A Principle of Honour

Chapter 27

Verity felt numb. She sat in a chair by the fire, in the Harrington's drawing room, holding the small collection of items that had once belonged to her brother. She picked up his signet ring and began to feel the familiar pattern of the family crest, with the pad of her finger. As she looked at her brother's possessions, those precious items that he always had carried with him, she felt empty inside.

'He died honourably, doing his duty,' Lord Harrington said gravely, 'he was a brave lad, and you should be very proud of him.'

'But pride does not bring him back,' she said bitterly, 'he was too young to be fighting, far too young.'

'You are right, Verity,' Lord Harrington said, taking her hand, 'he was far too young to be in the thick of it.'

Lady Harrington walked over to her and then said, 'come, my dear, you should go to bed. I will come and see you when you are ready.'

Verity stood up. As she walked towards the door, still clasping her brother's possessions in her hands, she felt as though she was in a dream. There was another worldly feel to the room, and she felt like an observer, looking down and watching someone else's nightmare. At any moment, she thought to herself, she would wake up, and it would all be over. Unfortunately, as she climbed the stairs to her bedchamber, that moment never came.

In silence, the maid helped her undress for bed. When at last she lay down, still feeling numb, she was unable to shed any tears. 'If this was real,' she thought to herself, 'surely I would cry.' But, the tears she so wanted to shed, refused to come.

The next morning Verity felt very drowsy. Lady Harrington, before going to bed herself, had given her a draft that had made her fall into a deep and dreamless sleep. Now she was awake she felt groggy, and, for a moment, she had thought that the day before had been some horrible dream. It was not until she saw her brother's possessions, on her bedside table that the reality, of the day before, dawned on her once more: her brother was gone.

It must have been late in the morning, but the sound of the cannon that had been relentlessly thundering in the distance throughout the last two days had not yet begun. Verity had wanted to return to the make-shift hospital and continue to help with the wounded, but, every time she lifted her head from the pillow, black spots began to appear before her eyes. If she did not keep her head down, the spots would grow until they obscured her vision and she would fall back into unconsciousness.

Just before midday, Lady Harrington came into her bedchamber, 'Verity, my dear, you look terribly pale. I recommend that you stay in bed today.'

Verity, once more, tried to sit up, but she still felt too weak. 'I will stay and rest,' she said laying her head back on the pillow.

'Good,' said Lady Harrington, 'I have brought some warm milk, sweetened with a little honey. Drink it all up and try and get your strength back.'

'Thank you, my lady,' Verity said as she took the cup offered to her by her ladyship.

'I will be up later to see how you are,' Lady Harrington said as she got up to leave, 'I will let you rest.'

Lady Harrington had put another sleeping draft in the warm milk, and, consequently, Verity soon drifted back into the dark recesses of unconsciousness.

Later in the afternoon, when the artillery once more had begun its persistent firing, Verity woke up. She felt a little better and gingerly attempted to get out of bed. When she sat up, her head did not spin like it had done earlier that morning. The black spots that had prevented her from getting up earlier had gone, but she still felt numb. It was a strange feeling, quite unlike any she had experienced before. She felt detached from herself. It was like she was an observer, looking at someone else's life; not her own.