Hope

by Lesley Pearse

  Had it not been for a black Jamaican woman called Mother Seacole by the men, the wounded lying for hours on the icy quay in stretchers waiting to be taken aboard a ship bound for Scutari would have perished. She was one of the army of sutlers who had turned up to sell their goods to the men. But although she was in the Crimea for business, and had a store outside the town where she sold everything from hot meals to new boots, she was a genuinely kindly woman who had good nursing skills, and she was there on the quay most days, doling out cups of tea and other little comforts.

  Up at the siege, warm clothing and blankets were desperately needed, the food was scarce, monotonous and barely edible, and it was hard to find fuel for fires. The sick sent down from there spoke of sitting in a water-filled trench all night, then going back to their leaking tents without a change of clothes to put on.

  Hope and Bennett might not have to sit in the rain all night, but they too had found how miserable a home a tent could be in bad weather. With no chairs, table or other comforts, they had to make do with medicine crates, and when it rained they couldn’t even light a fire to cook something to eat.

  On the night of 14 November, Bennett had managed to get hold of some chicken from the butcher, and they’d fried it and baked some potatoes in the fire. Washing this down with rum and water, they felt they’d had a banquet. For once, instead of falling asleep immediately from exhaustion, they’d chatted, about Captain Pettigrew’s good recovery, of how long it would be before Hope got a letter from Nell, and whether Alice would send out the foodstuffs and warm clothes Bennett had asked her for.

  They woke with a start to the sound of wind hauling at the tent, threatening to rip it to shreds, and when they looked cautiously out they saw what could only be called a hurricane.

  It was six in the morning and not yet light, but even so they could see tents, planks of wood, buckets, camp kettles and items of clothing flying around in the wind.

  ‘Heaven help us!’ Bennett exclaimed. ‘Are we to be swept away by wind now?’

  ‘But what of the wounded in the tents behind the hospital?’ Hope gasped. ‘It’s more exposed there! They might be lying in the rain!’

  Bennett was hanging on to the tent pole, afraid it would snap in two. ‘Get dressed while I hold this,’ he said hurriedly. ‘Pack all our loose stuff into boxes and then we’ll go.’

  ‘What is that cracking sound?’ Hope asked as she struggled into her dress and put on her boots.

  ‘It will be the ships in the harbour banging against one another,’ he replied. ‘They will break up, I shouldn’t wonder.’

  Leaving their tent as secure as they could make it, they headed for the hospital. The wind was so strong that Hope would have been blown over if Bennett hadn’t kept hold of her hand. But once they came away from the protection of the buildings, the wind blowing straight from the sea caught them, knocking them back against a wall.

  Others arrived to help them get the sick out of the most exposed tents and in through the back door of the hospital, but it was a long, hard job, with refuse blowing into their faces as they worked.

  It was after nine before they were able to go to the windows at the front of the building and see the damage in the harbour. The sight that met their eyes was truly appalling. The waves outside the harbour wall were so huge that spray was going over the clifftops and bucketing down into the harbour like a flood. The tightly packed ships were grinding into one another and the sides were slowly being torn apart. The Star of the Sea had already lost most of her stern and many ships had lost their masts, causing damage to others as they came down. And the sea was boiling and heaving as if it intended to devour every last vessel in the harbour.

  ‘But what of the ships outside?’ Hope asked Bennett.

  Only a few days earlier in a high wind, several ship’s masters had asked permission to enter the inner harbour, and been refused. They were still out there at anchor, and in real peril.

  It was the blackest of days. At ten in the morning the word went round that the Prince had sunk with all hands outside the harbour. Other ships suffered terrible damage too and many lives were lost. When the wind dropped later it began to snow.

  The following day was very cold, but fine, and only then could the full extent of the hurricane be counted. Up at the siege, far more exposed than Balaclava, tents, clothing and equipment had been blown away, never to be seen again, including the tents that were being used as field hospitals, and the sick and wounded within them had been left exposed to the wind and rain.

  The harbour was full of wreckage, roofs and windows had been torn off buildings, and there was hardly a ship bobbing on the now calm water that hadn’t received extensive damage.

  But it was the loss of the Prince that left grown men weeping. For she was laden with all the goods they so desperately needed: warm clothing for the troops, supplies of medicine, brandy, blankets, palliasses, tea and sugar. Ironically, one of the passengers to lose his life when the ship went down was Dr Spence, the Deputy General of Hospitals, who had come out to make an inspection following libellous reports about the medical conditions in the Crimea.

  ‘Dr Meadows!’

  Bennett looked up on hearing his name shouted and saw Angus Pettigrew waving to him from behind some heavily laden bullock carts. The quay was as crowded and chaotic as usual – even a recent order for the filth to be cleared away, a new site built for slaughtering animals, and the decomposing bodies in the water to be towed out to sea, hadn’t made much difference. It was still a disgrace.

  Bennett wasn’t anxious to talk to Angus. Although it had been three weeks since he’d shown Hope his letter from Nell, Bennett was still smarting at what had been said to him. He knew Angus had a point. If he had been a real man he would have gone out to Compton Dando long ago and discovered that Nell had left Albert.

  But he wasn’t a real man then, he had still been in essence the lad who had been the butt of every joke at medical school. It still made him smart that he’d allowed Uncle Abel to bully him, and that he hadn’t put his foot down to stop Hope being sent to work at St Peter’s.

  He’d joined the army purely because it was a way of getting out from under his uncle, not because he was brave. He hadn’t thought then that he’d be pushed into active service, and if he had, he would have run a mile. He’d had a rosy little picture in his mind of being the medical officer attached to a barracks, and that in a couple of years he’d be able to marry Hope and raise a few children.

  Yet what he hadn’t expected was that he would find his niche in the army. Sick men didn’t need another tough Sergeant Major yelling at them, they wanted someone who listened to them and had the knowledge to make them well again. And neither officers nor rank and file cared about his background or financial or social standing. To them he was a first-class doctor and they felt fortunate to have him with their regiment.

  Feeling appreciated, having his opinions valued and his medical skills admired, had made him lose his timidity. He found he was able to stand against injustice and former bad medical practices. The harshness of army life out in South Africa had toughened him up too and the Regimental Surgeon Meadows who had come back to marry Hope Renton was a very different man to the one who had been scared to death that first time he walked through Lewins Mead.

  He had said as they set off on their honeymoon that he thought it was time Hope contacted her family, and he had meant it. But of course he hadn’t known then that just a couple of weeks later they’d be bound for the Black Sea.

  Had he known what hell was in store for them, he wouldn’t have let Hope come. But what was done, was done, and she had proved invaluable. All they could do now was slog on in the hope that things might improve. He supposed he’d also have to get used to the idea that Captain Angus Pettigrew was going to continue to be as irritating as a louse.

  ‘How are the wounds?’ Bennett asked as he got within speaking distance of Angus.

  ‘Pretty well healed now, thank you, though the leg is
still a bit stiff,’ Angus grinned. He was in full uniform, and it was clearly almost new for the gold braid wasn’t tarnished, and the blue jacket and cherry breeches had no stains or patches. Only his worn boots gave an indication that he’d been through action.

  ‘You’re the smartest man on the quay,’ Bennett said with more sarcasm than admiration. ‘Lucky for you that you had a second uniform.’

  ‘I feel overdressed,’ Angus said, his smile fading as he glanced at a couple of infantry men walking past, their uniforms literally mud-covered rags. ‘But I’m going up to the camp and, you know…’ He broke off, perhaps embarrassed to say aloud that his superior officers would take him to task if he wasn’t correctly dressed.

  ‘It was a terrible blow, the Prince going down,’ Bennett said. ‘The sick coming down from the Heights tell me the men up there have the soles coming off their boots and that they wear their blankets under their greatcoats to try to keep warm. But I’m sure you know that. Are you intending to ride up to the camp?’

  ‘Yes. Mead brought my horse down this morning, though he’s in a sorry state. I gave him a handful of oats, but what he needs is a bucketful. There’s damn-all forage left for the horses now. I heard Lord Raglan is pushing for more. If it doesn’t come soon we’ll have to shoot some of the horses.’

  ‘I daresay some of the men who are cold and hungry would like to be put out of their misery too,’ Bennett sighed. ‘There won’t be much cheer this Christmas.’

  ‘I hoped to give you some cheer today by asking if you and Hope would like my room,’ Angus said, thumbing towards the building behind them. ‘I’m going to stay up at the camp, and you two can’t live in a tent now it’s getting so cold.’

  ‘That’s very decent of you.’ Bennett suddenly felt more light-hearted. During the previous two or three nights the temperature had dropped below freezing. ‘Hope has never complained but there’s a limit to anyone’s endurance.’

  ‘She’s made of stern stuff,’ Angus smiled. ‘Has she had a letter from Nell yet?’

  Bennett shook his head. ‘She’s on the lookout for the mailboat every day. And she must have written a dozen letters home. But no one has had any for two weeks now, so they must come soon.’

  ‘You can move in today,’ Angus said. ‘My stuff’s all packed, ready to be taken away. I got a Tartar woman to clean it for you and light a fire. Her name is Rosa, at least that’s what I’ve been calling her.’

  ‘That is really very good of you.’ Bennett suddenly felt a little ashamed of his thoughts about the man.

  ‘You should have been given a decent billet from the start,’ Angus said. ‘All you doctors deserve a medal for what you’ve done here under the most appalling conditions. It makes my blood boil to read in the papers from home that the general public is being encouraged to believe some of you are being derelict in your duty. I’d like to string up those who really are responsible for the chaos out here. And some of the bloody dimwit officers who can hardly wipe their own arses, much less lead their men.’

  Bennett smirked. ‘Calm down, Angus, you’ll burst your stitches,’ he said.

  Angus chuckled. ‘Hope did too good a job for that,’ he said. ‘But I must be off now. I hope I’ll be welcome to call on you both next time I’m down here?’

  ‘We’d be disappointed if you didn’t,’ Bennett said.

  ‘Are you sure I’m not in your way, Nell?’ Rufus asked. ‘Just say the word and I’ll clear off.’

  It was a few days before Christmas and they were in the kitchen at Willow End. Rufus had turned up just as Nell was making some marzipan to cover the rich fruit cake she’d made to send out to Hope.

  ‘Bless you, Master Rufus.’ Nell beamed at him. ‘Of course you aren’t in my way, it’s a pleasure to have you here with me. Just let me get this on the cake and then I’ll fetch Hope’s letters for you to read.’

  In Nell’s opinion Rufus was the finest gentleman she’d ever met, and the most handsome. He had the best of his parents’ looks, the pure blond hair, bright blue eyes, and the elegance. She liked to think, though, that it was the Rentons who had influenced his character, for he was stalwart, capable and kind-hearted. As for his determination and strong backbone, that must have come from his paternal grandfather, for legend had it that he’d been a force to reckon with.

  Rufus had gone back to Oxford after his father’s funeral, leaving his mother with the Warrens at Wick Farm. But at Easter he had returned home and informed Lady Harvey he wasn’t going back to Oxford, and that he intended to farm the Briargate estate, not sell off the land as everyone expected.

  ‘So tell me, sir, how is Lady Harvey coping now?’ Nell asked. Her former mistress had been horrified when Rufus had told her they would be living in the gatehouse. Her first question had been to ask where the housekeeper would live!

  ‘Don’t call me “sir”, Nell,’ he said with a grin. ‘Nor Master Rufus either, it’s just plain Rufus now. As for Mother, she’s still bemoaning the rough furniture, the smallness of the rooms, and having to do so much for herself, but I think this is just habit. She does seem a little less miserable now, and she’s become an able cook.’

  He picked up a piece of marzipan left on the table and nibbled it thoughtfully. ‘Tell me, Nell, was I cruel to make her live there?’

  ‘As I see it, she was lucky to have somewhere to live,’ Nell said tartly. The years away from Briargate had made her see her old mistress in a different light. Sympathetic as she was to Lady Harvey in the loss of her husband and home, she didn’t think anyone, however highborn, should expect others to support her. Left to her own devices, she would have stayed on with the Warrens indefinitely. Her sisters had made it plain they didn’t want her in their homes. And she had no money to live anywhere else.

  ‘Sometimes I think maybe I should have sold the land, and taken a small house somewhere like Bath. I know Mother would have much preferred that.’ Rufus sighed. ‘But I would have had to find some kind of employment, and what could I do except become a clerk or some such thing? I had to use most of the money left by my grandfather to pay off Father’s debts, and I felt it was wrong to squander the rest staying on at Oxford while mother was living like a poor relation at Wick Farm. At least this way we still own the land, and if I make a go of farming, I might be able to rebuild Briargate and one day my children might have all the advantages I had.’

  ‘You did the right thing,’ Nell said stoutly. ‘Our Matt reckons you were born to farm, and I don’t think Lady Harvey would have been any happier in Bath, not without fine clothes, a carriage and servants. At least she’s got friends in the village, people who care for her. If you were my son I’d be right proud of you.’

  ‘Funny how things turn out,’ he said with a wry grin. ‘When I was small I was so envious of the village children. It seemed to me they had so much more fun and freedom than I did. Now I’ve got to work for a living it looks very different.’

  Nell finished her work on the cake and took it to the pantry. ‘All our lives have been turned upside down,’ she said as she returned. ‘I just wish the police could find Albert and hang him. It’s like having a bad tooth. You know that the pain will keep coming back until it’s been pulled out.’

  ‘He won’t dare come anywhere near here,’ Rufus said comfortingly. ‘Whatever else he is, he isn’t stupid.’

  ‘No, but he was obsessed with the garden at Briargate, and I think he’s likely to come back to look at what’s happened to it,’ Nell said in a small voice.

  ‘Then he’ll die of shock when he finds it gone,’ Rufus chuckled. ‘I ploughed up the bottom lawn back in November, and I’ve got pigs where the rose garden used to be. You must come up and take a look, Nell. Not just at the farm, but the gatehouse too. The curtains you made for us are lovely.’

  Nell shook her head. ‘I couldn’t, Rufus, too many bad memories for me. Maybe when Hope and the Captain come home I’ll feel different, but I doubt it.’

  Nell stirred the soup while Rufus read Ho
pe’s letters. Now and again he’d chuckle at something amusing, and she’d glance round at him, wondering how he’d react if he was ever to find out that Hope was his half-sister.

  Proud and happy as she was that Hope had done well for herself and married a doctor, the secret of her true parentage worried Nell almost as much as the prospect of Albert turning up one day.

  Hope mentioned Captain Pettigrew a great deal in her letters. Nell hadn’t of course given Rufus the first one in which she explained how Albert had caught her with the letter from the Captain to Lady Harvey and made several references to their love affair. But it was clear from the subsequent letters that she’d formed an attachment to the Captain while nursing him.

  Angus’s letters showed the attachment was mutual, and though common sense told Nell this was probably because of their respective links with her, it felt like more than that. On the one hand she told herself that maybe she should tell them the truth. Hope had no other father now, the Captain had no other children. They would be a comfort to each other.

  But there was Rufus. He might very well be so delighted that his childhood friend was in fact his half-sister that he’d overlook his mother’s infidelity. But she doubted he’d appreciate discovering that Captain Pettigrew, a man he’d known all his life and looked up to, was the villain of the piece.

  When Nell heard the wonderful news that the Captain had met Hope in Varna, she’d gone straight to Matt to share it with him. He had passed it on to Rufus, who in turn had told Lady Harvey.

  Lady Harvey had found a man to bring her here in a trap the very next day and she was all of a twitter. It was difficult to tell what she really felt: whether it was joy that Hope was alive and well, terror that her guilty secret was about to be exposed, or just plain jealousy that Nell received letters from the Captain and she did not. Perhaps it was some of each.

  Nell had given her former mistress short shrift that day. She was so full of joy that her seven-year wait was finally over that she wasn’t going to allow it to be diluted by anyone. Lady Harvey had gone off in a huff, but not before she’d sobbed about how hard her life was now, and how misunderstood she was.