The Innkeeper's Daughter (36 page)

He led Jamie back to the chair against the wall. ‘Take a minute or two,’ he said. ‘And then I want to ask you something.’

‘Have his parents been informed?’ Jamie asked in a voice he didn’t recognize as his own.

The sergeant nodded. ‘So I understand. Don’t try to talk. Just wait for the news to sink in. I’ll be back in ten minutes.’

Jamie watched him go out of the office and then saw the clerk close up the register. He got to his feet. ‘Just a minute,’ he called. ‘May I take a look?’

‘By all means.’ The clerk opened the register again and flipped the pages. ‘None of this makes happy reading, I’m afraid.’

‘I’d like to know where or how it happened,’ Jamie said. ‘Does it say?’

‘Only that it was in Scutari. Perhaps he was working in the hospital.’ He hesitated. ‘I can inform you that conditions are not good there. Many soldiers have died not from their wounds but from infections. Let us hope that when Miss Nightingale gets there she will make a difference.’

‘What kind of infections?’ Jamie asked. For Hunter to have succumbed so quickly and without making a difference was very hard to bear.

‘Cholera, typhoid, dysentery, those are the ones we are hearing about.’ The clerk closed the register. ‘I’m sorry about your colleague.’

Jamie thanked him and went back to sit down. We had such plans, Hunter and I, and now they are gone. We didn’t even have time to celebrate. He leaned forward and bent his head. He was devastated, hardly able to believe what he had heard. I must write to his parents, if I can find their address. He recalled that Hunter had left some of his belongings behind in their lodgings, their intention being that they would make that their base until they had decided where they would begin their combined careers. Now, he supposed he would have to go through them to find out where his parents lived and invite them to come and collect them.

What a disaster, he thought miserably. What a devastating tragedy to happen to someone so full of life and optimism.

‘Now then, young feller-me-lad, it’s of no use sitting there drowning in misery.’ The sergeant stood in front of him. ‘There’s only one thing to do and that’s to get on with your own life; your pal wouldn’t have wanted you to waste it, would he now?’

Jamie wiped his eyes. ‘No,’ he said huskily. ‘He wouldn’t. But we had such plans, he and I. We were going to set up together in medical practice. But he set off for the Crimea whilst I finished studying.’

The soldier surveyed him. ‘Well, let’s hope he had time to do some good whilst he was out there. The intention was an honourable one and no doubt appreciated by those he came in contact with. But now’ – he folded his arms – ‘there’s something you can do that would’ve made your pal proud.’

‘What? How can I do anything when I haven’t any papers?’

‘I know, I know,’ the sergeant said tetchily. ‘Don’t let’s go over that again. Come on.’ He flicked a thumb in the direction of the door and the stairs. ‘Let’s be going.’

Jamie hurried after him and thought that it was no wonder he was a sergeant; he wasn’t going to be disobeyed. When he commanded, the feeling was that you were compelled to follow.

‘What exactly had you in mind?’ he asked him as he scurried across the yard towards yet another building.

‘Well, this building, when we reach it, is full of wounded men. Some are on their way to hospital, some to the mortuary eventually and some on their way home; that’s them that’s being discharged. Legs blown off, arms shattered, some blinded, whatever they’ve got they’ll not be soldiering no more. The army has no more use for them, sad to say.’

‘So what can I do? I told you I’m not yet qualified.’

‘Yes, you told me.’ Frowning, the sergeant glanced at him. ‘What’s your name, lad? I’m Sergeant Thomas.’

‘Lucan,’ Jamie said. ‘James Lucan.’

Sergeant Thomas stopped in his tracks. ‘Lucan!’ He drew himself up to full attention, shoulders back, chest out, chin in. ‘Did you say Lucan, sir?’

Jamie blinked. ‘I did.’

Sergeant Thomas drew in a breath and saluted and Jamie noticed the middle fingers were missing from his right hand. ‘Beggin’ your pardon, sir. Nobody told me who you were.’

Jamie scrutinized him. The sergeant’s manner towards him had changed completely from domineering to almost subservient.

‘So who, exactly, do you think I am?’

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

‘SIR?’ SERGEANT THOMAS
looked at him warily.

‘What do you mean you didn’t know who I was?’

The sergeant shuffled his feet. ‘Are you not related to Major-General Lucan, sir?’

Jamie thought fast. He remembered something from his childhood: his father discussing the possibility of an army career with Felix, and telling him that his name would help him up the military ladder, that somewhere in their background were important men, a lord and regimental commander no less; but Felix hadn’t wanted to be a soldier and Jamie was never asked, so nothing else was said, the family estate being more important than clinging to a tenuous link of relationship to a man who, it was rumoured, had been responsible for many deaths during the Irish potato famine.

‘Ah! Cavalry!’ Jamie said. ‘That’s not why I’m here, sergeant. I came at the request of a friend, not the commander.’

He hadn’t actually denied the connection; neither had he confirmed it and he saw the uncertainty in the sergeant’s eyes. ‘What was it you wanted me to do?’

‘Well, sir, you might not want to do it, but we’d be very grateful if you’d come and take a look.’

He led him into the building, which had been made into a makeshift hospital. The entrance hall was crowded with beds and mattresses on the floor and wounded and dying men lying on them. The foul stench was appalling; of blood and
spilled
guts, a stink of excreta and something else, which he could only imagine was the sweet and sickly scent of death.

But worse than the disgusting smell was the sound. The sound of men moaning, the sudden screams as they battled through their own private hells, and the haunting cries as grown men called out for their mothers.

‘This way,’ Sergeant Thomas said and led him into an anteroom. Here it was quieter, with about fifty men huddled on blankets on the floor or slumped on hard chairs.

‘Who are these men?’ Jamie asked.

‘These fellers are the lucky ones,’ Thomas said. ‘They should be going home in a few days.’

‘They don’t seem lucky to me,’ Jamie observed. Some of the men were head-bandaged, one or two with sightless eyes, others with only one and a half legs.

‘Believe me, they are,’ the sergeant said grimly. ‘There’s worse to come out of that foreign land.’

Jamie looked at him. ‘And what about you? Will you be going out there?’

Thomas clenched his lips together before lifting his right hand. ‘Look at this! Does it look as if I can do any soldiering? I can hold the reins of a horse but I can’t fire a musket.’ His face turned sour. ‘That Major-General of yourn wants only young men, so here’s his excuse for getting rid of me; never mind that I’ve more experience than he’ll ever have, damn his eyes!’

‘I don’t know him,’ Jamie admitted. ‘I’ve only read about him in newspapers. But you’re still doing a useful job. And you’re alive!’

The soldier shook his head and without further comment about his situation said, ‘We’ve got injured men able to walk who can escort this lot home, but the doctors are too busy to come round and say if they’re fit to leave or fit to fight.’ He looked straight at Jamie. ‘Can you do that?’

Jamie blew out a breath. If he had his way he’d send them all home, but that wouldn’t do. The British and the French had made a commitment to support the Turkish Empire against the Russians and needed every able man they could
muster.
And, he thought, these men joined the army of their own volition. Presumably for queen and country.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I can do that.’

The experience he had been lacking he gained during the next three weeks, and when he had given the men permission to re-join their regiments or return home he worked with the other doctors treating the more badly injured soldiers. By the third week in September, when he was thinking of returning home himself, news began to filter through that the first real battle of the Crimean War had begun, the former hostilities considered to be just a taster of what was to come.

The battle of the Alma began when the British with twenty-six thousand infantry and a thousand cavalry, along with French and Turkish forces, clashed with the Russian Imperial Army near the banks of the River Alma on their march north to Sevastopol. Although considered to be a victory for the Allied forces, over two thousand British men were killed or wounded, and many of these began to be shipped back to Blackwall Dock.

Sergeant Thomas sought Jamie out in the main hospital station on the quayside. ‘You’re needed alongside me, doctor,’ he said. ‘Some of the men I’ve got can be patched up and sent out again. Just a few scratches, that’s all they’ve got. Can’t think why they’ve been sent here.’

Jamie scurried after him. The sergeant always walked at a running pace.

‘Well, I do know why,’ Thomas continued. ‘It’s because Miss Nightingale is busy scrubbing out the Barrack Hospital in Scutari. Apparently she says it’s not a fit place for injured men and they can’t stay there until it’s clean.’

‘Good for her,’ Jamie said. He too had commandeered able-bodied men to clean out the anteroom with hot water and employed local women to wash the dirty bedding. What was the good, he had told them, of bringing sick men into a dirty ward with unclean and bloody blankets. So far, the doctor in charge had not heard about his instructions, and he was fairly
sure
that once he did he would be ordered to stop at once and get on with treating the patients.

The ship carrying the injured had already docked and was discharging the men. Twenty arrived in the anteroom, brought in under the watchful eye of Sergeant Thomas, who seemed now to have some regard for Dr James, as he called him.

‘Best not to call you Dr Lucan, sir,’ he had said in a muted tone. ‘The name isn’t necessarily given respect around here, only deference.’

Jamie had nodded in quiet understanding. In any case, he wanted to earn approval for himself, not because he was thought to be a relative of an imperious military man.

Ten of the soldiers were treated for their wounds and after a week were sent back to their regiments. Five more were sent to the main hospital as their wounds were more serious than originally thought, which left five with various injuries, one who had been blinded by shot, another with a hole in his head who walked round and round the ward shouting out commands before collapsing in the middle of the night where he was found dead the next morning. Which left three, two who were keen to return to their regiments and ‘finish off them darned Russkies’, and one with a bandaged left foot and a broken right knee from being trampled by a terrified horse.

‘He can go home,’ Thomas said, glancing at the bed as he passed by. ‘He’s of no use to anybody.’

‘You’ll be able to ride again,’ Jamie told the soldier, and thought of Bob Hoskins, the stable lad, who rode as well as anyone with his lame leg. ‘But not yet awhile.’ He looked down at the lad, who was lying in just his grey vest and ripped trousers with his leg in a splint. ‘You can probably re-join once you’re mended.’

‘Thanks very much, sir,’ the youth answered. ‘But if it’s all ’same to you, I won’t bother.’

‘Had enough of fighting?’ Jamie smiled. ‘Can’t say I blame you.’

‘Can you tek a look at me foot, doctor?’ he asked. ‘It hurts like hell, beggin’ your pardon.’

Jamie began to unravel the bloody and dirty bandage. ‘Who did this?’ he asked.

‘Some bloody Russky,’ he was answered. ‘Not at ’Alma – afore that. Copped a stray shot. Then—
Ah!
’ He grimaced in pain as Jamie carefully peeled the bandage from his festering skin.

‘I meant, who bandaged you up? He did a good job.’

‘One of ’doctors at Scutari. I told him I wanted patching up so I could get back out there and get me own back. I’m not wi’ cavalry,’ he said. ‘Well, I was when I first enlisted, but then I transferred. Light Infantry, 19th Regiment of Foot.’

Jamie examined the soldier’s foot. It was red and swollen and oozing pus, not quite gangrenous, but almost. Another day or two without treatment and he would have been in danger of losing it.

One of the women who did the washing appeared in the doorway and Jamie called her over. ‘Could you bring hot water and clean bandages, please?’

‘Yes, doctor.’ She was a large woman with massive breasts from feeding ten children, and though old enough to be his mother gave him a teasing smile. Dr James was a favourite with the women, not only because he was handsome but because he remembered to say please and thank you and treated them like ladies.

‘So did you get to the Alma?’ he asked the soldier to take his mind off the pain as he applied the hot water. ‘Was it very bad?’

‘Aye, I was in one of skirmishes,’ the lad said through gritted teeth. ‘I’m a corporal – or was. We go ahead of ’main body of ’infantry, sent to harass and delay ’enemy advance, which we did, but then when ’battle began we had to get out of ’way pretty quick or be run down.’ He let out a huff of breath. ‘God, that hurt! Bloody disaster,’ he said.

‘Did you get to know any of the doctors at Scutari?’ Jamie asked. ‘I ask because a friend of mine went out there. I heard he’d died but I can’t imagine why he did or what of.’

The corporal glanced up at him. ‘What was his name? Doctor who took out ’shot and bandaged me foot went sick wi’ dysentery a couple o’ days after. I went in to see some of ’lads afore re-joining ’regiment, but he wasn’t there.’

‘Hunt,’ Jamie said with a sinking sensation. ‘His full name was Dr Gerald Maugham-Hunt. His friends called him Hunter.’

‘Aye, that was him: Dr Hunt. Sorry to hear that; he was a right nice chap, lots o’ banter wi’ lads.’

Yes, he would have had. Jamie paused for a minute. They would all have been equals.

‘Some of ’doctors didn’t agree wi’ Miss Nightingale and her cleaning regime, they didn’t all bother to wash their hands,’ the corporal said. ‘They’d go from one soldier to ’next. But Dr Hunt wasn’t like that and I said to him, he was just like my ma. When we were bairns and had bloody knees, she allus made us go and wash ’dirt off first under ’pump afore she bound ’em up wi’ comfrey.’