The Lost Love of a Soldier

by Jane Lark

  “Would you purchase me blacks?” Her words rang about the silent room. His gaze searched and questioned again.

  “Of course.”

  His fingers became heavier, as they rested on hers. She withdrew her hand.

  “Ellen.” She had not given him permission to use her given name, and yet she was too tired and hurt too much to care to correct him. “I think much of you. You are a charming woman. I have always thought so. I can be patient. You need not worry. I understand you are grieving for your husband, and I shall allow you to do so…”

  Ellen nodded. “Thank you.” She wished to return to her rooms, to cry over Paul. There were too many memories of eating with him here crowding into her head.

  She did not ask to withdraw though; it would be rude and wrong, when he was kind enough to have offered her a place to stay, and food and clothing. Instead she remained at the table, picking at her food, and eating what little she was able while he watched her with a gentle smile and talked. She did not listen; her mind was too absorbed with memories of Paul.

  ~

  Ellen sat at a small desk in the sitting room, a quill in her hand.

  A week had passed since she’d discovered she was with child, and now, the Lieutenant Colonel had received orders to follow the army to Paris.

  Napoleon had given himself up on the 15th July, in the process of trying to escape to America. The 52nd were to follow the Prussian army across France, as were many other regiments, to enforce the peace they’d fought so hard for. And so many had died for…

  Pain gripped about Ellen’s heart as she thought of Paul, remembering the blank sheet of paper she’d faced just after they’d married.

  Paul had said, “Write to my father,” if he died. But she didn’t know what to say. The army had written to tell him Paul had lost his life.

  A sharp pain cut into her chest, the one that could still not believe those words.

  What to write? My name is Ellen, you do not really know me, but we did meet last summer, I am your deceased son’s wife. Every word she thought of sounded so much like begging. And she could not bring herself to write the word deceased anyway.

  My Lord, she began. The nib of the quill hovered over the paper. Paul asked me to write to you, and seek your help, should he… The words halted as a tear dropped on the paper. I am to move to Paris with his regiment. I thought I should do as he said and let you know, I am with child.

  There was no more to say. Yours sincerely, Eleanor, your daughter-in-law. She’d met Paul’s father when he’d come to the house party with Paul but she had no idea if the man thought kindly of her or not. Paul had said little about his father in the months they’d been married, but he’d admitted the distance in his relationship with his family was because he had not kept contact, and not because his father had thought ill of him.

  Paul had said their lives were too different.

  Ellen understood that now. Her sisters’ images crept through her thoughts. Her father’s house was another world, they would never be able to imagine this one.

  Still Paul had seemed confident the Earl would help.

  Having folded and sealed that letter Ellen began another, to her father. Papa, I do not know if you have heard, but Paul died in the battle of Waterloo. Again tears ran over and spilled onto the page. His Lieutenant Colonel is taking me as far as Paris. But I have nothing of my own, no money or items left. Would you send me the money for a passage home? I am with child. Yours affectionately, Eleanor.

  Surely her father would know how hard things were here. Surely he would understand and help.

  Once she’d addressed both letters she took them down to the hall. Lieutenant Colonel Hillier had said he would send her letters through the army packets.

  He was there. He came from the drawing room as her foot left the bottom step of the stairs.

  “Ellen.”

  “These are the letters I spoke of,” she said quietly.

  “Take them,” he said to a footman, who immediately moved forward to lift them out of her hand.

  Lieutenant Colonel Hillier gave Ellen a stiff slight bow, his hands clasped behind his back. She curtsied a little.

  Then he straightened and looked up to meet her gaze. “Will you take tea with me?”

  It would be impolite to refuse. “Yes.”

  “Come then.” He lifted a hand, encouraging her to join him in the drawing room, while looking at the butler to fulfil the order for tea to be delivered.

  When Ellen entered the room his hand momentarily touched her lower back as she passed him. A prickle ran across her skin, but she ignored it.

  “Do sit.” He lifted a hand, directing her to one of the two soft chairs in the sunshine pouring through the window which looked out onto the garden.

  Brushing her dress beneath her to stop the black calico creasing, she did as he said.

  He took the seat opposite her. “Your maid said your sickness has eased a little…”

  “Yes.”

  “And do you feel any better in yourself?”

  No. She still missed Paul, like there was a burning inflamed hole within her. “I am able to think a little easier now. But I shall always miss my husband.”

  He was silent, his eyes looking into hers, with unspoken questions. Then he sighed. “Yes, I suppose you shall.” He leaned forward and gripped her hand, she wanted to pull it away, but that would be rude. He lifted it. A shiver stirred across her skin as he pressed his warm lips against her glove, for moments.

  Why did he not let go? Everything like this he seemed to do for a little too long. Finally he released her hand.

  She clasped her hands together in her lap, unable to meet his gaze, but he reached out and touched her chin. “I know you are hurting, Ellen, I understand that, and I shall be here for you.”

  His hand fell.

  “Ah here is our tea.” He turned to look at the maid as she carried it in. She was blushing as she set the tray down.

  “Will you pour, Ellen?”

  She did so. She’d lived in a sheltered safe world in her father’s home, and then she’d lived an ever-changing, unsettled life with Paul, but now…. Now she did not know where she stood… What life should be, or could be…

  Chapter Nineteen

  Paris: four months later

  The months since the battle of Waterloo had passed slowly and Ellen had heard nothing from either her father or Paul’s.

  Paris was just as mad as Brussels had been before the war; flooded with British tourists. They’d flocked to the city as if everyone wished to claim it for themselves, as though they had won the battle.

  Ellen had no patience or time for any of them, and of course she had no husband to escort her to events, so she did not attend any of their lavish entertainments, not even the theatre.

  She still lived with the Lieutenant Colonel, because she had no money and nowhere else to go.

  He’d hired a private carriage for her when the regiment marched to Paris, and paid for her lodgings so she need not live amongst the men.

  She supposed the Lieutenant Colonel paid for her keep out of the sum he’d made by obligingly disposing of all Paul’s things before she’d been sound enough of mind to even think about what to do with his belongings. Perhaps if she had sold them she could have paid for a passage home.

  But some of his things she would have kept.

  She missed the dress coat he’d removed and left behind on the last evening most. The one which he’d worn to the Richmonds’ ball. It would have held his scent.

  Tears came into her eyes; they still did every time she thought of him, and she thought of Paul a dozen times a day. But how could she forget?

  She was uncomfortable about Lieutenant Colonel Hillier keeping her, but what other option did she have? Paul had been owed his wages too, so there must be money that was hers by right which he used to keep her.

  She looked left and right along the street, waited for a carriage to pass, then crossed. Megan followed.

>   Ellen had not seen Jennifer, or any of the women she’d met in the last few hours of the battle in Brussels. Unlike in Brussels, Lieutenant Colonel Hillier did not host dinners or entertainments, and at times, Ellen felt guilty because she thought it was in deference to her. But he’d never spoken of dinners, or dances, or even card parties, and she had never asked.

  In the evenings she dined with him, but beyond that she saw very little of him. More often than not, once they’d eaten, he went out, and during the day he was out on business.

  For weeks he had been gentle with her, forever kissing her hand and offering compliments and comfort, but in the last few weeks, he’d done so less. Now he seemed impatient and angry, but it was not particularly with her; he never said anything that implied his irritability was directed at her. But his conversation at table had become more abrupt and sharp as he watched for her response.

  “Megan.” Ellen turned and waited for her maid to catch up as they reached the gates of the Tuileries Gardens.

  They walked out every day, sometimes twice a day, because sitting in the house became too oppressive, and she would reach a point she wished to escape the silence and the walls about her.

  She lived for her child. For Paul’s child. She was only eating and breathing for his son or daughter. Between her thoughts of Paul, her mind filled with images of what his child might look like, and she longed for it to be a boy who would look like him.

  She walked a full circle about the gardens, though the shrubberies looked bleak.

  It was December. Nearly a year since she’d married Paul. It seemed a lifetime ago. Had she ever been that naïve girl?

  She’d been little more than a child herself, so sheltered from the real world.

  She spoke to Megan, they frequently talked; she had a better relationship with Megan than she’d ever had with Jennifer. Ellen wondered if Jennifer had managed to return to Ireland safely. She would probably never know.

  After an hour, Ellen turned back towards Lieutenant Colonel Hillier’s house. She could never call it home. It would never feel like home. Nowhere would ever feel like a home again now Paul was gone.

  As she walked towards the door, two men came out. They were two officers from the regiment… Paul’s comrades!

  She hurried forward, her heart leaping with an odd sense of being close to Paul again. They wore the same uniform he’d worn.

  “Captain Smith!” she called out, lifting her hand. “Captain Vickers!”

  Captain Smith looked at her first. She was about twenty yards away from them as they stepped onto the pavement. He stared at her for a moment, his eyes widening, but then he turned to Captain Vickers and said something without acknowledging her. Captain Vickers looked over his friend’s shoulder at her. His eyes widened, and then his expression twisted with a look of disgust.

  They were going to turn away!

  Ellen hurried, breaking into a slight run, one hand clasping beneath the bulge of the child in her stomach, the other gripping her skirt to lift her hem. “Wait!” she had no idea what she wished to say to them, but it suddenly seemed so important. They were a link to Paul when she had no other.

  They began walking away, their backs to her.

  “Wait!” Ellen cried again, hurrying on.

  They did not stop, but neither were they walking fast, they merely ignored her cries and her presence.

  She caught them up, her fingers gripping Captain Smith’s coat at his elbow. “Will you not stop and speak with me? Perhaps–”

  “Madam, I have nothing to say to a woman such as you. I admit I was surprised by the news, as I am sure Captain Harding would have been. He would be disgusted. But there is no going back. Good day.” He turned away, after looking at her with revulsion in his eyes. So did Captain Vickers. They are judging me poorly!

  Ellen did not understand.

  “Surprised by the news, as I am sure Captain Harding would have been. He would be disgusted…” What did he mean? What news? “A woman such as you.” A widow?

  She stood in the street, lost, as they walked on and then turned the corner.

  Ellen turned.

  When she walked into the hall of Lieutenant Colonel Hillier’s house she took off her bonnet and cloak, then her gloves, passing them all to a footman.

  “Is Lieutenant Colonel Hillier home?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Where?”

  “The Lieutenant Colonel is in the drawing room, ma’am.”

  She went there, leaving Megan behind, as another footman moved to open the door for her. “Lieutenant Colonel, Mrs Harding.”

  There were empty glasses by the decanters where the men had shared a drink, and a quill, ink, and paper, stood on a desk across the room, where the Lieutenant Colonel stood.

  He came towards her, his hands out as if to take hers. “Ellen, this is a charming surprise.”

  “I have just seen Captain Smith, and Captain Vickers leave–”

  He stopped a few feet away from her. “Yes, they were reporting–”

  “I do not care why they were here, what I am concerned about it is that they would not speak with me. Why would they not speak with me? They implied I have done something wrong…” Creases of confusion caught in Ellen’s brow. Why? “What have I done wrong?”

  “Ellen…” His pitch became placating as if he talked to a child. He came forwards again and clasped both of her hands. She pulled them free.

  “Why would they not speak? What have I done wrong? They said Paul would have been surprised. They said he would be disgusted. Why?” Her last words erupted on a bitter whisper.

  “Ellen.” His hands came up and cupped her cheeks. “There is no need for such distress. I have said I shall take care of you and I shall. You must not worry about what others think…”

  But why would they think anything?

  “Ellen.” His thumbs brushed over her cheeks, and his gaze grew in depth and warmth. She stepped away. The look was too similar to the one she used to see in Paul’s eyes.

  “I shall go upstairs.”

  “You do not wish to join me for tea?” There was a cajoling, pacifying, edge to his words; she did not like the tone.

  “No. Thank you. I am tired. It is the pregnancy. I shall go upstairs and rest.” With that she bobbed a shallow curtsy and left him.

  But before she got to the door he called. “I shall go out then, I think, Ellen, but remember, you are under my care. You should respect that, and respect me!”

  She looked back, not knowing how to answer, or what he meant.

  He gave her a slight bow. “I think much of you, you know that.”

  What did he mean? Unwilling to pursue the conversation, she turned away and left him.

  Before she even reached her rooms, she heard the front door close behind him.

  ~

  He’d not returned when it came to dinner. Relief crashed over Ellen. She did not wish to see him this evening. Instead she asked Megan to eat with her in her rooms.

  They ate speaking quietly and then immediately afterwards Ellen asked Megan to help her undress so she could retire.

  Ellen’s stomach was large with the child. A prominent bump pronounced her condition. She lay on her side in the bed, longing for her husband who would never come and held the child in her stomach, cradling it, giving it all the love she could no longer give to Paul.

  Sometimes sleep was difficult, but thankfully it came quickly.

  She woke when it was still dark. There was a noise below, a candlestick, statue or vase, or something else heavy being knocked from a mantle or table. Then a low-pitched bark of orders ran through the house.

  Lieutenant Colonel Hillier was back and drunk by the sounds of it. It was not the first time she’d heard him return in such a state, though she had never seen him in his cups. She never went outside her rooms once she’d retired, and certainly not when he was in a mood like this.

  She sat up listening as the sound of his ill temper carried upstairs. His foo
tsteps on the wooden struts echoed ominously reaching through the house.

  His rooms were to the right of the house and hers to the left. But his footsteps turned in the direction of her rooms.

  There was a cold, sharp grip of fear in her stomach as she slid from the bed, in only her nightgown, and hurried from her bedchamber into her sitting room, her bare feet brushing over the cold unyielding floorboards.

  The curtains were not drawn, and the room was flooded with silver moonlight.

  But before she could reach the door to lock it, the handle turned sharply and it opened inwards.

  “Lieutenant Colonel,” she spoke in a sharp voice, a voice that said get out even if her lips did not. “You have no business in my rooms.” Had he made a mistake? Was he too drunk to know where he was? But even as she thought those things her gaze struck his. His eyes were dark and she knew he’d made no mistake.

  The fear inside her span out into her nerves, threads unravelling fast into every vein with the beat of her heart. She remembered all the times his stare had made her skin crawl.

  “Go to your rooms.” Her voice was strong but she could not find the courage to yell at him; this was his house and she was here under his generosity.

  “I think not, Ellen.” He did not sound so drunk now, not so drunk he was incapable of walking – it sounded the sort of drunk that gave a man confidence and silenced his conscience.

  She stepped back, uncertain of the hard intent in his eyes.

  “I have a need tonight…” His pitch dropped to almost a whisper, but the bitterness in his tone matched the look in his eyes. “I refuse to pay for a damned whore when I have a woman here. I desire you. I always have. You act as if you do not know, but you must know, and you have taken my protection and offered me nothing in return.”

  No. The word did not come from her lips; shock had penetrated inside her like the cold of the night outside. She would have backed away further but numbness dropped heavily through her limbs and before she could gather her thoughts his hand lifted and his fingers gripped her hair, pulling it so hard it hurt.