With This Ring Part 6

"I'm sorry," she said, contrite, embarra.s.sed at her rudeness. "Is it red or puffy?" he asked. "No one tells me, and I cannot see it, of course."

She forced herself to look beyond the rawness of the wound. Imagine the pain, she thought. "No, it is neither," she replied, happy that her voice was steady. "I think the surgeon must have been working in the dark, however, or possibly he sent in his six-year-old son."

The major chuckled. "Actually, it was the regiment's barber, Miss Perkins, who specializes in sewing shrouds. The surgeon was busy."

She shuddered and looked again at the long, looping st.i.tches. "Dear me," she murmured.

"Actually, miss, the major here told the surgeon to tend to me instead of him."

She looked up to see Corporal Davies, her morning escort, sitting at the entrance to the lady chapel with several of the more able-bodied gun crew. She smiled to see that the men had mugs of beef tea.

"Now, why would I do that?" the major growled. "I never met a more worthless crew."

The men only grinned at each other. Lydia found herself winking back tears. "Sir, I think you exaggerate."

"Only slightly, Miss Perkins, only slightly." He looked at his men. "All right, you sons of the guns. You're next, those of you who need haircuts. Bailey, you are bald, and I do not think you need to trouble Miss Perkins, beyond leering at her occasionally. I have been watching you, Bailey! Another leer, and you're on report!" He looked over his shoulder at her. "That is, you may cut their hair when you are done with me, Miss Perkins, if you truly wish to hack at these sorry specimens."

"I can manage it," she said. "You were my practice piece, Major."

He groaned in mock agony, and his men laughed, then moved back to their own part of the chapel. "Actually, Miss Perkins, you had better do your utmost to make me charm personified. What day is it?"

"June fifteenth, Major," she said, mystified. "Why?"

"I am expected home in less than a month, Miss Perkins, and I must have a wife in tow by then. Do your best."

She couldn't have heard him right. She stood there, scissors and comb suspended over his head. "Do be serious, Major," she said finally.

"I have rarely been more serious!" he retorted. "I never joke about the ladies. Well, seldom, anyway," he said with a grin. "After all, I do have two sisters, and they at least are fair game." He sighed. "And I have a mother, and an aunt, and they all figure in my desperation."

She combed his hair in silence, snipped at a few loose ends, then sat on his cot. "I must hear this," she said.

He shook his head, good cheer replacing his momentary melancholy. "Not now, Miss Perkins. My men are eager for their haircuts, and I must take a stroll to the necessary out back. Even the talk of so much exertion in less than a month's time, and me in a weakened state makes my bowels loose."

She knew she should be shocked, but she was hard put not to laugh. "Major Reed, may I make you a suggestion? You'll never find a wife if you are so blunt."

"Women do not like the truth?" he asked, watching her closely.

"I do!" she a.s.sured him, and promptly felt herself grow hot. "Oh, but that is not what I mean ...."

"Then, say what you mean, Miss Perkins," he said crisply as he stood up, took the dishcloth from around his neck, and carefully gathered the corners together.

"I mean ... well ... but ... sir, where are you going with the dishcloth?" her attention diverted by his actions.

"I am taking it with me, Miss Perkins," he said, his expression virtuous. "I noticed earlier this morning on a previous visit to the p.i.s.soir-there now, I know ladies like to hear French spoken-that there are nesting birds in the trees behind the latrines. They will have a use for hair clippings. See there? I am a philanthropist, and I speak French. Do not tell me that I cannot find a wife in four weeks' time!"

She watched him go, her mouth open. "I cannot believe that the army is going to turn him loose on an unsuspecting population," she murmured. "No wonder General Picton took his trousers yesterday."

Shaking her head, Lydia wiped off her scissors and comb, found another dishcloth, and ventured into the chapel. She was gratified to observe that the men who had been mere faces two days ago had by now turned into people. Not only was there Corporal Davies, her one-eyed escort, but also the only surviving powder monkey, who was much too young for the wound he bore, but proud of himself. In addition, two privates who had two arms between them played chess and another corporal watched, suffering a stubborn leg wound. They did not frighten her now; she had given them water, sat with them, and shaved their faces, and no one had been less than kind. I do so little, she thought as she cut Corporal Davies' hair first, and I am blessed far beyond my exertions.

Let us see if I can collect on some of my good deeds, she considered as she clipped and combed. "Corporal Davies, is your commander truly serious about finding a wife on short notice?" she asked, trying not to speak above a whisper, but capturing the attention of the chess players, anyway. The men laughed.

"Blame it on Lieutenant Percy Wilkins," Davies said. "I think it was his idea." He smiled. "Most of the mischief was his idea, but Major Reed, he got the blame."

He didn't say anything more. Patience, she thought, patience, but with little success. "What was his idea?" she asked, quite unable to let this conversation wither.

"Aw, I don't know, miss," said Davies, suddenly reticent. "He might not like it if I told you. Forgery, larceny, and highway robbery's different from talking about a wife."

"Forgery and larceny?" she asked. "I thought you were at war?"

Davies grinned. "Sometimes the biggest enemy seems like the Commissary Department, miss. T'major had his ways of squeezing blood out of that particular turnip." His expression was doubtful. "Still and all, miss, he might not like us talking about 'is troubles with the ladies."

"What he's not going to like is going home empty-handed and trying to explain to his mum how he misplaced a wife," said one of the chess players. "Checkmate."

Lydia put down her scissors. "Corporal Davies, I am not going to cut one more hair on your head unless you tell me what is going on. And believe me, you will look strange!"

The chess players started to laugh, and even the private with the troublesome leg managed a smile. "Lads, did'ye ever think half of that whole nonsense was for our own entertainment?" he asked. "T'give us something to laugh about, when nothing was funny?"

"Certainly was for Sir Percy," Davies agreed. "Don't know as I ever met a cove so ripe for a spree as Percy Wilkins. Remember the colonel and Sir Percy's ... uh ...."

"Another one you can't tell me?" she said as she picked up the scissors again. "Very well, Corporal, I will not insist on further elucidation. And I will even finish the haircut, because my charity is unbounded!"

"Good of you, miss," Corporal Davies said, kind enough to overlook her sarcasm.

She spent the morning cutting the hair of Major Reed's men, listening to their homely stories of life in the Peninsula, most of which seemed to revolve around Major Sam Reed. You are rare indeed, she thought, as she listened and glanced now and then at the lady chapel, where she could see the major hunched over a table engaged in paperwork. You do not seem like a man who would go to such lengths for a bunch of distinctly lower cla.s.s, uneducated men, half of them felons and poachers with the choice of the army or Australia. Still, the respectful glances this way from the other wounded makes me suspect, Major Reed, that your 'men' of Battery B were fierce opponents.

When she finished her barbering among Battery B-and over their protests-she continued down another row, careful to avoid the area where another cl.u.s.ter of London's bon ton had gathered to gawk. She could tell how it embarra.s.sed the soldiers to have them there, how they would turn away if they could to avoid being stared at, if their wounds were grievous. It pained her that those who could not move must only lie there, mute and exposed, on display to their betters who would never come near a firing line, or face a cavalry charge.

"I hate it," she whispered to Corporal Davies when he came to retrieve her. "I wish they would go away."

He took her arm and led her toward the lady chapel. "Doesn't it bother you, Corporal?" she asked as he hurried her along.

"Nah," he said, shaking his head. "Maybe we'll get lucky, and one of them gentry morts will stop to help. You did, miss."

Yes, I did, she thought, and I am ashamed of my kind. "I think I may be the exception, Corporal."

He only smiled. "We're sure o' that, miss." He nodded toward the major. "Don't let 'im worry you, miss. He may seem rough and strange, but I ... we'd all follow him anywhere."

The major was lying on his cot with the appearance of a man defeated by paperwork, which was strewn over his blanket. His eyes were closed. She smiled at him, then on impulse knelt beside him. "All you need is a lily in your hands, sir, and I am certain someone would return you to the family vault," she teased.

"I would gladly go, to avoid one more invoice, claim, or whine in print from the Commissary," he said without opening his eyes. "Madam, do you realize that there is a bra.s.s candlestick unaccounted for that has been following me since Talavera? The accountants do not believe me that it dropped in a mud hole at a river crossing! I think their letters will follow me to Northumberland!"

She pulled up a chair and began to gather together the papers on his cot. "Sir, do you need some help with this?"

He opened his eyes. To her surprise, he looked feverish, so she put her hand on his forehead. "You are hot," she said, looking around for the surgeon.

He covered her hand with his own. "Just keep your hand there, Miss Perkins, and I will improve in minutes."

She leaned closer. "May I finish your paperwork for you?" she asked. "Will that help?"

"You cannot imagine, Miss Perkins. Words fail me," he said as he released her hand. "Draw yourself up to the table, madam."

She laughed and took the papers to the table. In a moment he was standing beside her, pointing out what needed to be done. "It appears that you want me to copy these doc.u.ments onto these sheets."

He nodded, as he leaned heavily on her chair. "If things do not come to them in twos or threes, accountants get all tight about the mouth and ... and diddle themselves behind bushes, for all I know."

"Major," she began, blus.h.i.+ng. "You must become less colorful with your phrases, if you have plans to retire from the army and ...."

"I know, I know," he interrupted. "Find a wife in a week or so." He lay down again. "Did my men fill you in on that exploit?"

"No, they did not ...."

"Such restraint on their part."

"... which I thought rather beastly of them, since it sounds like an interesting story," she said as she dipped the pen in the inkwell and began to copy.

"It was a good story three years ago, I don't doubt," he said, his voice wistful with remembering. "Somehow, I never thought I would live long enough to have to make good on it, Miss Perkins."

She put down the pen. "Well, tell me, or I will leave you to the mercy of the accountants!"

He shuddered. "It is not a pretty story."

"Major ...."

He turned carefully onto his side. "Miss Perkins, in May of 1809, during the first siege of Badajoz, my father died and left me a t.i.tle and an estate. I am the Earl of Laren."

"So I should have been 'my lording' you," she said as she continued copying.

"Please don't start now. I don't like it; never have. The estate is good enough, but it needed an immediate infusion of cash to make it much better." He made a face. "Especially since I have neglected it, and my father, too, only he did not have Napoleon for an excuse."

She turned to look at him, unable to hide the merriment that she knew was in her face. "Major, you not only need a wife, but you need a rich one, too? All this in less than a month?"

"Lydia, you are a trial," he said mildly, using her name again. This must be the tone he uses with his sisters, she thought, unoffended.

"My Aunt Chalmers lives with my mother, and she is richer than the Almighty," he continued. "In the same letter announcing my father's bad news and my t.i.tle, she wrote that I would inherit her wealth. If I married, and soon, she would even let me draw on the princ.i.p.al to begin improvements immediately."

She frowned and put down the pen. "Why is marriage so important?"

He sat up and leaned forward. "My back still itches where the sutures were," he grumbled. "Miss Perkins, do I ask too much or could you ...."

"Scratch it?" She put down the pen and sat next to him on the cot. "I don't want to hurt you," she said dubiously.

He lifted up his s.h.i.+rt, exposing his back, and rested his elbows on his knees. "Just rub the skin lightly with your fingernails. Oh, G.o.d, that is perfection. Miss Perkins, you should be patented, duplicated, and issued to every hospital ward in the army! If you stop, I will cry."

If Mother sees me, she will make me cry, she thought as she gently ran her fingernails around the ugly wound. "Why didn't the Frenchman who did this sever your spine, Major?"

"I believe he was thinking more on the terms of parting my neck from my shoulders," the major replied. "One of my men clubbed him with a ramrod, so I got the backhand instead of the foreword thrust. I was lucky, indeed. Please don't stop yet."

"Only if you continue the narrative, sir."

"Oh, yes. Aunt Chalmers harbors the notion that Laren men are not to be trusted around women." He sighed. "My father was one of them, I suppose. He wenched his way through Northumberland and one or two s.h.i.+res in Scotland, I believe. I probably have brothers and sisters I've never met."

She opened her eyes wide at this news, but said nothing. Perhaps I should be grateful for my own father, meek as he is, she thought for the first time.

"At any rate, Aunt Chalmers is quite loyal to Mama, and she has watched her cry over my father for years and years."

"If I may be practical ...."

"By all means."

"Your father and mother were married, were they not?"

He nodded. "So why should it matter whether I am married or not, if my father was such a beast, and he was married, too?" he asked, following her thoughts. He shook his head. "I haven't a clue, except that I know she did not care much for my father. Could it be revenge? I do not know."

He was silent. She returned to her copying, then put down the pen again. "All right, what is the rest?"

"You're a nosy female," he teased, grinning at her. "Mama was determined that I should resign my commission, leave Spain, hurry home, and marry the daughter on the neighboring estate."

"You don't care for the lady?" she asked.

He shook his head. "She's pretty enough, I suppose, and if I recall, she can carry on a good conversation, but I am not interested. I could not leave my men, either, or my guns, or Badajoz." He reached out and touched her arm. "You have met my men. Do you understand?"

"Oh, yes. And from what they have told me, you are not one to leave someone in the lurch. I wonder that your mother and aunt thought you would drop everything."

"They have not seen war. How can they know?" he murmured as he took the page she handed him and shook sand on it. He poured the grains carefully into the shaker again and secured the lid. "It seemed like such a good idea to invent a wife."

"You didn't!"

"I did. Stupid, wasn't it? I blame it on the siege. When you're in the middle of one, it's hard to believe that it will ever end. And who knows? Maybe I would be killed, and not have to face my mother, my aunt, or the young lady on the neighboring estate, who I regret to add, did harbor some expectations in my direction." He peered at her. "I do not know that I have ever seen a more skeptical expression, Miss Perkins."

"I doubt you have," she agreed. "And who is this paragon you invented?"

"We-Percy Wilkins, I, and my gunnery sergeant-we created a daughter of the regiment. I believe we made her father a major from a very good family. After Badajoz, Percy found a miniature among the ruins, and included that with the letters and the marriage license, of course, so Aunt Chalmers would be satisfied."

"How did you find that?"

"Simple, my dear. We located a priest only too eager to help us, especially when it was pointed out to him that his head would look better on his shoulders. You should have seen it: all Latin, with gold lettering, and a seal something like what the lord chancellor must use. They really do it up right in Spain." He watched her face. "I can see that you are not impressed, Lydia. Wait, it gets worse."

"How could I doubt it?"

"Did you meet Percy Wilkins, my lieutenant?"

Lydia shook her head. "I have a feeling that I am going to be profoundly grateful that I did not."

"Percy's a bit of a romantic." For the first time in his narrative, Major Reed frowned. "I think this is where it started going wrong."

"You think this is the place?" Lydia asked in amazement.

"Percy decided it would be fun to begin a correspondence with my mother. He had rather delicate handwriting, so that was not a worry ...."