Lady Phillipa's Peril: Regency Romance Suspense Series ( Book 3) (Lords of Sussex 4) (22 page)

Wearily, Phillipa rubbed her back, as she and Isabella dragged an unconscious officer from the field. Their muscles screamed from the strain of hauling the wounded to the shack some two hundred metres from the battle field.  They tried so hard not to cause the victim any more agony, as they hauled them through mud, stooping to carry them over rocks and stones.  Even so, Phillipa and Isabella, jumped and screamed with terror as musket balls flew perilously near.

Entering through a splintered broken door hanging from its hinges, they heard the screams and ravings of a soldier strapped to the trestle table and held down by two men, as Damien amputated his leg. Henrietta stood at the poor man’s side, as he clung on to her hand, blood covering her pale face, and lemon muslin dress. She lifted tired eyes to Phillipa, and pointed to a row of officers and foot soldiers lying on straw sodden with blood and splattered with mud. Some moaning softly as they waited for treatment, others screaming to God and their mothers, for help.  Amaryllis sat beside one of the victims spooning cold water between his parched lips. Damien’s assistant, a dedicated physicker stood at another table, stitching up the gaping wounds of a soldier clinging to life. Going to Damien’s side, she saw him shake his head, his patient would not see the sunrise.

On their arrival much earlier, the girls fought overwhelming emotions. None of the stories on the atrocity of war prepared them for the real-life horror of the battlefield. At first, with tears streaming through the gore and blood on their faces, they stifled their sobs as they dragged the dead and the wounded to the shack. Within an hour, their voices were hoarse from reassuring and comforting the stricken men, some only boys. Amaryllis sobbed as she held a young man of seventeen in her arms, with his last breath, he gave her a note to give to his grandmamma.

Henrietta sat nursing a young boy of barely fifteen. She dipped her head to his strangled whisper, felt his fingers touch her cheek. ‘Mama … sorry, I should have—’

‘Hush my love, rest – rest.’ She bent and kissed his forehead.

‘Need you mama …, need to tell … love you ...  sorry….’ He paused turning his head just a little to the broken door. ‘Look, d’you see – someone in the light … see?’

‘Oh yes, my darling boy,’ Henrietta whispered stifling a sob, ‘yes tis an angel, yes.’

‘A golden an—’ his last word slipped away into that light. Weeping Henrietta hugged him to her bosom. Dear God in heaven, how could she cope. All the young men? Thank heavens their mamas were not here to see it.

Phillipa wiped away fresh blood from her face and hair, whilst nursing yet another young life in her arms, his tousled head resting on her bosom, praying he would survive.

She realized Damien was right; it was soul destroying. As darkness fell, she almost crawled into the shack to see Damien and the other physicker still toiling,  cutting and stitching amidst the agonised screams of their patients; the laudanum was gone, the alcohol non-existent. There was nothing to abate the agony; only Damien’s swift cutting. Now, though she understood why he had not wanted her to be here, she knew she would not hesitate to do it again.

As he stood at the table, he ordered the assistant to throw the last dregs of water over the table, the thyme and vinegar long exhausted. With his shoulders hunched over in exhaustion, he muttered, ‘Soon we will finish; the fighting has ended. We must needs arrange sheds and barns to house the wounded.  Damn  it, damn it all to hell, we did not have enough supplies or shelter.’

She saw the grooves of fatigue in his dear face, deepening with anguish. ‘Dearest, do not despair. No-one anticipated Napoleon would strike here and so soon.’

‘Yes you are right my love, Wellington said old Boney humbugged him and stole twenty-four hours on the allied forces. Hmm, tomorrow we will have more doctors. I will have my men search the army and scour the town for them.  We must also hunt for more wagons and carts to carry the wounded back to Brussels.’

‘You did warn me, but I did not realize just how terrible it would be.’ Tears streamed, as she put her head on his shoulder for just a moment.

‘’My love I am so proud to have you as my wife, and my staunch friend, what more could a man ask for. But now, you must return home and rest.’

The twins almost shuddered as Phillipa and Amaryllis limped into the house, their faces and clothes bloodied and begrimed with mud. Exhausted, the maids led them upstairs, whilst the twins ran to the kitchens, ordering copper baths, covering linens and hot water. Amelia stayed with Phillipa whilst Lily went to aid Amaryllis.

Later as they sat at the dining table, Phillipa muttered, ‘I do not think I will ever eat again.’

‘But dearest me must force ourselves to do so.’ Amaryllis said. ‘We need our strength for the morrow, for God knows what we will have to face.’

‘Yes you are right, I have told cook to have food prepared for Damien and Hector should they arrive back here tonight.’ She raked her damp hair back over her shoulders, ‘One thing I promise myself is I will sketch all that I have witnessed; the world must see what our men and boys suffer in the name of war.’

‘Will you go again tomorrow if there is more fighting?’ Amelia asked the freckles standing out on her face pale with worry.

‘Yes dearest, it is the least we can do. I did not realize just how cruel war was.  Isabella and Henrietta will also be there.

‘Is there anything we can do? ‘

‘No – no, it is not for your eyes Amelia.’

‘Why not?’ Amelia’s eyes steeled to hard jade; Phillipa now knew why red hair heralded a feisty temper. ‘Some of the officers we danced with were our age and some even younger. Prince Frederick is just eighteen and Lord Harry is seventeen. Some of our friends are married, and already have children so you can hardly—’

‘Dearest, we need someone to be at home, should any of us return and need aid or even nursing.’ Phillipa said gently. To her relief, the argument ended, as the door opened to admit Damien and Hector.

‘Dearest at last, come and sit down.’ She saw how tired Damien appeared, and Hector had a severe limp now.  Shall I order the baths and food?'

‘Yes, but we cannot stay long; we have to get back.’

‘But you can’t, you need to rest, sleep.’

‘We will catch a few hours during the night.’

‘You need your bed.’

‘If Old Boney can sleep on the side of the road, so can we. So there’s an end to it.

Amaryllis went to Hector, holding his arm. ‘Darling, surely you will not fight again, why you can hardly stand.’

‘Hundreds are dead, others cruelly wounded losing limbs.  No – as long as I can ride a horse or stand in a square I shall be there.’

Phillipa waved to a footman waiting at the end of the dining room, and ordered baths for Damien and Hector. 

‘The Duke of Brunswick is dead;’ Damien said quietly. ‘a musket ball went through his hand and into his liver. Didn’t stand a chance. The Prussians were defeated at Ligny; it made our position at Quatre Bras untenable; we have retreated.’

‘Oh dear God,’ Phillipa murmured sitting down.

‘So, a bath and a bite to eat, and we shall get back.’

‘Then I shall dress and go back with you’

‘No my love, you need sleep. I shall get word to you, as to where we are, there are torrential rains, so we can hardly do battle at present. There are some skirmishes though, and I need to be there.’

‘So have you any idea where you will go?’

‘That I can’t say at present, but never fear I will get word to you.’

‘Very well I will not persist in arguing, so go have your bath and try to relax.’

There was a little spark in Damien’s eyes as he said ‘So will you come and scrub my back my love?’ 

Phillipa grinned, men, yet it would be a precious few moments alone with each  other before the next bloody battle.

Picking up her tea cup, Phillipa sipped thoughtfully, as she listened to Isabella. They decided to have a private tea party to discuss their part in helping with the casualties of war.

‘I hear that the physickers have grown in number.’ Isabella said, ‘Our wounded officers will be well cared for. I hear other women have come forward to help with the injured.’ 

Henrietta nodded, ‘I shall definitely be there. What of you Amaryllis?’

‘Oh yes, I do fear for Hector, he is still insistent, but he cannot be part of the cavalry, so he informed the Colonel he will be part of one of the fighting squares.’

Phillipa’s heart dropped, oh dear God, Demetrius was in the cavalry, but he could easily switch to a square if he found that Hector was maimed and in one – at his mercy. Taking a deep breath, she put down her cup and rose from her seat. ‘Forgive me but I have to return to the house, there are a couple of things   I must do before the morrow.’

Isabella caught that determined look on her friend’s face. It was a look she knew  of old. ’Dearest are you alright, you look tense.’

‘I suppose I should reveal my intentions. I shall go on the field with Hector. In his weakened state he is at the mercy of Demetrius, we cannot allow that to happen.’

Amaryllis looked startled, as she knew nothing of Demetrius’s evil behaviour or his attack on Hector. Hurriedly, Phillipa explained, watching the poor girl’s face whiten. ‘Oh dear lord, tis me who must enter the square, not you.’

‘Do you know how to use a rifle? Clean it, prime it, pulling the hammer back to half-cock – pour the powder from the cartridge into the priming pan, then close the frizzen?’

Amaryllis shook her head, her eyes downcast, ‘What you say confounds me.’

‘Then forgive me dearest, I do understand how you feel, but you would be a hindrance to them. You will be entirely on your own, the square cannot be broken once it is formed and in battle. Of course the men will have your back as you will have theirs, but that is all.’

‘Oh dear lord, I am a numbskull when it comes to shooting or fencing.’

‘Then it is decided.’

‘Pray, surely you will not be allowed to go in there?’

‘Some women do. They just make up their minds to ride with their husbands. But, I shall be in Hector’s uniform so I can pass muster as a young officer.’

‘Will you not be a hindrance?’ Amaryllis challenged.

‘No, I am not a crack shot, but I am sharp, am I not Etta?’

‘Yes, as am I. I cannot claim to be a bulls eye shooter but I manage fairly well.’  said Isabella.

‘My goodness, all three of you?’

‘Yes, it is our calling, we strive for equality. ‘

‘I should explain,’ murmured Phillipa, ‘we follow Mary Wollstonecraft; I do believe that in many years to come, women will be part of the army. Maybe not in our lifetime, but tis us who will have started the fight for freedom.’

Amaryllis pursed her lips. ‘Then I must study these concepts, for they are new to me. But I admit to being stirred by what you all have to say.’ 

‘I must be off to tidy up that uniform. Isabella we shall depart tomorrow early, so I will have time to find Hector’s tent.’ Phillipa said, firming her jaw. 

‘Are you not in the least afraid?’ Amaryllis asked in shocked tones.

‘Oh yes.’ Phillipa’s eyes darkened, as she looked at the group, ‘Last  night I had a nightmare. I dreamt that I awoke to see a crone dressed in a black cloak with a frayed hood standing by my side, her eyes shining like small black beads in a face the colour of dirty ashes. She cackled, stretching over me, catching me in her hooked talons, ripping a hole in one of my arms. Then she opened her mouth, and I found I was looking into an abyss and then ... she swallowed me.’

18
th
June, The Battle of Waterloo

Phillipa saw Hector sitting in his makeshift tent, polishing up the silver handle of his pistol. Tapping him on the shoulder, she smiled down at him. For a moment he frowned, ‘What? Who? Err ….’

‘Hector dear tis me, Pippa.’

He looked up at the young handsome ensign. ‘Good lord, you had me fooled.’ Wrinkling his eyebrows he spluttered, ‘I don’t know what you are planning here but demme, if it’s what I’m thinking—’

‘Hector, I saw Demetrius at the ball, I fear he means you harm, dire harm.’

‘Hmm, this is a bag of moonshine. Can’t have you cutting up my peace like this you know. I will look a right gammon with a woman by my side.’

‘Do I look like a woman in this attire?  I am not cutting up your peace or disturbing you. I just want to watch your back.’

‘Those musket balls don’t know the difference between a man and a woman you know. Have your head or your arm off in a second.’

‘Hector please, you know the squares are the safest place to be in, in battle.

‘You’re dicked in the nob Pippa, you know that? If I was not hobbled, I’d sling you over my shoulder and pitch you in a ditch; believe me I would. I just wish Alex or Damien were here, we’d carry you off. Does he know you’re—’

‘No, I didn’t deem it necessary to tell him.’

‘Hmm, can’t let you do this girl. He’ll call me out.’

‘This is my decision and there is nothing you can do about it. If you refuse I shall just wait for you to go in and then I’ll come in after you. You don’t have a choice Hector. You watch the French and I’ll watch Demetrius.’

Hector looked up at her, the lovely face tensing, the full lips curling up into a snarl. He knew that look.

‘Pippa you know you can’t—’

‘With or without your permission Hector, I shall enter that square, now it can be with you as your ensign or without you. As I said, I shall slip in anyway.’ She paused, her beautiful dark eyes filling with tears, ‘I love you Hector, you are so dear to my heart, I love you like my brother and I can’t let that monster kill you.’

‘Hmm, demme, don’t cry, you’re supposed to be an ensign.  How do you know he’ll be in my square, anyway, I’m in charge of the battalion?’

‘I espied him at the ball, he looked positively demonic, and as I looked into his eyes I felt the brush of the devil.’

Seeing her wipe away another tear, he struggled to his feet. ‘Very well, at least if you’re by my side, I can keep an eye on you.’; He started, taking a step back, ‘Egad,  you’ve shorn off your hair. That beautiful—’

‘Had to, I couldn’t have it falling down my back in battle could I?’

‘Now you’re being coquettish, you and your womanly wiles.  Come let’s furnish you with some weapons.’ He looked at her wickedly, ‘Ever bayoneted someone?’

She shook her head, ‘You can frighten me Hector, but I will still go with you.’

‘Hmm, well let’s get you fixed up.’ He went to the weaponry section and picked out a smooth bore flintlock musket and a sword. Strapping a thick leather belt around her slender waist, he hooked the weapons in place. ‘Here’s a bag of musket balls, cartridges, cleaning rags and powder. Now you have to clean it until you get the black powder.’

‘I know that Hector. How many times have we practiced in the meadows?’

‘Hmm, can’t be too careful.’

It appeared from rumours filtering through that Napoleon feared the sodden ground would make it difficult for manoeuvring his cavalry and artillery, so he decided to wait for it to dry. At nearly noon, Hector heard the call to battle. Looking at Phillipa he grinned, ‘Now, seeing as you’re my ensign, you can help me onto the field.’

Phillipa’s chest swelled with love and pride, when she took his arm and he leaned heavily on her. No one took any notice of her anyway, to them she was another young soldier.

Hector manoeuvred her into one of the squares. Within minutes, the sound of canons thundered through the ground, shaking her body, as she ducked from musket balls rattling overhead. She glanced around to see some men grinning, others with set faces and glittering eyes all thrilling to the energy of it all. To her relief, there was no sign of Demetrius. The whole of the British army stood in hollow squares with bayonets extended on all sides, the sun splashing on steel created a blinding banner of light. She turned to see Hector pointing across the French lines, she gave a small cry, as she saw Bonaparte sitting on his white horse surrounded by his staff.

The battle raged on for hours and still they both stood unharmed.  At one point Hector loaded and primed his musket to see Phillipa, her face  blackened with gunshot powder, the men falling around her, dead and dying, their blood drenching her breeches.  He saw her spit blood out of her mouth cursing, crying as she aimed and then stoop to load and prime her weapon. He saw her eyes widen, as before her charged the monstrous French Cuirassiers, huge men on huge mounts, the sun on their breast armour searing her eyes. He prayed for her safety as he concentrated on those most vicious assassins, the veterans of the French army.  The ground seemed to shake before them as they advanced nearer, mighty arms holding their swords straight forward like lances, forming a huge silver surge of death, flying forward, shouting ‘Vive L’Empereur.’

At one point Hector became aware of a figure on a charger trot to their side, it was the Duke of Wellington, dressed in a grey great coat, with a dark blue cape, a full white cravat at his neck, wearing his hat a La Russe. But then again came the command to kneel to cavalry. He heard Phillipa curse, as the French cavalry rode outside their square, taunting, running their blades through all who strayed from the square, blowing out the brains of the wounded cavalry men trapped beneath their horses.

Just before four o’clock in the afternoon, Hector became aware of the Duke who rode around the square, rallying the Guards. He turned to Phillipa to see her wiping the gun powder from her cheeks, but then he saw her glance over his shoulder. He twisted round to see Demetrius smiling evilly, his carbine levelled at him. Hector felt her hands on his back, pushing him to the ground, saw her raising her musket at Demetrius, then pull the trigger. The Duke alerted by her action, saw she was in danger, and swerved towards her, but too late.  Hector heard the thud like a musket ball hitting the earth, saw Phillipa begin to fall, as he scrambled on all fours towards her, screaming , catching her mangled body before it hit the ground, her blood sprayed into his eyes, as she whispered, ‘Damien … Damien … mama.’ Picking her up, he followed Wellington’s horse out of the square. He looked to his left to see Demetrius, smirking. He wanted to tear that evil smile from his face, kill him with his bare hands but, as he snarled at him, he saw Demetrius’s head jerk to one side, saw blood spurting in an arc,  saw his skull split apart.  He looked down at the paper white face of Phillipa, the blood gushing from the wound in her shoulder and arm. ‘Don’t die, sweetheart, don’t die.’