Marjorie Farrel (4 page)

“Robin has several hacks in town, and I am sure he would not object to your making one of them your own,” offered Barbara.

“It had better be an old hack for me. Oh, I will accept your offer. But not for the fashionable hours in the afternoon. My riding habit would not stand up to close scrutiny, and besides, I would not want anyone to witness me falling off the first few times.”

“Robin rides early a few days a week to get in a good gallop, and I often join him. I’ll talk to him today. And now that we have the riding settled, I’ll have to convince you to come to dinner.”

“I do appreciate your kindness, Barbara, but don’t you see it would be awkward for both of us? I do plan to be earning some money soon, but right now there is nothing extra with which to replenish my wardrobe.”

“I wish we were of a size. I have a closetful of dresses.”

Judith laughed. “The alterations would cost as much as a new gown,” she said, looking down at her small, rather thin self, and over at her friend’s tall, full figure.

“I suppose you are right,” Barbara said ruefully. “I am rather a ‘strapping wench,’ am I not?”

“You are goddess-like. And you certainly have grown more comfortable with your inches. You used to hunch yourself over, and now you carry yourself quite proudly.”

“I have your encouragement to thank for it. I would have expired from loneliness and self-consciousness had you not taken me under your wing.”

“I must admit, it was difficult,” said Judith. “I had to stand quite on tiptoe, and even then my wings did not quite reach,” she teased.

Both women laughed at the picture Judith had conjured up, for a most unlikely-looking protector was Judith.

At that moment, Barbara heard Robin’s steps in the hall. She jumped up. “That’s Robin. Wait here, I’ll be right back.”

Judith smiled at her friend’s impulsiveness. Her come-out had not really changed her. She had acquired some town bronze, but was still the same Barbara: enthusiastic, generous to a fault, and unconcerned over the differences in their circumstances. She heard Barbara say, “Go in, Robin, and I will order more tea.”

Robin appeared in the doorway. Judith had met him several times when he came to pick Barbara up at school, and then had spent part of a summer holiday and one Christmas vacation at Ashurst. She suspected—quite correctly—that initially Barbara had hoped they would be romantically inclined toward each other. But Judith’s first impression had been that Robin was too handsome. He was tall and well-proportioned like his sister, and they both had the same wavy blond hair and light-blue eyes. He initially gave the appearance of languid elegance, and Judith had at first been rather intimidated. What saved him was his sense of fun and lack of pretense. His parents deserved the credit for those qualities in both their children. Lord and Lady Stanley were quite happy in their marriage, and although more involved with socializing and estate matters and each other than with their children, they were free of the snobbery of many of their contemporaries. They mixed with their neighbors freely, attending the local assemblies when in the country, and freed their children from an extreme awareness of class.

Judith had felt very welcome at Ashurst, and after she got used to Robin’s good looks and stopped letting them prejudice her against him, he and she had become fast friends.

Robin stood for a moment in the doorway, and Judith took in the changes wrought by three years and the last campaign. Before, he had been slender, and now he looked filled out, although somewhat drawn and tired. His face was the same, and yet not. The laugh lines were there, but now there were other lines that pain and fatigue had left, and something of an edge to his smile. His face had gained in character, however, what it had lost in innocence.

Robin came toward her, his hands outstretched in welcome. She rose to meet him.

“Ju—I mean, Miss Ware, how lovely to see you again.”

“Must I call you Captain Stanley? May we not go back to Judith and Robin?”

“You must call me Major Stanley.”

Judith’s face had subtly changed at the formality, and Robin laughed. “I’ve been promoted, is all, and of course you must call me Robin. You are such a young lady now that I thought I’d better start out more formal.”

“You haven’t changed at all, Robin. Still a tease. Come, sit down.”

Robin sat and turned to Judith. “I hear you have come to join your brother here in London.”

“Yes. I am still not quite used to my freedom, but it is wonderful to be here.”

“And Barbara tells me you will be kind enough to help us exercise one of our horses?”

“You are as bad as your sister. Yours is the kindness, as well you know. I hope she didn’t embarrass you into it?”

“Don’t be foolish. Of course you are welcome to ride with us.”

“I hope you have convinced her, Robin,” Barbara said as she came back into the room.

“I think so. You will ride with us?”

“How can I refuse?” Judith said, relieved that they had pressed her.

“Now we must persuade her to come to the theater with us, and to an occasional dinner or musical evening,” responded Barbara.

“I have been telling your sister, Robin, that I cannot enter into society. We are living on a small income, and I have no money to spare for the wardrobe even a little socializing would require. And if I had, well, it would make me most uncomfortable to be pushing myself in where I most certainly don’t belong.”

“But, Judith,” protested Barbara, “you will never meet anyone. If you agreed to accompany us occasionally, you would be sure to meet some eligible young men.”

“Surely it is better for me to accept where life has landed me and make the best of it,” replied Judith, with a slight edge of protest in her voice.

“I think Judith knows what is best for her,” interrupted Robin, “and we shouldn’t tease her, much as we would enjoy her companionship. However,” he continued gently, turning to Judith, “you might come to dinner here occasionally, and an invitation to the theater once or twice would not be inappropriate, nor make you compromise your resolution.”

“I would sound the most ungrateful, unbending Puritan if I refused. But that is all. Please do not push me harder, for, believe me, my resolve is not proof against the kindness of friends.”

‘‘ Agreed,’’ said Robin. "And now I must be off. But we shall ride the day after tomorrow? At ten o’clock? We shall bring our nag to your door.”

Judith smiled and nodded. After he left, she looked at Barbara and said a bit shakily, “Truly, I am grateful for such good friends.”

“Judith, you must learn to receive as well as to give,” said Barbara, surprising herself. “I never thought of it quite that way before, but, yes, that is it. You are a generous person, Judith, but friendship works both ways, and your pride keeps you from letting others give to you in return.”

“You are right, of course,” admitted Judith. “One feels somehow stronger when one is the giver. Oh, I am not explaining myself well, but I thank you for your bit of wisdom.’’

“I promise I won’t push you, if you promise to remain open to an occasional entertainment?”

“Agreed,” said Judith.

“Now, let me show you the garden. There are still some late roses. And then we can have a light luncheon and spend the rest of the afternoon telling each other all the details of the last three years.”

Major Stanley was not the only one of his friends who had tried to see the Duke of Sutton. Simon was very popular. He was an excellent athlete, graceful dancer, and his valet never had reason to be ashamed of his appearance. But what made Simon so attractive was that his natural intelligence and dignity were combined with a genuine liking for most people. If he stood a little removed from the utter frivolity of ton life, he did so humorously, not cynically. He had served in the Peninsular campaign and on the continent, not because it was a dashing and fashionable thing to do, but because he saw it as a necessity. He had not been very romantic about the idea of war, and the reality of it only strengthened his wish to put his peacetime energies into eliminating some of its causes. He had planned to take his seat in Parliament upon his return and work toward reform, in both domestic and foreign policy.

He had been wounded on the second day of battle. Having had two horses shot from under him without sustaining an injury, he had begun to think that he might make it back unharmed—if he thought much about it at all. He had found, in his years of soldiering, that the first hour before the battle and the first fifteen minutes into it were the worst. Then, he was terrified. But as he was drawn into it, it became a job, something to get done. When you got caught up in the momentum, you were only present to what was happening directly in front of you: an arm lifting a saber, the body you were stepping over, the shell whistling by your ear. And so, when it happened, it happened quickly, and without him expecting it. Simon remembered leaning over a wounded friend, the Viscount Alderstoke, and then a sudden blow to his head, and then nothing.

When he awoke he was lying on a farmer’s cart that smelled of turnips and onions and blood. He had been thrown on top of a pile of wounded and dead men. He was conscious of the weight of an arm across his knees, and such unbearable pain in his head that he groaned aloud.

The sergeant driving the cart turned at the sound and said to his companion, “Well, that’s one wot still breathes. I’ll be surprised if one out of three survives this ride,” and he flapped the reins across the back of the cart horse.

Simon’s headache and the jolting made him nauseous. He opened his eyes slowly, afraid that light might make him even sicker, and saw nothing. It must be the middle of the night, was his first thought as he waited for his eyes to become accustomed to the dark and begin to pick out shapes. This night seemed darker than others, however, and nothing changed. The smoke and no moon, he thought as he fell off into a state somewhere between sleep and fainting.

When they reached their destination, a farmhouse on the edge of the battlefield commandeered as a makeshift hospital, Simon was jostled awake. He felt his fellow travelers being pulled out around him, and felt hands reaching for him. He was willing to walk, but somehow his limbs were not responding and he allowed himself to be carried after a weak protest. He heard a voice say, “Here’s one who’ll likely make it. He’s covered in blood, but he’s got all his arms and legs, not like the other poor devils.”

Simon’s eyes opened and he was ready to smile up into the eyes of whoever was leaning over him when he realized that it was still dark, even inside wherever it was that they had brought him. Surely there is at least a candle, he thought, and he pulled himself up from the floor to look around. Nothing.

“Where are the lights?” he started to say, and felt a hand on his shoulder. “Steady, sir. There’s a wall behind you. Here, let me help you up.” Simon’s eyes closed involuntarily as his head exploded at the movement, but once he was upright, the pain and nausea subsided. He heard a voice near his ear and felt something warm near his face. “Can you see the lamp now, sir?” Simon turned toward the voice and said almost inaudibly, “No.”

“Dr. Shipman, over here,” said the voice.

Simon heard steps approaching and an impatient voice saying, “What is it, Lieutenant? I am just about to operate. I don’t have time for men like these who will be walking home.”

“I think you should examine him just for a moment, sir.”

“All right.”

Simon felt the doctor’s hands probe gently around his skull. He winced as the hands started to wipe some of the blood away. “He has sustained severe blows to the head, but we knew that. You are quite lucky, Captain. A little closer to the temples and you would not be here. As it is, you will have a head like you have never known. Give me the lantern, and I’ll check for concussion.

“Look directly into the light, Captain.”

Simon passed his hands over his eyes as if to see if they were open. “I can see nothing,” he said quietly, realizing that the warmth he had felt near his face was the lantern and that all that was reaching him was its heat, not light.

The doctor lifted the lantern and leaned closer. He moved it left and right, and into Simon’s face until he drew back from the heat.

“That is why I called you over,” whispered the lieutenant.

“Quite right, John. What is your name, Captain?”

“Simon Ballance. I am attached to Wellington’s staff as a dispatcher.”

“Do you remember anything about being wounded?”

“Nothing. I saw a friend of mine and dismounted to help him. There was so much blood. His legs were gone.” Simon shuddered.

“Yes,” the doctor said gently.

“I was leaning over him and then something hit me from behind, as though someone were driving down with a rifle butt. I was conscious of nothing until I awoke in the cart.”

“And could you see anything then?”

“I thought it was a dark night—smoke from the battlefield ... No, I couldn’t see. But there is nothing wrong with my eyes. The blow was from behind.”

“The blow was from behind, yes, but it looks as if you were repeatedly struck on both sides of your head. Sometimes, we are not sure how, blindness can be caused by internal damage to the brain. Your eyes work, but your brain can no longer receive the message.”

“Blind? I can’t be blind,” protested Simon. “If my eyes are uninjured, then surely my sight will return when I recover?”

“Sometimes—and again we are largely ignorant in this area—there can be a spontaneous return of sight. But I will not give you false hope; it happens very rarely. It would be better for you to accept your blindness and adjust to it.”

Simon’s face contorted with pain as his head started pounding. It was like being on the rye fields of Waterloo, only the fifty-pounders were inside his head, and he lost consciousness, thinking, I can see that line of cavalry preparing to charge, so I can’t be blind.

“Let him sleep. Give him a small dose of laudanum now, and when he awakes, as much as he needs to cope.” The doctor turned away to resume his makeshift efforts to save limbs and, failing that, lives.