With This Ring (9 page)

Other women were doing what she did,
working quietly among the rows. She wondered at their serenity,
then discovered late in the afternoon when her back hurt so much
from bending over that she wanted to cry, that it was her serenity,
too. She decided that it was a day’s work to be proud
of.

“
I have learned a trade,” she teased
when Corporal Davies came to find her. “Where have you
been?”

“
Finding tubs.”

“
And pine tar soap and fine-tooth
combs, I trust,” spoke up one of the other ladies. “There’s not a
man here who isn’t lousy.”

That gives me pause, Lydia thought
as she returned to the lady chapel. If I bring home lice, Mama will
not be placated, even if Major Reed were to buy every flower in
Europe, Asia, and South America. The thought made her smile, where
yesterday she would have trembled in fear.

Major Reed was asleep, so she
tiptoed to his campaign trunk and replaced his much-used razor. The
cologne was gone; perhaps he had another bottle. She looked inside
the trunk, moving aside the letters, but could not find
one.

Curious, she picked up a letter. I
am such a snoop, she thought as she looked at the direction on one
envelope. “Lord and Lady Laren, Major Sam Reed, Third Division,
Battery B,” she read to herself. This is odd, indeed, she
reflected. Corporal Davies tells me yesterday that the major is not
married, and yet here is a letter to the happy couple. How
singular. One would not think him to be so absentminded as to
forget a wife.

The thought made her smile. She
looked at the major, who lay on his side, breathing steadily. He’s
not a handsome man, but he should show to better advantage with a
haircut, she decided. She went closer. The afternoon sun was almost
gone now, and the lady chapel was chilly again. She raised the
blanket higher to cover his shoulders.

He opened his eyes, then yawned.
“Well, are you a proficient barber by now, madam?” he asked, his
voice thick with sleep.

“
I am, sir, thanks to you. If I find
myself a burden to my parents, I shall strike out on my own and
open an emporium.”

He laughed and closed his eyes
again. “You’ll return tomorrow?” he asked.

“
With scissors and comb,” she
assured him. “I already fancy myself good at cutting Kitty’s hair,
so you have merely to tell me how to arrange your ringlets, and
whether that mass at the back of your neck would look better in a
chignon or a top knot.”

He opened his eyes in sudden alarm,
then laughed. “You’ll cut it army-straight, Miss Perkins! I’ll send
Corporal Davies in a carriage with you now. Lord knows, he’s not as
colorful as General Picton ….” His voice trailed off, and he
was asleep again.

And that is precisely what you need,
she thought as she took her leave with Corporal Davies. Some of
Cook’s good beef tea would be just the thing, Lydia considered as
she sank with relief into the hackney, too tired to remove her
stained apron. I wonder if I can wheedle her out of a gallon or
two?

Lydia woke up when the hackney
stopped in front of the house on Holly Street, and discovered that
she had been leaning against Corporal Davies. “Do excuse my
ramshackle manners!” she said. She reached up to straighten her
bonnet, and realized to her dismay that she had left it behind on
the altar in the lady chapel. “I cannot imagine what you must think
of me,” she said as the jehu opened the door to the
hackney.

“
I think you have made me the envy
of Battery B, Miss Perkins,” the corporal replied as he helped her
down. “Do you know, for five quid, Corporal Jenkins offered to take
my place!”

She gasped. “That is a lot of
money!”

“
Wasn’t enough, though, was it?” he
said with a smile. “I’ll be by in the morning, Miss Perkins,
provided that Jenkins doesn’t mill me down and black my only
eye.”

Oh, heavens, she thought as she
knocked on the door. Soldiers are certainly a breed apart. She
looked back at the hackney, which was turning the corner. “I only
hope I did not snore,” she murmured.

Stanton let her into the house, a
finger to his lips. “Miss Kitty is prostrated with anxiety because
the flounce is not repaired on the dress she is wearing tonight to
Almack’s, and Lady Luisa is with her,” he said.

“
Oh, the flounce!” she exclaimed. “I
was supposed to mend that this morning, wasn’t I?” And now Kitty is
in agonies, seeing her life slip away at eighteen, all because of a
simple flounce that she could repair herself, Lydia thought. Of
course, this is not to mention the other ball dresses she could
wear instead. Lydia shook her head and went quietly up the
stairs.

The dress was still draped across
her bed, where she had left it that morning. Humming to herself,
she removed her stained apron, scrubbed her hands and face until
they hurt, then sat down with the dress and her sewing
basket.

Usually she hated Kitty’s mending,
mainly because her sister was so careless with her clothing, but
also because the material was always so much more lavish than
anything Mama begrudged for her. Today was different. She kicked
off her shoes (noting that her usually trim ankles were swollen
from so much standing), propped her feet on her bed, and applied
the tiny stitches that Kitty depended on. It was relaxing this
time, a refreshing change from the pain and suffering she witnessed
all day.

She finished the flounce, and just
sat there, fingering the lovely fabric, pleased with herself to
know that she was charitable enough to hope that Kitty wore it well
tonight. Her peace was ended by Mama’s sudden entry into her
room.

“
It is done, Mama,” she said,
holding out the dress to her parent. I suppose you can be furious
with me because I was so slow in getting to this, or angry that I
was not concerned, she thought, but to her surprise, she did not
care.

To her further amazement, Mama
barely glanced at the dress. “Lydia, I have such news,” she
said.

“
Kitty is engaged
already?”

“
I depend upon that to happen this
spring, but no, that is not my news.” Mama wrinkled her nose.
“Lydia, you have brought the smell of that dreadful
place!”

“
I suppose I have, Mama,” she
replied. “I was shaving the soldiers today, and that necessitated
close quarters. I’ll have the laundress boil
everything.”

Mama stared at her, and inched her
chair farther away. “You
touched
those men?” she asked, her
voice rising to unpleasant decibels.

Lydia waited for the familiar chills
to travel up and down her back at Mama’s dreaded tone, but they did
not. I am either too tired, or I do not care anymore, she
thought.

“
I cannot think of another way to
shave whiskers than to touch someone’s face, Mama,” she said with a
slight smile.

Mama put up her hands. “Lydia, too
little cannot be said about what you are doing! Granted you do not
possess in the slightest degree Kitty’s beauty, flair, or
sensibilities, but I still feel that tending the wounded is not an
occupation for a lady, especially when we need you so much
here.”

“
Mama, anyone can sew Kitty’s
flounce,” she said. “Even Kitty.”

She waited for Mama’s explosion, but
it did not come. If anything, her mother’s expression brightened.
“Daughter, you remind me again why I came here. I must thank you
for this opportunity you have given Kitty.”

Lydia stared in surprise, unable to
think of a time in her life when Mama had thanked her for anything.
“I … I don’t understand,” she said.

“
This afternoon we received from
General Thomas and Mrs. Picton these vowels to the banquet
celebrating ….” She looked down at the card she had been
carrying. “… ’The victory at Toulouse of the Duke of
Wellington over Napoleon Bonaparte.’ ” She frowned. “Daughter,
when did this happen? Where is Napoleon now?”

Oh, Lord, spare me from the
disinterested, Lydia thought, feeling weary again through her
shoulders. “It was in the middle of April, Mama. Everyone was
talking about it. Don’t you remember all the church bells in Devon
ringing?”

Mama closed her eyes in thought for
a moment, then opened them. “Oh, I know! We were putting the
finishing touches on Kitty’s wardrobe and probably packing her
dresses in tissue. I
knew
there was something more important
to claim my attention. But tell me, where is that beast Napoleon,
then?”

“
Mama, he has been these two months
on Elba,” Lydia explained patiently.

“
I hear it is a lovely place for a
holiday,” Mama said. “So convenient to the Aegean.”

“
Mediterranean, Mama, and he is in
exile, not on holiday!”

Mama shrugged and stood up. “Then,
Elba will soon be fashionable. Perhaps I should suggest to Kitty
that when she does make a suitable alliance this spring, that they
honeymoon on Elba.”

“
I’m certain that would be a
wonderful idea, Mama,” Lydia replied, thinking to herself how loud
Major Reed would laugh to hear Mama. I will tell him tomorrow, and
he will go into whoops, she thought.

Mama gave her a kindly smile.
“Lydia, it is so pleasant when we are in agreement on something.”
She took the dress from Lydia’s lap. “I do think, however, that you
need to offer Kitty an apology for delaying this mending and
sending her into spasms.” She left the room, closing the door
quietly behind her for a change.

I would rather pull out my
fingernails one by one than apologize to Kitty, Lydia thought as
she took off her dress, sniffed it, and removed it to a far corner
before she lay down. She closed her eyes in exhaustion. I have had
a lifetime of Kitty this, and Kitty that. I can scarcely remember a
time when I have not fetched and carried for my little sister, and
all because she is a beauty, and I am not.

She pressed her hands to her stomach
when it began to growl, reminding herself that luncheon at St.
Barnabas had been a bowl of gruel, eaten on the fly. I am hungry,
and it makes me cranky, she thought. Perhaps when I have eaten, I
will feel more charitable toward my own family.

To her chagrin, she discovered
during dinner that her charity was finite. Famished, she ate
steadily, enduring Mama’s remarks about young women who eat too
much and never find husbands. My waist is as small as Kitty’s, she
thought as she took another helping of fricassee. She glanced
sideways at her sister, who was dabbling with the sole in front of
her. There are soldiers who would take her leftovers without a
qualm. They need more than gruel and bread to recover, and we will
only throw out course after course nibbled around the edges or
ignored entirely. And do you know, Kitty, she thought, I rather
believe my bosom is quite as elegant as yours. She
smiled.

“
I do not see how you can sit there
and shovel in food with both hands, and smile about it,” Mama
snapped.

“
It was a long day, Mama, and I ate
only a bowl of gruel,” she explained. She looked at her mother. Now
I should be silent and hang my head, but I think I shall not.
“Mama, tell me, what happens to the food that we do not eat at the
table?”

“
It goes to the servants, of
course,” Mama said.

“
And if they do not want it? I know
they have their own meals.”

Mama rang her bell vigorously to
summon the footman, who was standing right behind her. She shrieked
when he leaned over to remove her plate. “They throw it out!” she
exclaimed, her face red.

“
Mama, could I take it with me
tomorrow?” She indicated the laden table. “This is the kind of food
that strong men need to recover from their wounds.”

The silence around the table was
monumental. Papa seemed to shrink in his chair, and Kitty’s eyes
grew wide with disbelief, and then disdain. Mama glared at her. “I
would not dream of even
you
taking table scraps to those
uncouth men! Come, Kitty, it is past time to get ready for
Almack’s. Really, Lydia, you have tried me to the limit. If it were
not for this attention from General Picton and what it can mean to
Kitty, I would put you on the mail coach back to Devon!”

That was certainly a snit, Lydia
thought to herself as she returned her attention to the plate
before her. Say what you will about her pretensions, Mama keeps a
good table. How I would like to put Battery B around it, she
reflected as she finished her own dinner, and leaned over to fork
the sole from Kitty’s abandoned plate. Major Reed would fill out
and probably look almost handsome. Poor man. He should be on his
way home to Northumberland, where people probably love him, instead
of worrying about his men in a moldy chapel. It seems
unfair.

“
Papa, have you ever been to
Northumberland?” she asked suddenly as the footman cleared the
table and brought in the port for her father. “Is it dreadfully
cold and primitive?”

Papa poured himself a drink, looked
at the decanter, then pushed it her way, to her surprise. She added
a spot to her empty glass.

“
I was there once,” he replied. “It
was the summer I spent in Edinburgh. It is wild country, daughter.
Why do you want to know?”