by Lynn Bryant
The fair-haired officer came last and he was injured, worse than Paul had realised from below. He was supporting his right arm with his left and was soaked in blood.
“Wait,” Paul said. He was sure the man understood English. “You’re injured. We have a doctor on the way over from Roskilde. My men will show you where…”
“I go with my men.”
The voice was heavily accented but very clear. Paul took a step towards the officer, intending to look more closely at the wound and the man spat, hard and accurate, directly into his face.
There was an audible gasp from several of Paul’s men. Paul looked into the other man’s eyes and thought, inconsequentially, that the colour was like his own. He wiped the spittle away on his sleeve without looking away.
“I’ll send the surgeon up to you then when he gets here,” he said evenly and turned away.
“You are worse than the French.”
Paul did not turn. He felt an irrational urge to argue, to tell the young officer what he had seen and heard of in Italy and from veterans back from Europe but he did not. On this day, in this town, the Danish officer was right.
“Major van Daan.”
Paul turned to salute Sir Arthur Wellesley who was riding slowly through the square, looking around him at the prisoners and the slaughter.
“Sir.”
“All out?”
“Yes, sir. Are they…is it over?”
“It is. We were met by Major-General Linsingen’s corps over the rivulet, they had been delayed by a damaged bridge. Colonel von Alten overran the last of them in the churchyard over in Herfolge. He is marching the prisoners up here now.” Wellesley studied Paul. “Are you all right, Major?”
“Yes, sir. A great victory, I’m feeling very proud.”
Wellesley sighed. “Major, we have a job to do.”
“Yes, sir, and I’ve done it. With your permission, I’d like to hand over to Colonel Beckwith now that he’s back. There are a lot of dead and wounded out there, my men can start bringing them in.”
Wellesley studied him for a long time. Finally he nodded.
“Carry on, Major.”
“Sir.” Paul turned away, his eyes scanning the square in search of his battalion sergeant-major.
“Major, wait.”
Paul paused. “Sir?”
“We’ll remain here for a night or two. After that I am marching back to Roskilde, to the royal mansion, I’ll set up headquarters there. Our orders are to remain in the area to keep the peace.”
“Yes, sir.”
“When I move out, I want your battalion with me. Your officers can find billets in the mansion, your men can bivouac in the grounds.”
Paul saluted again. “Very good, sir.”
Wellesley was studying him with what looked like concern. “Carry on, then,” he said, finally.
While his men set about the dreary task of bringing in the dead and wounded from both sides, Paul went in search of his sergeant. He found Michael down by one of the bridges, supervising the removal of dead and injured Danish soldiers. At the sight of Paul he stood to attention and saluted.
“Sir.”
“Take over, Corporal Jones,” Paul said briefly. “I’d like to speak to Sergeant O’Reilly.”
“No need, sir, I’ll…”
“That was an order, Sergeant.”
The Irish sergeant hesitated and Paul stood looking at him. Eventually Michael moved reluctantly and followed him back over the bridge. Paul walked along the bank of the rivulet away from the town where it was quiet and there were no more bodies. Weeping willow trees swept the water with delicate leaves and there was birdsong and no sound of dying men.
“I’m sorry.”
“No, need, sir.”
“There is a need. I shouldn’t have done that to you.”
Unexpectedly his sergeant turned, and the blaze of anger in the Irishman’s black eyes shocked Paul.
“To me? Jesus Christ, Paul, you didn’t do anything to me! You did it to them! Those poor bastards just watched our army slaughter their men and when they holed up in that town hall you threatened to do the same to their wives and children!”
“You must know I wouldn’t have,” Paul said.
“Do I? You’ll forgive me if I’m not sure, sir, it’s what the English do. I know how these people feel.”
“So do I, Michael.”
“No, you don’t! You have no idea how it feels to have your home invaded and your women violated and your children left to starve! That will never happen to you because you’re rich and you’re privileged and you’re fucking English! So don’t tell me you know how I felt back there when you made me threaten to burn women and children to death to force those poor, desperate bastards to surrender! I feel like shit!”
Paul stood looking at him. Finally he said:
“So do I. Probably the worst thing I’ve ever done.”
He stood silently, feeling suddenly sick and weary and unable to think of anything else to say. His sergeant looked back at him, his dark eyes angry and unforgiving. It was colder now, a breeze blowing across the rivulet and lifting the trailing greenery of the willows.
“You look like hell,” Michael said.
“I’m all right.”
“Is that everything, sir? I want to get back to…”
“Stop it, Michael. For God’s sake…”
“What do you want me to say, Paul? That I forgive you?”
Paul thought about it. “Probably,” he said. “Can you?”
The Irishman regarded him for a long time. “I’m really pissed off with you, sir,” he said finally. “I know why you did it, but I still don’t like it. I’ll get over it. But you need to leave it alone. Sometimes you can’t just make everything right with a smile and an apology.”
“I know, Michael. But I still needed to apologise.”
“I accept your apology, sir, and I’m still pissed off. With myself as much as you. I should have told you where to stick that order and I didn’t.”
“Thank God for that. If you’d done that in front of half the brigade, they’d have had your stripes and the skin off your back and I couldn’t have stopped it.”
“I know. But I’d have felt better about myself.”
Paul reached into his coat and took out his silver flask. He held it out to his sergeant. After a long silent moment, Michael took it, unstoppered it and drank. He handed it back and Paul did the same.
“You’re not bribing me with brandy, sir,” Michael said.
“Of course not.”
“It’s good brandy, mind. I’m not saying it isn’t. Just not enough to bribe me with.”
“That’s understood, Sergeant.”
Michael held out his hand and Paul gave him the flask with a flood of relief. His sergeant drank again and gave it back.
“Just don’t ever order me to do that again.”
He moved away and Paul slipped the flask back into his pocket and joined him. They walked back along the bank.
“Sergeant.”
“Sir?”
“I can’t promise that.”
The Irishman was silent for a moment. Then he said:
“I know. Is that it?” The sergeant’s voice was more normal now, not right yet, but better. Paul knew it was the best he was going to get at present.
“I think so,” he said, striving for normality himself. “They’ve no more troops to throw at us. Now it’s about Copenhagen and that isn’t likely to be up to us. We clean up here and go back to Roskilde with Wellesley. And we wait.”
Chapter Seventeen
Captain Hugh Kelly received his summons to the flagship with some misgiving. He had written his report and sent it to both Lord Cathcart and Admiral Gambier and it was less than four hours later that the message came asking him to attend the Admiral. Summoning the ship’s boat he presented himself in the Admiral’s day cabin. Sir Home Popham was present, which faintly irritated Hugh for no good reason.
“Capt
ain Kelly. Thank you for your report. It was very clear.”
“I hope so, sir.”
“I was a little surprised,” the Admiral said. “I have received evidence from the Boatswain aboard the Flight. Ah…”
“Wilson, sir.”
“Yes, Wilson. His account does not exactly tally with yours.”
“That’s unfortunate, sir,” Hugh said civilly. He had no intention of engaging in a war of words with Admiral Gambier at this point. If Major Paul van Daan’s elegant fair head was destined for the Horse Guards block, Hugh would rather keep his powder dry and give his evidence where it would do most good. He was very aware of Gambier’s distaste for the young army major. He had no idea why and did not especially care, but he did not propose to share his opinions with either Gambier or Popham, whom he suspected was behind the Admiral’s attitude.
“Indeed. We shall see. However, I have called you here on another matter, Captain. A serious matter. A matter of immorality.”
Hugh stared at Gambier blankly. “Immorality, sir? I’m sorry, I’m confused.”
“I am not surprised, sir!” Gambier barked unexpectedly. “Confused and led astray. I have been informed - and I am sorry for it, sir, very sorry - that you have a woman aboard your ship. A young woman. An unmarried woman, sir, of poor reputation, currently sharing your cabin! You may not be aware of my view on this, Captain Kelly…”
Anger surged through Hugh, catching him unawares. He caught it and held it down hard, too experienced to show Gambier how furious he was. Instead, he said very pleasantly:
“Navy gossip, sir. I’m sorry, you’ve been misinformed.”
Gambier stared at him. “Have I?” he said. “Will you tell me how? Captain Popham, did you not tell me, this very morning, that such a woman existed?”
“I did, sir.”
“And how did you come by this knowledge, Captain?”
“Mr Durrell, sir. Captain Kelly’s first lieutenant. A very intelligent, thoughtful young man. I have been spending some time with him, teaching him more about my communication systems and other matters. He is a very quick learner, sir. A great mind.”
Hugh spent an enjoyable moment visualising Mr Durrell being keel-hauled. “Sir, I’m not sure what Mr Durrell told you, but there is nothing immoral going on. The young lady is the daughter of my business partner back home on Mann. She was torn from her home in error by a navy press gang and I am taking care of her until I am able to restore her to her father.”
Gambier was regarding him with a pinched expression. “Explain further, Captain,” he said finally.
Hugh did so, telling Roseen’s story as sympathetically as he could. He made no mention of his own relationship with her, considering it none of Gambier’s business.
When he had finished, the Admiral was silent for a few minutes. Finally, reluctantly, he said:
“I am persuaded of your good intentions, Captain Kelly. But the young woman cannot remain aboard your ship while you are under my command. My rules are strict, sir. Find her a billet on shore and when this campaign is over, she may be restored to her unfortunate father.”
Hugh gritted his teeth. “Sir, I cannot abandon the lady ashore. She has no friends and no knowledge of the language…”
“I have given my orders, sir. Obey them.”
Hugh made his way back up onto deck, his thoughts in a whirl. He could think of no way around the Admiral’s order but the thought of leaving Roseen alone on a foreign shore was unbearable. After only a few days he had become accustomed to her presence. She was still not physically well although good food and plenty of rest was beginning to help.
“Captain Kelly.”
Hugh turned and saluted the Captain of the Fleet. He felt like punching Popham’s supercilious face for his interference, but he was older and more experienced than Major van Daan and had his expression well under control.
“Sir.”
“It occurs to me that the inn recently vacated by the officers of the 110th might be suitable for the young woman. They are billeted over at Roskilde with Sir Arthur Wellesley now. There might be a maid there who could take care of her.”
It was a sensible idea, a sop thrown to Hugh’s fury and he was reluctant to accept it from Popham, who had caused this problem. But Hugh nodded.
“Thank you, sir. I’ll look into it.”
Roseen took the news calmly. “It isn’t as though I have that much to pack, Hugh.”
“I don’t want to do this, lass. But…”
“Hush. You’re an officer of the navy, you have to obey orders. I don’t want you going the way of poor Major van Daan. Is there any news?”
“There was a battle. Our troops won, which is not very surprising. I have heard that Van Daan has been mentioned in dispatches, which is intelligent of Wellesley. Love, I’d put up more of a fight for this, but Popham tells me we’re expecting orders for the bombardment any day now. I honestly don’t want you aboard ship for that. I’m going to leave you Brian.”
Arriving at the inn, Hugh was surprised to see a familiar overweight piebald mare tied up in the stable yard. Holding Roseen’s hand he made his way through into the tap room and a tall fair figure was there, his back to Hugh, flirting cheerfully with the maidservant.
“Major van Daan.”
The man turned and his face broke into a smile. “Captain Kelly. It is very good to see you, sir.”
He saluted and then came forward, his eyes on Roseen’s face. “It’s Miss Crellin, is it not? You are looking very much better, ma’am.”
Roseen’s cheeks were pink. She was wearing an ill-fitting brown dress with a pair of soft sheepskin slippers and a rough woollen shawl about her shoulders. Her dark curls were loose about her shoulders and Hugh felt keenly her embarrassment at being faced with a complete stranger in such disarray.
“It is Major van Daan, is it not? I believe I owe you thanks, sir, although I remember very little.”
“You owe me nothing, I’m just glad to see you so much on the mend. I’m here to give thanks and payment to the landlord; we’ve billets out as Roskilde now and my lads have been packing up the officers’ baggage. Hr Lund has kindly lent us a wagon to take it out to the mansion.”
“Yes, I was told you were moving on,” Hugh said. “I’m in search of a room for my lass. It’s a difficult situation. I’d intended that she’d stay with me on the Iris, but Admiral Gambier is concerned about the impropriety of her situation and has given orders that she be brought ashore. I’m worried about her staying here alone.”
“She can’t,” Paul van Daan said positively. “Of course she can’t. You can’t be with her, especially if Wellesley is right and the bombardment is about to begin. What a ridiculous idea. Don’t worry about it at all, sir, I’ll speak to Hr Lund and ask him for the loan of his light carriage. If you’ll entrust her to me, she can come out to Roskilde with us. Sir Arthur Wellesley will be happy to have her as his guest and as it happens she won’t be alone. One of my junior officers, who is clearly an imbecile, has today married the daughter of Mr Nilsson, the local pastor. She will be joining him at the mansion and will have plenty of time to act as chaperone to your lady, sir, since her husband is on picket duty for the rest of his natural life.”
Hugh felt a rush of relief. “Are you serious?” he said. “Fella, you’re a life saver. I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her here alone but I have no choice. And if there’s another lass there, it’s all the better.”
“Think nothing of it. Do you have to get back or have you time to escort her over and join us for dinner?”
Hugh hesitated and then shrugged. “I don’t see why not. The Admiral was insistent that I remove Miss Crellin from the ship immediately; he can hardly complain that I need to leave to do so. I’ll send my boy back with a message of where I can be reached at need. My first lieutenant can manage the ship and I hope he encounters an unpleasant crisis which will keep him up all night.”
Paul drew up a chair for Roseen and accompanied Hugh o
utside to find Brian. His message given, Hugh turned back to see the major in conversation with the innkeeper. He was amused at how good the major had become at making himself understood. In the few weeks he had been in Denmark he had picked up a surprising amount of the language and he appeared to be on excellent terms with his former host which suggested to Hugh that payment had been prompt and the vail generous. He wondered how much of his own money Paul van Daan had spent ensuring a comfortable stay for his officers.
Paul returned to Hugh. “He has a serviceable gig that he’s prepared to hire to you for the duration of her stay,” he said. “I’ve also asked if his wife can find her something else to wear; she’ll feel better if she’s sensibly dressed. Inge will fleece you, I’m afraid, sir, she’s an avaricious old besom, but it might be worth it.”
“It is. Thank you, Major.”
“How is she?”
“You can see for yourself, she’s much improved. She tires easily and her appetite isn’t that good but she’s getting better daily.”
“She’ll recover. She’s young and healthy and I’ll make sure they look after her at the mansion.”
“Thank you, Major, I’m very grateful. As soon as this is over, I’ll get her home. On the Iris, if I’m going back to England, and I don’t give a damn what Admiral Gambier thinks. She’s my responsibility; I can’t believe he’d put his bloody evangelical ideas ahead of the comfort and safety of a young woman, especially given that it was the navy impress service who got her into this in the first place.”
“I think that’s rather the point of being evangelical, sir,” Paul said with a grin. “They’ll bring the gig round when it’s ready. Do you want to drive it? If not, I’ve got Private Carter with me and he can do it. Rides like a stuffed pig, but he’s all right with the ribbons.”
“I’ll drive,” Hugh said. “It’ll be good to be ashore for a few hours.”