Lord Philip's Christmas (Regency Belles &Beaux Book 2) Read online

  “We will come too,” Alice said.

  “Aren’t you too tired?”

  “Whatever you can do, I can do too, remember?” she smiled but her grin was strained and his only answer a kiss on her forehead.

  The three offered their assistance to the doctors and were soon fully occupied. Not all the visitors to Brussels did likewise. Grace occasionally noticed a spectator scuttling away hurriedly. She felt contemptuous of those females who could not bear the sight of men in pain, soldiers who had been fighting for their safety. The small park had been cleared and a trail of wagons rumbled down the roads that led to the coast. Pits had apparently been dug near one of the cemeteries and there were only a few bodies waiting to be collected. The day dragged on with only the occasional alarm which proved false. They saw fewer wounded and little of the comings and goings. Once Alice spotted Sir Charles in the distance, talking to a group of people and shaking his head. She was holding a bowl for a doctor who was probing a man’s arm for a bullet, so she remained where she was. When she looked again, Sir Charles had gone.

  Eventually, as the evening shadows fell, Grace was given leave to go home. She arrived back at the hotel and sat down for the first time since their hasty breakfast. When Philip and Alice entered, they were equally tired, cold and dirty. Philip opened a cupboard and took out some brandy which had been carefully hidden behind a pile of books.

  “Good, no one has found it yet,” he said, pouring out three drinks.

  It was at that moment that they heard a tapping at the door. Philip put down the bottle and went to open it. Benson was standing outside.

  Alice jumped to her feet. “Benson, what are you doing here? Has something happened to my husband?” she cried.

  “No, my lady, the master is well but he sent me here with this letter to you.” He handed her a sealed note. As Alice broke the seal, Benson gave Philip another one.

  “For you, my lord.”

  “Thank you.” Philip scanned the few words and suppressed an exclamation. Edward had written,

  Philip,

  There is almost certain to be a battle tomorrow. The lines are drawn up already and we can see the eagles of the French. Their numbers are great and they are shouting Vive l’Empereur! as he passes among them. We had a narrow escape yesterday when Bonaparte attacked at Quatre Bras. I doubt we shall be as lucky again. This is to authorise you to get my wife out of Brussels as soon as the guns begin to fire, if not before. Tell her in this I expect her to obey my wishes as she promised to do. Do not wait for me. If possible, I will join you in London. God bless all of you and keep you safe,

  Edward.

  Philip looked up to find Alice staring at him blankly. He went and put his arms around her.

  “Edward tells me we must leave Brussels,” she murmured in a small voice, “but I have to see him again. We never said goodbye properly at the ball. Can’t you take me out to visit the camp?”

  “He wouldn’t thank me for doing that. All the troops will be busy and you would not be welcomed. Write to him. Benson can give him your letter when he returns. Do it now. I don’t know how much time we have.”

  Philip sat her down at the writing desk and drew a sheet of paper towards her. Then he gestured to Benson and Grace to precede him out of the room. The corridor had been partly cleared but a few wounded soldiers remained. Philip led the others as far away as was possible in the cramped space.

  “Sir Edward writes that he isn’t certain of victory and doesn’t want us to be trapped here if the city is overrun. We are to leave as soon as the guns start firing.”

  Benson nodded. “The master is wise, my lord. There are tales of what the French do to women in the towns they conquer. We saw a little of it in Spain. Better to get the ladies away as soon as possible.”

  “What orders did he give you, Benson?”

  “To take the letters to you and the mistress and to bring back any replies. At the latest I must be in the camp by midnight.”

  “Tell him that I shall obey his instructions and will await him in London when he returns. Remain here until my sister finishes her letter.” He turned to Grace. “Go and fetch the bags you packed for each of us and put on warm clothes. The barge journey is unlikely to be either comfortable or quick. We can wait on board until we know who has won the battle.”

  Alice found it very difficult to write her letter, possibly the last one she would ever write to her beloved husband but it was finished eventually. Benson was on his way well before midnight carrying with him their good wishes. A restless few hours were spent trying to sleep, but nervousness and anxiety kept all three of them awake. Early the following morning, they rose, dressed and Philip discharged their debt to the hotel. Fortunately, none of the party had much in the way of chattels. What they wanted to keep was in their bags and the rest was set aside to be given to the poor. They left and were about halfway to the barges when Alice suddenly stopped.

  “Listen!” she exclaimed. “Can you hear it?”

  They stood still and so did others in the street. From the east, there was a low rumbling sound. Alice swung around to her brother.

  “Is it?”

  He nodded. “The guns have started to fire. It won’t be long now before the battle begins. Let’s go quickly.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  When they reached the Bassin des Barques, they found only a few boats still attached to the quays. Although they searched, Captain Janssen’s barge was not among them. Philip enquired of some of the other skippers, only to be told that Janssen had sailed early yesterday and would be miles away by now. Disappointed, although not completely surprised, Philip attempted to purchase a passage on one of the remaining barges. A few were undergoing repairs and the others proved reluctant to take passengers.

  “People cause problems, no matter who they are. It’s not worth it to me to lose my boat and cargo just to oblige you,” a man said.

  “What do we do now?” Grace asked, wearily, sitting down on a barrel with her valise at her feet. The rumbling had grown louder and she wondered what it must sound like to those who were on the battlefield.

  “Return to the town and I’ll try to find a coach or horses.”

  “Or we could walk further into the countryside.”

  “It’ll be stripped bare. Our people have been requisitioning horses and wagons. No doubt the French have done the same elsewhere. Anything worth keeping will be hidden away.”

  “Well, we can’t stay here!”

  “Why not?” Alice asked, speaking for the first time. “I never wanted to leave and now it seems there is no way out. I think we should find a lodging nearby and await the outcome.”

  “Edward wants you to leave Brussels and I don’t want either of you mixed up with French troops.”

  She rounded on him. “Do you really expect the Duke to be beaten? I don’t. I intend to be here when Edward returns. If he doesn’t…” She caught her breath and then continued rather breathlessly, “Nothing matters to me if that happens. Take Grace and leave, by all means. I’ll go to one of the convents and make myself useful until he arrives.”

  In the end, they all stayed in Brussels, finding a room at a small and none too clean inn near the canal. Grace agreed with Alice, saying that she preferred to be within the city rather than wandering the roads, which would be dangerous without any transport. Philip reluctantly gave his consent to the plan, knowing that a journey to the coast on foot would take days, while troops roamed the countryside, He doubted the ability of one man to protect the two women with any degree of certainty.

  They went back into the city where a harassed Dr. Voiron once again assigned them to work with the wounded. At first it was easier, for these patients had already received some treatment and their needs were known. This situation however did not last. Grace was feeding one of them when Philip came hurrying to find her, his face grim.

  “Several groups of soldiers have galloped through the town, crying that the day is lost,” he told her. “I must
get you and Alice away at once.”

  A grumble from the bed made Grace look down at the man who lay there.

  “What did you say?” she asked him.

  His voice was thin but he replied clearly enough, “Nonsense! There are always fools who flee at the slightest difficulty. Old Hooky won’t be beat. I’d put my money on it, if I had any left, that is.”

  Grace smiled and caught hold of his hand, giving it a squeeze. “There you are, Philip. This man’s opinion is as good as those others.” She turned back to her patient. “What do you think? Is it safe for my sister-in-law and I to stay here?”

  “No where’s safe, ma’am, not in a war, but Boney’s not a complete barbarian. He doesn’t make war on sick people or those looking after them. You’re better off here with us than anywhere else.”

  Grace smiled up at Philip, who raised his eyebrows, as the man continued,

  “This isn’t the first time I’ve been wounded or been captured by the French for that matter. One of their doctors sewed up my wounds or I would have been dead long ago. Made a good job of it he did.” The effort of speech exhausted him for he slumped back, his eyes closing. Grace set down the dish she was holding and rose to her feet. She took hold of Philip’s hand and drew him out of the large crowded room. The air in the courtyard had gone cold and smelt of rain. Grace pulled off the scarf she wore over her head and shook out her hair. She leaned against the wall.

  “I’m so tired.”

  “Come away then.”

  “How can I? So many people need help. Have you spoken to Alice yet?”

  “No.”

  “Then don’t tell her what you told me. It may not be true and it would only upset her.”

  “What should I do for the best?” Philip spoke his thoughts aloud. “If I could, I’d have both of you on the road to the coast. Since I can’t…” He ran his hands through his hair. “That soldier might be right and you’re better off here. If only we knew what was going on.”

  “If anyone knows, it will be Sir Charles Stuart. Wellington would send him word if the day was lost, surely? Why not go and ask him?”

  “That’s good advice.” Philip nodded. “But he may have already gone.”

  “If he has, that’s your answer,” Grace replied. “Come back as soon as you can, please. Whatever happens I want to face it by your side.”

  The city was in chaos. It was obvious that many persons had left in a decided hurry. Doors were open and piles of baggage stood unclaimed in the street. Crowds streamed in every direction, as if they did not know from which quarter the danger would appear. Philip pushed his way through, occasionally forced into the roadway and once having a brush with a badly driven wagon. Although the distance was not far, it took him over an hour to reach the British Ambassador’s dwelling. When he did so, it was to find the gate guarded by sentries and bonfires burning in the courtyard. He sent in his name and was shown into the hallway. Men walked about carrying sheaves of papers. Others talked together in hushed tones, as if they were at a funeral. A number of people huddled on the marble benches that lined the hall and Philip joined them. Then a lackey weaved through the throng and came over to Philip.

  “Follow me, my lord,” he said with a bow. Several of those waiting with him frowned and one man got to his feet as if he would utter a protest. The messenger steered Philip away, into a room where Sir Charles was talking to a few men who seemed to be merchants from the town by their dress. When Sir Charles saw Philip, he murmured a word to his companions, then left them and walked over.

  “What can I do for you, my boy?” he asked.

  “I’m sorry to trouble you at such a time, sir, but my wife and sister are still in Brussels. Are you able to tell me what is happening and whether there is any danger to them?”

  The ambassador frowned. “I wish I could. The last news I had was that a battle has begun and that there has been great slaughter. Whether Wellington or Bonaparte has the upper hand, I can’t say.”

  “I see. Forgive me, but to the uninformed eye it seems as if the embassy has been disrupted and you are on the point of departing.”

  Sir Charles threw back his head and laughed. “Only prudent, my boy. The Frogs mustn’t catch us napping. If they break through, don’t want them reading things they shouldn’t. Not that I expect them to, you know. Wellington’s an old friend of mine and I trust him to win, even though Boney’s a formidable opponent.”

  “What would you advise me to do about the ladies, sir?”

  “Where are they at present?”

  “In the Convent of the Sacred Heart, helping to tend the wounded.”

  “Brave of them. Good girls. Mind you, I’d expect it from your father’s daughter. He had courage, your father. Leave them there. Should be out of harm’s way. If we’re romped, I’ll try to send you word in time to take them with me to the coast. Now don’t go spreading rumours that I expect us to be beaten. No such thing, but better to be safe than sorry. Must get back, my boy. Things to do.”

  Philip bowed. “Of course, sir. Thank you for your advice.”

  Philip made his way to the convent, stopping to buy some bread and wine from a sutler’s wagon near the market. He tucked the goods under his coat and hurried to find his wife and sister. He took them to a corner of the building and shared the food with them, before telling them what he had found out from Sir Charles.

  “Not that it’s very much but at least he hasn’t left yet,” he concluded.

  All three went back to the wards. It was a few hours later when they heard more wagon wheels and shouts coming from the courtyard. Grace hurried to see what was happening and was appalled at the sight which met her eyes. More men stumbled along the lane and into the building. Blood was everywhere, soaking their clothing and that of their helpers. Gone was the easy rhythm of earlier in the day. Now there was no more time to think. Lessons Grace and Alice had learned in the last two days served them well. There were so many casualties, a never-ending stream. Some had wounds to be tended, some had staggered for miles only to die on the doorstep. There was no time to rest, only time to do what one must. Grace knelt beside yet another casualty, leaning against the wall for support. The next thing she knew she was being elbowed aside by someone who was shouting,

  “Move over. Make room there.” Groggily she climbed to her feet as a stretcher was dumped in the place where she had just been. She swayed and a rough hand caught her and hauled her upright. She looked into a face made hideous by mud and blood. Then his lips pulled back showing white teeth as he smiled. Her heart began to pound and then he said,

  “Don’t faint, lassie. No time for that. Let’s get you outside.” He helped her out of the door into the courtyard where even more men were arriving, pushed her into a corner onto some straw. “That’s better. Have some of this.” He thrust a flask at her.

  “No I couldn’t.”

  “Yes you could. Don’t want you trampled in the crowd. My assistant’s in there, wounded. He and the others need you. Drink it up, doctor’s orders.”

  She looked at him then. A big man wearing the tatters of a kilt. He held the flask to her lips and she choked as the fiery liquid ran down her throat. He thumped her on the back before he pulled her to her feet.

  “Thank you, I think,” she spluttered at him.

  “Ye’ll do now. Come wi’ me. I can do with a helper in all this lot.”

  Grace did not expect her weary legs to move, but somehow they did. She kept working until the Scottish doctor relented and sent her off to sleep. The morning light was flooding the courtyard before she was able to find somewhere to curl up.

  “Grace!” Someone was shaking her by the shoulder.

  “Go away and leave me alone.”

  “Grace it’s me.”

  Slowly she forced her eyes open. “Philip?”

  “I must talk to you.” He shook her again.

  “What is it?”

  “Benson’s here. Edward’s been wounded. I’m going out to get him. Stay with Al
ice. Grace, do you understand me? Please wake up.”

  “I’m sorry.” She shook her head willing herself to respond. “Help me up. Where is she?”

  He supported her until she forced her sore feet to walk unaided. Alice sat in a corner of the convent’s chapel, Benson at her side. He was no longer the smart trooper who had visited them two days ago. His uniform had rents in several places and dirty bandages were wrapped around his head and his left arm. Benson looked up with an expression of relief when he saw them coming towards him. He stood up allowing Grace to sit down and put her arm around Alice’s shoulders. Alice was white and her eyes staring.

  Philip bent down and kissed them both. “We’re going now. Say a prayer that we find him quickly.”

  “Philip, be careful. The French…”

  “I forgot to tell you. Wellington’s won and the Emperor’s fled. Don’t worry, I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  That is how Grace and Alice learned the news of the great battle of Waterloo. At the time, neither could think about victory only the fate of one man who lay somewhere in the middle of the battlefield.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  It was a journey Philip never forgot and he relived it in dreams for many years to come. Benson led him through winding lanes and then across fields and woods until they saw the first sights of the battle. Wounded men and corpses lay where they had fallen, a few at the beginning but then more and more, sometimes in heaps, some singly. There were ruined walls, broken wagons and the bodies of horses. Philip had believed himself to be strong and able to bear misfortune, but he was glad Benson could not see his face as they rode past. The slaughter had been spread over miles and it proved very difficult to find a way through the chaos. Occasionally they were challenged, but Benson’s uniform acted as their passport among the English troops. Philip’s fluent French was useful when they passed a line of French soldiers sadly making their way towards home or captivity. In that place of death, their only thought was survival.