Page 55 of The Forbidden Love of an Officer
‘But you will need some for yourself.’
‘I shall be fine, once my husband returns.’
Jennifer stopped packing. ‘Ma’am, come with me? You should not stay. If the captain lives, he will find you. It is better to leave.’
‘I cannot.’
‘Ma’am…’
‘Jennifer! I will not. There is no point in urging me. I cannot leave.’ The words came out in a cross voice, but only because she was afraid. She had no idea how she would cope on her own.
‘Very well.’ Jennifer folded the sheet she had packed hurriedly and tied the opposing corners.
Ellen watched, the scene feeling unreal. This could not be happening.
Jennifer already wore her bonnet and cloak, so once she had packed, she lifted her makeshift bag to her shoulder. ‘You are sure you will not come?’
Ellen nodded, as inside uncertainty roared, rising as a screaming sound in her inner ears.
‘Very well then, ma’am.’
Ellen followed Jennifer downstairs, to the front door.
‘I wish you luck,’ Ellen said.
‘As I you, ma’am. Goodbye.’ Jennifer opened the door and stepped out.
Ellen closed the door, a sigh slipping from her lungs. Her limbs shook a little. Almost collapsing, she sat on the second step of the stairs, fear hanging like a lead weight on her shoulders. She stared at the door.
The she remembered, she was not completely alone. The woman who owned the property lived next door, and Ellen had not seen her leave. It was mostly the British who were fleeing.
She covered her face with her hands. But she did not cry. She was beyond crying. She just wanted to know if Paul was alive.
16
‘Rise up!’ The lieutenant colonel’s voice reached through the trees, strong and definite. ‘Rise up!’
The cannons had begun pounding at about one o’clock, but Paul, and his men, had not been among the fighting yet. His orders had been to remain in the woods, on the Namur road, just north of Lac Materne. The regiment’s role was to defend the road in case the French broke through.
Paul had been lying down amongst his men for hours, beside the sunken road, hiding among the trees, to avoid becoming targets for the cannon fire. He had not been able to see over the brow of the hill. He had lain here listening to the battle unfolding a short distance away from him, rejecting every urge to stand up without an order. They might be the last defence; if the French got this far, they would not expect a whole regiment hidden in the undergrowth not already a part of the battle that had been raging for hours.
‘I said rise up, men!’
Now the order had come, Paul moved instinctively, getting onto his feet.
A moment later, the French riflemen poured over the brow of the hill, and in the next instant, after hours of waiting – no, after months of waiting – Paul was ready to fight. It was kill or be killed – for every single one of his men who had stood up on this ridge.
‘Rifles! Present!’ Paul called to his men to make ready. Then having given them a moment to prepare, raise their rifles to their shoulders and get a man in their sights, he yelled. ‘Fire!’
The front row of men charging forward fell, with screams of pain as they clasped at wounds. A man looked at Paul with horror, in the moment before he dropped to his knees and died.
The stench of gunpowder, blood and guts – death – dragged Paul back to the battles he had forgotten in Ellen’s bed.
‘Make ready!’ he called, raising his arm. The second line of his men stepped through the first, while the men in the first line began reloading.
The sounds of his men moving, firing, reloading and firing again, always stirred the patriotism in his blood.For Britain and for victory!‘Present! Fire!’ The second line fired their rifles. More of the French who came over the brow of the hill collapsed to their knees. Smoke, from the explosion of gunpowder in the rifles, drifted along the British line. The caustic smell burned at the back of his throat, making his stomach lurch, as Paul’s third row stepped forward.
A volley of fire was released by the platoon beside theirs.
