For all the rush from the call to arms, the haste to get out of Brussels, the time, so far, had been spent in marching and waiting. Or as Rhys overheard one of his soldiers say, ‘Hurry up and wait. That’s the army for you.’
Instead of going directly to Quatre Bras, the regiment was ordered to Genappe where the soldiers rested under the shade of the trees to get some relief from the heat of the sun. They could hear the sound of guns, but in the distance. Still, the soldiers were ready to grab their muskets and march towards the sounds and do their duty.
Grant found Rhys and the two men sat in the shade of a tree. Their horses nibbled on grass nearby.
‘Nearly two p.m. according to my timepiece,’ Grant said, putting it back in his pocket. ‘And whatever that is—’ He paused until the faint boom of a gun reached their ears. ‘It is not close by. I thought we would be hastening towards the crossroads at Quatre Bras.’
Rhys sat with his back against the tree trunk and his eyes closed. ‘Wellington still isn’t certain where the French army is headed. He’s covering all roads.’
‘Still,’ said Grant, ‘I would rather be in the thick of it than be waiting.’
‘Would we not all prefer that?’ Rhys responded.
He heard Grant shift his position. ‘I know better than to ask for details, but how did you fare with Lady Helene?’
Rhys had been trying not to think of Helene, but his thoughts wanted only to drift to the memory of lying with her, making love to her. ‘We set our differences aside. There is that, at least. It made parting...difficult. She should be leaving for England today. With her brother.’
‘And?’ Grant asked.
Rhys opened his eyes. ‘And nothing.’
Grant regarded him. ‘You made no plans?’
‘We’re facing a battle. That is not a time to make plans.’ Rhys peered at him. ‘Since when do you advocate planning a future with a woman?’ He was baiting Grant who’d many times stressed how a woman cannot be trusted.
‘I liked your Lady Helene,’ Grant said, not rising to Rhys’s bait. ‘And so do you.’
What Rhys felt for Helene was more than liking her. He loved her.
So why had he not spoken even one word about the future to her?
Because he feared his luck might run out in this battle. Because now he cared enough to want to live?
They waited for over an hour at Genappe before the order came to march again. To Quatre Bras, where Wellington had told him they would meet the enemy. The sounds of guns intensified. Their drums beat a marching rhythm. They reached the top of a knoll and, for the first time, Rhys had a clear view of the enemy. His insides clenched and his muscles tensed. Fear rose, but so did excitement. There was nothing like a battle to make a man feel alive.
Thousands of French soldiers in formation filled the field below. Strong and seasoned soldiers, if the intelligence was to be believed. Rhys smelled the odour of gunpowder and heard the pop of musket fire. They marched towards their enemy and the sound of its fire power. The men crossed a field of rye so high that Rhys would only see the tops of their shakos.
It was only three thirty.
They continued to advance, their companies moving in a line, two men deep. Cavalry could be seen on the other side of the road, riding towards the crossroads.
‘Lancers!’ shouted Rhys.
His men fired upon them, but General Pack, who commanded the brigade, furiously ordered the men to stop firing. ‘They are ours,’ Pack insisted.
General Pack was wrong. They were French lancers, as Rhys had said. The horsemen turned and galloped towards the battalion, on the attack.
There was no time for the men to form a square, so they were ordered to stand in line back to back. Rhys and the other officers rode up and down the line, reinforcing the orders and steadying the men. That he and the other officers were easy targets was not something he could even give a thought to. This was his job. This was how he got the best out of his men.
‘Wait until the order to fire!’ Rhys cried. ‘Wait until they are close.’
The lancers were terrifying as their powerful horses galloped closer.
Finally, the colonel shouted the order, ‘Present! Fire.’
Rhys repeated it, as did the other officers.
The line fired and few of the lancers escaped the volley. Horses crashed to the ground, their riders fell, injured, and were trampled by the horses behind them. One lancer escaped the carnage and rode straight for Rhys. He lunged at Rhys with his lance, narrowly missing him. Rhys slashed at the Frenchman’s back with his sword and the man fell to the ground. His horse ran on, riderless.
After the lancers passed, the regiment was able to form squares to repel the second onslaught, but many men had been lost. Rhys scanned the field, searching for Grant. He found him still mounted on his horse. Rhys caught Grant’s eye. No need to speak. They were both grateful the other was alive.
The danger had not yet passed. The regiment fought on until short of ammunition. Just when Rhys feared the direst consequences, reinforcements joined their ranks and turned the advantage back to the Allies.
Musket fire continued until almost eleven that night when each side retreated to rest and tend the wounded. The fields were littered with dead and dying. Those who escaped unscathed were exhausted and thirsty. Rhys and Grant rested near the Vallée des Vaches stream, not bothering to find shelter. What was left of their men likewise spent the night wherever they happened to stand.
Helene spent the afternoon alone. Louise and Wilson left not more than an hour after Mrs Jacobs and after they were gone, Helene knew no one else, not even to speak to. She thought about Rhys all the day. Where was he? What was happening to him?
By the afternoon the distant booms of artillery fire reached Brussels. Helene left the hotel and walked the nearby streets, hoping for news. Some people had ridden out, trying to find the battle, but returned with conflicting accounts. One said the Allies had slaughtered the French, another that the Allies had been cut to pieces and were retreating in confusion. Of all Helene had read of the battles in Spain and France, she’d never read of British troops retreating in confusion.
She walked to the Rue de la Blanchisserie, to the Duke of Richmond’s house to ask for David. Perhaps with the Duke’s family as witness, he would not refuse to see her. Before she knocked at the door, she peeked in the other building where the ball had been held. Servants were busy taking down the drapery and carting away the flowers. Chairs and tables were pushed against the walls. The place where she and Rhys had danced now looked empty and forlorn.
She stepped out of that building and sounded the knocker at the front door. The butler cautiously opened it, fearing she was the French come to conquer Brussels, she supposed.
‘I am Lady Helene Banes,’ she told him. ‘My brother is visiting Lord William. I should like to see him.’
The butler led her to a drawing room off the hall and it was not long before one of the Duke’s daughters entered the room.
‘Lady Helene, I am Georgiana, William’s sister.’ Her brown hair was still in the curls she’d worn at the ball. She had a pretty face, thin, with large, expressive brown eyes.
Helene curtsied. ‘We met at the ball last night.’ Georgiana sat next to the Duke of Wellington at supper.
‘I remember. You wore a lovely gold dress.’ The girl smiled. ‘Would you care to sit? May we offer some refreshment?’
Helene had glimpsed the Duke and Duchess a few times during her London Seasons, but Lady Georgiana would have been too young for Helene to have known her then.
Helene knew she was intruding. ‘I’ve no wish to trouble you. I need to speak to David.’
Georgiana’s pretty brow furrowed. ‘David is not here. He and William rode out this morning.’
‘Rode out? In his evening clothes?’ David had not returned to the hotel to change or, at least, the harried hall servant had not seen him.
‘He borrowed clothes from William,’ Georgiana explained. ‘They went off to learn what they could of the battle.’
At that moment, the boom of a cannon made them both jump.
‘I see.’ Helene did not know whether to be furious at David or to fear for him. Foolish, reckless boy. ‘If—when they return, would you please tell David I must see him?’
‘I will,’ she promised.
Georgiana walked Helene to the door and bid her goodbye.
The cannonade continued, distant but a reminder that David could be placing himself in danger. And what of Rhys? He and his friend Grant would be in the thick of it. Would one of those cannonballs strike him?
The streets were tense, as if the worries and fears of the people had filled the very air they all breathed. Helene had no one else to call upon. She certainly would not invade Wilson and Louise’s newly found privacy, nor would she disturb Mrs Jacobs, even if she knew where the nurse lived. She walked by the lace shop, thinking she might drop in and at least browse through the lovely things. The shop was closed.
Helene laughed at herself. At Yarford she knew everyone on the estate and in the village. At the moment, here in Brussels, she knew no one.
She walked back to the hotel while the distant sounds of battle pounded at her heart.
The guns sounded all through the evening. Helene dared to walk through the Parc listening. She came upon the hotel guests she’d seen breakfasting with the two officers that morning.
She approached them. ‘Pardon me. Have you heard any news of the battle?’
The one woman, who looked to be a few years older than Helene, was eager to share what she knew, which was not much.
‘We heard that the French have won and are marching towards Brussels,’ the woman said. ‘We also heard that the Allies defeated the French, killing more men than one could imagine possible, but our friend Sir Neal Campbell heard from someone who’d been within sight of the battle, at least at five o’clock. He told us that there was fierce fighting. The infantry was facing the French without cavalry!’
The infantry. Rhys.
Helene must have looked alarmed because the woman put a hand on her arm. ‘Oh, do not worry so. He said our men were fighting well.’
Helene hoped so. She said another prayer that Rhys be safe.
‘I am Miss Charlotte Waldie,’ the woman said. ‘We only arrived in Brussels yesterday. Can you imagine such timing? Are you here alone?’
‘I’m Helene Banes,’ she responded. ‘My brother came also, but he has gone off with his friend to find the battlefield.’ She did not mention Rhys, afraid speaking his name would lead to a fit of weeping. ‘So, I am alone at the moment.’
The young woman smiled. ‘Then you must dine with us.’
Helene could not have been more grateful for the company. She learned Miss Waldie’s companions were her brother and sister. They’d planned to travel throughout the Continent. Belgium was their first stop.
Helene left her new friends around ten, when the cannonade finally ceased. She crawled into bed, still in her dress, and hugged the pillow where Rhys had laid his head.
She woke to a rumbling outside so loud it shook the walls. She jumped from the bed and hurried to the window. Though it was dark she could see heavy military carriages speeding through the street. She peered at the mantel clock. Twelve thirty. She hurriedly tied back her hair and put on her shoes and left the room.
As she descended the stairs, she could see that many of the other guests had left their doors open, perhaps also in a rush to find out what was happening. When she reached the hall, it was in more chaos than she’d seen before.
‘What is happening?’ she asked one gentleman.
He answered her in French. ‘The French are advancing on the city. Hear the artillery? You English should leave before it is too late.’
But the last news she’d heard was that the British had been fighting well.
Helene made her way to the door of the hotel and walked outside. All sorts of carriages and wagons were jammed up in front of the hotel and frantic people threw trunks atop them. Drivers barely waited for the occupants to take their seats before speeding off.
She spied her new friend, Charlotte, and her sister and brother. ‘Are the French really approaching?’
Charlotte gave her a reassuring smile. ‘All the military carriages are heading to the army, not retreating. Our friend, Major Wylie, just returned from the Place Royale where he heard officially that the French were repelled by the Allies. The city is perfectly safe, but rumours are rife.’
Helene breathed a sigh of relief.
Charlotte added, ‘We are making arrangements to leave Brussels, however. There is more fighting to come. Perhaps you should do the same.’
It was what she’d promised Rhys. But she would not leave without David. He promised he would come to the hotel today.
Morning came after Helene had managed only a little sleep. She rose and straightened her dress and pinned up her hair. Eager for news, she put on her hat and gloves, wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and left her room to walk to the Place Royale. At least there she had a chance of hearing what was really happening.
She descended the stairs to find the hall was only a bit more orderly than the night before. The sense of panic was missing, but everywhere were piles of luggage and people asking how they might leave the city.
She made her way through the commotion to the door outside. The pavement was similarly filled with boxes and trunks and portmanteaux. Lines of carriages clogged the street.
Her new friend Charlotte stood nearby, saw her and called her over. ‘Our coach is about to arrive, Helene. We’re off to Antwerp. I am certain we could fit you in, if you would come with us.’
It would be what Rhys asked her to do.
‘Thank you,’ she responded. ‘I wish you well, but I must wait for my brother.’ Although Helene no longer believed her brother would come to her.
Charlotte’s sister called to Charlotte, beckoning her to come to where a carriage was stopped down the street.
‘I must go,’ Charlotte said. ‘Take care.’
Helene watched her climb in the carriage and stood long enough to wave to them as their carriage passed by.
The image of the officer’s wife riding to battle next to her husband kept returning to Helene’s mind. That was what she wished. To be with Rhys. To face what he faced. To know right this second if he was safe or...not.
But she could not let her thoughts drift on to that dreadful path.
She walked to the Place Royale, busy with people. They all seemed to be demanding information. What was being done to secure the city? Why was the City Guard not protecting Brussels? Would they merely give up the city if the French arrived?
Helene had no patience for such concerns. What she wanted to know was, had the battle cost many British lives? What was to be expected next? No. Her real questions were, was Rhys safe? Was he alive? Surely her heart would know if he were not alive.
And, of course, there was David. Had he been foolish, as she already knew? Had he at least tried to stay out of danger?
She returned to the hotel, suddenly hungry and longing for a cup of tea. As she headed to the dining room, the harried hall servant called to her, angering the several people making other demands of him. ‘Lady Helene.’ He raised his hand which held a piece of paper. ‘A message for you.’
She hurried over and took the paper from his hand. She must remember to be generous in her vails to that poor man.
She waited until she was seated in the dining room, a pot of tea in front of her before unfolding the paper and reading its contents.
Dear Lady Helene,
I do have word of your brother. He and William returned late last night but rode off again. Tomorrow there is to be another battle, they’d heard.
I relayed your message and I am distressed to tell you your brother said he had no intention of meeting you at your hotel. He will do as he wishes, he said. William is a military man and knows of such matters.
I can only hope he can talk some sense into your brother, who I am completely out of patience with.
With regret,
G.L.
Lady Georgiana merely confirmed Helene’s fears. David broke his word to her yet again.
The wretch.
She ate her breakfast as a plan leapt into her head. She was done with her brother’s irresponsibility. The battle would not be far away, she’d heard. She’d go there herself, find David and bring him back. Then she could do what Rhys asked her to do.
Leave Brussels.