The messenger shared a hurried word with the Duke. Wellington immediately left the room, beckoning to an entourage of officers to follow.
Something in the atmosphere immediately changed. The loving glances Sophia had seen between the officers and their ladies were gone, replaced by concern and nervousness. Still the musicians kept up the tune, still the dancers watched their steps.
Sophia wanted to ask Alexander what was happening, but she didn’t dare. She feared stepping in between him and his plans for the evening. If he had rehearsed these moments before, she would not intervene.
“‘Napoleon has humbugged me, by God,’” murmured Alexander. “‘He has gained twenty-four hours march on me.’”
Sophia did not reply, but his words triggered something in her head. She began to realise what was happening, and her head churned with the horror of it.
“Europe has been convulsed for nearly thirty years,” said Alexander. “Ever since the French Revolution. Armies have shattered this continent. Vienna and Berlin have been occupied, Moscow burned down, hundreds upon thousands upon millions killed. And the dénouement of the Revolutionary and Napoleonic Wars begins tonight.”
Sophia bowed her head. She might not have known her history very well, but she knew enough. She looked at the dancers. “They’re all going to battle.”
“Yes. Wellington has just been informed that Napoleon has invaded Belgium. Tonight is the 15th of June. Tomorrow, the 16th, the battles of Ligny and Quatre Bras will be fought. On the 18th, it all ends at Waterloo. It’s barely ten miles south of here, they’ll be able to hear the guns.”
Sophia put a hand to her mouth. “Jesus. Do you think these people know yet?”
“They know that Napoleon is nearby, and that a battle is likely. I doubt they thought it would be so soon.”
The latest dance came to an end. The dancers immediately retreated to the sidelines, and only a few seemed able to continue. Sophia saw in their looks that they were doing so only for the sake of decorum. She could hear them whispering.
“Did you see the Duke?”
“Did you hear the message?”
“Do you have any orders?”
“Are we marching out?”
The whispers instantly stopped; the Duke had re-entered the room. To Sophia’s surprise, he appeared to carry on as normal, entering conversation with a group of well-born ladies. His aides, however, had immediately fanned out, and spoken with other officers. Whispers sprang up in every corner of the room.
“This is awful,” said Sophia.
“It is beautiful,” said Alexander.
She turned to him in astonishment. “What? How?”
He looked at her, and she saw that there was no element of flippancy or enjoyment in his eyes. “Because it is tragic. War so often is. I wish it were always so.”
He shuddered then, so violently that Sophia clasped his hand even tighter. She bit her lip, and felt her heart thudding against her chest.
The Duke had now come close to the table where they were sat. Though the music still played, they could hear the conversation he was involved with.
“The Highlanders danced marvellously well, your Grace,” said one older lady. “I pray you, send Colonel McCarrison my highest regard.”
“I shall do so,” said the Duke.
Sophia could see that all those present had no interest in small talk. It was said only to stave off awkwardness. Finally, though, one of the younger ladies summoned up some courage.
“Your Grace,” she said, “I ask your forgiveness, but people are saying that the French are on the march, that our army is to meet them. Are they right?”
Some of the older women looked sternly at her, fear in their eyes, but then the Duke nodded. “Yes, they are true. We are off tomorrow.”
None of those around him appeared surprised, only grieved.
“Thank you for your honesty, your Grace,” said the young lady. The group of guests dissolved.
“Nearly ninety-thousand men will be killed or wounded over the next three days,” said Alexander. “Many of those here are doomed to die. They won’t even have time to change out of dress uniform.”
Sophia could hardly watch. The rumours had become fact. The dancing had ended. Gentlemen embraced their wives, ladies their fiancés, lovers their loves. Orders were given, swords taken up. Conversation turned to guns, to manoeuvres, to ammunition, to making it home alive.
“Let’s go,” said Alexander. “There is no more for us to see.”
Sophia nodded, unable to tear her eyes from the scene, so colourful with chivalry, but so dark. She shook from head to toe as he led her out of the room. This was only a prelude, he had said. What could possibly be the main act?
Before she knew it, the sound of the conversation had faded, and the stately mansion turned into the silent, dark hall that was Alexander’s home. She felt his hand slip from hers, but she didn’t chase after it. Instead, she walked a little distance away, keeping her back to him. She tried to control her breathing.
“Sophia.”
She turned: he stood in front of the closed doors, his hands behind his back.
“Is this it?” she asked.
“If you wish.”
Sophia pulled in her lips. She looked away. It was all too sudden. She needed time to breathe, to work out whether she wanted to go any further. She thought about their time together, how she had teased pieces of his past from him little by little, about how reluctant he had been. Whatever was in his past, it couldn’t be anything tame.
Then, suddenly he was holding her hand.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t be so dramatic about this. Please, sit, sit.”
“No. I’m okay.”
Alexander looked confused. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. Absolutely.”
She shook herself. She wasn’t lying. Something in her head, some essence of her experience of the last few months with Alexander, began to make sense.
“I’ve wondered about who you are,” she said. “I’ve always done. When you first showed me this place, I didn’t believe you when you said you were a normal man. I don’t blame Thaïs for thinking you were Apollo, you know.”
Alexander smiled, but he looked pallid. “I’m definitely not. I can be clear on that, at least.”
“But I do want to know who you are. I want to know about your past. I want to know why you hide it. I want to know you.” Sophia steeled herself, and leant in close. “But please, please, don’t do this because of that. Do it because you want to. And don’t say that this will change everything. It won’t.”
Astonishment was stamped on Alexander’s face. “How can you know that?” he whispered. “You don’t know what my past is yet. You could think so differently.”
Sophia realised something, as she looked into his wide eyes, his face that so plainly was trying to hide the fear behind. It was not for her sake that they needed to do this – it was for his.
“Perhaps lots of things will change,” she said. “But at the end of it, whatever it might be, you’ll still be you, and I’ll still be me. And that’s enough.”
She embraced him. For a moment, she felt him hesitate, seemingly afraid of holding her, but then he took her in his arms and held her close. When they let go, he held her hand, and they faced the doors.
“Thank you,” he said. “These last few months have been wonderful. And perhaps, if you’re right, the next few will be too.”
“We’ll see. Are you ready for this?”
“Yes,” said Alexander.
They walked slowly towards the doors.
“I should have done this so long ago,” she heard him whisper, as he took hold of the door handle and showed her through.
*
The roof they stepped onto was in ruins. Shattered stone pillars barely held up the floorboards they stood on. The skeleton of the building was all that was left. The sky was a leaden grey, and the air smelled of decay and smoke. The whispering wind was the only noise. Sophia turned around: the door they had stepped through was alone on the rooftop, the walls around it having been blasted away. She shivered and tried to be brave.
She heard Alexander breathing slowly and deliberately. His hand was trembling in hers. He led her around a smashed strip of wall to a place where the landscape around was in full view.
“Oh my God,” she mouthed, but there was no sound; the air in her lungs had been stolen.
“There it is,” said Alexander. “There it is.”
They were high up on the wreck of some tall building, about four storeys high. Sophia could see for miles – and every one of those miles, in every direction, was occupied by nothing but desolation. Mud, stagnant water and the wreck of solitary trees were the only things that stood out. The landscape was pockmarked with craters, some small, some immense, like the footsteps of furious giants. A few ghostly buildings, or the few struts that remained of them, still stood, and occasionally she spotted lines scored across the landscape, winding forward to the horizon, a network of ditches. She couldn’t see any people, nor any colours but brown and grey.
It was a scene she had seen before.
“Do you know where this is?” said Alexander. His voice trembled.
“Maybe,” said Sophia. “But I don’t want it to be that. Christ, don’t tell me it’s that.”
“I must. I must do this.”
She heard him take a deep breath, and then her fears were realised.
“This is Ypres. The year is 1919.”
She couldn’t wrench her eyes away from the scene. His voice sounded as though it was coming from far away.
“I was born in 1895. 1915 was a poor year to become eligible for conscription.”
Sophia didn’t blink. Her eyelids had been pinned back.
“Oh, Alex.”
It was all she could say.
*
There we are, then. There's more to come, but at last we know where Alexander started. What do you make of this revelation? Is it surprising to you? And what on earth will Sophia make of it?
The painting is The Black Brunswicker by John Everett Millais, painted in 1860, showing a soldier at the ball taking leave of his amour. The ball as I've depicted it is fairly authentic - it genuinely did occur just the night before the three-day string of battles which ended the Napoleonic Wars. When Alexander mutters 'Napoleon has humbugged me...' he is repeating the words that history records Wellington as having said once he heard the news of the Emperor's march into Belgium. This year, 2015, is the two hundredth anniversary of the battle of Waterloo, and a recreation of the ball is due to be part of the commemorations. It's little wonder that the ball has become a kind of legend in itself.