Regency Scoundrels And Scandals. Louise Allen

you heartless, ignorant man,’ Bel snapped. ‘What do you mean, the likes of you? These men have been wounded in the service of their country; how dare you insult and abuse them!’

      The burly man gaped at her, his glossy tall hat askew from the scuffle. ‘Ma’am, this is Bond Street.’

      ‘Exactly so. And the reason we are not speaking French in it or on our way to the guillotine is because of men like these, you ignorant bully.’

      ‘You should be ashamed of yourself,’ Elinor chimed in from beside Bel, brandishing her parasol belligerently.

      Bel turned her elegant shoulder on the spluttering head porter and smiled at the two soldiers. ‘Here, please take this.’ She took a folded five-pound note from her purse and handed it to the one with the amputated leg. ‘Where do you sleep?’

      The man with the dragging leg made a choking sound and she realised he had a badly healed wound on his neck; it must have affected his throat or mouth. ‘No, do not try to talk. Elinor, what money have you? They must go and find a doctor at once.’

      Her cousin was already pressing a note into the first man’s hand. He found his voice. ‘God bless you ladies.’

      ‘Where do you sleep?’ she repeated her question and the man shrugged.

      ‘Where we can, ma’am. Down in Seven Dials mostly, there’s dossing kens to be had there for coppers.’

      Goodness knows what a dossing ken was, but if this accommodation was in Seven Dials, one of the most notorious slums in London, then it was the worst possible place for two men in their condition.

      ‘Get into the carriage.’ Bel made up her mind suddenly.

      ‘Bel!’ Elinor gasped.

      ‘Oh, yes, I am sorry, I should have thought. You had better take the carriage and my footman as escort, Aunt Louisa would not approve. I will take them in a hackney.’

      ‘Never mind Mama! What are you going to do with them?’

      ‘Look after them, of course.’ Bel turned back to the men who were staring at her as they might a carnival freak. ‘I have room in the loft over my stables. It is dry and clean and you can bathe, eat and my doctor will tend to you. Will you come with me?’

      ‘Bel, you cannot! You have no idea of their character…’

      ‘I have James here.’ She gestured towards the alarmed-looking footman who was trying to interject with protests about what Mr Hedges would say.

      ‘He’ll have my guts for garters, my lady…’

      Both women ignored him. ‘You won’t have a footman if you send him with me in the carriage,’ Elinor said practically. ‘Oh, very well, I will come with you. I agree, something must be done, we cannot leave them here at the mercy of such bigots as this.’ With a glare at the flustered doorman, Elinor climbed back into the barouche and gestured to the soldiers to join her.

      ‘Come on,’ Bel urged them. ‘If you can face the French, you can cope with two English ladies.’

      ‘Yes, ma’am.’ She received a smart salute and a grin from the one with a voice and a lopsided smile from his companion.

      ‘Well, give these men a hand up, James,’ Bel ordered.

      Her vocal soldier informed Bel that they were Jem Brown and Charlie Lewin of the 14th Battalion. ‘The Bucking-hamshires ma’am,’ Brown explained. Lewin had been hit in the neck at Quatre Bras, the day before Waterloo, but the wound had not seemed serious at first, until he had been wounded at Waterloo. ‘Lying out for twenty-four hours in the mud with your leg shattered doesn’t do much for your wounds, though, ma’am,’ his friend explained. ‘I had it easier; a ball carried mine off nice and neat.’

      Bel swallowed hard, wondering what Aunt Louisa was going to say if she returned Elinor in a fainting condition, but her cousin was made of sterner stuff than that. ‘A doctor is the priority, then,’ she said firmly. ‘And to send out for supplies of bandages, gauze and salves.’

      They drove round to the mews and Bel sent James running for Hedges and the other footman while her coachman and groom helped the men down. She expected opposition from the butler. Hedges marched into the yard, his face grim, then stood assessing the two men through narrowed eyes. They met his scrutiny with more calm than Bel would have predicted. Hedges grunted. ‘I reckon they’ll do, my lady. Come on, lads, help them up to the hay loft.’

      He watched them struggling up the stairs and turned to Bel. ‘I had a nephew, wounded badly at Salamanca. Died later on, after he’d come home, but at least it was in his mother’s arms, warm and comfortable and with those he loved all around. If he’d had no family to go to, he’d have ended up like those two, and it don’t bear thinking about.’ His mouth worked for a moment as though something else was going to burst out, then he was composed again, his face expressionless.

      Bel stood back while Hedges organised the staff, sent for the doctor and had the footmen running for hot water and tubs. ‘First thing, get you clean,’ she heard him ordering from the loft. ‘Look at the state of you! I’m not having you on her ladyship’s premises in that state, even if it is only the hay loft. Then you’ll be fit to see the doctor. And then you can eat.’

      When the butler came down to the yard again his face was grim. ‘National disgrace it is, the way the army treats its men. They do it better in the navy, that’s for sure.’ He looked up at the long loft, then back to Bel. ‘How many more of them have you got, ladies?’

      ‘Just the two,’ Elinor said faintly as Mrs Hedges appeared, the kitchen maid at her heels.

      ‘How many more can we take?’ Bel asked.

      ‘Up there, my lady? Half a dozen or so.’

      ‘Well, Elinor,’ Bel said with a rueful smile, ‘It seems I did not have to look far—my charity has found me.’

      Ashe remained in Hertfordshire for ten days, surprised at how content he found himself, getting to know the workings of the estate in far greater detail than he had ever done while his father was alive, or while old Simmons, the previous estate manager, had been in charge.

      John Barrington was a stimulating companion to work with, his family stopped their overt fussing after a day or two and the sun shone. If it were not for missing Bel, he could have rusticated happily until the start of the hunting season.

      But miss her he did, and not, as he had expected, just in his bed. There was that, of course, and on several occasions he had tossed and turned, failing to sleep until he had given up, gone out and swum in the lake in the moonlight. That was some help, until his over-active imagination produced the picture of Bel in there with him, her skin pearly in the silver light, slipping like a fish through the cool water as he dived after her, his hands skimming over her sleek curves.

      Ashe missed talking to her. That was the shock. He had not realised just how much time they had spent talking, exchanging opinions and confidences without really being aware of it. He knew she disliked striped fabrics, ormolu and the fad for the Egyptian style and was entirely in agreement with her. He knew she preferred opera to drama and chamber music to orchestral and that there they disagreed. He knew she would like a dog, but not a cat, and that she would rather ride than drive and he had no preferences as far as equestrian exercise was concerned but admitted to a weakness for cats about the house.

      Bel declared herself a Whig not a Tory, but expressed distrust of most politicians and was very clear that she preferred short sermons on Sunday, which meant that she would be at odds with several of their neighbours and bored by the Rector. And at that point he realised he was again imagining her at Coppergate, gave himself a brisk mental talking-to and went to discuss pigsty design with the Home Farm stockman.

      But despite his attempts at self-control, Ashe was conscious of his heart beating faster as he sifted through the pile of letters, bills and notes that Race retrieved from the Albany porter’s lodge when they arrived back in London.