Her Gallant Captain at Waterloo

by Diane Gaston

  She walked to the Rue de la Blanchisserie, to the Duke of Richmond’s house to ask for David. Perhaps with the Duke’s family as witness, he would not refuse to see her. Before she knocked at the door, she peeked in the other building where the ball had been held. Servants were busy taking down the drapery and carting away the flowers. Chairs and tables were pushed against the walls. The place where she and Rhys had danced now looked empty and forlorn.

  She stepped out of that building and sounded the knocker at the front door. The butler cautiously opened it, fearing she was the French come to conquer Brussels, she supposed.

  ‘I am Lady Helene Banes,’ she told him. ‘My brother is visiting Lord William. I should like to see him.’

  The butler led her to a drawing room off the hall and it was not long before one of the Duke’s daughters entered the room.

  ‘Lady Helene, I am Georgiana, William’s sister.’ Her brown hair was still in the curls she’d worn at the ball. She had a pretty face, thin, with large, expressive brown eyes.

  Helene curtsied. ‘We met at the ball last night.’ Georgiana sat next to the Duke of Wellington at supper.

  ‘I remember. You wore a lovely gold dress.’ The girl smiled. ‘Would you care to sit? May we offer some refreshment?’

  Helene had glimpsed the Duke and Duchess a few times during her London Seasons, but Lady Georgiana would have been too young for Helene to have known her then.

  Helene knew she was intruding. ‘I’ve no wish to trouble you. I need to speak to David.’

  Georgiana’s pretty brow furrowed. ‘David is not here. He and William rode out this morning.’

  ‘Rode out? In his evening clothes?’ David had not returned to the hotel to change or, at least, the harried hall servant had not seen him.

  ‘He borrowed clothes from William,’ Georgiana explained. ‘They went off to learn what they could of the battle.’

  At that moment, the boom of a cannon made them both jump.

  ‘I see.’ Helene did not know whether to be furious at David or to fear for him. Foolish, reckless boy. ‘If—when they return, would you please tell David I must see him?’

  ‘I will,’ she promised.

  Georgiana walked Helene to the door and bid her goodbye.

  The cannonade continued, distant but a reminder that David could be placing himself in danger. And what of Rhys? He and his friend Grant would be in the thick of it. Would one of those cannonballs strike him?

  The streets were tense, as if the worries and fears of the people had filled the very air they all breathed. Helene had no one else to call upon. She certainly would not invade Wilson and Louise’s newly found privacy, nor would she disturb Mrs Jacobs, even if she knew where the nurse lived. She walked by the lace shop, thinking she might drop in and at least browse through the lovely things. The shop was closed.

  Helene laughed at herself. At Yarford she knew everyone on the estate and in the village. At the moment, here in Brussels, she knew no one.

  She walked back to the hotel while the distant sounds of battle pounded at her heart.

  * * *

  The guns sounded all through the evening. Helene dared to walk through the Parc listening. She came upon the hotel guests she’d seen breakfasting with the two officers that morning.

  She approached them. ‘Pardon me. Have you heard any news of the battle?’

  The one woman, who looked to be a few years older than Helene, was eager to share what she knew, which was not much.

  ‘We heard that the French have won and are marching towards Brussels,’ the woman said. ‘We also heard that the Allies defeated the French, killing more men than one could imagine possible, but our friend Sir Neal Campbell heard from someone who’d been within sight of the battle, at least at five o’clock. He told us that there was fierce fighting. The infantry was facing the French without cavalry!’

  The infantry. Rhys.

  Helene must have looked alarmed because the woman put a hand on her arm. ‘Oh, do not worry so. He said our men were fighting well.’

  Helene hoped so. She said another prayer that Rhys be safe.

  ‘I am Miss Charlotte Waldie,’ the woman said. ‘We only arrived in Brussels yesterday. Can you imagine such timing? Are you here alone?’

  ‘I’m Helene Banes,’ she responded. ‘My brother came also, but he has gone off with his friend to find the battlefield.’ She did not mention Rhys, afraid speaking his name would lead to a fit of weeping. ‘So, I am alone at the moment.’

  The young woman smiled. ‘Then you must dine with us.’

  Helene could not have been more grateful for the company. She learned Miss Waldie’s companions were her brother and sister. They’d planned to travel throughout the Continent. Belgium was their first stop.

  Helene left her new friends around ten, when the cannonade finally ceased. She crawled into bed, still in her dress, and hugged the pillow where Rhys had laid his head.

  * * *

  She woke to a rumbling outside so loud it shook the walls. She jumped from the bed and hurried to the window. Though it was dark she could see heavy military carriages speeding through the street. She peered at the mantel clock. Twelve thirty. She hurriedly tied back her hair and put on her shoes and left the room.

  As she descended the stairs, she could see that many of the other guests had left their doors open, perhaps also in a rush to find out what was happening. When she reached the hall, it was in more chaos than she’d seen before.

  ‘What is happening?’ she asked one gentleman.

  He answered her in French. ‘The French are advancing on the city. Hear the artillery? You English should leave before it is too late.’

  But the last news she’d heard was that the British had been fighting well.

  Helene made her way to the door of the hotel and walked outside. All sorts of carriages and wagons were jammed up in front of the hotel and frantic people threw trunks atop them. Drivers barely waited for the occupants to take their seats before speeding off.

  She spied her new friend, Charlotte, and her sister and brother. ‘Are the French really approaching?’

  Charlotte gave her a reassuring smile. ‘All the military carriages are heading to the army, not retreating. Our friend, Major Wylie, just returned from the Place Royale where he heard officially that the French were repelled by the Allies. The city is perfectly safe, but rumours are rife.’

  Helene breathed a sigh of relief.

  Charlotte added, ‘We are making arrangements to leave Brussels, however. There is more fighting to come. Perhaps you should do the same.’

  It was what she’d promised Rhys. But she would not leave without David. He promised he would come to the hotel today.

  * * *

  Morning came after Helene had managed only a little sleep. She rose and straightened her dress and pinned up her hair. Eager for news, she put on her hat and gloves, wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and left her room to walk to the Place Royale. At least there she had a chance of hearing what was really happening.

  She descended the stairs to find the hall was only a bit more orderly than the night before. The sense of panic was missing, but everywhere were piles of luggage and people asking how they might leave the city.

  She made her way through the commotion to the door outside. The pavement was similarly filled with boxes and trunks and portmanteaux. Lines of carriages clogged the street.

  Her new friend Charlotte stood nearby, saw her and called her over. ‘Our coach is about to arrive, Helene. We’re off to Antwerp. I am certain we could fit you in, if you would come with us.’

  It would be what Rhys asked her to do.

  ‘Thank you,’ she responded. ‘I wish you well, but I must wait for my brother.’ Although Helene no longer believed her brother would come to her.

  Charlotte’s sister called to Charlott
e, beckoning her to come to where a carriage was stopped down the street.

  ‘I must go,’ Charlotte said. ‘Take care.’

  Helene watched her climb in the carriage and stood long enough to wave to them as their carriage passed by.

  The image of the officer’s wife riding to battle next to her husband kept returning to Helene’s mind. That was what she wished. To be with Rhys. To face what he faced. To know right this second if he was safe or...not.

  But she could not let her thoughts drift on to that dreadful path.

  She walked to the Place Royale, busy with people. They all seemed to be demanding information. What was being done to secure the city? Why was the City Guard not protecting Brussels? Would they merely give up the city if the French arrived?

  Helene had no patience for such concerns. What she wanted to know was, had the battle cost many British lives? What was to be expected next? No. Her real questions were, was Rhys safe? Was he alive? Surely her heart would know if he were not alive.

  And, of course, there was David. Had he been foolish, as she already knew? Had he at least tried to stay out of danger?

  She returned to the hotel, suddenly hungry and longing for a cup of tea. As she headed to the dining room, the harried hall servant called to her, angering the several people making other demands of him. ‘Lady Helene.’ He raised his hand which held a piece of paper. ‘A message for you.’

  She hurried over and took the paper from his hand. She must remember to be generous in her vails to that poor man.

  She waited until she was seated in the dining room, a pot of tea in front of her before unfolding the paper and reading its contents.

  Dear Lady Helene,

  I do have word of your brother. He and William returned late last night but rode off again. Tomorrow there is to be another battle, they’d heard.

  I relayed your message and I am distressed to tell you your brother said he had no intention of meeting you at your hotel. He will do as he wishes, he said. William is a military man and knows of such matters.

  I can only hope he can talk some sense into your brother, who I am completely out of patience with.

  With regret,

  G.L.

  Lady Georgiana merely confirmed Helene’s fears. David broke his word to her yet again.

  The wretch.

  She ate her breakfast as a plan leapt into her head. She was done with her brother’s irresponsibility. The battle would not be far away, she’d heard. She’d go there herself, find David and bring him back. Then she could do what Rhys asked her to do.

  Leave Brussels.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Orders came in the morning for the regiments to withdraw to the area Rhys had heard Wellington mention the night of the ball. Waterloo. Rhys was glad to be away from Quatre Bras. It had been impossible to defend, but his men and the other men of the British regiments achieved the impossible once again.

  Although at great cost. They left behind too many of their friends, dead or wounded. This was the worst of war.

  As soon as his men cooked and ate their rations, Rhys informed them of the plan and praised them for a job well done the day before. They broke camp and marched. Wellington left enough men at Quatre Bras to fool the French into thinking the Allies meant to defend the crossroads again instead of moving to this more strategic location.

  * * *

  The men were still on the road past noon when the skies threatened.

  Grant rode up to Rhys. ‘Looks as though we are in for some wet weather.’

  It looked as though Grant was making a very great understatement.

  The length of the front that Wellington chose was about two and a half miles long, stretching from a farm called Hougoumont to another named La Haye Sainte. Rhys’s regiment was positioned behind one of the rises between the farms, closer to La Haye Sainte. Not long after their men were settled, the rains came. In the downpour, Rhys and Grant rode the entire length of the area, familiarising themselves with the terrain. Wellington had picked well. Wellington liked to protect his men on the downward slope of a hill where their numbers were hidden and they were safer from artillery fire. This terrain, though not very steep, would serve that purpose.

  * * *

  Evening came and the rain had been falling for some time when Rhys checked on his company again.

  ‘Keep as dry and comfortable as you can, men,’ he told them. His words were met with groans and laughter. ‘I know. I know. Some reward for yesterday, is it not?’ Rhys wore a cloak, but it was already soaked through.

  Grant’s and his batmen had found them reasonably dry accommodations in a small farm building not too far away. He left his men and wound his way through the other companies of the 44th to where some supply wagons and camp followers had settled. The wagons were covered with tarps, and the mix of hangers-on—wives and children, laundresses, prostitutes and sutlers selling their wares—were huddled under tents or other makeshift shelters. Some feet away, walking towards him, he saw a lone youth doggedly making his way past the encampment. The boy’s boots stuck in the mud making progress difficult. He’d pause every so often to peruse the camp followers, then trudge onwards, head down. The boy was dressed in riding boots and a caped coat with a beaver hat on his head, too fine an outfit to be one of the hangers-on.

  When the boy came close to Rhys, he raised his head and stopped abruptly.

  As did Rhys.

  Boy’s clothes, but not a boy at all. ‘Helene,’ he rasped. ‘What the devil—?’

  Her shocked expression turned to one of relief. ‘Rhys.’

  He seized her arm. ‘Come with me.’

  He walked her away from the encampment to a place of relative privacy in the field behind them.

  He turned to face her. ‘What the devil are you doing here, Helene?’

  * * *

  Helene was too full of joy to see Rhys alive and unhurt to even form words. But she pulled herself together and shrugged out of his grip. ‘I came to find David.’

  ‘David?’ His eyes flashed. ‘You should be on a boat to Ramsgate by now.’

  She supposed she deserved this angry tone of his, but, after the night they’d shared, could he not have been a little glad to see her?

  She tried to keep her voice even. ‘David did not keep his word. He did not show up at the hotel, so I came here. I thought I could find him and we could head back to Brussels and be back to the hotel before dark.’

  ‘You thought you could find him? There are almost seventy thousand people here.’

  ‘I thought he would be conspicuous without a uniform.’ She glanced back at the encampment. ‘I did not know there would be so many other people here. And he was with William Lennox. I thought that might make him easier to find.’

  ‘With William Lennox?’ Rhys scoffed. ‘I credited that fellow with more sense.’

  ‘I doubt David would listen to sense.’ She wiped the raindrops from her face.

  ‘You make no sense either, Helene.’ He gestured to the sky. ‘Did you really think David and Lennox would be camping out in this? If they are here, they are warm and dry in some inn nearby.’

  She lifted her chin. ‘Well, I did not know it would rain. Besides, I can ask for him at any inn I pass on my way back to Brussels. I am on my way back to my horse—if I can find her.’

  Rhys took his hat off and rubbed a hand through his wet hair. ‘You cannot get back to Brussels tonight. The roads will be clogged with supply wagons, no doubt most of which will be stuck in mud.’

  What was she to do, then?

  ‘Curse David,’ Rhys grumbled.

  They stared at each other while sheets of rain poured down on them. Rhys closed his eyes and when he opened them again, his expression softened.

  ‘Come with me,’ he said. ‘To some place dry.’ He took her arm again and practically pulled her
along with him.

  They walked and slid their way through a grassy field until they finally came to a small farm building, the sort that was meant to shelter field workers in bad weather or to store their equipment. Rhys opened the door for her and she went in.

  It took a moment to get used to being in a dry place and for her eyes to adjust to the dim light. She saw three men. One seated, his back against the stone wall, two tending a fire in a small fireplace.

  The two men at the fireplace stood at Rhys’s entrance. ‘Captain,’ they said in unison.

  The man who was seated did not greet him, but merely said, ‘Who is this with you?’

  Helene recognised him then. ‘Hello, Grant.’

  He sprang to his feet. ‘Lady Helene?’

  ‘Wha—?’ one of the other men said.

  ‘What the devil are you doing here?’ Grant exclaimed.

  ‘My exact words,’ mumbled Rhys. He gestured to the other men. ‘Helene, these fellows are Privates Rossiter and Smith, our batmen.’ He turned to the men. ‘Lady Helene and I grew up together.’

  She supposed that was enough of an explanation. She nodded politely. ‘How do you do.’

  ‘Very well, miss.’ Rossiter spoke as if she were in a drawing room dressed in a morning dress and not trousers and a caped coat. ‘Water’s boiling for tea, if you’ll have some.’

  ‘I would be very grateful,’ she responded truthfully. She’d had nothing to drink in hours. ‘But, please, everyone. I do not wish to be any trouble.’

  ‘There are no chairs, Helene.’ Rhys sounded apologetic.

  At least he no longer sounded angry.

  She tried to make light of matters. ‘I’m perfectly dressed to sit on the ground.’ She removed the caped coat, which was soaked through with rain and lowered herself to the dirt floor. She sat cross-legged.

  Rhys sat next to her.