“Thank you.” I offered her and the helper a quick smile, and then I turned, only to find Mrs. Chadburn standing behind me. I startled at her unexpected presence.
“Is there a problem, milady?”
“There is.” I quickly explained the situation. “I will need all the maids to help in the great hall and drawing room. We’llneed to make room for bedrolls and mattresses, and I’ll need a couple of the maids to start cutting up some of the older bed linens for bandages.”
Mrs. Chadburn’s eyebrows rose as she listened to my instructions. “Are you certain you want strangers traipsing through Cumberland Hall, milady? Who’s to say what could go missing?”
“It’s of little concern to me at the moment.” I was trying not to lose patience. All I wanted was cooperation from my staff. Who knew how soon people would begin to arrive? “We will house everyone on the main level to better keep an eye on things. It will prevent the need to go up and down the stairs with injured people, not to mention food and supplies.” I started to move around her. “Please see that it’s done. I will go upstairs and start moving furniture.”
“You, milady?” Mrs. Chadburn’s eyebrows rose even higher.
I didn’t bother to respond. We were wasting precious time.
Within two hours, the injured began to arrive at Cumberland Hall. They trickled in at the beginning, but then they came in groups, until the great hall and drawing room were overflowing. At least a hundred injured people had come, including several local artillery volunteer soldiers who had been defending Hartlepool.
Many uninjured villagers also arrived, wanting to help. They brought blankets, food, bandages, and medicine. In addition to supplies, they also brought their energy and assistance, which we needed more than anything.
For hours, we tended to wounds, comforted the confused and scared, and fed those who were hungry. Shock and grief reverberated throughout the house. Stories of great loss weighed each of us down as more and more people recounted their experiences.
“Dr. Aiken is here,” Edith said when she found me wrapping the calf wound of a young woman. I had cleaned it with somevodka Wentworth had produced, and for once I was thankful for Reggie’s penchant for alcohol. “He’s from Sleights.”
“Sleights?”
“It’s a village about three miles west of here,” a middle-aged gentleman with a heavy, greying mustache said as he walked up behind Edith. He nodded at me. “I’m Dr. Aiken. I presume you are Lady Cumberland?”
“I would stand to greet you”—I motioned to the wound I was dressing—“but I’m otherwise engaged.” I smiled my thanks at his arrival. “I’m very glad that you’ve come.”
“When I heard that you had opened up Cumberland Hall, I knew I must.”
“Please let me know what you need. I or Mr. Wentworth, the butler, will see that you get it.”
He nodded and then turned to the nearest patient.
Despite the cold winter day, sweat gathered on my brow as I finished wrapping the calf wound and then moved on to the next injured person. It made me wonder if this was what I would face in my 1774 path, as well.
With the revolution looming, I could see nothing but war in my future.
17
WILLIAMSBURG, VIRGINIA
DECEMBER 24, 1774
Christmas Eve was grey and dreary as I hung a pine garland over the hearth in the sitting room, thoughts of Cumberland Hall and our makeshift hospital on my mind. I was thankful for a bit of reprieve from the endless work I had been doing in 1914, caring for the sick and injured.
There had been very little sleep for anyone over the past week. Dr. Aiken had stayed with us around the clock, performing surgeries in a small parlor off the great hall. For those eight days, it hadn’t mattered our rank or position within the manor. Each of us worked side by side to minister to the patients who had come to Cumberland Hall seeking refuge. We cooked, served food, washed linen, rolled bandages, and simply sat to talk or listen to our guests. A comradery had been built between the staff and me, but it had come at a great cost. There were two dozen patients still with us, those who were seriously injured and many others who had lost their homes.
I forced my thoughts to return to Williamsburg, trying hard to separate my two lives so I could be present for Mama andthe girls. It was Christmas, after all. A time to put aside our troubles for even a few hours and reflect upon the joy that had come into the world.
The garland I held was fresh, and the scent of pine was strong. Mama loved to decorate for Christmas, though it was not celebrated in the way she or I were accustomed to from our later paths. No one decorated evergreen trees or hung stockings for Santa Claus to fill. Yet there was beauty, revelry, and excitement in abundance. Wassailers had been traveling up and down the streets of Williamsburg for the past hour, their wassail bowl full of spiced ale and apple slices.
Along with the songs of the wassailers, I found myself humming carols I knew from my other path—ones that had not yet been composed. “Silent Night,” “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear,” and “Jingle Bells” were three of my favorites.
“What are you humming?” Rebecca asked as she entered the sitting room with a bunch of holly in her hands.
I had been humming “Up on the Housetop” but stopped when she gave me a quizzical stare. “Nothing.” I smiled, allowing the season to lift my spirits.
“What present are you giving me?” She redirected the conversation to her favorite subject. “A new hat? A pair of mittens? A doll?”
