Page 53 of The Forbidden Love of an Officer
Ellen’s heartbeat hesitated a little each time as she worked on a new shirt for Paul. She refused to think of him fighting amid that cannon fire.
Another boom rattled Ellen’s nerves, along with the sheet of glass in its frame, and a quiet, frightened sound escaped Jennifer’s throat.
‘What are you sewing?’ Ellen began talking. They hardly ever shared a conversation, as Jennifer had made it clear, with short, stilted, answers, that she preferred it if Ellen did not try to talk with her. But today; they both needed to preoccupy their minds with something.
‘A new nightdress, ma’am.’
‘If you would like some lace for the cuffs, I have enough spare from the collar I replaced on my blue dress.’
‘That would be kind, thank you, ma’am.’
‘Shall I tell you about the Duchess of Richmond’s ball that the captain and I attended last night, would you like to hear about it?’
‘That would be nice, ma’am.’
‘The oddest thing,’ Ellen began, ‘was that it was not in the house…’ As she related tales of the room and the Highlanders, and the atmosphere when the news of Napolean’s attack came, she had a feeling the ball would still be talked about for a long while – certainly there would never be another like it.
At just before two o’clock, the cannon fire ceased as abruptly as it had begun, and an ominous quiet fell.
What was happening? Ellen’s desire was to look through the window, but all she would see was the carts of the last cowards to leave the city. The ticks of the mantelpiece clock’s mechanism marked each second as she and Jennifer worked in silence, their conversation now dry.
When the clock chimed three times, she put aside her sewing and stood. ‘Let us go out for another walk.’
It was not for the sake of being outside this time; it was for the possibility of hearing any news.
After the earlier exodus, the streets were eerily empty. Only one or two others walked along the dusty roads and cobbled pavements. Ellen led the way to the park, and they walked all about it in silence, again, as Ellen could think of nothing to talk about. She saw no one she would have the courage to ask if they knew what was happening.
It was different when they walked back towards their lodgings, though. The previously empty streets all now contained huddles of people, some moved from group to group, others knocked on doors, seemingly announcing something to the occupants.
This must be news…Ellen walked towards one man dressed in livery, who had knocked on a door and spoken to a woman then moved to knock on the next.
She stood in his path, so he had to face her. ‘Is there news?’ she asked.
‘The Allied army has been overcome. We are to leave the city. Everyone must leave.’ He walked around her, moving onto the next door.
She had no idea who he was or where he had come from. Or most importantly whether she should believe what he had said. So many thoughts fought for attention in her head as her heart kicked. Paul said she must leave if such a message came; he had made her promise – and yet…How can I go?
Some people in the street were turning and hurrying away in different directions, as the conversations of those that remained grew louder with agitation. They all discussed what to do.
‘We must get home,’ Ellen said to Jennifer.
When they reached their lodgings, Ellen returned to the parlour, but she could not sit and sew with so many thoughts spinning in her head, weighing up her choice – stay or go. She went to the window and looked down on the street as Jennifer hovered by the parlour door. People hurried past. Some doors were open, as people stood on their doorsteps with arms crossed and chins high, talking hurriedly to people in the street. Others were rushing to somewhere, perhaps to hire carts or carriages, or horses. What would be left after so many people had gone this morning?
She sat on the parlour’s wooden window seat and watched the street. Some carts arrived, hand carts, some pulled by horses, then as items were taken from houses and loaded, people from other streets walked past, some with their belongings wrapped in bedding on their backs. The numbers walking through the street increased slowly, until it was a crush of people running away from the city.
A carriage tried to pass through the crowd. Some men sought to free the horses, presumably to steal them for their own escape. The driver raised his whip and brought it down on the men. The people she quietly watched from her window seat were panicking, pushing each other to force their way through as they tried to get out of the city. She was waiting. She believed in Paul. She would not give up on him.
There had been no sign of any soldiers, but these people were behaving as though Napolean and his army were nearly at the city gates.
As the carriages and carts slowly progressed at the pace of those on foot, people waved watches, money and jewellery towards the drivers, and she heard their shouts.
‘Let me embark, damn you!’
‘Come on, it is a pretty ring! These are diamonds!’
‘I will pay you anything you ask for just one of your horses!’
It was a melee, a nightmare –and it was disloyal.
