away? Is there no time for some tea?’
He shook his head with a regretful smile, then gave her a lingering kiss on the lips. ‘I can’t wait to lie with you again,’ he whispered. ‘We must be patient. Remember that I adore you.’ With that he leapt onto his horse, saluted them and rode off. Adelaide had been hanging back to give them some privacy but now she called after him, ‘Tell Bill I am well and miss him dearly.’
Some of the tents arrived later that day and a couple of soldiers took pity on Lucy and Adelaide and erected one for them. For the next two days they stayed in camp, with occasional visits from Charlie or Bill to reassure them, until on the morning of the 19th September they were told to pack for the long march south towards Sevastopol, where the Russians were at last to be defeated. A vast column formed, with French troops to their right and Turkish bringing up the rear, and Lucy listened with interest to the babble of languages being spoken as these men from quite different backgrounds joined cause against a common enemy. Amongst the British ranks, everyone’s mood was lifted by the music of the regimental bands playing patriotic classics such as, ‘Cheer, boys, cheer’. It was hard for the women to keep pace with the marchers as their boots slipped on rough scree and their long gowns became entangled in thorny bushes. Lucy and Adelaide found the Turkish troops starting to overtake them. Two dark-complexioned Turks – men of whom Lucy would normally have felt nervous even though they were allies – took pity and carried their bags for a while, until their commanding officer shouted something and they handed them back apologetically.
Lucy’s limbs ached and a blister on her right heel became more and more inflamed as the day wore on, but at least she was not afraid of ambush by Russian troops with so many soldiers around them. There was general grumbling, with many wondering why they had not landed closer to Sevastopol and attacked immediately, but Adelaide assured Lucy that Lord Raglan and the French commanders must have some clever plan in mind.
In the afternoon they reached a stream and stopped to drink. Lucy removed her boot to bathe her poor heel in the cool water. A whisper went round and, looking in the direction others were peering, she saw the hazy shape of a gathering of people on a ridge ahead.
‘Are these … are they Russians?’ she asked a nearby soldier and he confirmed they were.
A thrill of fear ran through Lucy and she clutched Adelaide’s hand.
‘I hope we’ll get a chance to fight them,’ the soldier said. ‘The cowards have been retreating but I hear they are encamped just a mile ahead at the River Alma and we plan to attack them there.’
Now the troops had reached this point, it seemed inhumane, outlandish even, to Lucy that the men around her were going to attempt to kill those who stood on a distant ridge. Could they not sit down and talk through their differences, as women would have done? But she didn’t voice her thoughts, not even to Adelaide. She was an army wife and this was what armies did.
Charlie and Bill returned that evening and Charlie brought out a bottle of porter he had purloined from somewhere. The ladies accepted a glass each, as did Bill, and Charlie entertained them with stories of the rivalries between the Earl of Lucan and the Earl of Cardigan, who were brothers-in-law yet hated each other vehemently.
‘What is the source of their quarrel?’ Adelaide asked.
‘Cardigan thinks Lucan doesn’t treat his sister well enough,’ Charlie replied. ‘Marriages can bring out the worst in families.’ He caught Lucy’s eye and winked. ‘It’s rather alarming that our commanders don’t get along but one can only hope it won’t affect their judgement.’
At that moment a messenger came to summon Charlie; Major Dodds wished to have a word about plans for the morning. Adelaide went into the tent to prepare for bed, leaving Lucy and Bill chatting by the fireside. Emboldened by the porter, she took the opportunity to ask about Charlie’s family.
‘Adelaide tells me you have met the Harvingtons.’
‘Yes, on a few occasions.’
‘What manner of people are his parents? His two brothers?’ She was curious to hear everything, since Charlie would never speak of them.
Bill paused. ‘I didn’t know them well. His father is a stern, rather old-fashioned man.’
‘I hope when we return from war, I might meet them and we will be able to repair the rift that has distanced them.’
Bill poked the embers of the fire warily. ‘Charlie has not told you of the tragic circumstances of the rift?’
‘No, not really! At least, all he told me was that it involved an argument over a debt. What happened? Pray tell.’ She watched him eagerly.
‘It is for him to tell you. I’m sure he will one day, but for now all you must do is give him as much love as you possibly can, because he needs it and he deserves it. Fate has dealt him a cruel blow in the past. But I have observed you, Lucy, and I think you have the right mixture of qualities to be an excellent wife for him. I’m so glad he met you.’
She was rendered momentarily speechless by this puzzling outpouring. ‘Thank you. I hope I will do my best. But …’
There was no time for further questions as Charlie rushed back with news: ‘Four a.m., Bill. You and I are on the right flank.’
A shiver went down Lucy’s spine.
This was it.
The two men spoke head to head for a few minutes, serious, professional. She rose and went into the tent to prepare for bed. When Charlie came, they lay with their arms round each other, faces close, but she knew his thoughts were elsewhere – as were hers. Her heart was pounding with the knowledge that next day he must fight and there was a chance he might not return. How did any wife cope with this? All she could do was breathe slowly and remember that he was Lucky Charlie who did not catch cholera when all around him were falling sick. He may have had a difficult past but now he had her and she would look after him. She breathed in his scent to memorise it and clung to his warm flesh, as if trying to imprint it on her own.
Their husbands rode off at the crack of dawn. Lucy could still feel Charlie’s hurried last kiss on her lips, and wondered if she would ever have a chance to kiss him again. As she and Adelaide made tea they were uncharacteristically silent.
Some women were climbing to a ridge from which they could view the battle so Lucy and Adelaide followed. From the top they were close enough to see the main Russian encampment just across the River Alma, close enough to make out smoke from their fires drifting into the air. It was eerie to think of them sleeping in their tents and heating food, just as in the British camp, perhaps some of them also accompanied by their wives. Yet soon they must be attacked and driven back; soon they must be killed.
The British, French and Turkish armies had superiority in numbers but the Russian army was on a raised plateau and they’d had time to dig in their gun emplacements. Suddenly Lucy was deafened by a wall of noise: explosions from big guns and the pop-popping sound of small guns mingling with the eerie sound of the bagpipes played by some regimental bands. The fighting had started. Dust rose in the air blurring individual forms and Lucy wondered how the men could tell who was friend or foe. She was horrified to see bodies fallen face down in the river and to realise they must be dead. The Russians appeared to be advancing down the hill, and suddenly her heart was filled with such fear for Charlie that she could no longer watch. Sick to her stomach and overwhelmed with the awfulness of the scene before her, she turned and hurried down the hill to sit on her own, hands covering her face. She’d thought she
