Carla Kelly Page 5

  “We’re up to fifteen, then, sir,” Jess said.

  “A far cry from ninety-five,” was all Sheffield said. He went to sit by Private Jenks again. Jess went to his tent, relieved at least to see that the rain had stopped, and attempted to perform magic on the footlocker whose contents he knew too well.

  He surprised himself. “Well, loaves and fishes,” he said out loud as he lifted out his one remaining good shirt—“good” defined a shirt with all its buttons and no obvious bloodstains—and dress uniform to reveal a leather pouch he had entirely forgotten. Eagerly he dumped the contents onto his cot and counted out fifteen pounds. True son of glen and loch, he had never been a wasteful man, but as he lay back on his cot, he felt only discouragement. Thirty pounds! Sixty-five more loomed as huge a treasure as all of Cortez’s Aztec gold and Balboa’s pearls thrown in for good measure.

  “Sir?”

  He sat up, on edge immediately. “What is it, Dan?” he asked, wondering if there would ever be a time in his life when he would not be on alert, nerves straining toward whatever it was that waited in the marching hospital.

  His steward held out two pounds. Jess took it. “We’re up to thirty-two pounds now,” he said. “Dan, thirty-two pounds or three hundred! It’s all the same, isn’t it?”

  Seeing the look on his steward’s face, Jess regretted his words the moment he had said them. “I’m sorry,” he said simply. “You are all trying so hard for Nell, and I am whining about it. I wish I knew what to do.”

  Jess indicated the camp stool by his cot, and Dan sat down. “You have something else to say, don’t you?” he asked when a minute passed in silence.

  Dan nodded. “It’s really simple, sir. I’m amazed you haven’t thought of it.” He blushed and looked down at his hands. “Maybe it’s because you’re so polite and all.”

  “What, call out Bones and duel with him, scalpels at ten paces?” Jess asked, amused in spite of himself.

  The hospital steward allowed himself a smile. “No, I mean really.”

  Jess sighed. “You’d better enlighten me, Dan. I’m fresh out of clever ideas.”

  Dan leaned forward. “We could collect ninety-five pounds from somewhere, but who’s to say that Major Bones wouldn’t offer Captain Mason another twenty or thirty pounds to be Nell’s protector?” he spit out the word as though it tasted bad. “I mean, we have no idea what kind of resources Bones has, and you know Captain Mason’s weakness.”

  “All too well. I still don’t know where you’re venturing, Dan, so hurry up. I know we should both be in hospital.”

  “If you married Nell, there is not a thing the major could do, is there?”

  Jess stared at the hospital steward, who had spoken as calmly as though he were stating that gauge .05 gut was better than gauge 1.0 for suturing a leg wound. I never would have thought of that, he told himself, but what a simple thing! “I…I doubt you could get Miss Mason to agree,” he managed to say.

  Dan shrugged. “Do you at least think it is a good idea?”

  “Well, yes! Of course! It would certainly solve the problem, wouldn’t it?” And make me the happiest man on all six continents, significant islands, and major peninsulas, he thought. He couldn’t help but smile, until he began to doubt. “There is probably no possible way that Miss Mason would agree to such a harebrained scheme, O’Leary.”

  The other man shrugged again. “If you’ll excuse me saying so, Captain, other than the fact that you are a little shy, there’s really nothing about you that would disgust her. I mean, you don’t have any particular noxious habits that I’m aware of, and I’ve been sharing a tent with you and the Chief for three years now. I’m not even sure you snore.”

  He knew O’Leary had thrown that in to lighten his mood, and he smiled obligingly, even as reason prevailed. “She will never agree to such a thing.”

  “I say she will, Captain, begging your pardon,” O’Leary insisted. “There’s nobody around to help her but us in the marching hospital, sir, especially now, with a retreat on.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “And if that damned Bones takes her and ruins her, what choice does she have then?”

  Such plain speaking called for an equally honest answer. He looked at the thirty-two pounds on the table between them, and it seemed to shrivel up like apricots under a Spanish sun. “She doesn’t have a choice either way, Dan.”

  “Captain, do you think she would even know what to do with a choice?”

  It was true. He got off his cot and went to the tent opening to stand there and gaze at the organized confusion as the regiment prepared to pull out. Although he would never do it, he knew that he was perfectly free to fork a horse and accompany the 12th Light Artillery passing now. He could resign his commission this minute, return to the Portuguese lines, take the first transport home, and have his shingle hung out in Dundee by the end of next month. He had a lifetime of choices ahead of him, and Nell had none.

  “So it’s me or Major Bones?”

  “I think so, Captain,” Dan said. “I mean, I like Nell, but she is a lady and I will never be a gentleman. The Chief is fond of her, but I know he sees her as a daughter, or…or maybe a favorite niece. You could at least like her, couldn’t you, sir?”

  Oh, could he. Dan, I guess you haven’t noticed how I watch her, and do everything I can to get near her in the hospital tent, he thought. You certainly can’t see my dreams, thank God. “I could at least like her,” he said, still watching the passing artillery. “I could do that, and it would certainly stop Major Bones.”

  Dan made a face. “Of course, that would mean Captain Mason for a father-in-law.”

  “I’m sure if we put our minds to it, we could think of worse fates, Dan,” he said.

  He watched the gunners dismount and put their shoulders to the wheel of the ten-pounder mired in the sludge, then glanced beyond them at a familiar figure hurrying toward the marching hospital, dodging one of Wellington’s aides-de-camp riding too fast and splattering mud. Nell, you should be home in my house in Dundee, warm and comfortable, with nothing more to worry about than planning dinner with the cook, he thought. Damn this war. “Nell,” he said softly.

  “Yes, sir, Nell. I do think you should consider a wedding, even though we are a little busy right now,” O’Leary concluded in a masterpiece of understatement.

  Beyond my patients, she has been my chiefest concern these three years, he thought. “Yes, we are a little busy, Dan, but I think you may have something here. Do wish me all success.”

  Chapter Four

  The proposal didn’t begin auspiciously. He came into the tent at the same time Nell entered from the opposite end. Her agitation was obvious, and he watched in consternation as Sheffield sat her down beside him. Still wrapped tight in her old cloak, she covered her face with her hands, and Jess’s heart went out to her. For once, he didn’t ask himself if he would be inflicting more pain by a stupid offer of marriage, coming at her like a plummeting meteor. I think I can help, Nell, he told himself.

  He started toward her, only to be stopped by one of the other hospital stewards, a harried-looking man named Alcott who usually managed to vanish during crises. As it was, the man all but plucked at his sleeve like a peevish child to get his attention.

  “You’re still here, Alcott?” he asked, half in jest. “I suppose we have nothing to fear, then.”

  “Captain, two of the patients have gone missing.”

  “Oh, I must say this is a rare good time to go missing, Alcott,” he said. “Perhaps you’ve miscounted?”

  The man shook his head. “They are missing.” He pointed to two empty cots, and Jess sighed. “Harper and Wilkie.”

  Oh, Hippocrates, even you would not want them back, Jess thought as he stifled a groan. Harper and Wilkie, two privates from the Subsistence Department, were slackers of the first order. Harper had been rescued in a drunken fog after a headfirst plunge into a latrine, and Wilkie was recovering from a knife wound inflicted by a local citizen who came home too
soon and found the private banging his wife.

  “Perhaps they have rejoined Subsistence,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound too eager. Of the two, he would miss Wilkie more. The knife wound had proved interesting in the extreme, slicing as it did through his stomach lining, but not entirely healing. The sight of the open wound was distressing, but not particularly dangerous, and it fascinated Jess to watch the workings of Wilkie’s stomach.

  “Should I go in search of them, Captain?” The steward plucked at his sleeve again as Jess was looking at Nell in her distress. “Captain?”

  “By all means, Alcott,” he said. With any luck, we will not find them, he told himself. My blushes, Hippocrates. “Do it now. I will attend in the tent.”

  He came close to Sheffield and Nell. “What happened, Nell?”

  That she was afraid would have been obvious to a one-eyed man with cataracts. There was no serenity or calmness about her, and he wondered how hard it must be to live continually on the edge of ruin. She tried to speak, then shook her head. “Oh, I can’t,” she managed to say, then looked at Sheffield.

  “She was packing out her mother’s household effects when Major Bones’ batman came and took them from her,” Sheffield said, his own voice more agitated than Jess could remember. “He said Bones had told him to take her luggage to his tent.”

  “I just left everything else there in the house and bolted out the door,” she said, picking up the narrative, but unable to look at him. “I mean, all I have is this dress and apron.” She patted the apron pocket. “And Mama’s necklace. I can’t go back. I daren’t.”

  She took a huge breath then, as though to steady herself, and looked at him, if only briefly. It was long enough for him to see the shame in her eyes. “Captain Randall, I do hate being at the mercy of men!”

  “I doubt you are alone in your sex in that,” he replied. Oh, this is a fine beginning for wooing, he thought, instant wooing, at that. He hesitated only briefly, then took her hand. Her fingers were cold and she was shaking, so he increased the firmness of his grip, and covered her hand with his other one.

  She responded with a firmer grip of her own. “Major Sheffield tells me you have been raising money,” she said.

  “I have only thirty-two pounds, and we’ve exhausted our resources,” he told her.

  “There’s another ten pounds in the hospital funds,” Sheffield said. “I will authorize its use.”

  “Forty-two pounds is still not enough,” Jess said. He loosened his grip on her, and was nearly overwhelmed with emotion when she increased hers. At this moment, she is as dependent as a baby, he thought. “Even if we were by some miracle to raise the sum, we have no idea what more money Bones has. I fear he could trump us without even flickering an eyelid.”

  He was sure that a lesser woman would have dissolved in tears. Nell did not. If anything, his bracing words stiffened her back. “What do you recommend I do, sir?” she asked, her voice calm now. “I am open to any suggestion, no matter how farfetched.”

  This was his moment. His heart pounded so loud under his waistcoat that he knew the passing artillery could hear it. “Marry me, Nell. Bones can’t touch you then.”

  Sheffield burst into laughter. “Oh, bold stroke, Jesse,” he exclaimed. “Nell, it’s crazy, but I must agree. Nell?”

  The silence continued. Jess was almost afraid to look at her. She had not withdrawn her hand from his, but he was clutching hers so tightly that he wasn’t sure she could. He looked at her then, to find himself amazed that a pale face could go even paler. The color seemed gone even from her lips. As he watched, her color gradually returned. With it came a relaxation of her fingers in his hand.

  To his ineffable, unspeakable pleasure, she inclined her head toward his. “You can’t possibly love me on such short notice,” she said, and there was no mistaking the amusement in her voice. It was as though he had diverted her momentarily from the more awful crisis looming, and she was savoring the respite, however transitory it might be.

  Now what? he asked himself. If you say you have loved her these two years, chances are she will not believe you. After all, you have done nothing to show her any affection: no flowers, no chocolates, no lingering drawing room visits, no teasing notes. You have only handed her emesis basins, and accepted gut reeled off suturing spools. The only notes were receipts for medicines you have taught her to compound. Flowers? When did you last see a flower that had not been trampled by gun carriages or the cavalry?

  No, I dare not say how long I have loved you, he thought. You would think me a lunatic, and surely no woman craves a lunatic for a bedfellow. “Nell, I must admit that the idea for this proposal is of quite recent origin,” he said, and that was true enough. “But do you know, it’s not such a bad idea.”

  He could have groaned out loud. How do other men propose, he asked himself. Surely not in a hospital tent with people listening, and guns rumbling by outside, and, for all he knew, a lecher bent on ruin with his ear to the canvas. Here I am telling this darling, this angel, that it’s not a bad idea?

  To his amazement, Nell still did not withdraw her hand from his. Granted, she was shaking her head, but there was something in her eyes now besides despair. “I suppose you will tell me that I’m a real game goer, and that you like me a lot,” she said.

  “Well, I do,” he said, simply. It was vacuous in the extreme, but something told him it was right. “It would be the protection you need right now.”

  The expression in her eyes told him that just for a moment, she truly had forgotten about the threat of Major Bones. “Wellington left this morning, didn’t he?” she asked.

  “I believe he did, Nell, along with his staff.”

  “We already know there are no officers’ wives in this corps who care particularly what happens to Audrey Mason’s daughter.”

  “I fear that is so.”

  “Things do have a way of getting lost or coming up missing during a retreat.” She shivered, and he felt the same cold chill. With everyone concerned for his own regiment, and looking over his shoulder for Souham or Soult, no one would ever wonder what had become of Elinore Mason—until Major Bones ruined her.

  “Again you are right.”

  She appealed to the Chief. “Major Sheffield, is this a good idea?” she asked.

  “Completely,” the surgeon said, and Jess closed his eyes in relief. “I am certain that Captain Randall would agree that should you change your mind by the time we reach the Portuguese lines, he would accept an annulment. Right, Jess?”

  Never, he thought. Not in a whole year of Sundays. “Certainly, sir. You can depend upon it,” he lied.

  “I will do it then,” she said in a rush, as if afraid too much thought would allow common sense to triumph. Her face clouded over then. “But aren’t there banns to cry, or a special license? Can you find a minister? You’re not even Protestant, are you?”

  He didn’t have any answers to her rapid questions except the last one. “No, I’m not,” he replied. “Did you ever meet a more inconsiderate Scot from the land of porridge and John Knox?”

  She smiled at that. “No, I did not. Why should I worry about something like dogma at a time like this?” She shook her head in wonder. “Dear me, do you realize I am behaving in a far more ramshackle way than even my parents would have contemplated?” She looked at the Chief again, and there was no mistaking her pleading glance. “Can’t we think of anything else?”

  Jess held his breath, then let it out slowly as Sheffield’s silence lengthened. “I suppose I am no bargain, Nell,” he began.

  “Nonsense,” Sheffield said. “You’re an excellent surgeon!”

  “That’s not the issue,” he said quietly.

  “Perhaps not,” Sheffield replied. He turned to Nell. “My dear, I have no idea what kind of a husband he will prove to be, but let me assure you, at the moment he is damned useful and you are in a bad spot.”

  She looked from one man to the other. Tears welled in her eyes and Jess felt his he
art turn over. Suddenly she was eleven again, and had no more blue beads left to give. “You’ll have to trust me, Nell,” he told her, his voice scarcely more than a whisper. “I will abide by whatever you say when we reach the Portuguese border, and make it right, but you need me now.”

  “I do,” she said after another long moment. She looked across the hospital tent. “I wish there would be a time in my life when I did not have to depend upon the goodwill of others. Do you ever wish life was fair?”

  “All the time,” he answered. He kissed her hand before she could take it from his arm. “I would have gone to the University of Edinburgh with the Protestants. By God, Nell, if life were fair, none of my patients would ever die.”

  He hadn’t meant to sound vehement, but her question bit deep all of a sudden. I am a dog, he thought as the tears spilled onto her cheeks. I will not be surprised if she slaps me, turns on her heel, and marches out of here.

  She did not. Her expression softened then. “I never considered that,” she said. She squared her shoulder then, and the movement touched him deeper than anything else she could have done just then. “Lead on, Chief. Let us find a chaplain.” She tucked her arm through Sheffield’s, and made no comment when the chief surgeon blew his nose loudly and muttered something about dust in the air.

  With a wave, he saw them off: Sheffield with a firm grip upon Nell Mason and a light enough step to avoid the increasing traffic streaming past the hospital. He stood at the tent’s opening and watched them, Nell so graceful even though her cloak was old and patched. She raised the hem of her dress in a fruitless attempt to keep it out of the mud, and he stared at her ankles, so trim even in much-darned stockings. Oh, Mother, I am marrying a woman with nothing more than the dress she stands in, he thought. Her father is a scamp and her mother was a fool. She has not one of those accomplishments that should be the birthright of any lady I marry, but by all the saints, I couldn’t have done better. Mother, I know you will come to love her. Thank you, Major Bones, you bastard.