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Lady Alex's Gamble
by Evelyn Richardson
This was precisely what Alex was forced to do. Though the food was dry as sawdust in her throat, she willed herself to eat it, well aware that she would need all her strength in the hours to come. That finished, she went to find Ned who, concerned that in the general confusion and distress someone might make off with the carriage and horses, could not be persuaded to accompany her in search of news. "I've got a cold pork pie that Cook gave me and some cider as will suit me just fine," he assured Alex when she came in search of him sometime later.
By now, dusk had well and truly enveloped the city, but still the cannonade continued. At last, unable to bear the inactivity anymore, Alex pulled some of the bandages she had brought from the carriage as well as a flask of water and went out on the street with the others who were attempting the monumental task of attending to the wounds. For what seemed like hours she poured water delicately between parched lips and bound wounds as best she could, concentrating only on accomplishing each task at hand—
staunching the blood from a saber cut over an artilleryman's eye, binding the shattered hand of a young cavalry officer in the hopes that it would do until more expert help was found. It was only by dealing. with each of these as a job to be completed and not allowing herself even to think of the pain and suffering of those she was helping—and those she could not help—that Alex was able to keep from breaking down completely at the sight of so many wounded and exhausted men.
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Lady Alex's Gamble
by Evelyn Richardson
The night had well and truly fallen when suddenly Alex was aware of a change. It was so subtle that at first she was not quite able to pinpoint it and then she realized—it was the silence. Pouring the last drop of water she had left between the lips of an enormous Highlander with a bloody bandage wrapped around his head, she turned and hurried back to the hotel.
"Now!" she hissed to Ned, who was dozing by the carriage. The coachman, instantly alert, rose to his feet. "Are you certain it is safe? Neither Master Tony nor the major would thank me for letting you..."
"Listen for yourself. It is silent. However, we shall proceed with caution. I have gathered from the few soldiers I have been able to help that the center of Wellington's forces was at a place called Mont St. Jean, just outside the village of Waterloo. We shall make for that. Surely with all the wounded pouring in it will not be difficult to find." Nor was it. The difficulty was in making headway through the crowds of wounded soldiers staggering on foot and loaded in wagons and carriages, and maneuvering around abandoned supply wagons and deserted cannon. The road was a quagmire, softened by the rain the previous day and the traffic of horses and artillery today. At last they came to the vast expanse of the battlefield. Alex's breath caught in her throat at the sight of so much carnage and destruction. It seemed impossible that anyone had survived, but they had. Here and there were remaining regiments bivouacked on the very ground they had fought over, snatching what respite they could from the horrors of the day.
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Lady Alex's Gamble
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Unable to cope with the question of whether Christopher was even alive after such a day, Alex had resolved first to seek out her brother. Coming at last upon a group of riflemen, Ned asked if they knew where the regiments of the Guards were to be found. They were directed on ahead to the farm at La Belle Alliance where those who had survived onslaught after onslaught of Ney's cavalry had rushed in their final charge. Proceeding slowly along the road, they came at last to the smoldering remains of the farm, and Alex, seeing groups of soldiers in the uniforms of the Guards bivouacking in the nearby orchard, finally opened the door of the carriage and got out, telling herself again and again, remember, you are Alexander. No matter what happens, no matter how upsetting the news, you are Alexander.
Gulping a deep breath of air still acrid from the smoke of the battle, she made her way toward one group gathered around a pitiful fire. With as detached an air as she could muster, Alex asked for Anthony. After conferring with his comrades, one soldier, a brawny young lad whose eyes were red-rimmed with fatigue, gestured off to the right, where those remaining in her brother's battalion had gathered. Her heart in her mouth, Alex strolled over, searching the weary faces for her brother's. At last she saw someone who resembled Tony leaning wearily against a gun carriage with two fellow officers.
"Tony?"
All of them stared at her. The man in the middle with a slight cut over the left eye looked so like her younger brother, with the finely shaped head and fair hair, but now, peering at 293
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the features gaunt with fatigue and blackened with powder, Alex was not so sure.
"Alex?" The middle Guardsman stared at her incredulously.
"What the devil are you doing here?"
"I say," one of the other officers protested, "that is rather a cool reception for someone who has obviously come in search of you."
Tony blinked. "What, you, here?"
"Ned and I have brought you some water and provisions," Alex replied as calmly as if she had just brought him a hamper on the hunting field.
Understanding slowly replaced the vague look and Tony straightened. "I do beg your pardon, Alex, but I had not expected you, you see, and we have had a dashed rough day." He strode toward her with something more like his usual springy step. "But show us what you've got. Come on, lads." And Tony followed his sister as she turned and led him to the carriage, where the hungry soldiers fell on the provisions so carefully packed at Halewood. Alex sat in silence as they attacked the bread and cheese, the cold pies, and ale with all the concentration of men who had not given food a thought for the past twenty-four hours. Satiated at last, Tony turned to his sister with a lopsided grin.
"I shan't ask, but..."
"No, don't." In her anxiety to discover more about the major Alex cut him short, then she hesitated, not quite sure how to proceed. Finally realizing that it was ridiculous for a female dressed in men's clothes standing in the midst of a field surrounded by the wreckage of one of the world's great 294
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battles to be overcome by missishness, she blurted, "Do you know where Chri—I mean, the major might possibly be?" Tony, who seemed to consider this the most natural question in the world stopped and considered for a moment.
"Difficult to say. As one of Wellington's aides he could have been anywhere. Wellington and Blucher met here not so long ago and then Wellington and his staff, or what was left of it, headed back towards Waterloo."
"Ah." Alex fell silent until her brother, who at times was gifted with rare flashes of insight, continued, "I daresay that he would welcome some of your provisions as well. Why do you not head back in the direction of Waterloo. We shall be merry as grigs now that you have fed and watered us."
"Yes." Seeing that some of the customary vitality was beginning to return to her brother's face, Alex was eager to be gone. "Yes, I believe I shall do that." Climbing once more into the carriage, she turned and leaned out the window. "I can be found at the Hotel d'Angleterre." Tony nodded and waved.
Jolting once more over the rough road back toward Waterloo, Alex was beset by doubts and fears. Was she mad?
What would the major think of her chasing after him like some—some hussy? What would he think of her ... that was, if he was even alive. What was it that Tony had said about Wellington's staff? "What was left of it." All she wished to know was that he was alive, Alex told herself. She did not even need to talk to him—a glance to assure herself that he was all in one piece after this terrible day was all she needed. If he was not, well then, no one would be the wiser, but at 295
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least she would know one way or the other and she could return to Halewood in peace—or if not in peace, then at least resigned.
The carriage made its way slowly back toward Waterloo, Alex so intent on seeking out Christopher that she shut her mind to the moans coming from the heaps of bodies everywhere. The men in need of aid seemed limitless and there was no way she could help them all, but all of a sudden, the carriage, which had been proceeding slowly but surely, came to a halt.
Alex leaned out. By the moonlight she could see that a man in the green uniform of the Ninety-fifth Rifles had crawled out into the middle of the road. Grabbing a flask of water, Alex leapt out and ran over to him. Gently she rolled him over and held the flask to his lips. His breath came in shallow gasps and he reached for the flask greedily, wincing with the effort. Looking down to discover the cause of this, Alex observed a dark stain spreading across his chest. Hastily she opened his shirt searching for the wound, hoping to staunch the flow, but even as she thought about returning to the carriage for some bandages, he gave a final groan and his head fell back.
Alex just sat there stunned, holding him and hoping that he had felt some comfort at the last, hoping that he had not felt alone, that he had known that someone cared and, though she hardly dared admit it, hoping that if such a thing had happened to Christopher, there had been somebody there to hold him.
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For the longest time she just sat there with the dead soldier's head in her arms, paralyzed by the poignancy of it all, until the sound of a lone horse galloping along the road roused her. The hoofbeats slowed, but Alex was so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she did not even look up until the horse stopped beside her and its rider dismounted. She looked up at the horseman, whose tattered and muddy uniform was testament to the day he had spent. Blood was oozing from a cut on his head, his face was grimy and lined with fatigue, but the dark blue eyes were as alert as ever. "Christopher?" she gasped. Gently laying the rifleman down, Alex stood up.
A beam of moonlight touched the copper curls, proving to the exhausted Hussar that he had not gone completely mad after all, that it was indeed his own Alex who stood in front of him. Such had been the unbelievable horror and intensity of the past few days that he did not even stop to wonder how she came to be there. Suffice to say that she was there when he needed her most, her presence no more miraculous than his own survival, despite having had two horses shot out from underneath him and an unexploded shell land within feet of him as he carried orders to the poor fellows defending La Haye Sainte.
With a groan he wrapped his arms around her, whispering her name over and over. To hold her and to feel her heart beating against his after so much death and destruction was indescribable. He stood there reveling in the closeness of her, the strength in her slender body, and the sense of peace and security her presence gave him. Never in his life had he 297
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allowed himself to count on another human being, not even his fellow soldiers, yet here she was at his most desperate hour without his even asking for it. He did not know of another person who could have accomplished what she had and yet here she was, almost as cool and collected as she had been that first night when he had seen her at White's. Christopher unwrapped one arm and tilted her chin so he could look deep into the green eyes that scanned his face worriedly. He wanted to tell her all that she had given him—
faith, trust, love—he wanted to tell her how magnificent she was, to thank her for, oh, so many things, but nothing would come out except "I love you, Alex," as he brought his lips down on hers. He pulled her more tightly to him. "I love you. I love you."
Christopher rained kisses on her cheeks, her eyelids, her forehead, until he had to stop to catch his breath. Then suddenly it occurred to him that he might not be the reason she was here. After all. Tony had left for the Continent even before he had. Fool that he was! Their encounter might have been the merest coincidence. But surely she felt the way he did. How would he be able to feel so certain of the rightness of it all if all the love were on his side alone. Gently the major grasped her shoulders and put her away from him. "Tony?" He hardly dared ask.
"Tired, but alive at La Belle Alliance." Then surely if Tony's safety had been her only concern she would have stayed by him or brought him with her. He had to know. "Then where were you going?" Christopher held his breath.
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"To Wellington's headquarters to..."
"To?" he prompted her gently.
Alex hesitated. He had been so glad to see her, had even spoken the words she had longed to hear, but how much of that had just been a reaction to all that he had gone through?
She wanted him to love her, wanted it more than anything in the world, but she needed to be sure that it was love and not just relief, joy, or gratitude at being alive. "I ... I was coming to see if you were ... if you were..." She could not go on. All the strain, the worry that she had successfully held at bay when she needed to, suddenly overcame her and tears stung her eyes.
"Then you
did
come to find me after all." The major sighed with relief, allowing himself to let out the breath he had been holding, waiting for her answer.
Alex looked up and saw her own answer in the blue eyes smiling down at her with such love and tenderness, as though she were all he needed in life. "Yes, Christopher, I did." And they clung to each other at last, aware only of the comfort of each other's arms, the magic of each other's touch, and the joy of having found such completeness—a completeness that neither one had ever dared hope to find. To Janice Franca, who offers me so much support and encouragement.
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