For a brief moment Katie wanted to knock him down – she knew her nurse’s clothes were awful. And why did they all find her height so funny?
But Jack stepped in, saying with great courtesy and just a hint of laughter, ‘James wrote to me, to tell of your pending arrival. And when the reports came through of a tall American landing with the Nightingale nurses, I hoped it would be you.’ Jack had grown decidedly thinner. His thick straight hair was long and unkempt and his fair Irish skin coarsened by rough outdoor life. Experience was fast changing him from a boy to a man.
Katie didn’t know what to say, or what to do. In one way, she knew Jack well. He was, after all, James’s brother. And Jack’s letters to Grace had been so open and so tender. When writing about the war, he had revealed much of himself. Yet, as Jack stood there, Katie became stiff with shyness. Once again he had become a stranger. She searched her mind for appropriate words. At times like this she desperately needed Alice. ‘Tea?’ she questioned weakly. ‘Is it tea you’ve come for?’
William Howard Russell threw his head back and laughed. ‘Tea is it?’ he roared. ‘At mess this morning, Jack O’Reilly hears tell of a tall, handsome American woman staying with Mary Seacole. “Saddle Embarr,” he cries, and quick as a flash he’s dashed from camp, with no leave or whatnot, me galloping at his heels. And do you really think he’s come for the tea?’
Katie really did think she’d knock him down this time, but Mary Seacole did it for her, giving William Howard Russell a forceful push into a chair. ‘You behave,’ she admonished him. ‘I don’t think much of Americans as a whole, but this one is real genteel, a proper person. Now stop embarrassing the young ones.’ She turned to Katie. ‘I believe you are right, Miss. A hot pot of tea is just the thing. While I’m gone, you make friends with Mr William Howard Russell here. His bark is far worse than his bite.’
William Howard Russell was still laughing. Getting up from his chair, he took Katie by the hand. ‘My apologies, Miss. It’s just in times of war, I don’t believe in tip-toeing about. And I’m not the friend you’ll want to be making. I’ll help Mary Seacole with the tea and leave the two of you to talk. And if the conversation must be of hot beverages, so be it.’
As he left the room, both Katie and Jack laughed. ‘Well, that was like the most embarrassing thing ever,’ Katie said, but at least she could look Jack in the eye now.
‘He means well,’ Jack told her. ‘Russell is good at heart, and speaks out for the foot soldier. His articles in The Times will help to improve conditions for all of us. The only reason he came with me was to purchase supplies for our lads in the trenches. He’s great company around the campfire, drinks anyone’s brandy, and is often the only man in camp with a good cigar. He’s also the source of all information. It was Russell who told me you were travelling to the battlefront with Miss Florence Nightingale.’
Katie tried to look dignified and seated herself. Was this what it was like to be courted? She’d never even been on a date. Act normal, she told herself sternly. She liked Jack too much to be silly. ‘I suppose you’ve come to enquire about Grace,’ she said. ‘She really is much better.’
‘You mean a lot to Grace. In fact, you mean a great deal to most of the members of my family.’ Jack’s blue eyes were still merry, but there was something deeper in them.
Katie felt the urge to run from the room and bang her head against the wall. Instead she changed the subject. ‘Your brother, you know, James, is in Scutari,’ she said. ‘Miss Nightingale has put him in charge of sorting out the doctors.’
‘Yes, I know he’s my brother,’ Jack teased, ‘and he must be in seventh heaven, telling all those doctors what to do. James always thinks he knows best.’
‘Well, most of the time he does,’ Katie shot back loyally. Jack might be very attractive but her friendship with James was rock solid. ‘He’s extremely advanced in medicine, far above those doctors of your time, really almost up to practices in my time, I mean . . .’ She stumbled slightly and fell silent. She’d forgotten for a moment that although Jack was James’s brother, he still didn’t know Katie’s story. He didn’t know the truth. She had to be more careful.
Jack looked at her curiously. ‘What do you mean, my time? You seem so straightforward, but I’m puzzled by you,’ he said. ‘You might be an American, from a different place, but I assume we live in the same time.’
The conversation had turned serious. Katie fiddled with her cloak, trying to decide what to say. The silence grew long. Finally she looked up – she hated seeing that hurt expression on his face.
‘I want to tell you,’ she said. ‘It used to be all about me, but it’s not any more. There are so many other people involved. And even if I did tell you, I kind of doubt you’d believe me.’
Jack paced the room. She could tell he was frustrated. ‘Is James involved?’ he asked. ‘And what about Grace?’
‘James is in the middle of the whole thing,’ she told him. ‘He understands, and is helping in every way he can. We haven’t told Grace, but . . .’
‘And why would James understand, and I would not?’ he interrupted.
Katie had forgotten that along with brotherly love, there was a lot of brotherly rivalry between James and Jack. She could have kicked herself. Taking a deep breath, she decided to trust him. ‘It all has to do with time,’ she began, ‘something called the Tempus.’
At that moment the door burst open. Mary Seacole rushed in – had she been listening outside? ‘Now, children,’ she exclaimed, ‘because tall as you be, you are still children. I’ve dished up something more substantial in the canteen for the two of you. Miss Katie has not eaten properly for some time, and Lieutenant O’Reilly I’m certain wouldn’t say no to a nice hot supper.’ She had Katie by the arm, and was literally dragging her from the room.
Jack just had time to whisper in her ear. ‘I am grateful for your attempt to explain. I trust you. And you can trust me. I hope there will be another time, many more times.’
A great surge of affection flooded Katie, and she would have given much to sit with him and talk quietly. But that would have to wait.
They crossed the yard, where the boys were throwing grain to the animals. ‘There chick-chick, there pig!’ they yelled. The boys did everything at high volume, and now they had to shout across the sound of cannon fire. The canteen was in a separate building, made of rough timber. But the long plank tables were clean and the shelves filled with yet more boxes, bags and barrels.
William Howard Russell was already seated with a tankard of brandy and water, a circle of soldiers surrounding him. He waved them over cheerfully. ‘You’ve heard of the gift of the Magi? Well, Mary Seacole has the gift of the magpie,’ he joked. ‘You can find anything and everything here – from a darning needle to a ship’s anchor.’
As if to prove this point, Mary Seacole disappeared into her tiny kitchen – not unlike a ship’s galley – and returned with half a dozen roasted fowls held high above her head. The men at the crowded tables banged their cups and cutlery in appreciation, and Katie suddenly realized she was very hungry.
Jack could almost read her mind. ‘I remember you have quite a hearty appetite,’ he said. ‘I believe your first words to me were “I could eat a horse”.’ Russell hooked half a chicken with his fork and flung it onto Katie’s plate. ‘Horse flesh will be a delicacy here, particularly as the winter sets in. So I suggest you indulge your appetite with chicken while you can.’
The only sound at Katie’s table was that of steady eating. Once Katie had demolished her half a chicken and a heap of fried potatoes, she looked around the room. It was a strange mixture of glamour and glitz, dirt and filth. The officers had a separate table, its prestige marked by a threadbare tablecloth. They drank warm champagne out of battered pewter cups. The other tables were a mix of men from different regiments – the 8th Hussars, the 93rd Highlanders, the 5th Dragoon Guards. Their tunics were draped in gold braid, but their boots were riddled with holes, some of them covered
in the mud of the trenches. The close, snug room was heavy with competing smells: cooking oil and wood smoke, roasting meats, the slightest whiff of dung from the yard, mud and sweat. But the sweat definitely had the upper hand.
Mary Seacole had seated herself at their table, and was deep in conversation with William Howard Russell. Jack continued to eat, head down, fork continually on the move. Katie didn’t want to disturb him. This war had swung into action, and who knew when he’d get a meal like this again? A man in the corner caught her eye. He was exceptionally slender and wore his uniform with great elegance. He sported a thin delicate moustache that turned up at the ends. His dark hair gleamed, his grooming was impeccable. Katie shifted in her seat to see who he was talking to. She almost fell off her bench. It was a very young man, really still a child. He pulled a richly embroidered cloak around his shoulders and hunched over the table, his white blond curls falling forward. It was Felix.
Katie turned to Mary Seacole. ‘Why don’t you rest a bit and let me help you,’ she said and, picking up her own dishes, headed towards the kitchen. The men around the tables piled plates and cutlery into her arms as she passed. She barely made it out of the door without everything crashing to the ground.
Once she had deposited her load, she placed herself behind a pile of grain sacks, so that she could see and hear Felix without being seen herself. It was not difficult to eavesdrop on Felix. His voice was distinctive: high and whining, with a decided Prussian tinge. ‘You are right, of course,’ he was saying to his companion. ‘It is all so mismanaged, this war. But the cavalry, the waste of the cavalry is criminal, particularly the Light Brigade. You are trained to attack, and yet you have seen no action. Your Commander, Lord Lucan – he left you sitting on your heels at Alma – he’s more like Lord Look-on!’
The elegant man sitting opposite Felix nodded vigorously. ‘You are so right. They need, they must, trust in the power of the cavalry. Even now the siege of Sebastopol is all infantry and cannons. This is not true military finesse. Lucan must use us, decisively, in action.’
Felix smiled – it made him look almost angelic, but it made Katie shiver.
‘And you, Captain Nolan,’ Felix continued, ‘you who have written more than one excellent book on the tactics of the cavalry. They are fools not to turn to you for advice. You must make them listen. In the very next battle, the cavalry must take centre-stage. Go over Lord Lucan’s head. Speak to Lord Cardigan – even Lord Raglan if you must. You can, you know, put yourself in a position to make this happen. Then everyone will see your fine abilities. You will become a national hero – I will make certain of that.’
Captain Nolan liked what he heard. ‘With your influence we can overcome even the top echelons of the military,’ he added. ‘And with Lord Twisted’s help . . .’
Felix laughed, a high-pitched and ugly sound. ‘Lord Twisted? If you desire the help of Lord Twisted you’ll need to ask for it in the Russian camp. Lord Twisted is more likely to hang than to be of help!’
Jack came up behind Katie. ‘So,’ he said, ‘you eat like a man, and clean like a charwoman. What other hidden talents do you have?’ He stopped smiling when he saw the look in her eyes.
‘Who is that man?’ she asked. ‘Talking to the boy with the blond curls?’
‘That is Captain Nolan,’ he told her, ‘one of the finest horsemen in the Crimea. If only his temperament matched his other abilities! I avoid him as much as possible.’
Katie’s heart sank; Felix had found an excellent target. Should she tell someone about this? She looked over to their table, but both Mary Seacole and William Howard Russell were gone. ‘Where is Russell?’ she asked Jack. ‘I’d like to speak to him.’
‘You’re too late,’ Jack replied. ‘He received a scribbled message from camp, and is already on his way back. He must report on Sebastopol for The Times. I too must leave, immediately.’
She looked at Jack – he was so like James – a less brilliant, more likeable version of James; and that bit more grown up. Yet his eyes were still those of a boy. She didn’t know exactly how she felt about Jack, but she knew she didn’t want him to get hurt.
‘Your regiment,’ she said, ‘it’s the . . .’
‘17th Lancers,’ he laughed. ‘For an intelligent girl, you certainly have no military brain.’
‘Are you in the cavalry?’ she asked.
Jack shook his head. ‘You really don’t know anything, do you? Yes, the 17th Lancers is part of the Light Brigade, and yes, that’s the cavalry – the best division the cavalry has.’
Her heart sank. ‘Jack, if there’s a battle, you mustn’t rush forward,’ she said. ‘You must wait, be patient – don’t mistake stupidity for bravery.’
For a moment he looked angry, but then his glance softened. ‘Women and war,’ he said, ‘they’re not made for each other. The 17th Lancers have waited and waited. We long to fight, and Katie, fight we will.’
She thought about telling him now – about Felix and who or what he really was; about Florence Nightingale and Mary Seacole. She wanted to tell him her own story too, but she could hear herself, inside her head, and every sentence she tried to form sounded crazy.
Jack took her hand. ‘War is our job, Katie. Men must to work, and women must weep. But Katie, crying doesn’t suit you. I like to think that we will have much time to laugh together.’ He turned quite red, and giving her hand a final squeeze, bowed and was gone.
Mary Seacole returned; a stack of dirty dishes piled in her apron. ‘Men must to work, and women must weep,’ she echoed in her sing-song voice. ‘He’s right, that fine young man, but at least he goes to work with a full stomach and a full heart – thanks to the British Hotel. Now, child, dry your eyes and give me a hand with this washing. Lord but women have work too. Then we need to make up a batch of capsaicin salve and decant some bitter sherry. The bombardment of Sebastopol is bad enough; but I smell another battle coming and it don’t smell good.’
They worked late into the night, in Mary Seacole’s little kitchen, with the vats of bubbling syrups and the dried red peppers hanging in swags. These she used to make her capsaicin salve, and the fumes as they boiled made Katie’s eyes sting with a different kind of tears. ‘I should think Miss Nightingale would have enjoyed seeing this,’ she commented.
‘Florence,’ snorted Mary Seacole, ‘Florence don’t go in for making ointments. She hates fussing in the kitchen, and she don’t much like bending over soldiers and soothing their brows either.’
Katie’s eyebrows shot up. ‘But she’s a nurse, the greatest nurse in history. I mean, you’re good too, but . . .’
Mary Seacole laughed. ‘I am a far better nurse than Florence Nightingale. But she has that something else. She does think like a man. For her, it’s all about the numbers and the shapes. She sees the big ideas and then makes them work in the day-to-day world. She pushes that brain of hers till it succeeds. Me? I see to the little things, the comforts, the womanly things. I’m like a mother to these men.’
Katie stirred the large pot and wiped the vapour from her face. ‘But you’re both trying to see something that’s – I don’t know – it’s either the past, or the future, or some other world entirely. This I kind of know. And for some reason you need me, to see it better. I can’t tell you how much this creeps me out.’
Mary Seacole looked at her for a very long time. Beads of perspiration stood on her brown forehead and seeped into the deep crow’s feet around her eyes. But all she said was, ‘We need to cool those peppers now, and push them through a muslin cloth – Lordie, but we’ll sleep well tonight.’
Throughout the night the heavy artillery of the British army continued to fire on Sebastopol. Katie did not sleep well, and when she did sleep, the events of the past days flashed through her mind. She could see Alice in her nun’s habit and hoped James was looking after her. Then Jack stared up at Katie; his eyes first merry, then angry, then blank. Pain and panic swept through her. ‘Jack!’ she cried, ‘have I lost you?’ and a
sing-song voice replied, ‘Lost for now, but found again, in another place and another time. Tempus fugit, libertati viam facere. Time flies, making a road to freedom.’
Then, in her dream, Katie was filled with light. But it was neither warm nor comforting. The light was like wires in her blood – sharp, cold, relentless and cruel. The persistent voice of Lucia pulsed through her body. ‘The eve of battle,’ Lucia cried with a high, clarion call. ‘On the morrow, the British horses shall thunder below, and the skies shall flash above. The two wars shall rage, two wars from two worlds, the Verus and the Malum. The Chosen and the Tempus will meet.’
‘It is coming,’ Katie murmured, ‘it is coming, but do – oh, do make it stop.’ Then Jack’s voice came to her, no longer laughing, but a dark and sorrowful dirge, repeating over and over. ‘Men must to work, and women must weep.’
She tossed and turned, helpless in her sleep. ‘I want to go home!’ she cried. ‘I want to go home!’
The dream changed, as dreams will. She was home, but no relief came to Katie. Women must weep. In Apartment 11C someone was crying out in protest and pain. It was a woman, weeping and weeping. The woman was Mimi.
Chapter Eighteen
The Two Battles
Was it possible to be awakened by silence? Sometime before dawn the guns had stopped. This was as unnerving as the muffled thuds of the previous day. Katie opened her eyes to find Mary Seacole seated in the dark. ‘I was just about to wake you,’ she said. ‘We have to make a start, but I knew you needed the strength that sleep will give. It’s going to be a taxing day.’
The Chronicles of the Tempus Page 39