Gillingham and his sergeant about to mount their horses. Mrs Filby was conspicuous by her absence, and it was Filby himself who was in charge.
Lottie knew better than to put herself forward, but she could not see Private Ellis and she was alarmed. He might have been taken to hospital, or his cold corpse might be lying on the sofa awaiting the arrival of the undertaker. Her imagination was rapidly getting the better of her, and some of her anxiety seemed to have communicated itself to the lieutenant. He handed the reins to his sergeant.
‘Miss …’ he hesitated, smiling ruefully. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know your name.’
‘Lottie, sir. Lottie Lane.’
‘Well, Miss Lane, I want to thank you for turning out in the middle of the night to assist my men.’
‘It was nothing, sir. How is Private Ellis?’
‘Mr Filby has kindly agreed to allow Ellis to remain here for a day or two, until he’s fit to travel on to Chatham. My men moved him to one of the guest rooms, first thing, but unfortunately I cannot spare anyone to stay with him. Mr Filby assures me that he will be well cared for.’
‘He will indeed,’ Lottie said firmly. ‘I’ll do everything I can for him.’
Gillingham’s serious expression melted into a smile that crinkled the corners of his grey eyes. ‘From what Benson has told me you would make a good nurse, Miss Lane.’
‘Oh, no, sir. I did what anyone would have done.’
‘Don’t underestimate yourself, Miss Lane. Did you know that Miss Nightingale is recruiting nurses to take with her to the Crimea?’
‘Don’t put ideas in her head, I beg you, sir.’ Filby had come up behind them, and, although he was smiling, Lottie knew him well enough to realise that he was growing impatient.
‘I am just a chambermaid, sir,’ she said hastily.
‘Yes, indeed.’ Filby jerked his head in the direction of the kitchen. ‘I think Mrs Pretty is preparing some gruel for the patient, Lottie. You’ll find him in room fifteen, but don’t loiter longer than necessary. There’s a mail coach due from Exeter in half an hour.’
‘Thank you for your hospitality, landlord.’ Gillingham mounted his horse, tossing a coin to the ostler as he rode through the archway that led into Gresham Street.
Frank Jenkins marched past Lottie without a glance, but Joe Benson saluted and winked. It was obvious from his tight-lipped expression that Frank was sober now and suffering the consequences of drinking too much ale. He must, Lottie thought, have received quite a shock when he discovered that Jezebel Pretty did not live up to her name. She could picture the scene, and was still chuckling as she entered the kitchen, but her smile faded when she came face to face with Jezebel, who did not look too pleased.
‘Gruel,’ she said bitterly. ‘As if I hadn’t got enough to do without cooking pap for a sick soldier. They should have taken him with them.’
‘It’s all right, Mrs Pretty. I’ll see to it.’ Lottie took the wooden spoon from her and stirred the mess of oatmeal and water in the soot-blackened saucepan. ‘I’ll take it to him.’
‘You’d best watch out. Military men are all the same. My man was a soldier. He was a conceited turkeycock, always showing off and putting hisself about. He ain’t so handsome now, and that’s a fact.’ Jezebel picked up a cleaver and severed the head off a chicken carcass before tossing it into a stew pot. She threw the head to Lad, who pounced on it and ran under the table with it in his mouth.
Lottie filled a bowl with gruel, and poured the tea, adding a generous dash of milk to both. ‘I’ll be back in a tick, Cook.’
‘You’d better, or I’ll come looking for you. I ain’t handling breakfasts on me own, not with her ladyship yelling at me to hurry up with the bacon and make more toast. I dunno why I stick it here.’
Lottie escaped from the kitchen and crossed the yard, making for the stairs on the far side. The ostlers were preparing the horses that would take the mail coach on to its next stop, but they were unusually silent and barely raised a nod of acknowledgement when Lottie passed by. She met Ruth and May on the way to room fifteen, but they too seemed tired and listless. Lottie could see that it was going to be a long day, and by evening tempers would be ragged. She could only hope that Mrs Filby had slept well. If not, they would all suffer.
She let herself into Gideon’s room, but it was too dark to see anything other than the shape of the bed.
‘Good morning, Private Ellis.’ When there was no response she placed his breakfast on a small side table and made her way to the window. With the curtains drawn back, daylight flooded in, but it was hot and stuffy and she opened the casement just wide enough to allow some air to circulate.
She hurried to the bedside where Gideon was beginning to stir, and she laid a hand on his forehead. His skin felt cool to the touch, and she sighed with relief. At least he was not running a fever. He opened his eyes and attempted to sit up, but fell back against the pillows with a groan.
‘Where does it hurt?’ Lottie asked anxiously. ‘You might have broken some bones.’
He stared at her with a puzzled frown. ‘What happened? I don’t remember. Where am I?’
‘You had a bad fall,’ she said gently. ‘Your mates brought you to us last night, but they’ve gone on to Chatham. Lieutenant Gillingham said you were to follow as soon as you were able.’
‘Gillingham …’ Gideon repeated dazedly. ‘I can’t place him.’
Lottie perched on the edge of the bed. ‘He is your commanding officer, Gideon. I may call you that, mayn’t I?’
‘Gideon, yes. I think that’s my name.’
‘Don’t you remember anything? Like what you were doing before you fell?’
He shook his head and winced, raising his hand to his temple. ‘My head aches, miss.’
‘Lottie,’ she said firmly. ‘I am Lottie, and you are in room fifteen at The Swan with Two Necks.’ She waited for a moment to see if this meant anything to him, but his blank expression was answer enough. She tried again. ‘You were brought here by Lieutenant Gillingham and Private Benson.’
He dashed his hand across his eyes. ‘Nothing seems to make sense. Please leave me alone.’
‘I will, but only after you’ve had some breakfast.’ She went to retrieve the mug and bowl, and placed them on a chair by the side of the bed. ‘Would you like a sip of tea?’
He nodded. ‘I’m parched.’ He struggled to a sitting position and Lottie plumped up the pillows behind him.
It took some time, but in the end she managed to persuade him to drink the tea. He took a few spoonfuls of gruel, but the effort exhausted him and he lay back, closing his eyes.
‘I have to leave you now,’ Lottie said in a low voice. ‘I’ll return as soon as I am able.’ She was not sure if he heard or understood. She would have liked to stay longer, but the sound of the post horn announced the arrival of the mail coach and there was work to do. ‘I’ll come back when I have a
