by Peter Watt
Molly Williams stood in front of the gates of the prison with only a small bag containing very little, other than the letters she had received from Conan. Molly took a deep breath, taking in the pungent smell of horse manure and smog of the factories spewing out their noxious fumes. At least it was the smell of freedom, and the click-clack hoofbeats of the big dray horses pulling wagons filled with barrels of ale passing by, the sounds of freedom.
Molly knew there was something that she must do before she sought a place to live and attempt to earn some small pittance to pay for food from her skills as a seamstress. She must find the lady who was responsible for her pardon.
Molly was an extremely intelligent young lady whose adoring father had taught her to read and write as a young girl. But these skills were not in demand for women in working-class life. More important to society was the dexterity of her fingers sewing the intricate needlework. Even that skill was being replaced by the great machines in factories, and she realised that without the support of her brothers in this uncaring city, she was very much alone. But she was at least free.
Molly set out on foot to find the woman who she had learned was her saviour.
Eventually, Molly came to the front entrance of the Forbes London residence, where she took a deep breath and walked up the stone stairs to the great door.
She rang a bell beside the door and waited until a gentleman opened it. She could see from his manner and dress that he was a servant.
‘I wish to speak with the lady of the house, Miss Alice Forbes,’ Molly said in a confident voice, realising that the servant was looking at her tattered clothing with disgust.
‘I am sorry, but I do not think the lady of the house would have any interest in whatever you are peddling. Good day.’
Molly stepped forward and slipped her foot inside the door. ‘Please tell Miss Alice that I come because of Dr Campbell. Please tell her that.’
The servant, a man in his middle age, had no time for the poor of the streets, and he could see that this pretty young woman looked very much like one of them coming to beg money.
‘Please remain outside and I will inform the mistress that you have mentioned Dr Campbell’s name.’
Molly withdrew her foot and the door closed. She waited a few minutes, wondering if the man had passed on her message.
The door opened and the servant stood before her. ‘I have been instructed to escort you to the drawing room,’ he said with a tone of obvious disapproval.
Molly followed the servant into the foyer, and then to the drawing room, where she saw a well-dressed, pretty lady with golden hair. She was sitting at a desk and rose when Molly entered the room.
‘You may leave us,’ Alice said, addressing the manservant, turning to Molly with a frown. ‘May I ask, who you are, and how you know the name of my fiancé?’
‘I am Molly Williams, and I have learned that your fiancé, Dr Campbell, wrote a letter to have me released, and you were the kind lady who delivered the letter. I only came to thank you, my lady for all that you and Dr Campbell have done for me.’
Alice’s frown softened. ‘Would you like to share tea and cakes with me, Miss Williams?’ Alice asked, gesturing to Molly to take a seat.
‘That would be very nice, Miss,’ Molly said, looking to a divan. Alice rang a bell and a young girl in an apron appeared. Alice informed her what she wanted, and the servant girl disappeared to the kitchen.
‘My brothers, Edwin and Owen, are serving with your brother, Mr Herbert, in the army,’ Molly blurted, catching Alice’s attention.
‘Then they must be in Crimea,’ Alice said. ‘Dr Campbell and my other brother, Samuel, are also with Herbert over there. We have something in common, because I suspect that you must worry for the welfare of your brothers, as I do for my own brothers and my fiancé.’
‘Yes, miss,’ Molly said with her hands folded in her lap, perched at the edge of the divan. ‘The man I feel very much for wrote letters to me on their behalf, as my brothers do not read nor write. But I do read and write. I fear for them when I read about the cholera.’
‘My fiancé Dr Campbell also writes to me about the terrible conditions they are suffering, but has informed me that my brother Samuel’s company suffer less because of his medical advice. Samuel commands the company your brothers belong to under my younger brother, Herbert.’
A tray with the teapot, cups and plates of cakes arrived and was placed on a small table. Alice rose and poured the tea, placing a cake on a small plate.
‘Conan, the man I am very fond of, writes that they expect to go to war with the Russians very soon,’ Molly said, accepting the cup of tea gratefully. The cake looked delicious, as Molly had been fed very little in prison, and her sunken eyes revealed her hunger. ‘I pray that he is able to look after my brothers.’
Before they knew it, the two young women were exchanging news from the men who corresponded with them, and the morning passed quickly. Alice mentioned that Dr Campbell had a lot of respect for the three men who had robbed him in London, and the two women laughed at the absurdity of the situation, where the army seemed to be an institution where all that occurred before enlistment mattered little. The brotherhood of arms was the means of forgiveness against trespassers.
Lunch time grew closer, and Alice realised that she had an appointment, but was reluctant to break the bond that seemed to bind the two. Both had men they loved very much sharing the same regiment in the far-off place of death.
‘Miss Williams, may I ask if you have employment?’ Alice asked.
‘Please, miss, call me Molly,’ Molly replied. ‘I do not have either a home or employment, for the moment.’
‘Well, you will have both a home and employment if you wish to accept my offer to take a position at our country manor. We have employment for a resourceful woman who can read and write. We need someone to keep the ledgers for the management accounts. Are you able to do that?’
‘Yes, miss. I once worked for Ikey Soloman the Jew, keeping his accounts in order. I know about ledger books and only lost my job when Ikey had to close his office for reasons of a dubious nature,’ Molly answered enthusiastically. ‘My father was a school teacher in Wales before he died of sickness when I was a young girl. I’d shown an interest in books, so he helped me learn to read and write, and I discovered that I had an ability to count numbers.’
‘Good,’ Alice said, rising to her feet just as Charles entered the room. He looked curiously at the pretty young woman in the tattered dress, holding a cup of tea in her lap.
‘Who is this?’ he asked in a cold voice. ‘When did we start inviting vagabonds under our roof?’
‘Miss Williams is not a vagabond, Charles, she is now an employee of the Forbes family,’ Alice replied calmly. ‘Miss Williams will be sent to our country manor to manage our accounts.’
‘What!’ Charles exploded. ‘Look at her. She looks like she has slept in the gutters.’
‘I am sure when Molly has the opportunity to bathe and be dressed in new clothes, you will not recognise the woman currently in our presence. Molly has told me of her experience managing accounts with another employer. I am sure Father would approve my choice.’
Charles glared at Molly sitting on the divan, appearing just a little cowed by him. Charles looked closer and had to admit that his sister was right. Cleaned up and in a new dress, this young woman would indeed be very attractive. She might even be worth bedding, he mused in his darker thoughts.
‘Very well,’ Charles said. ‘But you are responsible for her behaviour whilst she is under our roof.’
‘Thank you, Charles,’ Alice said as her brother turned to exit the drawing room. Molly stood unsteadily with tears of gratitude in her eyes.
‘Thank you, my lady,’ Molly said, her body trembling. Fortune was such a fickle thing. She had only come to thank Alice, but now she would leave with a future
absent of hunger and cold, as winter approached the great city on the Thames.
*
The cries of the wounded for water and the lines of the slain being carried to a mass grave surrounded Ian as he stood on what had been the battlefield of Alma. Equipment from the dead soldiers lay in piles, and when Ian looked down at his feet, he could see a spent round-shot cannonball smeared with blood and brains.
Ian’s arm throbbed from the bayonet wound he endured and had bound himself with a scarf. He knew that his company had fared better than their brother rifle regiments, and was prepared to march once again on the retreating Russians. But the order did not come. What Ian did not know was that a conference of the Allied generals had decided to take a long flanking march on the small Crimean seaport of Balaclava instead of a direct attack on the prime objective of Sebastopol.
‘Good morning, Sam,’ Herbert said as he joined Ian, who could see dried bloodstains on the young officer’s field uniform. ‘Do we encamp here on the heights for tonight?’
‘I don’t know,’ Ian replied. ‘I am just a lowly company commander. If I had my way, we would have kept tight on the heels of the retreating Muscovites.’
‘You are wounded,’ Herbert observed. ‘Your arm.’
‘It is nothing.’ Ian shrugged. ‘A bloody Russian bayonet came a bit close. I will see Dr Campbell later today for a proper bandage. By the way, I must concede your terrible trio acquitted themselves well in the assault. I have been thinking that you should promote Private Curry to corporal. He has earned it.’
‘A good choice,’ Herbert agreed. ‘All the men of my section look up to him. After today, I also feel that he should be promoted.’
‘Make sure that our company gets as much as the spare kit from the dead we can,’ Ian said. ‘The way our commiseriate is operating on this campaign, we might possibly find ourselves short on ammunition.’
‘I will do that,’ Herbert said. ‘But you must promise me to see Peter, and have your wound seen to.’
‘I thought it was my duty to look after you.’ Ian grinned. ‘You are, after all, the little brother who I promised Alice I would keep safe.’
‘I promised the same to Alice concerning your welfare,’ Herbert confided. ‘I was terrified during the battle. I felt that every Russian musket was aimed at me when I was holding the regimental colours. It was only the encouragement of Colour Sergeant Leslie that kept me from throwing down our colours and retreating.’
‘You may be right about every Muscovite wanting to do away with you and seize our colours,’ Ian said. ‘I will suggest to the colonel that it is Mr Jenkins’ turn to have the honour of carrying the colours into battle.’
‘I don’t think Mr Jenkins will like that,’ Herbert said. ‘I would prefer the honour be mine, and not Jenkins’.’
‘You know you will be making yourself a target in the next battle we engage the Russians in,’ Ian said.
‘I am not a brave man, but I know my duty as a British officer,’ Herbert replied. ‘I would rather you write to our sister telling her how I fell holding the colours than retreat. Alice would be very proud of me if that happened.’ Herbert paused before adding, ‘The men of the company are boasting of the courage you displayed in the attack on the Russians today.’
‘Bloody fools,’ Ian growled. ‘I was just too slow retiring into our ranks. Neither of us have a duty to die for those mutton-chop moustached, stiff-collared civil servants back in London, sipping their tea over the breakfast table, and safely reading the latest reports in The Times. It is not they who have to suffer as we do for imperial interests. Our only imperative is to lead our men wisely, stay alive, and kill as many of the enemy that we can. And as for Alice being proud of you being killed in action, I doubt that would be her reaction. She is a woman and be assured a woman does not have the same attitude to war that is thrust upon us. I think Alice would kill me if anything happened to you.’
‘You sound like Captain Sinclair,’ Herbert said. ‘He often states that the British army should be led by men selected and then trained on their merit to command. His views are not popular amongst the others in the mess. And Alice would not blame you if anything untoward happens to me.’
‘Captain Sinclair is the future of the British army,’ Ian said. ‘I have seen how men of lowly birth – even former convicts in the colony of New South Wales – rise to positions of power on their God-given natural abilities of leadership and enterprise. I think the realms of England could take a lesson from that.’
‘You sound as if you admire the colonials,’ Herbert said. ‘It is no wonder the men of the company call you the Queen’s colonial. I fear that you were too long away from the home of your birth.’
Ian looked at Herbert to see if he was accusing him or simply reflecting the attitude existing in his company. How ironic, Ian thought. How close to the truth his men were in their identification of him as a colonial. His life before England had been so strongly influenced by the growing attitude of all men being equal without class, although he had to admit, class still existed in his place of birth. There were still the wealthy landowners and others who were the hangovers of the class system from the Mother Country.
Then Ian was summoned to a meeting with the colonel after having his arm bandaged by Peter with all his fellow officers, and the orders were issued.
Dawn was a few hours away, heralded by the sound of the nearby French troops’ drums and trumpets, rousing the armies into formation for the march on the Russian army.
Ian stirred under his greatcoat, covered in morning dew. The noise of an army rousing for war broke the nightmares of the sleeping hours when he tossed and turned, whimpering as the images of mutilated soldiers mixed with a strange flash of a circle of stones. None of it made sense, but somehow, he knew the circle of stones were those Jane had introduced him to. But now they were sinister in his dreams, mixed with memories of death. His small fire was still smouldering, and in the valley below, a heavy fog persisted where Ian could see the army gathering into formation.
He snatched a piece of cheese and stale bread, washed down with cold water from his canteen, and quickly gathered his kit together. Ian now had an Enfield rifle musket recovered from a dead soldier. Possessing it was a link to his men, and he slung it across his shoulder. He could see that the columns of French troops were on the move, disappearing into the fog of the valley below. When Ian glanced out to the sea, he observed the smoke trailing behind the funnels of the war ships as they weighed anchor and steamed south along the coast to accompany the advance.
Non-commissioned officers barked orders to fall in, and officers strode about to be seen by their men. Ian stumbled to his company, and was surprised to hear a ragged cheer for his arrival. He saluted his men in response to their touching gesture, and called for his subordinate officers for a briefing.
The sun was well up when the British army finally marched, with Ian at the head of his company. As they approached the valley floor, they were startled to see a carpet of grey-uniformed Russians covering the earth. The Russians had left their wounded behind in the retreat. The British army paused to assist the wounded Russian soldiers with food, water and medical help. Ian calculated over seven hundred Russian wounded, and it was decided that a surgeon from one of the regiments would remain behind with a servant to care for the Russian soldiers.
Then the army advanced into hilly, barren country covered in thistles. A small rutted track led through the hills marked by the wheel tracks of Russian artillery wagons. Ian knew as they marched that ahead lay yet another terrible battle, and the old feeling of apprehension returned. Would he be able to lead his men into hell again? Life was little more than the throw of the dice by the gods of war, deciding who would live and who would die.
Twenty-Two
It was with great pride that Corporal Conan Curry strutted amongst his section, displaying the broad white chevrons on his sleeve. A hurrie
d job by one of the wives of the soldiers had completed the task of sewing them in place before the advance on Balaclava. The promotion carried with it an increase in his pay, and during a halt in the advance, Conan sat with the Williams brothers.
They sat on a ridge with the rest of the regiment looking over the Katscha Valley below. On the opposite ridge, they gazed at hills clad with shrubs here and there and pretty villas surrounded by white stone walls.
‘Do you think that we might find some grog in those houses?’ Edwin asked hopefully.
‘I doubt it,’ Conan answered. ‘The Muscovites would have already looted them in their retreat.’ Since his promotion, Conan had appeared to become wiser as a soldier. He was proud of his recognition, and his promotion was accepted by Owen and Edwin, but not so much by the rest of the section Conan commanded. In their eyes, he had yet to prove himself.
‘Do you think that the next time we meet the Muscovites it will be as bad as Alma?’ Edwin continued to question like a curious child.
‘I bloody well don’t know. Only officers know the answer,’ Conan replied, irritated at the stream of questions.
‘Maybe you should ask Captain Forbes,’ Owen said, resting on his elbows with his eyes closed. ‘You seem to have some kind of bond with him. Is it because you are a colonial Irishman, and the captain is known as the colonial?’
Conan shifted uncomfortably. He carried the secret of who Captain Samuel Forbes really was, and had grown to truly like and respect his former friend from New South Wales. Captain Forbes’ actions at Alma had given his company faith in his leadership. Prior to the battle, he had drilled his soldiers in tactics and marksmanship with the Enfield beyond the abilities of other companies. The soldiers of Ian’s company had resented his insistence on perfection then, but now understood why he had been so harsh in their training.
‘On yer feet. Form up!’ The order was bawled by the company sergeant major, and the men rose, shouldered arms, and fell into their formations. Herbert was once again assigned to carry the regimental colours, and Colour Sergeant Leslie fell in beside him. The great mass of the British army began to roll down the ridge into the valley, and ascend the hills before them.