Elizabeth settled her employer in a chair at the edge of the great hall, where buzzing conversation rose from the staff summoned there by Captain Darcy. A week had passed since Jane’s wedding, yet it seemed like only yesterday. Elizabeth had hardly seen the captain since their train ride back from Boulogne, but she couldn’t forget the things she had learnt about Lieutenant Wickham. Did he know more about Lydia than he’d told her? And what about the captain? Was their pleasant time together on the train an anomaly?
The collective chatter in the marble hall quieted as Colonel Weekes’ assistant climbed the stairs to the galleried landing above.
The captain grasped the balustrade, and the crowd silenced. “As you all are aware,” his velvety baritone voice echoed over their heads, “we’ve been receiving particularly large shipments of supplies in preparation for a summer offensive. We’re to expect up to a thousand casualties a day.”
Murmurs rose from the gathering.
“Tomorrow we’ll begin tenting the south lawn beside the shrub garden for auxiliary ward space. Next week a medical officer and three Sisters will join our staff to help meet the demand. Unfortunately, the best we can offer for their living arrangements are bell tents beside the stable block. The orderlies will retain their quarters above the stables, and the marquee outside will remain the ward for prisoners. We’ll be adding a second one beside it. An additional operating theatre would be ideal if a suitable space can be located.”
Elizabeth sat up straighter. The gardening shed beside the carriage house included all the necessary elements. If all the pots, shovels, and hedging shears were removed, it would make an ideal surgical site.
The captain went on with instructions about the ward at the boys’ school, additional graves at the cemetery, expanded cooking facilities, and logistics for transporting wounded to the hospital train. “Any suggestions how we might more efficiently serve the casualties are welcomed. Rest yourselves while you have the opportunity. You’re going to need it.”
The crowd moved to disperse, and Elizabeth helped the monsieur to his feet amidst the scuffing of boots and hum of conversation. She smiled cordially to the corporal who engaged her employer in conversation, then shifted her eyes to Captain Darcy descending the stairs. He was certainly a skilled leader. His well-thought-out plans were clearly an improvement over Colonel Weekes’ haphazard approach.
“Aye, Florence!” Sapper bumped into her. “Looks like we’re in for another summer of heart-stoppin’ action.”
Elizabeth laughed at his pun. “It does indeed. Although I wasn’t here last summer, it seems Captain Darcy has done an admirable job preparing The Ritz.”
“Given y’er history with the captain, I suppose ya’ feel obligated to support him.”
She recoiled slightly. “I have no such obligation. In truth, I think him rather arrogant.”
Sapper laughed. “Maybe so. But lass, you’ve got firecrackers explodin’ for that man.” With a nod of his head, he joined the throng moving through the hallway.
Did she have firecrackers exploding for the man? She chuckled to herself. Perhaps so, but they were generally explosions of anger. But what did Sapper mean by her history with the captain?
Elizabeth settled the Frenchman in the library, and a short time later Captain Darcy strode in.
“Well done, Le Capitaine!” Dubois spoke over Lili’s excited barks and dashing circles. “You make me proud to be owner of Beaumanoir. I can only hope that our French hospitals are managed so well.”
“Merci. Please know that I would welcome your recommendations for our improvement.”
“Well, capitaine, I am not a military man, but I find it curious that an important leader like you would drive the laundry. Surely there are men less important to do this for you?”
“It is no trouble at all. It’s actually quite efficient. The washerwoman is not far from my office at the boys’ school, so I am already nearby. Besides,” the captain smiled, “it gives me an excuse to enjoy your company on the drive to Meneer Bongaerts—even if it is for just a quarter of an hour.”
The Frenchman laughed. “Oui, oui.”
Elizabeth sat politely as their conversation lapsed into French, which she did not understand.
When they finished, Elizabeth ventured, “Sir, may I make a suggestion? I believe the gardening shed would make a suitable operating theatre. Not only is it of sufficient size, but it has a concrete floor, electricity, and a tap as well.”
Narrowing his brow, he appeared to be appraising its merits, but then only replied, “Thank you. I’ll consider it.” Without another word, he turned to unlock his office.
Elizabeth groaned inwardly. His response was just like a man—just like her father. She offered an ideal solution, but because she was a woman, he brushed her off. Would he have been so quick to dismiss the idea had it come from Monsieur Dubois?
For the next week the chateau bustled with activity. Marquee wards sprouted in the garden like giant mushrooms, and duckboards were laid like rows of falling dominoes. The carriage house was so jammed with bales of blankets, Bully Beef, and bandages that Elizabeth couldn’t imagine how the quartermaster found anything in there. But with all the supplies, only two bell tents had arrived for three Sisters and a medical officer. The poor doctor was left sleeping in a hospital ward bed. Elizabeth had a solution for that as well. But after Darcy’s disregard of her previous idea, she hesitated to voice it—and the fact that it would result in a less desirable arrangement for her.