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  It was only days later that the whole of England had been shocked by the news of the carnage of the Light Brigade at Balaclava. Nell had been beside herself as she waited for news of Captain Pettigrew, and even when she knew he was one of the wounded, she couldn’t stop worrying for he might very well die later from his injuries. But finally his letter had arrived to tell her he had just been moved from the hospital where Hope had stitched up his wounds and he was doing well.

  She must have read that letter a hundred times, crying each time. She had stopped going to church after Reverend Gosling had told her she was sinful to leave Albert, and showed no concern for Hope. But she went to the church in Keynsham that day and thanked God. Even now, with two more letters from the Captain and five in all from Hope, she remained totally convinced that it was God’s hand that had brought the two of them together, and that it was for a purpose which He would soon reveal.

  *

  ‘Imagine Hope stitching up Captain Pettigrew!’

  Rufus’s remark brought Nell sharply out of her musing. He looked so incredulous, wide-eyed and filled with the romance of war.

  ‘Eh! To think I taught her to sew too,’ she laughed. ‘But she makes it sound so dirty there. If it’s that bad, I don’t know how she can stand it.’

  ‘She’s just telling us how it really is. She doesn’t seem to think Lord Cardigan is the hero we’ve been led to believe,’ Rufus said, looking down thoughtfully at one of the letters. ‘Or Lord Raglan such a great general! It is appalling that so many soldiers are dying of disease, that they’re hungry with no warm clothes or even proper shelter.’

  ‘She always was soft-hearted,’ Nell said.

  ‘But very truthful, Nell,’ Rufus reminded her. ‘It looks to me as if we’re being given a false picture back here. How dare they put the blame for so many deaths on to the doctors, when really it’s the fault of the government because they didn’t plan this campaign properly from the outset.’

  ‘Well, I daresay you read all the newspapers and understand them,’ Nell said. ‘I can’t make head nor tail of it.’

  ‘Well, it does seem to me that they glorify war. They don’t tell us, like Hope has, about the men collapsing with the heat on the march to Balaclava because their uniforms were too warm, nor that they had nothing to drink. Imagine them being left there to die because there were no carts to put them on!’

  ‘I don’t like the parts of her letters when she goes on about things like that.’ Nell wrinkled her nose with distaste.

  ‘Then you are as bad as my mother,’ he said scornfully. ‘She’s only interested in soldiers when they are in full dress for a review, with the band playing.’

  Nell turned back to her pot of soup so Rufus wouldn’t see her face, for she was afraid it would give her feelings away. She was pretty certain Lady Harvey would be eager to hear every last piece of news of the Captain when he got back to Briargate later. And she would see Captain Pettigrew’s injuries as the perfect excuse to write to him and try to win his heart again.

  If she did secure it, where would that leave Nell?

  Chapter Twenty-two

  1855

  Hope rubbed away the ice on the inside of the hospital window with the corner of her apron and couldn’t help but smile at the sight which met her eyes. Snow had fallen during the night and now at daybreak the harbour looked beautiful.

  The ships had been transformed into fantastic fairy vessels, every rope, beam and railing lightly sprinkled with snow. No footprints had yet spoiled the virgin whiteness on the decks; even the planks to shore had a thick carpet of white.

  All the terrible ugliness, filth and squalor on the quayside was covered. Crates, carts, barrels and other goods had been transformed into incredible snow sculptures. The steep craggy cliffs across the harbour had the appearance of a gigantic meringue.

  The scene evoked memories of snowfalls in her childhood. She could almost see Joe and Henry eagerly dragging the sledge from the shed and arguing over who would have the first ride.

  They would take her on it down to the village. She would cling to Henry’s waist as he steered in front, Joe pushing them until the sledge went fast enough to jump on too, and they’d whizz down the lane so fast she would scream with a heady mixture of terror and joy.

  Hope had been at the hospital all night as there had been several amputations on her ward yesterday. Two of the patients had been in so much pain when they came round from the chloroform that she had been reluctant to leave them in the less than tender care of the orderlies. But they, like all the other patients, were asleep now, and the ward was filled with the sound of snoring, the breath rising from their mouths like smoke in the cold air.

  She turned away from the window at the sound of feet stamping beyond the door, and sawit was Bennett coming in.

  ‘Doesn’t it look beautiful out there,’ she said as she walked over to him. ‘Was it fun being the first to walk on it?’

  He gave her a withering look.

  ‘Sorry I dared speak to the eminent surgeon,’ she retorted with sarcasm. ‘Was it a night without me to warm you? Or just that you’ve become so used to ugliness you don’t recognize beauty any more?’

  ‘If we have this much snow down here, imagine how bad it will be up on the Heights,’ he said sharply.

  That hadn’t occurred to Hope and she felt chastened that his thoughts were for the men in their trenches, while hers were of happy times in her childhood.

  Hope wasn’t one for apologizing, so she began to tell him how Pitt and Moore had been during the night. ‘I gave them both a few drops of opium about two o’clock,’ she ended up. ‘They settled after that.’

  He nodded, and she had to take that as confirmation he approved of her administering the only drug they had which actually had some benefit.

  ‘You’re very early,’ she said. ‘I didn’t expect you for at least another hour.’

  ‘I couldn’t sleep,’ he said. ‘And I had some things I needed to do.’

  His tone was so chilly that Hope looked at him more carefully and saw his eyes were heavy, the way they often were when he hadn’t had any sleep. But there was something more – his mouth was set in a stiff, straight line, a sure sign he was worried about something.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked. ‘What’s happened?’

  He took off his cap and ran his fingers through his hair distractedly. Hope knew he was playing for time. ‘Come on, out with it,’ she said sharply.

  ‘Colonel Lawrence came to see me last night,’ he sighed. ‘At Dr Anderson’s recommendation I am to rejoin the regiment before Sebastopol.’

  Hope felt as if a rug had been pulled from beneath her feet. Dr Anderson was in charge of the hospital and he had always liked and appreciated Bennett. ‘Why?’ she gasped. ‘I don’t understand. Why send such an experienced surgeon up there?’

  Bennett shrugged. ‘He didn’t give me a reason, but it’s almost certainly because someone feels I’ve been favoured by staying down here.’

  ‘Favoured!’ she exclaimed. ‘Working over eighteen hours a day!’

  Bennett gave a humourless laugh. ‘They do that up on the Heights too. I suppose I’m getting a reputation as a nuisance, always complaining about the lack of medicine and provisions for the sick.’

  ‘Colonel Lawrence said that?’

  ‘Not in so many words, but he hinted at it.’

  ‘I suppose you can’t refuse?’ Even as she asked she knew the answer. An order had to be obeyed.

  She felt almost faint with the shock. The three months since the hurricane had been incredibly grim for the men at the siege. While gunfire had been only sporadic and desultory on both sides during this time, and there had been no actual assaults, it had been bitterly cold, with rain, sleet and snow. The Prince going down with all the warm clothing, boots and other supplies they so desperately needed had been a monumental tragedy, which had become even more apparent as the winter set in.

  There might have been fewer wounded men dur
ing the three-month period, but the numbers of sick men had increased enormously. Both doctors and officers had made endless complaints about the men spending all night getting soaked to the skin in the trenches and having nothing dry to change into. All the men were weakened by lack of food and the fatigue of digging trenches, building fortifications and hauling heavy equipment up to the Heights, which left them exhausted. But then to be expected to sleep on the cold ground, wrapped only in a sodden worn-out greatcoat and blanket, was inhumane.

  It hurt everyone working in the hospitals to discover that the newspapers back home were implying that the high mortality rate of the sick and wounded was due to their negligence. The much-publicized arrival of Florence Nightingale and her nurses in Scutari, and their reports of the terrible conditions, appeared to have turned every hack reporter into an expert on hospitals.

  Many of the senior doctors in Balaclava were incensed that it had taken a well-connected lady with precious little medical experience to galvanize the government into improving conditions, when their professional advice, reports and requests for supplies had been ignored.

  Yet everyone continued to do their best, even though every single day was a battle they could never win. The sick and wounded were shipped off to Scutari too fast in their opinion, just when the patients were at their most vulnerable.

  Yet however difficult and in the main unrewarding the conditions in the base hospital were, it was in a different league from the field hospitals up on the Heights.

  Hope had twice made the trip up there with Bennett since Christmas to take much-needed dressings and medicine, and what they’d seen had appalled them.

  All grass, bushes and trees were gone, leaving only a vast muddy quagmire studded with tents. The hospitals were just marquees, the wounded and sick had to lie on the ground, and the care they received would be of only the most basic kind until some form of transport could be found to take them the six or seven long miles down a steep slope to Balaclava. Sometimes, in the worst weather, this was on the backs of their comrades.

  None of the men looked like soldiers now. They were thin, gaunt, lice-ridden creatures with thick, bushy beards, often wearing bizarre hats and other pieces of non-uniform clothing over their mud-daubed, ragged official one. Russian coats and boots had been taken from the dead at Inkerman and some infantrymen wore naval pea jackets bartered from sailors. Many had old newspapers bound to their legs or body with webbing, for warmth. Some didn’t even have boots, just sacking wrapped around their feet. Personal hygiene was impossible as water had to be hauled a great distance and they had to contend with snow, ice and heavy rain. The only fuel available was roots, but it could take a whole day to dig up just a small bag for the cooking fires. As a result, the salted meat was often eaten semi-raw and was no doubt responsible for the increase in bowel disorders. Scurvy had appeared, along with pneumonia and various bronchial problems, and there were also many cases of frostbite. Cholera had disappeared for now, but other fevers were still just as prevalent.

  Morale was at rock bottom. Many of the men brought into the hospital had said they would rather risk death in an assault on Sebastopol than continue this long-drawn-out, seemingly hopeless siege. They had told Bennett that sometimes their rations didn’t turn up, and when they did, the salt pork and biscuit were so unappetizing they could hardly eat them. Hope had felt the desperation in every man she’d spoken to.

  ‘You’ll stay here,’ Bennett said, his stern tone implying she was not to argue. ‘They do at least value your help in the hospital.’

  ‘I can’t stay in the house without you,’ she said. ‘Not with all those men.’

  ‘The Crimea is full of men wherever you go,’ he said impatiently. ‘At least the ones in the house are known to you. I can’t have you freezing to death or being shot at.’

  ‘I’m coming with you,’ she said stubbornly. She hated the idea of going, but she hated the idea of being apart from him still more.

  ‘No, Hope,’ he insisted. ‘God knows, I’d like you by my side, but not there. It’s no place for a woman.’

  ‘But Queenie’s up there, and other soldiers’ wives,’ she argued.

  ‘No,’ he said, his face darkening. ‘You do an invaluable job here. I’ll be able to ride down from time to time and I’ll need the thought of you safe and snug in our room at night to keep me going.’

  She knew then why he’d been awake all night. It was her he was concerned for. His own comfort didn’t worry him – he probably felt he owed it to the men in his regiment to be with them. He had known she’d insist on going with him, but he wasn’t going to let her put herself in danger.

  ‘I’ve packed my bag,’ he said. ‘I’m only staying now until I can hand over details of men I’ve been treating to other doctors. Please don’t make it more difficult for me.’

  Hope took a deep breath and bit back her tears. She was, after all, a soldier’s wife and she must behave like one.

  ‘Who will wash your clothes?’ she said.

  Bennett half-smiled. ‘You. I’ll bring them back with me when I visit. I’m sure I can wangle it so I always come down with the wounded. Now, give me a kiss before the men wake up.’

  It was a bittersweet kiss, and Hope clung to him, trying to blot out her fear. The firing might have stopped for the winter, but there was still the odd sniper taking pot shots. Several doctors had even died of diseases caught from their patients because hygiene was so bad. And she knew too that Bennett would be outspoken at the callous way the army treated its rank and file. He just wouldn’t be able to hold back.

  But even above her fear for him, she was angry too that his superior officers had allowed petty jealousy to cloud their judgement. Bennett was one of the most experienced and skilled surgeons down here, and in his absence men would die who could have been saved by him. Any of the hastily recruited young doctors just out of medical school could apply tourniquets, field dressings, or splints to broken limbs, for that was all that was required up on the Heights. But it made her shudder to think that one of those inexperienced young men might be sent down here to take Bennett’s place.

  In early March, a month after Bennett had been sent up to the Heights, Hope took a walk out of the town to see how the construction of the siege train was progressing. It was vital, for it would put an end to the soldiers hauling heavy guns and ammunition up to the front themselves, and navvies had been brought in to speed up the work.

  Hope was glad they’d brought men out from England to do this, and it was good to see big, brawny men in rude health for a change, but she, like many other people, resented their preferential treatment.

  It wasn’t fair that they should have large quantities of fresh meat daily, while the soldiers had none. Nor was it right that the soldiers who were already weak and sickly were expected to build huts for the navvies, while they still slept in leaky tents.

  But Hope was pleased to see there had been great progress. The track was already past the village of Kadikoi, about a mile and a half out of town and close to the cavalry camp. Soon it would be right up to headquarters.

  The past month had been the most miserable time. She missed Bennett so much, worried about him all the time, and felt dreadfully alone.

  When Bennett had been with her, people had dropped in for a visit, and they had sometimes visited others too. But now she had to be very careful. She couldn’t have male visitors for fear of gossip about her, and the few women here were either so deadly dull that she’d rather stare into her fire than spend time with them, or so uppity she felt like slapping them.

  Bennett had only managed to come down twice, and both times he had been so exhausted that he had fallen asleep immediately after a bath.

  Letters from home were the only thing that brightened the gloom. Nell wrote every week, and even though her letters had a frustrating lack of detail about her life, just a glimpse of her big, childlike writing made Hope feel loved. Matt had written three times on behalf of Joe and Henry too, and Amy a
lways added a bit of village gossip at the end.

  Ruth’s two letters had been the most entertaining. She wrote well, in a good hand, about her three children, her husband and two stepchildren, and about her life in Bath. She thought it was very exciting and adventurous that Hope was in the Crimea and said she boasted to her friends about it. She saw Nell quite often and said she was blooming now that she knew where Hope was. But it was the little details Ruth put into her letter that pleased Hope most – how her hair was growing grey and she was getting matronly, or what she’d cooked for a special dinner, and funny little things her children said. In the second letter she’d ended by saying what a great deal of catching up they’d have to do when she got back, and how there would always be room for her and Bennett in her home.

  James had written his one letter in a tearing hurry, but it had been warm, with promises of another as soon as he had more time. He expressed his joy at hearing Hope was safe and well, and he told her that he was now married to Joan, who had been a parlourmaid at Littlecote. Their daughter was now four, they had a small cottage on the estate, and a second baby was due soon. He hoped that she and Bennett would come to visit when they came home.

  Alice and Toby had written a joint letter just once, and Hope had got the impression that it was penned out of duty because Nell had ordered it. While this made her feel a little sad, it was understandable. They had gone into service together in Bath when Hope had still been a small child, and they’d made a life for themselves quite separate from the rest of the family.

  None of her brothers and sisters had quizzed her about her disappearance. Whether this was because Nell had already explained it, or because they weren’t curious, she didn’t know. But it was rather odd after spending so many years worrying about their reaction to find they didn’t have one.