Supervising Sally (24 page)

After supper Sally, subdued, said she wanted to leave. Henry had gone the moment supper was over. Wellington had departed, officers and civilians were leaving, and only a few people remained to dance. On their way home they saw regiments assembling, ready to march out. Some of the men were trying to sleep on the pavements. The noise was louder than during the daytime.

‘We won't be able to sleep,' Sally said, a sob in her voice. ‘Oh, Phoebe, he will be all right, won't he?'

Phoebe had no difficulty in identifying the
he
. She set herself to calm Sally's fears, although she did not totally believe all she said.

‘I'm sure Henry will be safe. They don't think Napoleon has as many men as we do. After all, we have the Dutch and the Belgians, as well as the Prussians on our side. The earl told me one of Napoleon's generals has already defected to the Prussians. There may be others who will defect or simply vanish when they see they have no chance of winning.'

They did not attempt to go to bed. With Sir William, they watched through the night at the drawing-room windows. The night was warm, and they had the windows open, so were able to hear the bugles and drums. Once, when a dreadful wailing noise broke out, the girls turned puzzled eyes towards Sir William.

‘What on earth is that noise?' Phoebe asked.

‘Have you never heard bagpipes before? The Scottish regiments are gathering. Sometimes I think we should send their pipers forward and frighten away the enemy.'

Phoebe managed to laugh, but was not reassured. The reality of what was to come was too horrible. There were noises she identified as hammering, but could not imagine what was happening to cause this. More comprehensible were the neighing of horses and the rumbles of gun carriages. And below it all dogs barked at the uproar, frightened children wept, and distraught women clung to their husbands and sweethearts, delaying what could be their final leavetaking as long as they could.

Heavy eyed, they watched the dawn, saw the regiments march out through the Namur gate, and a few hours later saw the country folk bringing in their produce, just as though it was a normal day.

After breakfast Phoebe and Sally ventured out. It was far too early to expect any news, but they could not settle to anything. All the inhabitants of Brussels seemed to be in the streets, or leaning from their windows, just waiting. It was eerily silent, and when they encountered a mass of troops, officers in black uniforms, which they were told were the Brunswickers, the Belgians just watched, neither cheering nor disapproving.

‘Are they supporting the French?' Sally, subdued, whispered.

‘I expect some are,' Phoebe replied. ‘Not everyone suffered under their occupation.'

At Sally's suggestion they tried to find the earl. He was not at the embassy, and despite Phoebe's reluctance she permitted Sally to go to enquire at his lodgings.

‘The gentleman left in the middle of the night, gone with the soldiers,' the landlady told them.

Phoebe went pale and clutched at Sally's hand. ‘But he's not a soldier,' she protested.

His valet then appeared behind the landlady. ‘Miss Kingston? Yes, he left with the duke early this morning. Said
he couldn't endure to wait here for news, and he might be able to help. The duke has few enough men on his staff he can depend on. I've been with his lordship for years, his batman I was in Spain, and knowing him, I'm sure he'll be in the thick of it.'

P
HOEBE AND SALLY waited anxiously all day for news. When they heard cheering in the streets they went out to discover rumours that the French had been defeated. Soon afterwards they were being told the French had won and a great victory dinner was being prepared for when Napoleon entered Brussels. This report was believed when some Netherlands soldiers came straggling in, along with some Brunswickers, saying all was lost. The wounded were being brought in on carts, but had little to tell. To keep themselves occupied Sally and Phoebe began to help tend them in the makeshift hospitals.

For some time the distant sound of guns could be heard, and in the evening both girls joined the crowds on the city ramparts, listening in fear and desperate for reliable news. It was while they were there that they heard the rumour of the duke's narrow escape.

‘It were when them damned Netherlanders took fright,' a man who had had his arm broken and who had been sent back to Brussels, told them. ‘A right mess they left behind 'em, and the duke, bless him, was stuck in the front. He 'ad to flee for 'is life, and I saw it with me own eyes. There was some of them Scots, Gordon Highlanders – they may dress in
skirts like women, but by gum, can't they fight – well, they was lyin' in a ditch, bayonets out, when Nosey went flyin' up to 'em, yellin' at 'em to lie down, and blow me, 'e sailed right over 'em. Blimey, that's a great 'orse 'e's got!'

Phoebe and Sally snatched a few hours to sleep, but there were so many wounded being brought in and they were so busy tending them that they could not spare the time to disentangle the contradictory rumours flooding the city. Messages came to ladies whose loved ones were fighting, and the news soon spread, but the general fear was that Napoleon was advancing. Sir William fared little better, but he did get some news from the embassy. He told them, when he found them and insisted they went back to the house for a meal, that the Charleroi road was blocked with carts full of wounded, along with others which had broken down and were blocking the road.

‘They are saying we are retreating, that Napoleon has won and will soon be here,' Sally said as they sat down to a meal of cold meat and cheese.

‘The duke held off the French at Quatre Bras,' Sir William said, ‘but it's not a good position to hold. Napoleon might swing round by the side and get between him and Brussels. He's retreating so that he can make a stand at a better place. He's known for those sort of tactics.'

This was little comfort for Phoebe and Sally, anxious for news of the earl and Sir Henry. Every time she approached another wounded man Phoebe expected to see the earl's face looking up at her.

When they went back to the wounded, there was a strong wind blowing, and suddenly the sky went dark as huge thunder clouds swept in from the north-west, putting the whole city in shadow and sweeping southwards over the Forest of Soigny.

The first enormously loud clap of thunder made Phoebe
jump, and almost immediately there was a torrential downpour which soaked her to the skin in seconds. Many of the wounded were lying in the open, on the grass of the
parc
and in other open spaces, even on the pavements, and within minutes they appeared to be lying in a lake, so heavy was the downpour.

Sally was almost crying with weariness and anxiety. ‘We can't leave these poor men here,' she said. ‘Look, some of them can walk, we must give them shelter. Let's take them home, and they can lie down in the drawing-room.'

Other people were opening up their houses, churches were being turned into temporary hospitals, and the less badly injured were helping their comrades to move, but by the time Sally and Phoebe had taken a score of injured men back to the house they were all soaking wet. Annie and Jeanette found sheets, towels and blankets, and the men were able to strip off their saturated clothing and wrap themselves in something dry. Cook had made a huge cauldron of soup, and baked dozens of rolls. The men, some of whom had not eaten since the previous day, ate the bread and drank the soup gratefully.

Phoebe was concerned they had very few mattresses, but the men were cheerful, telling her they were used to sleeping on the ground, and lying on a dry carpet was a luxury. The dining-room was also commandeered, and they fetched in a dozen more of the wounded.

Sally was desperate to go out and try to find news of Sir Henry, but the continuing downpour and Phoebe's demand that she stayed to help those wounded they had in the house made her abandon the idea.

‘There are thousands of men out there, your chances of finding him are so small, you'll be wasting your time and energy,' Phoebe told her. ‘These men need you now.'

Zachary, taking messages, wishing he had a more active role in the fighting, was certain that if Wellington had been able to use more of his Peninsula veterans, the battle at Quatre Bras would have been the final one. The Dutch and Belgian regiments, untried and inexperienced boys, were of little use, and he was not surprised when their collective nerve broke.

The Prussians, they eventually learned, had retreated to Wavre, so their own retreat on the day after the battle, to the ridge at Mont-Saint-Jean, was essential, or they would have been dangerously exposed. Wellington, as he knew from his own days in the army, was a master of tactical retreats. The duke liked to choose the ground on which to fight, and the gently undulating ground, with the Forest of Soigny at the rear, gave ample cover for him to dispose his troops out of sight until the critical moment when they were employed.

The storm which engulfed them dangerously hampered the retreat. The roads to Brussels were full of the wounded, some walking, helping one another along, some in carts, others lying across the backs of horses. The great paved
chaussée
which was the road from Brussels to Charleroi was passable, though the narrow road through the village of Genappe was a bottleneck. The fields to either side were seas of mud, impeding men and horses, and were impossible for any sort of wheeled vehicles.

Soaked to the skin, Zachary managed to find a spot against the side of a cottage where he could tether his horse, letting it graze on a tiny patch of grass, and lean against the wall where he spent a wet, uncomfortable night, dozing occasionally, but more often staring into the darkness and listening for any sounds that could indicate movement. Messengers were still coming, and he knew the duke would have no more than a couple of hours of sleep. The soldiers had to bed down where they could, in the mud or in the drenched corn, and would have a miserable night of it, not a
good preparation for battle the next day, which would decide whether Napoleon's bid to recapture Belgium would be foiled, or whether another long period of warfare was in prospect.

Frequently his thoughts turned to Phoebe. He hoped they had recovered a normal friendship at the ball, which seemed so long ago, but was just two days. Perhaps he should have told her he meant to offer his services to the duke. But if he survived – he caught himself, he must survive – he would be able to tell her he wanted her for herself, not for any heirs she might give him. For the first time in his adult life, and he found the notion somewhat amazing, he was in love.

All that Sunday rumours flooded Brussels. The sound of gunfire could be heard, and everyone knew the decisive battle was taking place. Phoebe, going out late in the morning to try and find reliable news, met the Bradshaws, struggling to carry several bundles, returning to their hotel.

‘What are you doing?' she asked.

Hermione, through her tears, explained.

‘We were hoping to get on a barge to Antwerp, but no one is allowed, they are using all the carts and barges to move the wounded away from Brussels. We'll all be killed in our beds!'

There was nothing Phoebe could say, and she left them as they were demanding that she ask her important friends to help them escape.

On the next street she found a group of women, laden with baskets and bundles, struggling to make their way against the crowds of wounded coming into Brussels. She followed them for a while since they seemed to have a purpose.

She could hear them asking for news of their husbands,
especially eagerly when they saw particular uniforms. The answers were always negative, so they hunched their shoulders and marched on.

‘Well, gals, we'll have ter go all the way till we can see the fighting,' she heard one of them say. ‘They'll need some o' this food an' a pint of ale.'

Thank goodness Sally had not been with her and heard them, or she would have been off to look for Sir Henry.

She stepped to one side to permit a ragged group of soldiers, leading a horse on which a man in the uniform of a French officer was tied with ropes. He had his helmet pushed as far down over his face as possible, and it was impossible to see his features.

‘It's Boney himself!'

‘Can't be, the French are winning.'

That seemed to be the prevailing opinion, and as Phoebe went back to the house, she saw that people were hurriedly closing their windows and barring the shutters, as panic spread.

There was nothing she could do, and she must concentrate on looking after the wounded they had taken in. She would have to wait, much as the prospect appalled her. At least she and the earl had parted on better terms at the ball. Was it less than three days ago? It seemed like three years.

She was exhausted but unable to sleep. Sir William had sent her and Sally to bed, saying Annie and Jeanette could take over what nursing needed to be done during the night.

‘We'll hear of victory in the morning,' he told them.

‘How can you be sure?' Sally demanded, almost in tears. ‘Surely the battle is over.'

‘And if we had lost don't you think the French would have been pouring into Brussels by now?'

Phoebe shivered. She'd ridden along that road when it was clear, but now, with all the wounded and the carts blocking
the way, it could take hours for anyone to ride in. If the battle had lasted all day, there might still be time for the victorious French to arrive.

She sat by her window, which overlooked the street, trying to tell herself not to be foolish. If the allies had lost, news would have reached them by now.

It was an hour later, and she was half asleep, when she heard the sound of cheering. Looking out of the window she saw several men on horseback clattering down the street.

‘Boney's beat!' they cried.

They were so completely covered with mud it was impossible to distinguish any uniforms, but the voices were English.

‘Boney's on the run! But we'll soon catch him!'

Phoebe sighed. Tomorrow she would know the earl's fate, but somehow she thought she would have known had he been killed. Something in her heart would have broken. She went to bed at last, and slept peacefully for the first time in days.