeared. ‘Is Lady Helene Banes here?’ he asked.

  Mrs Jacobs gestured to Helene. ‘She is sitting right there. What is this?’

  ‘A message for her.’ He handed Mrs Jacobs a folded piece of paper, turned and left.

  Mrs Jacobs closed the door and handed the paper to Helene.

  She read it.

  Dear Sister,

  Am invited to stay with William. Cannot meet with you today. Promise to be at the hotel tomorrow.

  Yours, D—

  Helene gave an angry cry.

  ‘What is it, m’lady?’ Wilson asked, worry furrowing his brow.

  ‘David! He lied to me!’ She crumpled the paper. ‘He was to meet me here today. Rhys told us to leave for England today.’ Rhys made her promise. ‘David says he won’t be here. Tomorrow, he says.’

  Wilson’s brows knitted. ‘You wish to leave for England today?’

  She clasped his hand. ‘I know you are not well enough to travel, Wilson. I will leave you plenty of money to stay as long as you need and to pay for the trip home. Rhys will help you, if he can. You can come when you are ready.’

  He looked her in the eye. ‘I am staying, m’lady. I am not returning to Yarford. I am staying with Louise.’ He exchanged a very loving look with her.

  It moved Helene deeply. She squeezed Wilson’s hand. ‘Dear Wilson. I am so very happy for you both.’ A part of her, though, grieved losing him.

  Mrs Jacobs served the meal and they all ate without much conversation. Footsteps hurrying through the hallway made them all glance up at the door on occasion, as if someone might burst in on them with more alarming news.

  Mrs Jacobs collected the dishes. She’d been uncharacteristically quiet.

  ‘Is something amiss, Mrs Jacobs? Besides what we are all worrying about?’

  The nurse wrung her hands. ‘I—I need to go home to my husband. I need to stay with him. We do not know what will happen. What if the French return to Brussels? He cannot be alone.’

  Would any of them be safe if the French came?

  No. The Allies would stop them. They must.

  Helene walked over to Mrs Jacobs and gave her a hug. ‘Of course you must go home.’

  ‘I will take care of Samuel,’ Louise said. She glanced at him. ‘He need not stay here any longer. I will take him to my house.’

  These three dear people were leaving her, as well. Helene felt desolately lonely. She swallowed. ‘We must arrange for a carriage, then. It is too far for him to walk.’ She turned to Mrs Jacobs. ‘You should leave for home as soon as you are able. Now if you like.’

  Mrs Jacobs picked up the basket that she’d carried to and from her house. ‘I have packed everything already.’

  ‘Very good.’ Helene bit her lip to keep it from trembling. She might never see Mrs Jacobs again. What would she have done without her? ‘But walk with me to my room first. I have the money there to pay you.’

  ‘May I come with you?’ Louise asked. ‘I can gather the ball gown and other things to take back to the theatre.’

  Helene nodded. ‘Of course. We can accompany Mrs Jacobs to the lobby and then arrange for the carriage at that time.’

  Louise picked up her bag.

  Both Wilson and Mrs Jacobs became emotional when the nurse said goodbye to him.

  ‘I—I cannot thank you enough,’ he said earnestly.

  ‘Oh, now!’ Mrs Jacobs put on a smile. ‘You were no trouble at all. I’ve had many worse patients in my time.’ She took his hand in hers and patted it. ‘Now you take good care of my friend Louise, Mr Wilson. If you do not, you will have to answer to me and I will make certain you need quite a bit more nursing care.’

  He laughed. ‘I will do so, ma’am. With pleasure.’

  Helene smiled. Some
of Mrs Jacobs’s good spirits had returned, at least.

  As soon as they left Wilson’s room, Mrs Jacobs showed just how much she was restored to her old self. She leaned close to Helene. ‘Now, mademoiselle. You must tell us all about the ball and about your Captain. He showed up, did he?’

  Helene nodded. ‘He did show up at the ball. And we danced the waltz together.’

  ‘The waltz?’ Mrs Jacobs clapped her hands.

  ‘The waltz is a very romantic dance,’ Louise added approvingly.

  ‘And then what happened?’ Mrs Jacobs pressed.

  ‘We were together at the ball the whole time.’ Helene talked about the decorations and the ladies’ dresses and the food at the supper rather than speak about all that passed between her and Rhys. ‘Then word came that the officers had to go to their regiments. The ball was over. Rhys walked me back to the hotel.’

  Louise gave Mrs Jacobs a knowing look, but Helene did not comprehend its meaning.

  They reached her room and, while Helene unlocked the door, Louise and Mrs Jacobs stood a little apart from her and talked together in hushed tones. She opened the door and they went inside.

  Helene found her portmanteau and searched in its hidden compartment for her money. She handed some coins to Mrs Jacobs.

  The nurse stared down at the number of coins in her hand. ‘But this is too much, mademoiselle.’

  Helene gave her another hug. ‘It is not half as much as your help has been worth to me.’

  The woman grinned and stuffed them into a pocket.

  Helene glanced around the room. She’d left it in a telling piece of disorder. Her shawl was on the floor, the earrings and necklace where she’d dropped them on a table near the door. The chain and ribbon that had decorated her hair had been tossed on her dressing table. Most telling, though, was the bed and its very tangled bed linens. ‘Let me collect the things for the theatre,’ she said to Louise.

  Helene picked up the jewellery.

  Louise put a stilling hand on her arm. ‘In a moment. Sit first, s’il vous plaît.’ She led Helene to a chair.

  Mrs Jacobs and Louise pulled up two other chairs to face her.

  ‘Tell us,’ Louise said in a soft, kind voice. ‘Did Captain Landon spend the night with you?’

  Helene felt her cheeks burn. She did not answer.

  Mrs Jacobs leaned forward. ‘Mademoiselle, we understand being in love. We know of these things. Now if you need anything—you know—for the day after. We can help you.’

  Helene looked from one to the other. ‘I do not understand.’

  ‘To prevent a baby,’ Mrs Jacobs said.

  Helene felt her face turn red again. ‘Oh.’ She took a breath. ‘Thank you both, but—but if there is a baby—I will be happy.’ She blinked away tears again. ‘I will have a piece of him in case—in case I never see him again.’

  The two other women teared up, as well, and the three of them wiped their tears together. Finally, Louise stood. ‘Then we must not tarry. Mrs Jacobs needs to get home.’

  Helene took off the dancing slippers and handed them to Louise. While Helene put on her half-boots, Louise folded the dress and put it in her bag. When all the items were collected, they left the room.

  Outside the hotel’s entrance they said goodbye to Mrs Jacobs.

  ‘I will visit you, I promise,’ Louise told the nurse. ‘I know your direction. And you must visit me.’

  Helene could make no such promise. When she left Brussels, she would not likely ever return. She hugged Mrs Jacobs one more time. ‘I will never forget you,’ Helene whispered.

  The streets were eerily quiet still and, before Helene and Louise re-entered the hotel, Helene glimpsed the empty wagons again.

  The ones that would carry the wounded from Quatre Bras.

  Chapter Sixteen

  For all the rush from the call to arms, the haste to get out of Brussels, the time, so far, had been spent in marching and waiting. Or as Rhys overheard one of his soldiers say, ‘Hurry up and wait. That’s the army for you.’

  Instead of going directly to Quatre Bras, the regiment was ordered to Genappe where the soldiers rested under the shade of the trees to get some relief from the heat of the sun. They could hear the sound of guns, but in the distance. Still, the soldiers were ready to grab their muskets and march towards the sounds and do their duty.

  Grant found Rhys and the two men sat in the shade of a tree. Their horses nibbled on grass nearby.

  ‘Nearly two p.m. according to my timepiece,’ Grant said, putting it back in his pocket. ‘And whatever that is—’ He paused until the faint boom of a gun reached their ears. ‘It is not close by. I thought we would be hastening towards the crossroads at Quatre Bras.’

  Rhys sat with his back against the tree trunk and his eyes closed. ‘Wellington still isn’t certain where the French army is headed. He’s covering all roads.’

  ‘Still,’ said Grant, ‘I would rather be in the thick of it than be waiting.’

  ‘Would we not all prefer that?’ Rhys responded.

  He heard Grant shift his position. ‘I know better than to ask for details, but how did you fare with Lady Helene?’

  Rhys had been trying not to think of Helene, but his thoughts wanted only to drift to the memory of lying with her, making love to her. ‘We set our differences aside. There is that, at least. It made parting...difficult. She should be leaving for England today. With her brother.’

  ‘And?’ Grant asked.

  Rhys opened his eyes. ‘And nothing.’

  Grant regarded him. ‘You made no plans?’

  ‘We’re facing a battle. That is not a time to make plans.’ Rhys peered at him. ‘Since when do you advocate planning a future with a woman?’ He was baiting Grant who’d many times stressed how a woman cannot be trusted.

  ‘I liked your Lady Helene,’ Grant said, not rising to Rhys’s bait. ‘And so do you.’

  What Rhys felt for Helene was more than liking her. He loved her.

  So why had he not spoken even one word about the future to her?

  Because he feared his luck might run out in this battle. Because now he cared enough to want to live?

  * * *

  They waited for over an hour at Genappe before the order came to march again. To Quatre Bras, where Wellington had told him they would meet the enemy. The sounds of guns intensified. Their drums beat a marching rhythm. They reached the top of a knoll and, for the first time, Rhys had a clear view of the enemy. His insides clenched and his muscles tensed. Fear rose, but so did excitement. There was nothing like a battle to make a man feel alive.

  Thousands of French soldiers in formation filled the field below. Strong and seasoned soldiers, if the intelligence was to be believed. Rhys smelled the odour of gunpowder and heard the pop of musket fire. They marched towards their enemy and the sound of its fire power. The men crossed a field of rye so high that Rhys would only see the tops of their shakos.

  It was only three thirty.

  They continued to advance, their companies moving in a line, two men deep. Cavalry could be seen on the other side of the road, riding towards the crossroads.

  ‘Lancers!’ shouted Rhys.

  His men fired upon them, but General Pack, who commanded the brigade, furiously ordered the men to stop firing. ‘They are ours,’ Pack insisted.

  General Pack was wrong. They were French lancers, as Rhys had said. The horsemen turned and galloped towards the battalion, on the attack.

  There was no time for the men to form a square, so they were ordered to stand in line back to back. Rhys and the other officers rode up and down the line, reinforcing the orders and steadying the men. That he and the other officers were easy targets was not something he could even give a thought to. This was his job. This was how he got the best out of his men.

  ‘Wait until the order to fire!�
�� Rhys cried. ‘Wait until they are close.’

  The lancers were terrifying as their powerful horses galloped closer.

  Finally, the colonel shouted the order, ‘Present! Fire.’

  Rhys repeated it, as did the other officers.

  The line fired and few of the lancers escaped the volley. Horses crashed to the ground, their riders fell, injured, and were trampled by the horses behind them. One lancer escaped the carnage and rode straight for Rhys. He lunged at Rhys with his lance, narrowly missing him. Rhys slashed at the Frenchman’s back with his sword and the man fell to the ground. His horse ran on, riderless.

  After the lancers passed, the regiment was able to form squares to repel the second onslaught, but many men had been lost. Rhys scanned the field, searching for Grant. He found him still mounted on his horse. Rhys caught Grant’s eye. No need to speak. They were both grateful the other was alive.

  The danger had not yet passed. The regiment fought on until short of ammunition. Just when Rhys feared the direst consequences, reinforcements joined their ranks and turned the advantage back to the Allies.

  * * *

  Musket fire continued until almost eleven that night when each side retreated to rest and tend the wounded. The fields were littered with dead and dying. Those who escaped unscathed were exhausted and thirsty. Rhys and Grant rested near the Vallée des Vaches stream, not bothering to find shelter. What was left of their men likewise spent the night wherever they happened to stand.

  * * *

  Helene spent the afternoon alone. Louise and Wilson left not more than an hour after Mrs Jacobs and after they were gone, Helene knew no one else, not even to speak to. She thought about Rhys all the day. Where was he? What was happening to him?

  By the afternoon the distant booms of artillery fire reached Brussels. Helene left the hotel and walked the nearby streets, hoping for news. Some people had ridden out, trying to find the battle, but returned with conflicting accounts. One said the Allies had slaughtered the French, another that the Allies had been cut to pieces and were retreating in confusion. Of all Helene had read of the battles in Spain and France, she’d never read of British troops retreating in confusion.