Page 63 of Introducing Mrs. Collins
‘Of course.’
‘You can now walk and will soon, perhaps in a month or two, be able to walk well enough to rejoin your regiment?’
He made a sound of agreement.
‘But – must you go?’
Colonel Fitzwilliam had asked himself this question a thousand times. ‘Eventually, I must.’
‘Have you not done enough?’ said Charlotte heatedly. ‘Have you not lost enough?’
Fitzwilliam sighed. ‘To put it simply, no. I have not lost enough – not officially. I am still relatively young, and I will be well enough to fight – and so I shall have to fight. The army is in need of experienced men – I am one, and better trained than most. In that sense, it is right that I should go.’
‘And in another sense?’
‘In another sense, I would give anything not to go.’
Charlotte looked sideways at him and patted his arm. ‘You’d give your right arm?’
He gave a small laugh. ‘My leg, at the least.’
She felt a little regret for having made a joke when he was trying to be earnest. She stopped walking, turning so she could meet his eye. ‘Are you afraid?’
The colonel drew in a breath, and he glanced around the wood – up at the grey sky, the dark canopy of trees – and then down to her. His gaze roamed over her hair, her face, the curve of her neck, yet it faltered before meeting her eyes. Instead, he turned back to the path, his movement gently urging them on. ‘No,’ he replied at last, with a tight, unreadable smile.
After a few minutes more, Charlotte suggested they sit down on a tree-stump to give the colonel’s leg some respite, and she pulled some biscuits from her pocket, wrapped in a handkerchief.
This greatly amused Fitzwilliam. ‘You smuggled these well. Did you bake them?’
She shook her head, grinning. ‘Since my cook makes such superior ones, I see no reason to bake ever again.’
He returned her grin and took a bite. ‘I can see what you mean,’ he said, through a mouthful. He was lost in thought for a moment as he continued to chew.
‘You look far away,’ observed Charlotte.
He seemed a little shy, answering, ‘I was reminded of something. Someone.’
‘Who?’
‘I once told you that I lost someone – someone in particular – at Albuera. Parker was his name. We used to share food like this on campaign – he always squirrelled something away for later and would share it with me when we stopped for a break.’ He took another bite.
‘Tell me about him,’ Charlotte pressed softly.
He began, a little self-consciously at first, ‘Well… I had known him since we were ensigns at sixteen. He was a clown.’ Fitzwilliam chuckled. ‘He liked practical jokes – which in our barracks could be pretty dangerous. He did voices, too, with rather alarming accuracy. He could even imitate our colonel, which landed him in a chokehold on more than one occasion. He wasn’t – or I should say, we weren’t of the same station or upbringing. His family was of more modest means, so there were fewer expectations on him, and I found myself, at times, envying the freedom of that – which he found irritating, understandably. He called me ‘The Prince’. The unfairness of it was that I rose through the ranks quickly – my father was generous while he lived – and soon, we were in separate regiments and saw each other rarely. Parker remained two ranksbehind me, for no reason but the system itself. He performed the same drills as I, took the same risks, gave up the same freedoms. But by the age of twenty, I was his superior.’
‘And yet you were still friends?’
‘Oh yes. He never allowed the injustice of it to get in the way of our friendship, nor our separation; he would write to me. He was diligent about it. I was less so, rather lax in my replies. He would chide me for it. “Not even the French can stop you writing a letter,” he would say. But when the war began in Spain, we found ourselves thrown together. I was able to offer him a battlefield commission in my regiment, and he took it. He had a sweetheart – they were betrothed, in fact. He was very taken with her, quite changed. I saw a more serious side to him.’
Charlotte pulled her coat around her, and he caught her shivering.
‘Forgive me. I have never spoken of him, and so I have not learnt to be brief. I should not have entered into this when we are both sitting in the cold. You must be freezing.’ He shook his head, feeling foolish.
‘I invited you to do so, and I ask you to continue.’
He did not immediately but stood to remove his coat and wrap it around her. She accepted it, pulling it tight. It swamped her frame, but she was glad of it. She looked at him expectantly. ‘What happened?’
He took his place next to her again. ‘Well, there is little left to tell.’ He paused, thoughtful. ‘A cannonball took him down. Decisive.’ Fitzwilliam smiled grimly, but Charlotte saw the pain behind it. ‘I knew he wouldn’t survive it. I found him, after the battle, which in itself was a miracle, and he hadn’t long left, and he knew it. He couldn’t say much, only, “Not now” – which I didn’t understand at the time – and then, at the very end, “Sarah”. I think I understand him now.’
