Page 81 of The Forbidden Love of an Officer
Ellen picked up one of the small wooden horses and trotted it across the rug she knelt on beside John. Her tongue clicked against the bridge of her mouth, making a clip clop sound to make him giggle. John was sitting upright beside her watching this odd game that she had invented. He loved looking at the horses pass in the street, so she had begged the colonel for some money to be able to buy things for John and had asked a wood carver in the market to make these horses. Of course, there had been a price…
After the battle of Waterloo, she saw wounds stitched to hold the skin together so it might heal. John was the stitches in her heart. She only lived for moments with him. And these hours, when they played together and he laughed at her silliness, were her most precious; she could pretend the rest of her life did not exist.
The wood carver was mostly making items for the tourists who still hung around Paris like a swarm of locusts, invading every part of life and devouring any souvenir they could find. Every day she walked through the streets, hoping to see a face she knew to be able to ask for help, but she had not met anyone. She refused to give up hope of escape, though.
‘Ball.’ John’s gaze reached past the horses to the leather ball they had played with earlier. John turned onto his hands and knees, and set off for it at a fast crawl. Her heart flipped as she watched him. She had never thought it possible to love anyone so utterly.
When he reached it, he pushed it towards her as best he could.
Ellen reached for it, her smile broad, and rolled the ball back to him, following it at a crawl. She nudged the ball against him, tipping him backwards, then caught him up in her arms and blew a loud kiss on his cheek so it would tickle and make him laugh. His laughter was the most beautiful sound, like water running over rocks in a stream, or a wave washing over pebbles on the seashore.
‘Mama.’ He pushed at her, saying stop. He had a stubborn streak, and a strength of will like his father’s.
She did stop, smiling and brushing back his black hair, looking into eyes the colour of her own. ‘I love you.’ She picked up the ball and tossed it upwards. He looked up, watching it with a smile; her heart ached with happiness.
When it landed, he crawled off to collect it and bring it back for her to throw again.
Clunk. Clunk.
She stopped still.
That was the front door knocker.
‘John,’ she called in a low voice, urging him back to her.
Lieutenant Colonel Hillier was not at home. If it was someone calling for him, they would be turned away. But even so, her instinctive reaction was always to keep John close in this house, where she felt as though Megan was the only person she could trust.
Lieutenant Colonel Hillier’s unpredictable nature kept her constantly fearful. Sometimes he was aggressive, or unbearably polite and gentle, as if he truly thought it was love he showed her. She had no trust for her son’s safety no matter which guise he showed her.
Footsteps climbed the stairs.
She sat still, with John braced in her arms on her lap.
The footsteps came along the landing, towards her bedchamber.
Tap. Tap. The gentle knock struck the bedchamber door. ‘Ma’am.’ It was one of the footmen.
‘Yes.’
‘There is a gentleman below. He asked to speak with the woman living here.’
Ellen looked at the closed door. ‘The woman living here…’ What an odd thing to say?
Had she become a completely nameless woman?
She moved John from her lap and stood, almost in a trance.
John raised his arms, hands reaching towards her, asking to go with her. ‘Mama!’
I have a name.
‘Come along.’ She lifted him to her hip and stroked a black curl off his brow. She picked up one of his wooden horses to take with them, to entertain him as she spoke to the man who stood at the door. ‘Here.’ He took the horse from her hand, and immediately put its head in his mouth and chewed on his poor horse.
He had six teeth so far. She checked them every day to see if a new one had come.
She opened the bedchamber door. ‘Do you know who it is?’
‘No, ma’am.’
