“Going with you, Colonel.” Jackson saluted, his gaze steady.
“Good God, man, you’ve been married even less time than I have!”
A glint of humor showed in Jackson’s eyes. “A fact Jenny and I are both aware of, sir. But some things must be done.”
Simon thought back to the tired, broken man Jackson had been when they’d met. With time, the confidence of doing a job well, and the love of a good woman, he was now a man ready to face whatever might come. To deny him the chance to meet this challenge would be to deny his manhood.
“I’ll be grateful to have you with me,” Simon said honestly. “But as my wife said to me, be sure to duck when you have to!”
Jackson grinned. “I’ll do my best, sir.”
Side by side, they descended the stairs and set out to war.
* * *
Worn out by the long day and night, Suzanne came awake groggily the next morning, her arms around the pillow that Leo slept on. A steady, saturating rain still fell. She’d been roused by Jenny’s knock before her maid quietly entered the room with a cup of hot chocolate and a fresh crescent roll. “Miss Suzanne?”
Trying not to think of the parting with Simon, Suzanne sat up so Jenny could set the tray on her lap. “How are Marie and the baby?”
Jenny smiled. “Happy and healthy. She is very pleased with herself and can’t wait to show her husband their son. Do you have any idea when that might be?”
Suzanne glanced out the window at the rain, knowing that the roads would have turned to mud by now, and sighed. “Not really. Soon, I hope. What other news is there?”
Jenny’s gaze dropped as she smoothed the covers around Suzanne. “Edgar has gone off with the colonel.”
“What?” Suzanne exclaimed. “He shouldn’t have done that!”
“Yes, and no,” Jenny said with a sigh. “He thought it was his duty.”
“How admirable and maddening.” Suzanne bit into her flaky crescent roll rather savagely. “But I’ll admit that I’m glad he’ll be there with Simon.”
Jenny nodded. “The injured from yesterday’s battle are coming into the city. The more badly wounded are in wagons, but the ones who can walk are staggering along the streets, needing water and food and care. Mr. Mandeville asked that you come down and help when you’re ready.”
Suzanne swore in a most unladylike fashion, swallowed most of her hot chocolate in one scalding gulp, and set the tray aside. “And I thought yesterday was tiring! Find me a gown that bloodstains will wash out of. And join me? It sounds like many hands will be needed.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Jenny smiled wryly. “Keeping busy will be good for us!”
And so it was. When Suzanne was dressed in sturdy, practical clothing with a wide hat to ward off the rain, she found that Lucas had set up a street infirmary. An overhead canvas awning protected the work area from the rain and it looked like most of the members of the household were already helping the wounded. There were several wooden chairs and two long tables of different heights, buckets of water with ladles, and boxes of bandages and ointments and other supplies.
Suzanne said, “Lucas, what do you want me to do?”
He helped a wounded Belgian soldier onto the table. “A lot of this is common sense. Take off the old bandages, clean the wounds, removing any bits of grit or material that shouldn’t be there. If you find a musket ball deeply lodged, best to call me.
“Then pour gin over the wound to reduce the chances of inflammation”—he grinned—“don’t let the patients drink it. We don’t have unlimited supplies. Bandage the wound as lightly as is feasible, and send them on their way. Many were billeted here in the city and if they can make it back to their billet, they should be taken care of.”
Suzanne drew a deep breath and pitched in. Jenny was at her side, Maurice helped lift men who couldn’t move easily, and Madame Maurice was almost as good at cleaning and bandaging wounds as Lucas.
It was approaching midday when Suzanne heard a voice call, “Madame Duval!” She looked up and saw Janet Allen, one of the camp followers she’d met at the informal shelter that had been set up to aid the women and children who followed the army. Janet was young and vigorous and had pitched in to help the volunteer ladies.
Suzanne liked her and they’d become friendly. Usually Janet was imperturbable, but today she looked frantic, her saturated red hair falling in dripping corkscrews around her face. Suzanne exclaimed, “Janet, what’s wrong?”
“I’ve learned that my Jack was wounded in the battle yesterday! He and several of his mates who’d also been injured were heading back to the city, but his leg was badly torn and finally he couldn’t walk anymore. He may die out there in the rain, or a French soldier might come along and kill him because he’s an easy target! Please, ma’am, can you do anything to help him?” Her voice was desperate and tears mingled with falling rain on her face.
Wondering if it was possible to help, Suzanne asked, “How far away is he, and can you find the exact place?”
“It’s several miles south on the road toward Quatre Bras. One of his mates drew me a map. I’ve walked that road and I know I can find him, but I’ll need help getting him home.”
“Is the territory where he was left under French control now?”
