No Place For A Lady. Gill Paul

She was curious to hear everything, since Charlie would never speak of them.

      Bill paused. ‘I didn’t know them well. His father is a stern, rather old-fashioned man.’

      ‘I hope when we return from war, I might meet them and we will be able to repair the rift that has distanced them.’

      Bill poked the embers of the fire warily. ‘Charlie has not told you of the tragic circumstances of the rift?’

      ‘No, not really! At least, all he told me was that it involved an argument over a debt. What happened? Pray tell.’ She watched him eagerly.

      ‘It is for him to tell you. I’m sure he will one day, but for now all you must do is give him as much love as you possibly can, because he needs it and he deserves it. Fate has dealt him a cruel blow in the past. But I have observed you, Lucy, and I think you have the right mixture of qualities to be an excellent wife for him. I’m so glad he met you.’

      She was rendered momentarily speechless by this puzzling outpouring. ‘Thank you. I hope I will do my best. But …’

      There was no time for further questions as Charlie rushed back with news: ‘Four a.m., Bill. You and I are on the right flank.’

      A shiver went down Lucy’s spine.

      This was it.

      The two men spoke head to head for a few minutes, serious, professional. She rose and went into the tent to prepare for bed. When Charlie came, they lay with their arms round each other, faces close, but she knew his thoughts were elsewhere – as were hers. Her heart was pounding with the knowledge that next day he must fight and there was a chance he might not return. How did any wife cope with this? All she could do was breathe slowly and remember that he was Lucky Charlie who did not catch cholera when all around him were falling sick. He may have had a difficult past but now he had her and she would look after him. She breathed in his scent to memorise it and clung to his warm flesh, as if trying to imprint it on her own.

      Their husbands rode off at the crack of dawn. Lucy could still feel Charlie’s hurried last kiss on her lips, and wondered if she would ever have a chance to kiss him again. As she and Adelaide made tea they were uncharacte‌ristically silent.

      Some women were climbing to a ridge from which they could view the battle so Lucy and Adelaide followed. From the top they were close enough to see the main Russian encampment just across the River Alma, close enough to make out smoke from their fires drifting into the air. It was eerie to think of them sleeping in their tents and heating food, just as in the British camp, perhaps some of them also accompanied by their wives. Yet soon they must be attacked and driven back; soon they must be killed.

      The British, French and Turkish armies had superiority in numbers but the Russian army was on a raised plateau and they’d had time to dig in their gun emplacements. Suddenly Lucy was deafened by a wall of noise: explosions from big guns and the pop-popping sound of small guns mingling with the eerie sound of the bagpipes played by some regimental bands. The fighting had started. Dust rose in the air blurring individual forms and Lucy wondered how the men could tell who was friend or foe. She was horrified to see bodies fallen face down in the river and to realise they must be dead. The Russians appeared to be advancing down the hill, and suddenly her heart was filled with such fear for Charlie that she could no longer watch. Sick to her stomach and overwhelmed with the awfulness of the scene before her, she turned and hurried down the hill to sit on her own, hands covering her face. She’d thought she could cope but nothing in her upbringing had prepared her for witnessing such carnage. After a while Adelaide joined her, reassuring her that already the British and French appeared to be prevailing.

      Back at camp, Adelaide decided to occupy herself by cooking and somehow turned their dried pork rations and some herbs picked in the undergrowth into a fragrant stew.

      ‘Won’t you try some?’ she asked.

      ‘I feel too sick,’ Lucy said. ‘I’ll wait until the men return and I can breathe easy again.’

      She considered asking if Adelaide knew about the tragedy in Charlie’s life that Bill had alluded to – those two seemed so close they must have discussed it – but it hardly seemed the right time with their husbands in battle facing a deadly foe. Besides, she felt embarrassed that Charlie had not told her himself. Instead she asked Adelaide about her children, knowing she always enjoyed talking about Martha and Archie.

      But as Adelaide spoke, Lucy realised she was only half-listening. Her brain focused on the booming of the big guns in the distance and her constant churning fear for Charlie.

      Suddenly, at around four-thirty in the afternoon, the gunfire ceased. They looked from one to the other. Half an hour later the first souls came down from the ridge to announce victory for the allies, and Adelaide and Lucy hugged each other. Lucy found another bottle of porter in Charlie’s bedding roll and poured them each a small glass to toast the troops. Men began to trickle back to camp, weary and dirty. The wounded were carried on the shoulders of their comrades, since no ambulance carts and insufficient stretchers had been brought along. The women went to offer sips of water and words of comfort while they waited for a doctor.

      Charlie arrived around eight in the evening, and Lucy dashed up to him, almost pulling him from Merlin in her joy. Her chest had been tight with fear all day but now at last she could breathe easily. With him he brought a ladies’ parasol of black lace over ivory silk, a wickerwork picnic basket and a bottle of wine he had found abandoned on the Russian side.

      ‘Their wives were watching behind the lines,’ he said. ‘It was a day out for them.’

      ‘Where is Bill?’ Adelaide asked, her voice tight with nerves.

      Charlie grinned reassuringly. ‘He was helping to round up prisoners but should be back before too long. Shall we open the wine now or do you want to wait for him?’

      They agreed it was fairest to wait. An hour went past, then another. Finally Charlie offered to ride out and see what was keeping Bill.

      Half an hour later, they looked up to see Charlie galloping across the field towards them. He leapt from his horse, eyes wide with shock and his whole body shaking. ‘I’m s— so sorry.’

      Adelaide screamed and clapped her hand to her mouth.

      Charlie struggled to speak: ‘One of the prisoners had a pistol and when Bill tried to disarm him he was sh-shot through the h-head.’ He broke down and sobbed so hard the last words were virtually indistinct: ‘He died instantly.’ Adelaide’s legs buckled and she sank to the earth with a cry, her face buried in her hands. Charlie leaned his face into his horse’s flank, his body trembling with violent sobs, and Lucy looked from one to the other, so shocked she couldn’t react. Bill had gone. He wasn’t coming back, although he’d been the picture of health when he rode out that morning. It was unfathomable. What about his children? What about Adelaide?

      Lucy realised she must comfort her friend but what should she do? Charlie had fallen to pieces. If only Dorothea were there. She must comfort people who’d lost their husbands all the time. She would know what was needed, but Lucy didn’t have the first idea.