Page 52 of The Forbidden Love of an Officer
‘God go with you,’ she whispered.
But he wished God to stay with her. Could God’s grace be in a hundred thousand places at once?Every man on the battlefield probably prayed for divine protection.
His hand stroked over her hair. ‘I love you. I will always be with you, Ellen, no matter what.’ He turned away then, because he had to. If he did not, he would never leave.
15
Having watched him from the door until he turned the corner at the end of the street, Ellen ran back upstairs, scared and hollow inside, and threw herself onto the bed, then turned, her arms cradling her stomach, and she prayed as she cried, whispering the words aloud.
‘Protect him. Save him. Bring him home. Bring him back to me…’ Tears rolled onto her cheeks and dripped onto the mattress as she lay there enfolding the child she thought was inside her in her arms.
* * *
The call of a bugle woke her, the familiar sound that had woken her each day the regiment had marched towards Brussels. A loud piercing sound rang ominously through the streets outside. She rose, she had not undressed, she still wore the precious ball gown Paul bought for her. She must have fallen asleep as she cried. The sound summoned the military men,rise from your bed and report for duty. She looked through the window as another bugle call rang out.
Leaning her shoulder against the edge of the window, she watched the street, listening out to the calls. She could not imagine that any soldier was still abed, the news had raced through Brussels like wildfire last night, sweeping into every street and alley. No one came from the houses around her.
She returned to the bed, lying on top of the covers, curled on her side, looking at the stars in the night sky beyond the window and hugging the child in her stomach with both arms.
At a little after three o’clock, when it was still dark, she heard the beat of a drum. She hurried to the window. It was another sound she had become so used to on their journey here. It paced the men’s steps. There were the brighter sounds of tin whistles too. The sounds grew louder, coming closer. She heard their steps on the dusty street long before she could see the soldiers.
Many men came marching along the street, rifles clutched in their hands and balanced on their shoulders. Windows opened along the street, it seemed that everyone in every house was at their window.
‘Good luck!’
‘God bless you!’ people shouted from the windows.
More men marched past, a long stream, it was not one regiment but many. Some women hung out of their windows in their nightdresses, waving and blowing kisses at the men below. A soldier looked up in her direction, and his gaze caught Ellen’s through the glass. She heard Paul’s voice;Let me remember your smile as I leave.This soldier was younger than Paul, he looked younger than her, and she saw fear in his eyes.
She lifted her hand and waved, smiling for his sake, mouthing silently,Good luck.
He smiled, then looked away as he marched on with his rifle on his shoulder.
She opened the window as the men kept coming, shouting out, ‘May God bless you.’
Some people had hurriedly dressed and were now lining the edges of the street. She did not go down.
When the last man walked past, it was almost an hour after the first had passed.
Her heart bled like an open wound and her stomach churned with a bilious feeling as she shut the window. But she was resolute, she would not fail her husband. Misery would not help the army win the battle. Paul had told her she was strong, she was. She would change and go for a walk in the park. A walk would make her feel better, and if she was outside, knowing Paul was outside somewhere, she would feel closer to him.
‘Jennifer!’ she shouted for the maid.
It was at one o’clock in the afternoon that she heard the first cannons firing. Deep, heavy, booming sounds which rumbled over the city.
When Ellen had walked through the streets to the park earlier with Jennifer, she had seen some people packing their belongings onto carts to leave the city. She thought it was desertion, leaving behind the men they had cheered only hours before. But now, as they walked, seeking to buy something for their evening meal, the exodus had swelled, and just like the moment when the news had come of Napoleon’s parade through Paris and people had known a battle would come, there was now at least one cart being loaded in every street. It was cowardice.
They purchased freshly baked bread and milk, and eggs and cheese that would last a week or so, and bacon; Paul liked the thinly sliced mutton when it was fried in a pan. The increasingly loud sounds of the cannons, shaking the sky like thunder, chased them quickly back to the house.
At the house, Ellen found her sewing, as did Jennifer, and they sat in the small parlour.
The sound of one cannon firing resonated through the window, so loud it rattled the glass in the frame.
Jennifer looked at the window, her expression anxious.
The next boom shook the window too.
It became constant, the sound rumbling like a persistent thunderstorm. At least with thunder she could make a guess of how far away the lightning was by counting the seconds between the light and the sound. There was no way to guess how far away the cannons were, or whose army the sounds were made by.
