She could see Lieutenant Gordon of the Engineers waving at her, and she was reminded that he’d generously given her a tartan rug back in the winter to keep her warm at night, despite desperately needing it himself.
There were dozens of dear and familiar faces, every one of them special in some way, and she’d miss them all. As people waved and smiled, she felt their sympathy that she had to go home alone, but also their joy that she was leaving here in good health and that she and Bennett had created newlife in a place of so much death.
In her hands Hope held a bag containing many little presents given to her by everyone from tradespeople to soldiers and doctors. There were books, fruit, cake, soap, and a few sketches from some of the more artistic friends. A few riflemen had come down from the camp to see her off, their boots polished, beards shaved off and uniforms brushed in an attempt to honour her with parade-ground smartness. Tomlinson, known to everyone as Tommy, Robbie’s closest friend and the man who had carried her to Bennett after she was shot, had carved her a rattle shaped like a cat from a piece of wood. She hoped fervently that he would stay safe, for he’d done so much for her in the past weeks, bringing her fresh water, lighting her fire and making her drinks. But then, there wasn’t one person waving her goodbye she didn’t hope would stay safe.
Hope knew that she should have left a month ago, but first there had been the British victory at the Quarries, and when the French took the Mamelon, one of the Russians’ main defences, she had felt compelled to stay and help with the casualties.
A week later the fourth bombardment of Sebastopol began, and the English were defeated at the storming of the Redan and the French defeated at Malakoff, so once again she felt she had to stay on for there were so many hundreds of wounded.
Lord Raglan died on 28 June, and although the official cause of death was cholera, everyone believed he died of a broken heart because the allies had failed to seize the two most important defences. Even after so many bitter words had been said about him, there was real grief that the General who had lost his arm beside Lord Wellington in the Peninsular War had not survived to see victory here. He might not have been a bold leader, but he had been honourable, kind and loved his men, and Hope didn’t feel it was right to leave until after his funeral.
Even a king could not have had a more magnificent send-off. Troops lined the entire five-mile route to the barge that would carry his remains to the
Caradoc
, the ship waiting to take his body home. The cavalry escorted his coffin, borne on a gun-carriage, and the vivid colours of their uniforms in the bright sunshine, and the music from all the many military bands, belied the sadness of the occasion.
‘Just ten minutes till you sail,’ Bennett said, but his bright smile did not reach his eyes. ‘Make sure you rest on the voyage. Uncle Abel will be waiting for you at Portsmouth to take you to Nell.’
‘Do stop worrying about me, dearest,’ she said, squeezing his hand. ‘I will be fine, just you make sure you come back to me soon.’
Bennett was denying that he was worried about her, when at last Hope spotted Angus riding along the quay. She pointed him out with delight for he had been a constant visitor up on the Heights, and he had been the first person in whom she and Bennett had confided about the baby. She knew he would be very relieved to see she was actually leaving today, for she had seen him briefly on the day of Raglan’s funeral and he had given her a stern warning that she mustn’t delay any longer.
He leapt off his horse, handed the reins to a soldier, and was up the gangplank in a few quick strides.
‘I was afraid I was going to miss saying goodbye,’ he said breathlessly, bending to kiss Hope’s cheek.
‘It’s only au revoir as I’ll be there in your home when you get back.’
‘So, two women to order me about,’ he said, his dark eyes twinkling. ‘Maybe that will be too much for me, especially with a screaming baby too?’
Hope knew he didn’t mean this, for as soon as he’d heard about the baby he’d insisted she could stay at his house for as long as she wished. He didn’t fool her any longer with his sarcasm and buffoonery; she knew that he was soft-hearted, generous and noble.
‘Look out for Bennett for me,’ she said, her eyes filling up with tears. ‘And mind you both come home in one piece.’
‘You patched me up too well for me to fall apart now,’ he grinned. ‘And I shall be whisking Bennett off to some races once you’re out of sight. That’s the trouble with wives, they spoil all the fun.’
Hope laughed. Most of the time Angus acted as if life was just one riotous fun-packed adventure. He would be good for Bennett; there were times when her husband was a little too serious.
‘We have to go now,’ Bennett said, looking anxious as he heard the ship’s bell. ‘Write to me every day, I want to know every detail. And I promise I’m going to try to talk Lawrence into letting me go by the end of the month.’
Angus kissed Hope, said goodbye and diplomatically went off down the gangplank. Hope took Bennett’s face in both hands and kissed him. ‘Don’t fret about me; I’ve got Nell and Uncle Abel to take care of me. But it would be wonderful if you were back for the birth, or soon after.’
‘I love you, Hope,’ he said, his eyes brimming with tears, and as he turned to leave her he was almost stumbling with sorrow.
Hope waved until the ship was right out of the harbour, tears rolling down her cheeks unchecked as she caught her last glimpse of Bennett waving a red handkerchief and Angus beside him, resplendent in his blue and gold jacket. The Crimea had been the worst of times, yet this soiled little harbour, the grim hospital, the cliffs and the Heights would stay in her heart, as would all the people she’d met there.
Her wish was that one day hospitals would be better places, that rank-and-file soldiers would be treated humanely, and nursing become an honoured profession. Maybe when she was old and grey with her children all grown-up, with children of their own, she’d tell her stories about this war, and they’d smile to humour her, thinking she was exaggerating the horror of it.
Would future generations ever be able to believe that the vast number of men who died here, died for a cause they never really understood? Or that even more died of disease or infected wounds?
Hope thought her grandchildren were more likely to want to hear about the Christmas when the bands had played on the quay, and she had danced with more men than was good for any girl, for that was a far prettier picture. If she kept her arm covered they would never see her scar, just as they would never see the hideous images printed indelibly on her mind.
She pulled up her sleeve and looked at the ugly red puckered wound. To her it was a permanent reminder of how blessed she was to escape so lightly when so many others were disfigured or dead. She didn’t want it to fade.
The sea breeze felt and smelled good and her spirits lifted, knowing that the sadness of goodbyes was finally over. The
Marianne
was reported to be a fast ship; she would only be putting in at Malta, and then sail straight back to Portsmouth. A great many of the other passengers were officers and staff sent home on sick reports but there was also a fair proportion of those who back in Balaclava had been called ‘tourists’: gentlemen and their ladies who had travelled out here to view the war.
Her heart quickened a little at the prospect of teasing some of these ghoulish rich people who got their excitement from watching others die. It would be enjoyable to wait until they were eating their dinner and then relate a few choice tales about gangrene and cholera.
She hoped she had let her pink dress out enough to look presentable at dinner.
As the ship steamed into Portsmouth harbour in late August, Hope was beside herself with excitement. She had loved every minute of the voyage, and although she was so huge and slownow, she had never felt better. The food on the ship had been wonderful, her cabin comfortable and the weather in the main glorious, and she’d enjoyed having nothing more pressing to do than make herself a new dress, read a book, write a letter or chat to someone.
Coming up the coast of Spain, some of the passengers had suffered from sea sickness, but Hope had resisted the urge to go and take care of them. It was such a joy to be entirely selfish, and to revel in her quite unexpected new status.
She had never imagined back in the days of Lewins Mead and St Peter’s that the day would ever come when she’d be considered a lady, let alone a heroine. But one of the officers on the ship knew all about her, including her rescue of Robbie and how she’d been wounded herself, and had clearly passed it on. Each time she went into the dining room someone always begged her to sit next to them. The men were attentive and curious, telling her she must write her memoirs and get them published when she got home. And the women cooed over her courage at travelling so late in her pregnancy, and asked how she managed to keep her hair so beautifully shiny and her complexion so clear.
She was completely bored with all that now, but it had been good to bask in a little limelight for a while. Bennett would have been very amused to see her hold court with the kind of people she had always been intimidated by in the past.
All she wanted now was to go home. To sit with Nell and talk through all the things that had happened to them in the last seven years. She couldn’t wait to see Matt’s and Ruth’s children. To walk in fields and woods, to sit by streams and smell flowers. And wait for her baby to arrive.
If the strength of his kicks was anything to go by, he would be a real Renton, tough and strong. But she hoped he’d also inherit his father’s sensitivity and intelligence.
As the ship came in closer to berth, Hope scanned the waiting crowd for Uncle Abel. Excited as she was, she was also nervous because she realized that he was, to all intents and purposes, a stranger. In his letters to Bennett he always asked after her with warmth and interest, but she couldn’t quite forget that for a very long time he’d disapproved of her.
All at once she spotted him, looking the picture of a tubby English gentleman in a grey top hat, tail coat and a high wing-collar. But as she waved, she saw him incline his head to a woman beside him and point towards the ship.
Hope’s heart leapt, for it was not Alice beside him but Nell, wearing a white bonnet trimmed with blue flowers.
She forgot the ladylike demeanour she’d taken such pains to preserve on the voyage and jumped up and down, waving with both hands.
A band on the quay struck up a lively welcoming tune, and now she could only see the waiting crowd through a mist of emotional tears.
Hope was one of the first to go down the gangplank. She had pushed and elbowed her way to the front of the queue in a way that would have appalled Bennett. But it thrilled her to see Nell was every bit as eager, dodging through the crowd like a street urchin.
Hope was almost blinded by her tears now, and Nell’s round, sweet face was just a blur, but she saw the outstretched arms and ran full tilt to them. She was home at last!
‘Are you two going to stop that caterwauling and come and get in the carriage?’ Abel said gruffly.
Hope and Nell released each other from their tight embrace and dabbed at their eyes. ‘I’m so sorry, Dr Cunningham,’ Hope said. ‘It’s just been so long.’
‘I understand that,’ he said with a smile. ‘But I’d like to embrace you too, you know! And I think it’s high time you addressed me as Uncle Abel.’
As the carriage bowled along through the countryside towards Bristol, Hope tried to remember to keep to topics which would not exclude Uncle Abel, but her excitement at being with Nell again made it almost impossible. She was very aware that they sounded like a pair of chattering monkeys, leaping from one subject to another, gasping, giggling, and often crying too.
Nell had changed a great deal from how she’d been when Hope last sawher. Even though Angus had reported she was far more confident, in both her dress and her manner, Hope had still expected to find her greying, slower and stouter. She did have a peppering of grey hair, but she moved as fast as she ever did, she was shapely, not fat, and her face was as unlined as when she was a bride. But it wasn’t the physical changes that were so notable.
Nell had been so biddable before, a sweet and pliant person who never stepped out of what she considered to be ‘her place’. Hope couldn’t imagine her allowing anyone to order her around now. She had an air of authority, and she seemed far sharper and more worldly. Some of her remarks about people had been quite caustic. Her clothes, too, illustrated her knowledge of self-worth. She wore an elegant blue and white striped dress which enhanced her curvy body rather than concealing it. Her white bonnet with its blue trimming was youthful, not matronly. In all, Hope thought her sister had steered exactly the right path. She wasn’t aping gentry, but nor was she defining herself as a servant.
When they stopped to water the horses, Hope felt she must apologize to Uncle Abel for her and Nell’s constant prattle. She explained that they were overexcited and that it must be very dull and wearing for him.
‘Not a bit of it, my dear,’ he chuckled, and patted her hand. ‘But maybe I’ll take my revenge when Bennett comes home!’
It wasn’t until the evening of the following day, when Hope and Nell were finally alone at Willow End, that calm settled. They had stayed overnight at a coaching inn, and as they had to share a bed, which Nell was convinced was full of bugs, they had talked nearly all night.
Hope had dozed off for the last few miles of the journey and it was a surprise to have Nell wake her and tell her they were there.
The sun was setting, turning the grey stone walls of the cottage pink as they walked to the front door. Hope brushed against the lavender bushes, and the sweet, pungent smell took her straight back to her childhood, when she used to pick lavender from the garden and tie it into bunches for her mother to hang from the cottage beams.
It was something of a surprise to find Angus lived so simply. The picture she’d had of Willow End in her head while out in the Crimea was of something grander. Yet she was pleased rather than disappointed, for it was yet more evidence that Angus had a soul.