The Lost Love of a Soldier (11 page)

Chapter Seven

Ellen stood on the deck clutching the rail, watching England disappear. It had been two days since she’d first watched the regiment parade. Four days since she’d met the other side of her husband fully.

It was midday, and Paul had spent the last hour instructing his men and ensuring they were all aboard and their kit stowed away before the ship sailed on the high tide.

She’d met the other wives who were travelling with the regiment, all married to men of a lower rank than Paul. There were only four and they were on deck now too, keeping out of the way as the men worked below decks to organise the space the regiment had to share.

Only an hour ago Ellen had learned she and Paul were to sleep in the open galley with his men. There would be no privacy. But they would reach Cork in two or three days. Yet when they sailed to America there would be weeks with no privacy.

Her fingers gripped the rail over-tightly. She thought of Penny at home, possibly sitting before a warm fire working on her embroidery at this hour of day, or perhaps she practiced the pianoforte.

A longing for home caught in Ellen’s breast.

Something touched her waist and then a tall strong presence settled behind her. Her husband. She looked up and back. “You look sorrowful, Ellen.”

Air left her lungs, a breath she hadn’t even known she’d held in.
I am a little sorrowful
, but only because she could not yet picture the future. She was happy with him, but there were so many unknowns, and her family had been left behind. She did not admit her insecurity though; that would be disrespectful…. “I’m well. It is simply odd to leave England when a month ago I’d travelled barely ten miles from home.”

His fingers tucked a lock of hair, which kept catching the breeze and blowing across her face, behind her ear. “This must be difficult for you.”

Ellen held his blue gaze. “I’m not afraid.”

“I think you are, if you take the trouble to say you are not.” His fingers slipped over her cheek to tap beneath her chin. “Remember I’ve seen enough recruits preparing for battle to know the signs, Ellen.”

She swallowed, then licked her lips to stop them feeling dry and saw his gaze lower to watch the gesture, before she spoke again. “I am afraid. A little. But only of what I do not know – what life will be like.” He’d become more and more the soldier she did not know well, and less and less the man she had met in her father’s beautiful state drawing room back at home.

“Ask the other women. They shall tell you. Make friends. I know at times it will not be easy but I shall do my best to make you happy.”

“I know, I will be happy, I have you. I am not afraid of that.”

“Then I am content. I must go and speak to the Lieutenant Colonel. You will forgive–”

“You do not need to ask forgiveness for fulfilling your duty, Paul.”

His fingertips cradled her cheek as he smiled, before walking away.

Her heart thumped steadily. The other women had not really spoken to her, she presumed because they thought she was too wellborn compared to them, but Paul’s men did not seem to judge him by his birth, and Paul had not even told anyone who she was. Yet, her voice, her posture, her clothing, made her stand apart from the other women. She was not and never would be a common soldier’s wife. She was an officer’s wife, and from a titled family. She would never quite fit in. But she longed to, she missed the company of her sisters, their hurried, whispered conversations and laughter.

She looked back at the thin line of green and grey along the horizon, England.

If her father knew she wished to fit in among commoners, he would send a scalding letter.

~

They dined with the men and doing so gave Ellen opportunity to speak with the women who were clustered at the end of a long trestle table. Paul sat further along among his men.

Now was her chance to try and become a part of them – accepted.

“How do you travel with the men in general?” she asked of the woman beside her, before taking a sip of the watery broth in her bowl.

The woman glanced at her with uncertainty; all the woman had been sitting stiffly since she’d joined them, when on deck earlier, Ellen had heard them talking easily with each other many times.

Ellen longed to simply say,
you need not be afraid of me,
but that would sound crass and patronizing when she was so much younger than most of them. “I have no idea how I shall live…” Ellen added, her uncertainty and fear slipping into her voice.

“Simply, ma’am,” the woman said at last, then she took a breath. “We mostly ride upon the baggage carts if the men are on the march, but sometimes we must walk if the terrain is too difficult for the horses or the carts. When we travel by boat, then we must make do with whatever accommodation we can obtain.” The woman’s hand shook a little as she took another mouthful of her broth, as if she was afraid of speaking.

Ellen looked across the scored dark oak table at another woman; they had all been listening. Ellen asked, “And where do you sleep, and stay when the men are camped?”

“Wherever we may, ma’am. We share our men’s tents, and they are put up and taken down often if the men are on the march. Or if they are defending a place or preparing for battle then we camp in one place–”

“But the Captain will be billeted.” one of the other women said, looking at her friend not Ellen.

The woman who had spoken initially looked at the other, then nodded at Ellen. “Yes, the officers, if we are to remain in any one place for long, will find a room, or a farmhouse to take them in, or somewhere they may be put up. They are only in their tents if the regiment is marching and nowhere is near… If the men are in barracks though, they must find us accommodation nearby”

Ellen looked along the table at Paul. He talked animatedly with the men, then laughed before he took a sip from a tankard.

Swallowing another mouthful of the foul broth, Ellen then asked. “What have you seen?”

All the women glanced at one another. They
were
uneasy. They did not like speaking with her and from their hesitance and nervousness, she guessed they were uncomfortable because she was an officer’s wife, and a wellborn woman. But one of the women answered in a whisper, “Many horrible things, ma’am. Many things a woman would not wish to see …  But that is war, and I would rather be with my Michael here, than in England, not knowing if he is alive or dead, or will ever return to me.”

“And I could not bear to let Tommy go to America and never see him for months or years, ma’am.” Another woman chimed in, smiling nervously at Ellen.

She looked the closest to Ellen in age, perhaps only a few years older. Nancy. Her name flew into Ellen’s head, plucked from all those she’d been told in the last few days. She had been introduced as Mistress Bowman, but asked Ellen to call her by her given name.

Ellen
was
making them feel awkward sitting among them, Nancy’s voice had quivered.

“And what do you all do?” The question came out on a breath of longing, as the life Ellen had left behind tumbled through her thoughts – memories of playing her pianoforte, sitting and working silently on embroidery among her sisters; learning to dance with the master who had come to the house once a week; sitting and reading aloud to her sisters before they went to sleep…

All the women looked at her oddly. “Why, we wash the men’s clothing, and cook for them. There is little time for anything else, ma’am.”

The question proved Ellen’s naivety. They had never played a pianoforte, or perhaps even seen one, and they had certainly never sat in the warmth of the sun engrossed in a book – they could not read. Blushing, Ellen changed her question to ask about what the men did.

When it came time to sleep, the tables and benches were collapsed and secured along the sides of the galley.

The low ceilinged room which forced Paul to bend over constantly then became a dormitory for a hundred or more men, all rolling out pallets. Ellen watched as Paul laid out theirs. It was only wide enough for one.

“Do you wish to undress?” he whispered as he slipped the buttons on the coat of his uniform free.

Biting her lip, Ellen shook her head. She’d shared a room with her sisters when she was younger, but this… she would suffer two nights in her dress rather than disrobe down to her chemise. The women’s conversation haunted her. What if it was always to be like this?

And what would happen when they sailed to America?

“The women said that when the regiment camp, you are billeted. Do you share that accommodation too?”

He looked up and smiled. “Sometimes, but that is only during war, when we are fighting. In America we will most often be in barracks, and then I will hire lodgings to share with you and not live among the men. America will different to the Peninsular War. The situation is not the same.”

“And the woman you said you will hire for me…”

“Will have her own room. She will be your maid of all work, Ellen. You shall not live exactly as the wives of the soldiers live.”

She longed for the woman who Paul intended to hire to help her when they reached Cork. She was out of her depth without servants and she did not think herself proud, but she had come from a sheltered life. This was so different from her father’s Palladian mansion with its many rooms, and statement of wealth – this low ceilinged space, was too enclosed. With so many others here, it felt overcrowded and as if the walls closed in.

She would beg Paul to secure them a cabin for the longer journey.

Most of the lanterns hanging from the low beams had been extinguished, but a few still burned, one near the ladder leading to the upper deck and a couple beside some of the men’s pallets.

All about her the men were in varying states of dress and undress as they retired, though none were naked.

She turned her eyes to Paul, and watched him lie down and lift the wool blanket for her. Nervousness warring with embarrassment, she knelt and then lay down beside him trying to look only at the wooden planking of the ship. Her pillow was his muscular arm as it rested beneath her head. His other arm surrounded her, his hand on her stomach, as she lay with her back against his chest. His shallow breathing stirred her hair.

She did not sleep, merely lay there, her thoughts absorbed by the odd rock and sway of the ship, and the sound of so many men breathing heavily in the shadow filled space.

When she woke, Paul was rising, moving from behind her, and about them others stirred. She felt as if she’d had just a moment’s sleep. “I’m sorry you must get up,” he whispered to her as she watched him slipping on his scarlet coat. “You will learn to shut your eyes and sleep no matter where you are in the end, because if you do not, you’ll never rest.”

Ellen nodded and sat up, rubbing her eyes. Then she stretched. He’d said this life would be hard. She had not imagined it like this…

“Go with one of the women freshen up, while we set up the benches.” He looked away. “Mistress Porter, would you help my wife?”

This was all so strange.

~

The ship swayed constantly – it was no different than Ellen’s emotions, trepidation rocked inside her. Soon they would be sailing for America and travelling for weeks. She was doing her best to fit in among the women, but everything was so alien it was not easy.

Paul had spent a couple of hours with her on deck, as she stood at the rail, just watching the acres of ocean reaching to the horizon, but beyond those hours she’d stood alone mostly. When she approached the other women, their conversation dropped to silence before they curtsied. They were clearly uncomfortable around her and she did not like to upset them.

When it was time to retire, she slipped beneath the blanket quickly, leaving him to undress.

When he lay behind her he wore only his underwear and a shirt – she could feel the muscular definition of his body. His hand gently pressed against her stomach. The breathing of the men about them calmed as people drifted into sleep and the movement in the room stilled as the last few lamps were extinguished. Without the lamplight, the galley sunk into a depth of pitch black.

She had not heard Paul’s breathing change.

He pressed a kiss on her neck.

Her stomach turned a somersault.

Then his fingers urged her body back tighter against his.

His arousal pressed against her back and bottom through the layers of her gown and her petticoats.

“Lie back,” he whispered into her ear.

She did as he urged, rolling onto her back, and he moved over her.

“Here…”
The word was spoken on her breath.

“Here or never, Ellen, there will be hundreds of nights like this when the men are about us; simply be quiet.” His words were spoken in a very low whisper.

Ellen longed to look and check if anyone watched them, but it was too dark to see and no sound indicated they did.

“Raise your skirt and petticoat.”

Her heart pounded as she did so, looking up, but she could not even see his face.

His fingers slipped between her legs, rubbing for a moment, and then sliding inside her, the movement slow and gentle, drawing her thoughts away from the room and anyone but him. Then he slipped his underwear lower on his hips. The same hand gripped her thigh and moved her legs further apart.

She bit her lip when he entered her, and she carried on biting it as he moved within her, in a slow steady motion. Her heart thumped and her breathing grew short, as if the air disappeared from the galley.

They were covered by the blanket and it was dark, none of the men would see anything if they did watch. But they might know what was happening.

He pressed a kiss on her temple as he continued moving, as though he sensed her insecurity, but he did not speak, probably to avoid increasing the risk of waking his men.

The spell he could create began to weave its charm, whispering through her blood and spinning into her limbs.

Her fingers gripped his hips, grasping the muscle moving beneath his skin.