Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

L ondon, May 1813

"Have you received another letter from Alfred, dear?"

Jo looked up from the letters she was reading. She'd thought her mother was asleep.

"Yes, Mama. He's doing well." Papa had obviously given orders to Chivenor that letters from France could be given directly to her; one was in Captain Delafield's neat hand, and the other in Alfred's careless scrawl.

Mama nodded with a pleased smile and started removing the shawls that covered her legs. Jo put the letters down on a side table and went over to help. "Would you like some tea?"

"Yes, please. If you would ring for it, dear."

Jo rang the bell, and when Chivenor appeared she requested a tea tray. Then she walked over to the parlour windows, now letting in the afternoon sunshine. Mama had almost taken up residence on the day bed in here, enjoying the light and the sight of greenery appearing on the trees and in the flowerbeds in the small back garden. She had stopped paying calls, as there were so few days on which she had the energy to go out. However, with the stronger tonic her physician had prescribed, she was usually still well enough to receive any visitors that came. That day had been quiet, with only Aunt Sarah and Lydia calling while Jo had been busy with the newspapers in the library.

"Sarah was telling me all about Lydia's admirers." Mama frowned. "You should be attending balls as well, Jo. You know Sarah will take you if you wish to go."

"Now, Mama, you know I don't care for such things." That was true, although it wasn't the main reason she declined Aunt Sarah's invitations. During the few morning calls she had made with Mama or Aunt Sarah she had seen cold looks and whispers behind fans from women who knew that Papa was in business, and had no wish to repeat the experience at larger events.

"You would enjoy a ball if Alfred were here."

"Yes, Mama, but he is not."

"He did seem such a nice young man. Just a pity he had to go back to Spain."

"Yes, Mama," Jo said patiently, for they'd had this conversation several times before. "But at least he is safe now."

"If he hadn't been captured, he could have come home on leave, or sold out, then I would have seen you wed."

"Mama, if he hadn't been captured, he might have been killed in the next engagement. At least this way, he will be coming back when this war is over."

"I know, dear, it just seems so hard to have found a suitable young man and then not to see him again for so long." She took a sip of her tea and nibbled on one of the sweet biscuits that Cook had sent up. The staff liked Mama, and Cook was trying very hard to tempt her to eat more. "Why don't you read out some of his letter, Jo. That will cheer me up."

Jo took a mouthful of tea to give her time to think. Then she picked up Alfred's letter from the table.

"He says he is well, and that his hand is better—I can see that because he has written himself this time. He also says that he misses me. Listen: ‘I long for the time when we can be together, and the thought of you waiting patiently for me does help the time to pass.'"

"That's lovely, dear," Mama said .

"And he says, ‘It seems so long since we were together and I gazed upon your lovely face.'" She hid her irritation that he had used exactly the same words as he had dictated to Captain Delafield in his previous letter. "And he sends his best wishes for an improvement in your health." That sentiment had not come from Alfred's letter.

Mama gave her a gentle smile. "All will be well, dear. Have you called on Mrs Bengrove recently?"

"No, Mama. You recall she has removed to Bengrove Hall until she has had the baby." Jo had told Mama that a month ago; she must have forgotten.

"Oh, that's a shame. Now, I'm going to have a nap until dinner. Will you send Halsey to me when it's time to get ready?"

"Yes, Mama." Jo went over and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. She started when she saw her father standing in the doorway, but he shook his head and put a finger to his lips, so she said nothing. She followed him into the library.

"It does your mother good to hear from Captain Bengrove. He writes nicely, judging by the parts you read."

"Yes, Papa," Jo said reluctantly. She didn't wish to admit to having received a letter from Captain Delafield that had not been written on Alfred's behalf. At least, not until she'd had time to think about what he'd said.

"Mr Felton has invited your mother and me for dinner on Friday, to meet some other people interested in his new venture. May I say that you will accompany me instead?"

"If you wish, Papa. Mr Felton does not care to hear the opinions of women, does he?"

"No, I'm afraid he does not. But it may be instructive if you can converse with his wife. He seemed just a bit too keen to have me join him. If he is in financial difficulties for some reason, he may not be making the best of judgements."

Jo sighed. "I'll see what I can find out."

It wasn't the kind of thing she enjoyed doing to assist her father, particularly as the man's daughter was a friend, albeit not a close one. She could see such information would be useful, but she drew the line at explicit questioning. Papa thanked her and returned to his study. Jo went to her room and sat on the window seat with her letters. She read the one from Captain Delafield again.

Dear Miss Stretton,

I hope you do not regard this letter as too much of an impertinence. Captain Bengrove showed me part of your last letter, in which you described your visit to his family home.

Your comments reminded me somewhat of my own childhood. As the youngest of seven children, I was surrounded by over-protective sisters and people who all knew better than I did and told me so frequently. They all had the best of intentions, of course, and were not trying to demonstrate their own superiority. This was little comfort at the time, although in my case I knew I could escape when I grew older, so the situation did not seem too onerous. I had never thought before how frustrating it must be for an intelligent woman to be treated as a perpetual child.

However, and this is the reason I write, I thought you should be aware that Captain Bengrove took the content of your letter completely at face value. If I have mistaken the matter, please forgive me. And please accept my very best wishes for an improvement in the health of Mrs Stretton.

Yours, with respect,

Capt. R. Delafield

She could not understand why Alfred had shown her letter to Captain Delafield. It was not because the captain had needed to see her words to help him to write a reply, for Alfred had written back himself. He had apologised for his untidy writing, saying that his injured hand was not yet working quite as well as it should, but that Delafield—he omitted the ‘Captain'—seemed unwilling to write any more letters for him. Jo wondered if Captain Delafield had been as uncomfortable about writing Alfred's lover-like compliments as she had been about the idea of a stranger doing so.

Alfred's letter had also suggested that Delafield might be jealous of Alfred's rank and person, being short, thin, and an old cripple as well. So far Jo had assumed that Captain Delafield was one of Alfred's friends, but that was clearly not the case.

She had wondered, when writing her previous letter, whether Alfred would be annoyed by her sarcasm. And after it had been sent, she thought that she had been too impetuous and should not have written it at all. It seemed she need not have worried—Alfred's answering letter showed no sign of annoyance, and now she knew he hadn't even noticed the sarcasm. Did it not occur to him that a woman could have a mind of her own? That would be worrying, if it were true. Whatever the reason, she was grateful to Captain Delafield for informing her of Alfred's reaction.

The next morning she wrote replies to the letters. Then re-wrote one of them several times. And finally slipped them both into the post after her father had given his own correspondence to Chivenor to send.

Verdun, June 1813

Two letters arrived for Rob; the one from his oldest sister was accompanied by a pair of handkerchiefs embroidered by his nieces. He received letters every week or so from one or other of his brothers and sisters; these contained little about the war, but were full of domestic news and anecdotes that sometimes made him yearn to be back with his family. They were not much different from the letters he'd received on campaign, except that as he was not moving around, they reached him more regularly. Less interesting were Will's letters, which often went into detail about farming matters. Will had inherited most of the family farms, and although he could well afford to employ a bailiff to oversee them all and live the life of a gentleman of leisure, he preferred to manage them himself .

Father had left one of the farms to Rob, but he was perfectly happy to let a tenant run it. However, if his bad leg meant he had to sell his commission when he got back to England, he could end up doing Will's bidding and running the farm himself. He wasn't sure what he wanted to do with his future, but his time in the army had given him a taste for moving around, and being stuck on his farm didn't appeal at all.

The other letter he received was more surprising. He hadn't expected a reply from Miss Stretton, being fairly certain that she would consider a letter from an unknown officer to be an impertinence.

Dear Captain Delafield,

My parents would no doubt consider this a most improper correspondence, as we are not related nor have we been introduced; although that would be a trifle difficult in the circumstances, you must agree.

In relation to my last letter to Captain Bengrove, you did not mistake the matter. I thank you for letting me know that he took my words as written. I must also thank you for enabling Captain Bengrove to communicate.

My family and I are grateful for all our gallant soldiers who are opposing the Corsican, and we would be happy to help if there is anything we can do for those of you currently incarcerated in Verdun. I am assuming that the knitted scarves the main things lacking were his freedom and money, in addition to an ankle that would bear weight and bend without hurting. The first and last she could do nothing about, and money was not something he would ever request from an unknown woman. But then he thought there was something she might be able to do for him.

Not long after Bengrove had been forcibly ejected from Madame Daniau's house, Lieutenant Moorven had brought along an engineer. Lieutenant John Chadwick had been too close to the exploding powder in a bridge he was demolishing before the French could cross it, and had badly injured his right leg. The French doctor who tended him after his capture had amputated it below the knee. They made a matching pair, Rob thought, although Chadwick seemed to manage better with his wooden leg and stick than Rob currently did on his crutches. The three men got on well, and it wasn't long before Chadwick asked Madame if he could rent the room recently vacated by Bengrove. Rob had filled the hours with nothing to do by asking Chadwick to teach him some of the knowledge needed for the construction of bridges and defences, and that had developed into the pair of them asking Moorven to explain, in detail, how to locate a ship's position in the middle of an ocean. Suitable books would make that easier.

The next day, after consulting Chadwick and Moorven, he wrote his reply.

Dear Miss Stretton,

Thank you for your letter. Were you a man there would be no harm in it at all, so in view of the sentiments you expressed in your letter to Captain Bengrove, I can quite understand your choice to ignore convention in this instance.

I am hoping to be more mobile soon, but in the meantime I have never had so much time for reading and reflection, although even these activities pall after a while. The main reading material available in English consists of novels and occasional copies of English newspapers, sadly out of date by the time they reach Verdun. A naval officer is teaching me the elements of navigation, and an engineer has recently taken up lodgings here and is attempting to deliver the mathematical principles of surveying. It is rather too late for me to embark on a new occupation in either field, but studying technical matters such as these will give my mind something to work on and help to pass the time in a moderately constructive manner. If it is not too much of an imposition, my friends ask if you could have some books sent, details of which I enclose. I would ask my family, but they do not travel much and their nearest bookshop would be unlikely to have the required texts, whereas most of these should be readily available in London.

I am also trying to improve my French. If Bonaparte prevails, heaven forfend, it will be useful to speak the language well. Even if the worst does not happen, it is only courteous to the people of this town to attempt to address them in their own language. To this end, a French grammar and dictionary would also be helpful, as my abilities in the language could be described as passable, no more. I will ask my brother to forward the necessary funds to you if you let me know the cost.

With my thanks and best wishes,

Capt. R. Delafield