Mama signalled to her to come. Frederica assisted in serving the soup and changing the bed linens.
But every quarter of an hour, Frederica would take the bucket back to the well for fresh water and reapply the compresses to Mark’s hot body. She sat hard on the stone floor next to Mark and breathed in and out. She was so physically exhausted that she could not keep her eyes open. She felt a hand on her head, and she looked up—it was Mark’s. He was finally awake.
She scrambled to her feet and poured him a glass of wine and held it to his lips.
He sipped it slowly until it was gone. ‘Your husband carried me off the field. Pelford saved my life.’
Frederica nodded and felt a tear slide down her cheek—then another.
Numbly, she went to help another wounded soldier. If Samuel had saved lives, so could she.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The next day, Frederica slept late. She’d overdone it the day before. Mama and Wade had already left the house for the hospital. Along with Mr Harper and all the kitchen staff. The only servants that remained were the grooms. Jim waited patiently to escort Frederica to the church that was a temporary infirmary. She had not got much rest the previous night and her mother had insisted that she sleep in before coming to help. Frederica still had no appetite and very little energy. She rubbed her chest, but nothing alleviated the heavy sensation in her heart.
There was a knock on their front door.
Jim cleared his throat, shuffling his feet at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Should you like me to answer that for you, Your Grace?’
Her new honorific.
Samuel’s title.
Chills covered her body. ‘Yes, please, Jim.’
She slowly walked down the stairs. The footman, with considerable grace, opened the door for a military man and brought him into the parlour. It took her foggy mind a moment or two to recognise the man. It was Colonel Scovell, the spymaster who had attended her wedding and made the arrangements for her and Samuel to go to Paris. His hair and beard were longer and his uniform a bit ragged.
He bowed to her and she curtsied with shaking knees.
‘Lady Pelford, I am afraid that you were misinformed. Colonel Lord Pelford is still alive, but I am afraid that he is not long with us.’
Frederica felt numb and she collapsed to the floor. Bile rose in her throat and she was glad that she had not eaten breakfast or she would have lost it. Her voice cracked as she asked, ‘Where is he? Is he at a hospital in Brussels?’
Scovell shook his head, his expression grave. ‘Lord Pelford was taken to a small farmhouse in Mont-Saint-Jean near Waterloo. I saw him there this morning and rode immediately to inform you of it. And if it is agreeable, I will escort you there this very moment. In such cases as these even the smallest delay...’
The spymaster did not finish his sentence, but Frederica knew what he meant. She was going to lose Samuel all over again. Yet she would do anything for a few moments with him. For more memories of her husband to hold in her heart.
‘Jim!’ Frederica said.
The footman rushed to her side and carefully helped her to her feet.
Frederica grabbed his hands. ‘Did we get our horses back from the wounded wagons?’
‘Yes, my lady.’
‘Please, harness the carriage at once.’
Scovell cleared his throat, giving Frederica a pitying glance. ‘A carriage will take more time and the roads are not good.’
‘I need to be able to convey his body back with me,’ she whispered in a weak voice, touching the column of her throat to feel her own steady pulse. She needed to know where Samuel was. Always. She could not allow his body to be sent to a charnel house and be piled in a large unmarked grave.
Jim bowed to her. ‘As you wish it, Your Grace. I will bring the carriage around at once.’
Spinning on her foot, Frederica took the stairs two at a time. She grabbed the last bar of red soap from her room and then she opened the linen cupboard and took out three clean white sheets, placing them in her portmanteau. Going to the kitchen, she took a tea kettle and the remainder of the bread and cheese. She wrapped them up and placed them in the small trunk. She looked around wildly. What else would he need?
Scovell entered the kitchen. ‘Excuse me, Lady Pelford. All the wells at Waterloo are spoiled, for soldiers have thrown bodies in them. Fresh water and wine would be the most advisable to bring.’
Frederica thanked him, opening the door to the cellar before carrying out four bottles of spirits. She took the kettle out of the portmanteau and filled it with water. She added lint weed leaves to the concoction. They would be bitter without the cherry water, but she did not have time to ask Jim to fetch some from the market. Nor could she be certain that it would be available with so many wounded soldiers. She packed a jug of water.