'Verity, thank goodness you've come back, I was so worried about you,' Lady Harrington said as she walked over to her. 'Where have you been?' she said as she stood in front of her, holding both her hands in hers. 'Oh Verity,' she said, with a sigh, her eyes moist with tears, 'please do not leave without telling anyone where you are going.'
'I told you not to distress yourself,' Lord Harrington said to his wife reassuringly, 'Verity is far too sensible to get herself into trouble.'
'Where have you been?' Lady Harrington said, giving Verity a hug. Lady Harrington then released Verity and added, 'have you had anything to eat, my dear? You must be faint with hunger.'
Verity shook her head. 'No, my lady, I have not eaten since breakfast.'
'Then, I will go to the kitchen and ask cook to prepare you a little cold supper.'
'What an excellent idea,' Lord Harrington said to his wife, 'you should ask a maid to bring a tray, and then set a place for Verity to eat here in the drawing room. It is far too late to open up the dining room.'
Lady Harrington hurried away, leaving Verity alone with Lord Harrington. 'Please sit down, Miss Stanford,' he said politely.
'I am sorry if I have distressed Lady Harrington, but I could not stay in the house. I saw all those poor unfortunate souls, and I had to help.' Verity looked down at her hands that were stained with blood and said, 'it was awful. I have never seen such suffering.'
'Yes, it is,' Lord Harrington replied somberly, 'by all accounts, it is far worse than anything that happened in Spain.'
'Is it true about Lord Hay?' Verity said, 'I heard he fell this afternoon.'
'Yes, he was killed today. His death has come as a shock to us all,' Lord Harrington said solemnly.
'I suppose he was like that young man I spoke to at the ball last night. He probably thought he was invincible,' Verity whispered.
'Lord Hay was always far too gung-ho for his own good,' Lord Harrington replied, with a sigh. 'Apparently, he was wearing his best, most ostentatious uniform. No doubt, he made an easy target for some fortunate French soldier.'
They sat quietly for a few minutes. 'I owe you an explanation for my disappearance,' Verity said. 'Late yesterday afternoon, I heard the injured arriving in the city. I kept thinking that one of those wounded men could be my brother. There was chaos everywhere, and those poor unfortunate men were just left to die on the street. I had to help. I could not go back to the house and just do nothing.' Verity took a deep breath. She would have cried, but she had run out of tears several hours ago. 'I began to help the locals, who were tending the injured. We gave them water and tried to patch up their injuries. We were then joined by a local doctor who started to administer rudimentary surgery in the street. The authorities eventually opened up a public building, and let him set up a make-shift hospital. He needed assistance in his operating theatre, that was no more than a dining table, and I assisted him.' Verity looked down again at her blood-stained hands and then said, 'he has just sent me home and told me to get some rest. But, I will return tomorrow.'
'You must do what you think is best,' Lord Harrington replied, 'and help in any way you can.'
'Thank you,' Verity said, 'for being so understanding.'
'Today, I tried to find your sister,' he said after another lengthy silence. 'I went to Ellington's club, the last place you saw her, but the building was pretty much deserted. It appears that they all left on the night of the 15th, probably for Antwerp.' He sighed as he saw the look of disappointment on Verity's face. 'I did, however, find a local woman who had worked there as a maid. She remembered your sister vividly. Unfortunately, she could not tell me anything about her whereabouts because she had not seen her for several weeks. It appears she disappeared, just after you last saw her.' Again, he stopped, probably aware of the look of sadness in her eyes. 'But,' he continued, 'she thinks that your sister ran away. She told me that Major Ellington increased security. No one could leave or enter the place without permission, and she said that he only did this when someone escaped.'
'How did she know it was my sister?' Verity asked.
'The description she gave me, matched your sister's perfectly,' he replied.
'Do you think she escaped?' she then asked him.
'Yes,' he said, 'I believe she did.'
Verity closed her eyes and felt a little relieved. At least she knew that her sister was not still with Major Ellington. 'Thank you,' she said, 'I am grateful for everything you have done.'
'Please do not thank me,' Lord Harrington said, 'your sister should never have been put in this situation.' He looked at the floor and said, almost to himself, 'this happens all too often, and men like Ellington need to be stopped.' He then looked up and said to her, 'I have also heard news about your brother.'
Verity sat up and felt a cold icy feeling in the pit of her stomach. 'Is he...' she said in a whisper.
'No, no, my dear,' Lord Harrington said quickly, 'he is quite well. He was involved in the fighting at Quatre-Bras, but he finished the day unscathed.'
Verity shut her eyes. 'Thank you, my lord. It is a relief to know that he is still alive.'
He then looked at Verity and smiled. 'You better go and clean yourself up before Lavinia comes back, and asks us what we have been talking about.'
Verity got up, and, before she left the room, she once more turned around to look at him. 'But I will thank you. You have been very kind to someone who does not deserve your help.'
✽✽✽
The next morning, Verity awoke early in the morning after another restless night. She quickly washed her face and put on one of her old day dresses she had worn when she was still teaching. The dress she had worn yesterday, one of the new ones Lady Harrington had bought for her, was now ruined. Splatters of blood now obscured the delicate floral pattern that had once been a feature of the material. Verity felt guilty about ruining the lovely dress that would have cost far more than the rest of her old wardrobe put together. The dress she now wore was made from plain dark blue muslin and had no unnecessary decoration. Verity knew that the dark material would not show the blood that would inevitably be splashed over her.
It was still early in the morning when she crept out of the Harrington's residence. This morning, as she had left the house, Verity had written a brief note to alert her hosts to her whereabouts. She did not want a repeat of yesterday when Lady Harrington had spent most of the evening worrying about her. Last night, once more, her ladyship had tried to persuade her not to go back to the make-shift hospital. She had warned Verity, after she had eaten her supper, and had told her, 'it is far too dangerous for a lady on her own to be wandering around Brussels. What would happen if, heaven forbid, the French overran the city? A young woman, on her own without protection, would be vulnerable.'
'I cannot stay here,' Verity had told her, 'with my brother risking his life in battle when I can help.'
'Harry, tell Verity how dangerous it is?' Lady Harrington had said, imploring her husband to intervene.
'You must let her do what she feels is right,' he had said to his wife, 'if she wants to help, you must not stop her. If we prevent her going out tomorrow, and something happens to her brother, she may hold us partially responsible.'
'I do not like it,' Lady Harrington had said, 'I do not like it one bit.'
'It is not our decision to make,' Lord Harrington had then replied, 'Miss Stanford is of an age where she can make her own decisions.'
Verity had been grateful for Lord Harrington's support. He seemed to have understood how she felt about the guilt that was gnawing away at her. The same guilt that had haunted her dreams and unsettled her mind.
That morning, with the first light of dawn illuminating the Brussels skyline, Verity left the house. The streets were quieter that morning and the procession of carts that the previous day had carried the injured men into the city was gone. Verity wrapped her shawl tightly around her shoulders and kept her head down as she walked quickly to the make-shift hospital. As she entered the large room, that was full of injured men lying on the floor; the atmosphere seemed calmer than it had been when she had left the previous evening.
'Morning Miss,' came a cheery greeting from an old man, who had also been there the previous day. He was a servant to a family who had left a few days ago, but he had wanted to stay in Brussels because of his nephew, who was a private in the 95th. 'It's good to see you again.'
'Thank you, Mr Martin,' she said, smiling brightly at him, 'how is it this morning?'
'Quiet,' he said, looking around the room at the injured men who were lying on the floor, covered in blankets, 'very quiet. Mind you,' he then added, 'the fighting hasn't started yet. Once they get going, we'll be busy enough.' He took a metal cup of water from a pail. 'The doctor has told me to go around and give the men a drink, would you like to help?' Without answering, Verity took another metal cup, dipped it into the pail and began to offer the wounded men a drink of water.
It was not long until the distance sound of artillery could be heard once more, relentlessly thundering in the distance. It was a warm, humid day, and the smell of stale blood and sweat was almost unbearable. On several occasions, Verity had to fight back the urge to vomit. She wanted to be a help, not a hindrance, so she wrapped a piece of linen around her face, and ignored the growing stench. As she tendered their injuries, she never imagined a human body could survive such severe wounds. Young men, some no more than boys, were dying prematurely, and there was nothing she could do, except give them water and offer them the odd word of comfort.
By early afternoon, the carts, once more, began to bring the injured soldiers from the battlefield. At first, the injured took the place of those who had not been able to cling to life and make it through the long night. But, due to the sheer volume of injured men, they soon began to run out of space. The tired doctor rushed between his patients in a feeble attempt to keep them all alive. In the end, he only had time to administer the necessary care to those he thought had a chance of survival. This left Verity and the other volunteers to make the dying men's last few hours as comfortable as they could.
Later that afternoon, Verity left the stifling hot and oppressive room and went out onto the street to get a breath of fresh air and compose herself for the next wave of injured men, that she knew would be coming very soon. As she leant against the wall of the building, she saw a woman with blond hair in the distance. She recognised it immediately because it was the same shade of gold as Cassie's. Verity grabbed hold of her skirts and began to run down the street, after the woman, hoping to catch up with her. 'Cassie,' she called out, but the woman did not turn around.
Eventually, Verity caught up with her. 'Cassie,' she said again breathlessly.
'Verity?' came the reply, 'is that you?'
'Yes, yes, it is,' Verity said almost crying in disbelief, 'how are you?'
Cassie shrugged her shoulders and said, 'I have felt better.' Indeed, Verity thought her sister looked pale and tired, and her skin still had a yellowish tinge. The dark circles that had initially shocked Verity, when she had first seen her in Brussels, were now even more prominent. She wore a plain black dress that fitted her poorly. It was far too big around the waist and a few inches too short at the hem. She also wore a light grey shawl, that she had wrapped tightly around her shoulders.
'Did you manage to leave the club?' Verity managed to say, after an awkward and protracted silence.
'Yes,' Cassie replied, 'I did. I left not long after I last saw you.'
Verity thought that her sister looked even older than the last time they had met. It was hard to believe that she was only just eighteen years old. 'Cassie,' Verity said with concern, touching her cheek. 'What is the matter? Please tell me.'
'Nothing,' came the quick reply. Verity saw that her sister had tears in her eyes. 'I am just...' Cassie stopped and looked down. 'I am ill because I have stopped taking laudanum. I will not take it anymore.'
'Come back with me,' Verity said, 'I will look after you.'
'I could not ask you to do that,' she replied, as she shook her head and looked at her feet, 'I have to do this by myself. When I am better, I will find you.'
'Please, Cassie, I can look after you,' Verity put her hand on Cassie's arm and looked into her eyes sympathetically.
'No,' Cassie said, shaking her head, 'I cannot ask you to do that. Anyway, I must stay in my lodgings.' They stood in silence once more, until Cassie spoke. 'How is Reggie?'
'He is at Quatre-Bras,' Verity said with a sigh, 'he was involved in the fighting yesterday.'
'Is he alive?' Cassie said with concern.
'Yes, the last I heard, he was still alive,' Verity replied.
'Thank God,' Cassie said. She stumbled and put her hand out against the wall to steady herself.
'Let me take you back to where you are staying, you look very unwell,' Verity said, touching her sister's arm, 'you could at least lie down until you feel a little better.'
Cassie shook her head and smiled weakly. 'Do not worry about me, Verity, I already feel a little better,' she said as she let go of the wall. She then went over to Verity and gave her a hug. 'Goodbye, my dear sister,' she whispered sadly.
But before Verity could reply, Cassie had turned around and had started to run down the street. Verity thought about following her and finding out where she lived. And then maybe, she could bring her to the Harrington's for safety. But, Verity knew that was impossible. It would put the Harrington's into an awkward social position, and Verity did not want to expose them to the type of gossip that helping Cassie would no doubt bring.
Verity sighed, and it was with a heavy heart, that she went back to the make-shift hospital.
cher.~|: