With This Ring (11 page)

“
Then, say what you mean, Miss
Perkins,” he said crisply as he stood up, took the dishcloth from
around his neck, and carefully gathered the corners
together.

“
I mean … well …
but … sir, where are you going with the dishcloth?” her
attention diverted by his actions.

“
I am taking it with me, Miss
Perkins,” he said, his expression virtuous. “I noticed earlier this
morning on a previous visit to the
pissoir
—there now, I know
ladies like to hear French spoken—that there are nesting birds in
the trees behind the latrines. They will have a use for hair
clippings. See there? I am a philanthropist,
and
I speak
French. Do not tell me that I cannot find a wife in four weeks’
time!”

She watched him go, her mouth open.
“I cannot believe that the army is going to turn him loose on an
unsuspecting population,” she murmured. “No wonder General Picton
took his trousers yesterday.”

Shaking her head, Lydia wiped off
her scissors and comb, found another dishcloth, and ventured into
the chapel. She was gratified to observe that the men who had been
mere faces two days ago had by now turned into people. Not only was
there Corporal Davies, her one-eyed escort, but also the only
surviving powder monkey, who was much too young for the wound he
bore, but proud of himself. In addition, two privates who had two
arms between them played chess and another corporal watched,
suffering a stubborn leg wound. They did not frighten her now; she
had given them water, sat with them, and shaved their faces, and no
one had been less than kind. I do so little, she thought as she cut
Corporal Davies’ hair first, and I am blessed far beyond my
exertions.

Let us see if I can collect on some
of my good deeds, she considered as she clipped and combed.
“Corporal Davies, is your commander truly serious about finding a
wife on short notice?” she asked, trying not to speak above a
whisper, but capturing the attention of the chess players, anyway.
The men laughed.

“
Blame it on Lieutenant Percy
Wilkins,” Davies said. “I think it was his idea.” He smiled. “Most
of the mischief was his idea, but Major Reed, he got the
blame.”

He didn’t say anything more.
Patience, she thought, patience, but with little success.
“What
was his idea?” she asked, quite unable to let this
conversation wither.

“
Aw, I don’t know, miss,” said
Davies, suddenly reticent. “He might not like it if I told you.
Forgery, larceny, and highway robbery’s different from talking
about a wife.”

“
Forgery and larceny?” she asked. “I
thought you were at war?”

Davies grinned. “Sometimes the
biggest enemy seems like the Commissary Department, miss. T’major
had his ways of squeezing blood out of that particular turnip.” His
expression was doubtful. “Still and all, miss, he might not like us
talking about ‘is troubles with the ladies.”

“
What he’s not going to like is
going home empty-handed and trying to explain to his mum how he
misplaced a wife,” said one of the chess players.
“Checkmate.”

Lydia put down her scissors.
“Corporal Davies, I am not going to cut one more hair on your head
unless you tell me what is going on. And believe me, you will look
strange!”

The chess players started to laugh,
and even the private with the troublesome leg managed a smile.
“Lads, did’ye ever think half of that whole nonsense was for our
own entertainment?” he asked. “T’give us something to laugh about,
when nothing was funny?”

“
Certainly was for Sir Percy,”
Davies agreed. “Don’t know as I ever met a cove so ripe for a spree
as Percy Wilkins. Remember the colonel and Sir Percy’s …
uh ….”

“
Another one you can’t tell me?” she
said as she picked up the scissors again. “Very well, Corporal, I
will not insist on further elucidation.
And
I will even
finish the haircut, because my charity is unbounded!”

“
Good of you, miss,” Corporal Davies
said, kind enough to overlook her sarcasm.

She spent the morning cutting the
hair of Major Reed’s men, listening to their homely stories of life
in the Peninsula, most of which seemed to revolve around Major Sam
Reed. You are rare indeed, she thought, as she listened and glanced
now and then at the lady chapel, where she could see the major
hunched over a table engaged in paperwork. You do not seem like a
man who would go to such lengths for a bunch of distinctly lower
class, uneducated men, half of them felons and poachers with the
choice of the army or Australia. Still, the respectful glances this
way from the other wounded makes me suspect, Major Reed, that your
‘men’ of Battery B were fierce opponents.

When she finished her barbering
among Battery B—and over their protests—she continued down another
row, careful to avoid the area where another cluster of London’s
bon ton
had gathered to gawk. She could tell how it
embarrassed the soldiers to have them there, how they would turn
away if they could to avoid being stared at, if their wounds were
grievous. It pained her that those who could not move must only lie
there, mute and exposed, on display to their betters who would
never come near a firing line, or face a cavalry charge.

“
I hate it,” she whispered to
Corporal Davies when he came to retrieve her. “I wish they would go
away.”

He took her arm and led her toward
the lady chapel. “Doesn’t it bother you, Corporal?” she asked as he
hurried her along.

“
Nah,” he said, shaking his head.
“Maybe we’ll get lucky, and one of them gentry morts will stop to
help. You did, miss.”

Yes, I did, she thought, and I am
ashamed of my kind. “I think I may be the exception,
Corporal.”

He only smiled. “We’re sure o’ that,
miss.” He nodded toward the major. “Don’t let ‘im worry you, miss.
He may seem rough and strange, but I … we’d all follow him
anywhere.”

The major was lying on his cot with
the appearance of a man defeated by paperwork, which was strewn
over his blanket. His eyes were closed. She smiled at him, then on
impulse knelt beside him. “All you need is a lily in your hands,
sir, and I am certain someone would return you to the family
vault,” she teased.

“
I would gladly go, to avoid one
more invoice, claim, or whine in print from the Commissary,” he
said without opening his eyes. “Madam, do you realize that there is
a brass candlestick unaccounted for that has been following me
since Talavera? The accountants do not believe me that it dropped
in a mud hole at a river crossing! I think their letters will
follow me to Northumberland!”

She pulled up a chair and began to
gather together the papers on his cot. “Sir, do you need some help
with this?”

He opened his eyes. To her surprise,
he looked feverish, so she put her hand on his forehead. “You are
hot,” she said, looking around for the surgeon.

He covered her hand with his own.
“Just keep your hand there, Miss Perkins, and I will improve in
minutes.”

She leaned closer. “May I finish
your paperwork for you?” she asked. “Will that help?”

“
You cannot imagine, Miss Perkins.
Words fail me,” he said as he released her hand. “Draw yourself up
to the table, madam.”

She laughed and took the papers to
the table. In a moment he was standing beside her, pointing out
what needed to be done. “It appears that you want me to copy these
documents onto these sheets.”

He nodded, as he leaned heavily on
her chair. “If things do not come to them in twos or threes,
accountants get all tight about the mouth and … and diddle
themselves behind bushes, for all I know.”

“
Major,” she began, blushing. “You
must become less colorful with your phrases, if you have plans to
retire from the army and ….”

“
I know, I know,” he interrupted.
“Find a wife in a week or so.” He lay down again. “Did my men fill
you in on that exploit?”

“
No, they did
not ….”

“
Such restraint on their
part.”

“… 
which I thought rather
beastly of them, since it sounds like an interesting story,” she
said as she dipped the pen in the inkwell and began to
copy.

“
It was a good story three years
ago, I don’t doubt,” he said, his voice wistful with remembering.
“Somehow, I never thought I would live long enough to have to make
good on it, Miss Perkins.”

She put down the pen. “Well, tell
me, or I will leave you to the mercy of the
accountants!”

He shuddered. “It is not a pretty
story.”

“
Major ….”

He turned carefully onto his side.
“Miss Perkins, in May of 1809, during the first siege of Badajoz,
my father died and left me a title and an estate. I am the Earl of
Laren.”

“
So I should have been ‘my lording’
you,” she said as she continued copying.

“
Please don’t start now. I don’t
like it; never have. The estate is good enough, but it needed an
immediate infusion of cash to make it much better.” He made a face.
“Especially since I have neglected it, and my father, too, only he
did not have Napoleon for an excuse.”

She turned to look at him, unable to
hide the merriment that she knew was in her face. “Major, you not
only need a wife, but you need a rich one, too? All this in less
than a month?”

“
Lydia, you are a trial,” he said
mildly, using her name again. This must be the tone he uses with
his sisters, she thought, unoffended.

“
My Aunt Chalmers lives with my
mother, and she is richer than the Almighty,” he continued. “In the
same letter announcing my father’s bad news and my title, she wrote
that I would inherit her wealth. If I married, and soon, she would
even let me draw on the principal to begin improvements
immediately.”

She frowned and put down the pen.
“Why is marriage so important?”

He sat up and leaned forward. “My
back still itches where the sutures were,” he grumbled. “Miss
Perkins, do I ask too much or could you ….”

“
Scratch it?” She put down the pen
and sat next to him on the cot. “I don’t want to hurt you,” she
said dubiously.

He lifted up his shirt, exposing his
back, and rested his elbows on his knees. “Just rub the skin
lightly with your fingernails. Oh, God, that is perfection. Miss
Perkins, you should be patented, duplicated, and issued to every
hospital ward in the army! If you stop, I will cry.”

If Mother sees me, she will make me
cry, she thought as she gently ran her fingernails around the ugly
wound. “Why didn’t the Frenchman who did this sever your spine,
Major?”

“
I believe he was thinking more on
the terms of parting my neck from my shoulders,” the major replied.
“One of my men clubbed him with a ramrod, so I got the backhand
instead of the foreword thrust. I was lucky, indeed. Please don’t
stop yet.”

“
Only if you continue the narrative,
sir.”

“
Oh, yes. Aunt Chalmers harbors the
notion that Laren men are not to be trusted around women.” He
sighed. “My father was one of them, I suppose. He wenched his way
through Northumberland and one or two shires in Scotland, I
believe. I probably have brothers and sisters I’ve never
met.”

She opened her eyes wide at this
news, but said nothing. Perhaps I should be grateful for my own
father, meek as he is, she thought for the first time.

“
At any rate, Aunt Chalmers is quite
loyal to Mama, and she has watched her cry over my father for years
and years.”

“
If I may be
practical ….”

“
By all means.”

“
Your father and mother were
married, were they not?”

He nodded. “So why should it matter
whether I am married or not, if my father was such a beast, and he
was married, too?” he asked, following her thoughts. He shook his
head. “I haven’t a clue, except that I know she did not care much
for my father. Could it be revenge? I do not know.”

He was silent. She returned to her
copying, then put down the pen again. “All right, what is the
rest?”

“
You’re a nosy female,” he teased,
grinning at her. “Mama was determined that I should resign my
commission, leave Spain, hurry home, and marry the daughter on the
neighboring estate.”

“
You don’t care for the lady?” she
asked.

He shook his head. “She’s pretty
enough, I suppose, and if I recall, she can carry on a good
conversation, but I am not interested. I could not leave my men,
either, or my guns, or Badajoz.” He reached out and touched her
arm. “You have met my men. Do you understand?”

“
Oh, yes. And from what they have
told me, you are not one to leave someone in the lurch. I wonder
that your mother and aunt thought you would drop
everything.”

“
They have not seen war. How can
they know?” he murmured as he took the page she handed him and
shook sand on it. He poured the grains carefully into the shaker
again and secured the lid. “It seemed like such a good idea to
invent a wife.”

“
You didn’t!”