Page 58 of The Forbidden Love of an Officer
A hand shook his shoulder, waking him. It was light. The man who had woken him walked along the line of soldiers, shaking every man’s shoulder. ‘We are to move.’ The words were whispered to him by a stranger. ‘The Duke of Wellington’s orders are to pull back to the ground by Waterloo.’
Paul knew the ground. It was the point the Generals had considered the best place to fight. It was more defendable, there was another ridge and a larger wood, the Forest of Soignes, where men could hide if need be. Every officer had been ordered to become accustomed to the terrain in the months they had spent in Brussels.
Paul sat up and rubbed his face, urging himself to wake, as the men around him stretched and yawned, rising slowly. ‘Eat and drink,’ he whispered. They looked at him. There was only limited water and dry biscuits in their provisions, but they needed some sustenance before they fought again.
It seemed this second day they marched for hours. But it was not very far. Within a day they had re-camped and positioned themselves on the Duke of Wellington’s chosen ground to take the enemy. The losses of the day before had not been as bad as Paul feared, only a couple of thousand, some of the wounded had been moved by cart back beyond the lines, but many were bandaged and ready to fight again.
17
When Ellen woke the day after Jennifer had left her alone, it was to a quiet city. She did not even hear birdsong penetrating the windowpane. She looked through the window. No one was in the street, and there was not a single sound in the air. Those who were the sort to run had gone, and those who had chosen to stay must be in their homes, waiting to hear more news – or cannons.
Ellen’s stomach suddenly turned over, she pressed her hand to her mouth then turned to the chamber pot and was sick; probably because she had not eaten anything for dinner.
Her stomach felt like a whirlpool, swirling with fear. She dressed, though, went to the kitchen and ate some of the bread they had bought yesterday.
She tried to sew but her fingers shook too much to thread a needle. She tried to read but her mind would not concentrate on a single word. When it reached two past midday, she went for a walk outside, alone, which as a genteelly bred woman she should not do, but with Jennifer gone she had no choice.
The streets, which yesterday had been crowded with people, were entirely empty. She walked for an hour and saw no one.
When she returned to their rooms, she sat on the window seat with her knees lifted to her chest and embraced in her arms. She had sat in her room like this as a child, when she had been scolded and experienced her father’s wrath. Her chin rested on her knees as she watched the street, silent and praying, her heart beating to the rhythm of the mantelpiece clock.
Where are you, Paul?
She remained where she was, watching.
Even when dusk fell, she had only seen the odd servant passing through the street.
As darkness claimed the city, falling like a shroud, Ellen moved to the bed. She was so exhausted by worry her eyes closed.
When Ellen woke the next morning, she was sick before she had even risen from the bed, cramps pulling at her empty stomach as she vomited bile.
Paul would be angry when he discovered how poorly she had been taking care of herself. She must eat. What would he say when he found her still here? But surely if the French had won, as they were told yesterday, Napoleon and his army would be in the city. She had made the right choice.
Ellen went in search of the bread. She ate it with cheese and drank some of the milk.
Clunk.
Someone struck the knocker down on the door.
Clunk. Clunk.
It was not an urgent knock. But it would not be Paul, he had a key to get in.
She opened the door cautiously. It was Mistress Peeters who owned the house. She stood in the rain, holding a shawl over her head.
‘Good day, Mrs Harding, I saw your maid leave yesterday, so I thought I would pop in, say hello and ask if you need anything.’
‘Would you like to come in? I could do with some company.’
The woman smiled and nodded. ‘I could do with some as well. Do you have any tea?’
‘I do.’
‘Then shall we get a pan of water on the boil.’
‘Have you heard any news of the battle?’ Ellen asked as they made a pot of tea.
‘No…’ But Mistress Peeters held a hundred opinions upon the French and proceeded to share them as they sat down to drink. After Jennifer’s constant silence, Ellen was relieved to listen to another woman’s voice as she drank the milky tea.
