With This Ring (10 page)

“
Some of the men in Battery B are
from there,” she explained. “I just wondered.”

He nodded and leaned back in his
chair, after a wary look at the door through which Mama had exited
in such a hurry. “Then, they are a long way from home, my
dear.”

Lydia sighed. “And some will never
see it.” To her surprise, she started to cry. She sobbed into her
napkin, wondering at herself, knowing that she would scare Papa
away from his after-dinner refuge over port.

To her further amazement, he left
his chair and came to sit beside her. He put his arm around her and
held her close until she stopped crying and blew her nose on her
napkin. “Papa, I’m sorry,” she said. “If I did that when Mama was
around, she would forbid me ever to cross the threshold at St.
Barnabas again.”

“
Perhaps it is too much for you,
daughter,” he suggested, tentative as always—a by-product of life
with Luisa Perkins—but with a warmth in his voice that she had not
heard in years. “I would not for the world have you
hurt.”

She considered her years of life
bearing the lash of Mama’s tongue and sometimes more, and
overlooked that bit of fiction, content to feel his arm around her.
“Oh, Papa, there is so much that could be done for those soldiers,
if only someone cared enough!”

He kissed her cheek. “It appears
that you do, my dear. Now, tell me about it.”

She did, and he listened, as they
both worked their way through the port. Mama pulled her away to
arrange Kitty’s hair, scold her for drinking port with Papa, and to
animadvert on the subject dearest to her heart: the sore trials of
running an establishment in London with too few servants. “Few
people appreciate what we suffer,” she grumbled, as Lydia worked
her magic with the curling rod and judicious arrangement to cover
Kitty’s one flaw, fine hair.

Mama, there are so many worse off,
she thought.

“
At least you have achieved some
skill in arranging Kitty’s hair, and mending her clothes,” Mama
said as she sat later before her own mirror. “Now, position this
turban and don’t let me leave the house looking off balance, like
you did last night!”

Yes, Mama, no, Mama, of course,
Mama, she thought as she watched them leave in the carriage. What a
pity that you have not a thought for others, Mama, you and your
kind. She closed the front door. “But they are my kind, too,” she
murmured to no one in particular. “And Major Reed’s kind, but he
does something about it, even in his own pain.”

She returned to the dining room, but
Papa was asleep now—his head on the table, the decanter of port
empty. I would wish again that you were more brave, Papa, she
thought, and not for the first time. Perhaps if you were, I could
be, too.

W
hen she
arrived at St. Barnabas the next morning, Major Reed was sitting in
a chair, waiting for her.

“
Miss Perkins, you left your bonnet
behind yesterday,” he told her as she removed another bonnet and
set it by the first on the altar. “I regret to inform you that a
family of mice moved in after a brief reconnoiter during the
night.”

“
Good heavens!” she exclaimed as she
leaped back from the altar.

“
Never fear, my dear Miss Perkins.
After a skirmish, they were repelled. Your bonnet did suffer some
structural damage, however.”

She went to the altar again,
cautious this time, and lifted the bonnet enough to see a hole in
the crown. “This is indeed a casualty,” she said.

“
The battery owes you a hat,” he
said. “I’ll add it to the bill.”

She smiled at him. “I’m not sure
there is enough money on ‘Change to pay me for services so far,
Major. Oh, you are wearing pants!”

He looked down in mock astonishment.
“Good heavens, when did that happen! Actually, General Picton gave
them back with a warning of more dire deductions from my person,
should I show my face at Horse Guards. And no, we can never repay
you for all you have done.”

It was said simply, and she was
touched. She realized that she knew next to nothing about Major Sam
Reed, but with that realization came a sure knowledge that he was a
man who meant what he said. For no particular reason, she thought
suddenly of Kitty, her calculated search for a husband and her
endless soliloquies on the qualities thought necessary for a
husband. He should be rich and handsome, with enough intelligence
to know when his tailor is cheating him, and have good manners, she
remembered as one list. As she stood in the lady chapel listening
to the major, Lydia wondered if perhaps honesty should figure
somewhere on her own list. My demands are modest, she thought. I
think honesty is enough.

“
Miss Perkins, you are not
listening.”

“
Oh! What?”

“
Most of us have found our way out
back to the tubs, and the pine tar soap, so you should not
encounter too many unwelcome visitors.”

She must have looked blank, because
he laughed. “Fleas and lice, Lydia!” he said, using her first name.
“A soldier’s constant companions!”

“
Oh!” She felt her face go red with
embarrassment, whether from the use of her name, or the mention of
vermin, she was not sure. He must not have noticed, she thought, so
she knew it would be wise to say nothing. “Thank you, sir! If I
were to carry those home, Kitty would have a hard time of it at
Almack’s.”

“
And not you?” he asked.

She made a face. “This is Kitty’s
year, sir. If I may quote Milton badly, I get to ‘stand and
wait.’ ”

He appeared to be thinking about
that while she removed her scissors and fine-tooth comb from her
reticule. “I have on good authority from a brother officer who was
in here this morning, that Miss Kitty Perkins is cutting a wide
swath at Almack’s. He was there last night.”

“
I’m certain she is creating a stir.
She has been groomed for it since birth,” Lydia agreed as she
removed a dishcloth from the basket she carried and tied it around
the major’s neck. “Kitty, eh?”

“
So I assume. My friend said she was
tall and blond and beautiful, with a wonderful laugh and ….”
He hesitated, as if testing the wind. “… ’fewer brains than a
leaf of escarole.’ That last embellishment is a direct quotation,
Miss Perkins, so do not bite my head off.”

Lydia gasped, gave the major a
severe look, and burst into laughter. “My sister,” she said when
she could manage speech again. “Kitty never did suffer education
gladly.”

“
And you, Miss Perkins?” he
asked.

She set down the scissors. “I like
to learn. Mama declares that if I cannot find a husband somewhere
in Devon’s bogs, I shall surely be a first-rate governess. Hold
still, now, sir, or your ear will be in danger.”

He did as she asked, a slight smile
on his face. “Devon’s bogs, madam? Oh,
really
! You remind me
of my two sisters, both of whom found husbands. And not in bogs,
for God’s sake. Where do women get their ideas?”

She laughed and combed his hair,
quite liking its auburn color, and the flecks of gold here and
there. “Not a speck of gray yet, Major,” she said as she stood in
front of him to part his hair.

“
I should hope not! I am only
thirty-one,” he replied, his eyes on hers. “Probably close to your
own age, eh?”

“
Yes, I can tell that you have
sisters!” she said her equanimity unruffled. She stood behind him
to begin cutting. “I am far from thirty-one, sir, and no, I will
not tell you my age!” She touched his shoulder. “I would have
thought you slightly older. War does that?” she asked, not
disguising her sudden sympathy.

“
War does,” he agreed, serious now.
“Sometimes I ask myself what happened to that lieutenant of
artillery who went to war only five years ago.” He sighed as she
began to cut. “His friends are dead on battlefields all over the
Peninsula, the young ladies he kissed on the sly are married and
mothers now, and his only talent is serving shot, shell, and
canister on demand.”

He was not feeling sorry for
himself, she thought as she listened and snipped. “Are you
remaining in the army, sir?”

“
No. I have an estate near the
Scottish border in dire need of my attention, now that Boney is on
holiday. Don’t forget that mole at my temple, Miss Perkins. If I
bleed, it is on your dishcloth, remember. And your conscience. I
have bled enough for England on foreign shores.”

“
Cook was happy to contribute to the
war effort. She even sent me with beef tea for your men, and
biscuits that she claims were languishing in the pantry, but which
I suspect she made this morning,” Lydia said. She smoothed back his
hair with her hand on his temple until she located the infamous
mole, then cut around it carefully.

“
None for me?” he asked.

“
When your hair is cut, sir,” she
replied. “You would not want hair clippings in your beef
tea.”

“
Miss Perkins, when I think what I
have endured on the culinary front for the past five years, I am
scarce moved by hair, especially my own!”

She laughed and continued her
efforts, pleased to see how well he looked, with his shave from
yesterday and his haircut this morning. If only I could do
something about the thinness of his face, she thought, and the way
he hunches.

On impulse, she pulled back his
nightshirt and looked at his back. The bandage was off, and she
winced to see the long cut from shoulder to shoulder sewed, to her
way of thinking, by an amateur with black thread. No wonder it
pains him to stand up straight, she thought. I wonder he can stand
at all.

“
Nasty, eh?” he asked when she said
nothing. “But you didn’t have to look.”

“
I’m sorry,” she said, contrite,
embarrassed at her rudeness. “Is it red or puffy?” he asked. “No
one tells me, and I cannot see it, of course.”

She forced herself to look beyond
the rawness of the wound. Imagine the pain, she thought. “No, it is
neither,” she replied, happy that her voice was steady. “I think
the surgeon must have been working in the dark, however, or
possibly he sent in his six-year-old son.”

The major chuckled. “Actually, it
was the regiment’s barber, Miss Perkins, who specializes in sewing
shrouds. The surgeon was busy.”

She shuddered and looked again at
the long, looping stitches. “Dear me,” she murmured.

“
Actually, miss, the major here told
the surgeon to tend to me instead of him.”

She looked up to see Corporal
Davies, her morning escort, sitting at the entrance to the lady
chapel with several of the more able-bodied gun crew. She smiled to
see that the men had mugs of beef tea.

“
Now, why would I do that?” the
major growled. “I never met a more worthless crew.”

The men only grinned at each other.
Lydia found herself winking back tears. “Sir, I think you
exaggerate.”

“
Only slightly, Miss Perkins, only
slightly.” He looked at his men. “All right, you sons of the guns.
You’re next, those of you who need haircuts. Bailey, you are bald,
and I do not think you need to trouble Miss Perkins, beyond leering
at her occasionally. I have been watching you, Bailey! Another
leer, and you’re on report!” He looked over his shoulder at her.
“That is, you may cut their hair when you are done with me, Miss
Perkins, if you truly wish to hack at these sorry
specimens.”

“
I can manage it,” she said. “You
were my practice piece, Major.”

He groaned in mock agony, and his
men laughed, then moved back to their own part of the chapel.
“Actually, Miss Perkins, you had better do your utmost to make me
charm personified. What day is it?”

“
June fifteenth, Major,” she said,
mystified. “Why?”

“
I am expected home in less than a
month, Miss Perkins, and I must have a wife in tow by then. Do your
best.”

She couldn’t have heard him right.
She stood there, scissors and comb suspended over his head. “Do be
serious, Major,” she said finally.

“
I have rarely been more serious!”
he retorted. “I never joke about the ladies. Well, seldom, anyway,”
he said with a grin. “After all, I do have two sisters, and they at
least are fair game.” He sighed. “And I have a mother, and an aunt,
and they all figure in my desperation.”

She combed his hair in silence,
snipped at a few loose ends, then sat on his cot. “I must hear
this,” she said.

He shook his head, good cheer
replacing his momentary melancholy. “Not now, Miss Perkins. My men
are eager for their haircuts, and I must take a stroll to the
necessary out back. Even the talk of so much exertion in less than
a month’s time, and me in a weakened state makes my bowels
loose.”

She knew she should be shocked, but
she was hard put not to laugh. “Major Reed, may I make you a
suggestion? You’ll never find a wife if you are so
blunt.”

“
Women do not like the truth?” he
asked, watching her closely.

“
I do!” she assured him, and
promptly felt herself grow hot. “Oh, but that is not what I
mean ….”