Shattered Rainbows (17 page)

Noticing that it had darkened, Catherine glanced up to see heavy clouds covering the sky. The wind was rising and lightning flickered on the horizon. "Lord, a thunderstorm is coming. That's all we need."

"And coming fast. A good thing the hospital tents are up." Ian repacked his instruments. "That will give these poor fellows some shelter."

Catherine looked around and found that the street was almost empty. The first wave of wounded had been tended or moved under cover. Anne had left half an hour earlier, gray with fatigue.

The lightning crackled much closer, illuminating the street with garish brilliance. As Catherine stared numbly at the fat raindrops splashing onto her stained skirt, the surgeon asked, "How long have you been working out here?"

"I don't know." She wiped water from her brow. "Hours."

"Go home," he ordered. "You can come to the hospital tent when you've had some rest."

"Will you be working there?"

"Aye." He smiled wryly. "Sleeping there, too, I expect."

"Stay with Anne and me." Catherine pointed out her house. "We have ample space, and you'll rest better than in the tent."

"I'll take you up on that, most gratefully."

Lightning blazed across the sky, followed immediately by a deafening roll of thunder. As the rain intensified to a
torrent, Catherine grabbed her medical kit and went to collect Amy.

Her daughter loved storms, and now she was staring aptly at the sky. "Wellington weather, Mama," she said,raising her voice above the thunder. "There's going to be a battle."

"Very likely." Catherine took Amy's hand. "But now let's go inside before we drown!"

Catherine took Amy to the nursery. Then she changed to dry clothing and came down to the hot tea and sandwiches Anne had ordered. They were just finishing when a knock sounded at the front door. A minute later, the parlor maid brought Lord Haldoran into the morning room. Water cascaded from his greatcoat, and his fashionable detachment had been replaced by urgency.

"Mrs. Melbourne, Mrs. Mowbry." He made a quick bow. "Have you heard the latest news?"

"I'm not sure," Anne replied. "Please tell us."

"Yesterday the Prussians were badly mauled at Ligny. They had to retreat almost twenty miles, so Wellington is falling back also to maintain his lines of communication. I understand he's setting up his headquarters at a village called Waterloo."

"Dear God," Anne whispered, her face white. "That's only ten or twelve miles from here."

"Napoleon is on Brussels' doorstep," Haldoran said bluntly. "It's anybody's guess whether Wellington will be able to stop him with his ragtag assortment of troops. Every foreigner who can leave the city is going or gone."

Catherine set down her teacup carefully. "I would put my money on the duke, but this is not good news."

"I didn't come only to frighten you," Haldoran said more moderately. "Last week I took the precaution of hiring a barge to take me to Antwerp if the fighting went badly. There's room for you and your children and a servant each. But if you wish to come, we must leave right away."

Catherine gave him a startled look. It was a remarkably generous offer. Perhaps she had misjudged him.

"I… I can't abandon my husband." Anne unconsciously pressed her hand to her swelling abdomen. "What if Charles is wounded and he is brought home?"

"If matters go well, you can return in a few days." Haldoran's gaze went from Anne to Catherine. "But if they don't, would your husbands want you to risk the lives of your children?"

Catherine bit her lip. She was willing to take her chances,but dare she do that with her daughter? "There is a solution." When the other two looked at her, she said, "I have more nursing experience and Anne has more children, so I'll stay here and keep the house open while Anne takes the three children to Antwerp."

Anne exhaled with relief. "If you're willing, that would be perfect. Though I hate leaving, we'd be fools to pass up a chance to take the children to safety when the French are so close. Lord Haldoran, it will take half an hour to get everyone ready. Is that acceptable?"

Catherine saw a flash of sharp irritation in Haldoran's eyes, and realized that his offer had been less generous than it appeared on the surface. It was her that he wanted, probably with the hope that the distraught officer's wife might be in need of comfort. No matter; his help was welcome, and he was too much of a gentleman to withdraw it merely because Catherine wasn't coming.

Quickly concealing his irritation, he said, "Half an hour will be fine, though I wish you were coming also, Mrs. Melbourne. Brussels might be dangerous." He got to his feet. "I'll write down the address of my bankers in Antwerp. You can reach me through them if necessary."

"Thank you. It's very good of you to go to such lengths for people you've only known for a few weeks," she said with a hint of dryness.

"It would be criminal to waste the space on the barge," he said piously. "With both of your husbands risking their lives for their country, it seems right to extend my protection to you."

The next half hour passed in a flurry. When told she was going to Antwerp, Amy begged, "Please, Mama, let me stay. You've said often what a help I am."

"You are, my love. But I will not be able to stop myself from worrying about what might happen to you." Catherine smiled ruefully. "I can't help it, I'm a mother. When you have children of your own, you will understand."

Amy capitulated, with the stipulation that she be allowed to return as soon as it was safe.

The pretty young nursemaid Elspeth McLeod also asked to stay. Knowing the girl wanted to be near Will Ferris, Anne agreed, taking Catherine's maid to help with the children.

Exactly half an hour after Haldoran's offer, the travelers assembled in the front hall. Catherine hugged Amy fiercely, then turned to embrace Anne.

Her friend said in a choked voice, "If the fortunes of war separate us, you know the address of Charles's mother in London. And if… if anything happens to you and Colin, I will raise Amy as if she were my own."

"I know." Catherine swallowed hard. "And if necessary, I will nurse Charles as you would."

Anne took a deep breath, then said calmly, "Time to go, everyone."

Catherine watched out the window as the party hastened through the rain to the carriages. She was glad to see that Haldoran had several large, dangerous-looking male servants to protect the party.

She watched until the carriages disappeared from sight. Then she turned from the window, tears trickling down her cheeks. She had never been separated from Amy before. "Damn Napoleon," she whispered. "
God damn him to hell
."

One of the first military lessons Michael had learned was that an officer
must always appear composed under fire. That was particularly true when hours of
lethal French cannonading had already killed or wounded a quarter of his
regiment, and more than half of the officers. The pummeling din and the clouds of black smoke were enough to unnerve even experienced soldiers.

The regiment was formed into a hollow square for defense. Ranks of armed soldiers faced in all four directions while officers, supplies, and the wounded sheltered in the center of the formation. Less seriously injured men retired from the field, while the dead were ruthlessly thrown from the square to make room for the living. Michael strolled around inside the formation, talking to his men, offering what comfort he could to the wounded, and sharing an occasional wry joke.

Trying not to inhale the acrid, slinging smoke too deeply, Michael walked to the center of the square where the two regimental flags, called the colors, were standing. By tradition, they were carried by the most junior officers in the regiment and guarded by experienced sergeants. The youngest ensign, Thomas Hussey, was only sixteen, so Michael kept a close eye on him.

As he approached, a cannonball struck soggily near the colors. Luckily no one was hit. The ball rolled slowly across the soft ground. Tom Hussey handed his flag, the Union Jack, to one of the color sergeants. "Since the French have provided us with the means," he called gaily, "shall we have a game of football?"

He ran toward the ball with
the obvious intention
of kicking it. Michael barked, "Don't
touch that! A
cannon-ball might look harmless, but it could
take your
foot off. I've seen it happen."

The ensign skidded to a halt. "Thank you, sir." Face a little pale, he returned to his flag. Michael gave a faint, approving nod. Though green, the boy had the cheerful courage that would make him a good officer, if he survived.

Michael raised his spyglass to see what little he could of the battle. His view consisted mostly of shoulder-high fields of rye. Earlier in the day, there had been a French infantry assault to the left. The rye and the fog like smoke obscured everything more than a few hundred feet away, so Michael had tracked the attack by the sounds of muskets, shouts, and marching music. The French had been beaten back, but he knew nothing beyond that.

Another cannonball struck several men in the rear of the square. Captain Graham, the highest ranking uninjured officer after Michael, went to survey the damage. Expression grave, Tom Hussey said, "May I ask a question, Colonel Kenyon?"

"Go ahead."

"What is the point of standing here and being cut to pieces? There is no fighting in this section of the lines. Surely we could withdraw to a safe distance until needed."

"We
are
needed—to do exactly what we are doing," Michael said soberly. "If we weren't here, Napoleon's men would drive right through and the battle would be lost. The cavalry may race back and forth across a battlefield, but it is the infantry that takes possession." He kicked the soft earth. "As long as one member of the 105th lives, this is British soil. The death of our fellows is tragic, but it isn't meaningless."

The ensign nodded slowly. "I see, sir."

Though his explanation was true, this long and bloody day was a vivid reminder of why Michael preferred the swift, fluid combat of the Rifle Brigade. It felt better to be a moving target than a stationary one. He wondered how Kenneth and the 95th were faring. They were probably spending the day skirmishing with the French between the lines. He envied them.

He began ambling around the square again. He was talking with a lieutenant when he realized that he could hear his own voice. The ceaseless thunder of artillery had made speech and thought almost impossible. Now the cannon had stopped shelling their section of the lines. Knowing what that meant, Michael called, "Prepare for attack! They've stopped the artillery so they won't hit their own men."

Numbed soldiers came sharply alert. Sergeants barked at their men, firming the lines with curses and exhortations to check the loading of muskets. The air quivered with tension, for this could be the regiment's first taste of face-to-face combat.

At first the straining eyes of the regiment saw only ghostly shapes moving forward through the veils of smoke. Then a line of horsemen emerged, the misty figures gradually taking the shape of French cuirassiers. Their gleaming steel helmets and breastplates made them seem eerily like medieval knights. Large men on large horses, they were the heavy cavalry, designed to crush all opposition, and they were heading directly at the 105th and the two neighboring squares.