Red, Red Rose

by Marjorie Farrell

  “I would bet it is that Lord Stanton. He’s a mean one, Lieutenant. I’ve seen more than one girl come back from a night with him bruised and crying.”

  “I must confess that I have my own reasons for hoping it is Stanton,” admitted Val. “But you must search all three carefully. And Mrs. Casey, I would not accuse you of being a gossip, but I know you love to talk….”

  Mags laughed. “Don’t worry, Lieutenant. Nothing will pass my lips.”

  “Not even to Sergeant Tallman,” he cautioned.

  “Him! He’s lucky I am talking to him at all.”

  “We will pay you well, Mrs. Casey.”

  Mags looked shocked. “Why, I am a hardworking woman and proud of it, Lieutenant. I would be ashamed to take any money for helping Lord Wellington win the war.”

  “You have my sincere admiration, then, Mrs. Casey,” said Val as he stood up to leave. “And mind that you take care.”

  “Don’t worry. Not many men would mess with Mags Casey!”

  * * * *

  Will Tallman had felt so badgered by Mags that at first he was relieved when she adopted a new tactic and feigned indifference. After a week of a cold and empty bed and dirty laundry, however, he admitted to himself that life with Mags, even if she was constantly nattering on about marriage, was preferable to life without her. He began to make sure their paths crossed at least once a day and would stop and chat with her. But she remained cool, barely giving him the time of day. At first her attempt to show him that he didn’t matter to her amused him. But then, as days went by, he became a little angry. She was beginning to seem perfectly able to do without him. It just went to prove the fickleness of women, he thought. After you for years to marry them and then, all of a sudden, you were dirt under their feet. And having to pay if you wanted your laundry done or a woman in your bed! Not that he wanted another woman in his bed, damn it. He wanted Mags Casey.

  * * * *

  Mags was well aware of Will’s reaction.

  “He don’t look happy, Mags,” Lucy Brown told her after Will brought her his dirty sheets.

  “As well he shouldn’t.”

  “But you are looking chipper enough!”

  “I have more important things to do than to mope around about Sergeant Tallman!”

  She had been able to think of little else than Val’s proposal as she washed and folded and mended the weekly laundry. And after the next mail, she would begin her career as a spy.

  There was another mail delivery only a week after the last, and when Mags made her rounds the day after, she made sure to wait until afternoon when all three officers were out.

  Lieutenant Trowbridge’s tent was first and her hands were shaking as she picked up the letter that had fallen on the floor next to his bed. She read it as quickly as she could; it proved to be a letter from his younger brother, who was mainly interested in the successes of a popular pugilist and his own luck or lack thereof at the gaming tables. “There is nothing for you here, Mags,” she whispered to herself as she put the letter back where she found it. “Unless this is some sort of code.”

  Lord Stanton’s tent was next and Mags glanced over her shoulder somewhat fearfully as she entered. She didn’t like Lieutenant Stanton any more than Lieutenant Aston did and she was convinced that if any one of these men was a spy, it must be he.

  Stanton kept his tent very neat and there were no papers scattered about. Mags put her pile of laundry down and went over to the table Stanton used as a desk. There were two books, an inkwell, and a quill pen on the left-hand side, and on the right, three letters refolded and held down by a stone. “Now put things back as you find them, Mags,” she reminded herself as she lifted the makeshift paperweight and began to unfold the first letter.

  It was from Lord Stanton’s mother, who seemed much more concerned with the latest society scandal than the political situation in London. The second one was from an old school friend, who also reported on the latest prizefight and the sales at Newmarket. There was nothing remotely suspicious about the letter, although the last paragraph was puzzling. The writer congratulated Lord Stanton on his successful “squeezing” of someone who was obviously another of their old schoolmates, but was not named. “Get as much as you can out of him now, Lucas. Indeed, I am surprised you’ve had anything from him, for rumor has it that he is pockets to let. But it is, after all, a capital offense.”

  “He must be blackmailing someone,” Mags muttered. “He’s a right nasty one, Lord Stanton.”

  She was just opening the third letter when she thought she heard a movement at the back of the tent. She froze, but heard nothing more, and decided she had been imagining things and quickly scanned the third letter, which was from a Lady Louisa, and obviously one of Lord Stanton’s paramours. The writer did mention the king’s illness in passing, but so briefly that Mags knew it could mean nothing. She carefully refolded the letters and placed them in their original order underneath the stone.

  She was very proud of herself for being so careful. She made a bloody good spy, if she did say so as shouldn’t, she thought.

  The marquess’s tent was farther down the row and Mags was hurrying along when she heard a hiss from behind one of the tents. “Madame,” came a whisper. She responded automatically, wondering who would be calling her, never even realizing it was a French form of address. As she stepped between the tents, all she was aware of was that the man who had summoned her wore a very dirty and tattered uniform of a voltigeur. One of the Frog deserters, who thinks I am going to do his laundry! was her last thought before she saw the pistol butt descend on her head.

  * * * *

  “Have you seen Mrs. Casey, Val?” James asked later that evening after supper. “She was to have brought me my clean shirts this afternoon, but when I got back to my tent, the dirty laundry was still uncollected.”

  Val frowned. “Are you sure this is her laundry day, James?”

  “She is usually as regular as clockwork. George,” he called out to Lord Trowbridge, who was just passing by. “Did Mrs. Casey deliver to you today?”

  “She did, James.”

  “That’s very odd, then, isn’t it, Val?”

  “Perhaps she just had too much to carry, James. She’ll probably be there tomorrow.”

  “You are likely right.”

  “Well, I must excuse myself,” said Val. “I promised Will a game of hazard.”

  Val was hoping that Mags would be sitting in front of Will’s fire, but it was only Murphy and Doolittle, throwing the dice.

  “Have you seen Mrs. Casey anywhere, Will?” Val asked as casually as he could.

  “I haven’t seen her all week,” Will replied.

  “She’s finally given up on him,” teased Private Murphy.

  “ ‘E’s won and I’ve lost,” confessed Doolittle. “I bet two shillings that she’d wear him down. Maybe I can win something back from you, Lieutenant,” he added, rolling the dice.

  “Uh, I just realized that there is something I need to take care of,” stammered Val. “I will be right back.”

  Val told himself that nothing was wrong. Mags Casey had obviously decided to ignore Will. She had more laundry than she could handle, was all. But the mail had arrived yesterday, damn it. When he got to the tent she shared with Mrs. Brown, he found it dark and Mrs. Brown outside, drinking with the other women.

  “Have you seen Mrs. Casey, Lucy?”

  Mrs. Brown frowned. “Not since this afternoon, now that you ask, Lieutenant, but she had her deliveries to make, you know.”

  “She didn’t finish them, it seems.”

  “Well, she had all her officers’ linens done,” Lucy responded with a puzzled look on her face. “Have you tried Will Tallman? I know Mags was bent on ignoring him this week, but maybe they’ve made it up.”

  “Uh, no,” lied Val. “But I’m sure I’ll find her there, Mrs. Brown. Thank you.” Val kept a smile on his face, for he didn’t want to start any rumors, but he hurried back to Will.

 
“Can I talk to you alone, Will?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Let’s walk for a few minutes,” suggested Val.

  “What is it, Lieutenant?”

  “You must keep what I tell you absolutely secret, Will,” Val warned him.

  “You can trust me, sir,” said Will, a puzzled look on his face.

  “There is certain information that we needed about one of the officers, Will. I can’t tell you more than that. But it seemed the best way to get it was to have someone who was always in and out of their tents to obtain it for us, so I asked Mrs. Casey if she would be willing to help us out.”

  Will grabbed Val by the sleeve. “You got Mags to spy for you?”

  “I didn’t think there would be much danger, Will, or I wouldn’t have asked her. It’s just that the mail came yesterday and she never finished her laundry rounds today.”

  “And Mrs. Brown?”

  “I was just there. She hasn’t seen her since this afternoon.”

  Like most redheads, Will Tallman was a pale man, but he grew even whiter at his news. “Do you think something has happened?”

  “I don’t know, but we need to find her, Will.”

  * * * *

  They found her outside the camp behind a clump of rocks.

  “Mags,” cried Will, falling on his knees beside her. “Oh, my God, look at her head.”

  Van knelt down and felt for a pulse. “She’s alive, Will, but just barely. Go for the doctor.”

  “I can’t leave her, sir, not like this.”

  “We need him quickly, Will. I’ll stay with her.”

  Will touched Mags’s cheek gently with his hand. “I’ll be right back, Mags.”

  “And Will, get hold of something to carry her on and a few men to help us.”

  The left side of Mrs. Casey’s face was covered with blood and her eye was swollen and protruding. Val took one of her hands in his. “I am sorry, Mags,” he whispered. “I never would have asked you to do this had I thought there was any real risk.”

  * * * *

  Doctor Clitheroe was there in minutes. “Private Tallman is getting a pallet and will be here in a minute, Lieutenant Aston. Let me take a look.” He lifted her uninjured eyelid and probed her head gently. “She appears to have been severely beaten.”

  “Will she live?”

  “There is extensive damage to the skull and she may well lose that eye, Lieutenant. But her pulse is steady and she is a strong woman, Mags Casey, so she may very well come through. I just can’t imagine who would do this to her.”

  When Will arrived with his small brigade, they lifted Mags carefully onto the pallet and carried her back to the hospital tent, where the doctor gently cleaned the blood off her face.

  “I will kill the man who did this,” Will said quietly but with such ferocity that the doctor looked up at him.

  “Then I am glad I am not he.”

  “Look at her poor eye,” whispered Will.

  “Indeed, there is a lot of swelling on that side, both internal and external. She may well lose it, or at least the use of it.”

  “But she will be all right, Doctor?”

  “I don’t know, Sergeant Tallman. Only the next few days will tell. The sooner she regains consciousness, the better, of course. I’ll send for you if there is any change.”

  “No, sir, you will not send for me, for I will be right here next to her.”

  “You can’t stay here, Will,” Val told him gently.

  “I’ll be here when I am not on duty, sir,” Will replied firmly.

  Val looked over at the doctor, who shrugged and said, “It is your choice, Sergeant Tallman. I’ll have my orderly set up a cot.”

  Chapter 20

  The news was all over the camp by morning and speculation ran wild as to who was responsible. Mags was popular with all who knew her and even Lord Wellington, who remembered her from Christmas Day, showed his concern by sending his orderly over with some oranges.

  Two days later Mrs. Casey had still not regained consciousness, although the swelling had gone down and she looked more herself.

  “It looks like she will keep the eye,” the doctor told Will. “Though whether she will be able to see out of it is another question.”

  “When do you think she will wake up, Doctor?” Will was afraid to ask if the surgeon thought she ever would.

  Clitheroe patted Will’s shoulder reassuringly. “I’ve seen many a man unconscious longer than this, Will, who made a complete recovery. Now why don’t you go back to your own tent and get some sleep, for God’s sake? You are beginning to look worse than Mags.”

  “You do look exhausted, Sergeant Tallman,” said a voice behind him. It was Elspeth, who had visited once already. “I will sit with Mrs. Casey awhile if you wish.”

  “Thank you, Miss Gordon, but it isn’t the waiting I mind,” said Will, looking at Elspeth with tortured eyes. “I didn’t give her the one thing she wanted from me. I didn’t make her my wife.”

  “I am sure Mrs. Casey will recover, Sergeant.”

  “I am not, miss,” Will confessed quietly. “May I ask you something, private-like?”

  “Of course, Sergeant,” said Elspeth. “Come, we can step outside for a minute.”

  “I was wondering if you could talk to the chaplain for me. I was thinking that the one thing I could do for Mags…if she doesn’t recover, you see…I’d like to marry her.”

  “But she is not able to take part in the ceremony, Private Tallman. She can’t say her vows.”

  “No, miss, but I was wondering if you would take her part. Do it proxy-like.”

  Elspeth frowned. “I don’t know, Sergeant Tallman. I have heard of proxy weddings, of course, but they usually take place when the bride or groom is far away.”

  “Well, Mags is far away, in a manner of speaking, but there is no doubt in anyone’s mind that she wished to marry me.”

  Elspeth smiled. “No, Sergeant, there certainly is no doubt. I will talk to the chaplain. If he agrees, I would be honored to say Mrs. Casey’s vows for her.”

  “Thank you, Miss Gordon.”

  * * * *

  “The poor man is utterly exhausted and beside himself with grief and regret, Reverend,” Elspeth told the chaplain.

  “It is rather unorthodox, my dear.”

  “But it is done.”

  “Why, yes, but under very different circumstances. What if Mrs. Casey were to awake and not wish to have been married?”

  “Reverend, the whole camp has been gossiping for months over her campaign to get Sergeant Tallman to the altar. And Lord Wellington himself witnessed their betrothal.”

  The chaplain hesitated and then, with a sigh, gave in. “All right, my dear. We can do it this evening.”

  * * * *

  Elspeth sent Private Ryan off to inform Will of her success and went home to make sure that her second best gown was clean and pressed. “For I am to say wedding vows this evening,” she told Mrs. Ryan with twinkling eyes.

  “Why, you never told me, Miss Elspeth,” said Mrs. Ryan with great astonishment. “Is it that handsome Lieutenant Aston? Patrick and I have been wondering ever since you disappeared into the garden with him.”

  Had everyone in the camp seen her go out the door with Valentine Aston? “I am funning you, Mrs. Ryan. I am not going to be saying my own vows, but Mrs. Casey’s.”

  “God and his Holy Mother be praised, has she recovered?”

  “No, she has not,” said Elspeth sadly. “But Sergeant Tallman is feeling very bad that he never married Mags.”

  “As well he should!”

  “They will be wed by proxy and I will stand in for her.”

  “So ye’ll be almost a bride, darlin’,” said Mrs. Ryan with a smile. “Give me your dress and I’ll make sure it is perfect.”

  * * * *

  The hospital tent was bright with candle and lantern light when Elspeth arrived after dusk, accompanied by Private and Mrs. Ryan. When she stepped inside the tent
, she was surprised to see Captain Grant looking stunningly handsome in his dress uniform. Mrs. Casey wasn’t even his laundress, she thought inconsequentially. Then the tent flap lifted and Sergeant Tallman and Lieutenant Aston, also in their best uniforms, walked in. Elspeth remembered that they had both served under Captain Grant in the Caribbean.

  The chaplain was standing at the foot of the bed, his prayerbook in his hand. “Who is the groomsman?” he asked. “I am, Reverend,” said Val quietly.

  “You and Sergeant Tallman stand over there, then,” he said, motioning them to the opposite side of the bed. “Miss Gordon, you may stand beside me.”

  He began to read: “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here together to join in matrimony this man and this woman….”

  * * * *

  Will had told him that Elspeth would be saying Mags’s vows, but Val had not realized what it would be like to see her as a proxy bride. She was dressed in an ivory wool gown and her plaid shawl was pinned to her shoulder. She looked pale, as though she were there to be married herself, but when she felt his eyes on her and looked up, she blushed a becoming rose.

  For some reason the words of the Burns’ song her father had sung came to Val’s mind. “My love is like a red, red rose, that’s newly sprung in June.” It was winter, they were in a drafty hospital tent taking part in a most unusual ceremony, but Val felt his heart open in appreciation for her. The poet may have been saying two different things, he realized: that the woman he loved was as beautiful as a rose or that his own feelings were flowering as richly and strongly as that June flower. As he looked over at Elspeth, Val knew for him the song meant both. She had all the depth of a red rose, and his love for her, for that was what he felt, was as new and fresh as an opening flower.

  As Elspeth quietly repeated Mags’s vows for her, Val let himself imagine, just for a minute, what it would have been like were she saying them to him. He was so dazed by it all—the golden candlelight that lit her face, the soft voice in which she said the age-old words—that Will had to jab him twice in the ribs to remind him that he was holding the wedding ring.

  They had managed to buy a battered old silver ring in the village and as Val handed it over, he was terribly moved by the look in Will’s eyes. For all his complaining, for all his aversion to marriage, Will cared for Mags Casey, and it shone very clearly from his face as he lifted her left hand and slipped the ring on. “With this ring, I thee wed,” he whispered brokenly. “And I wish I’d given in to you sooner, Mags,” he added as he leaned down to give her a light kiss on the lips.