Chapter 17

Early the next morning, when Cassie came into the kitchen, she found Betsy already hard at work. 'Good morning, dearie,' Betsy said as Cassie came through the door, 'I hope you got a little rest after I left you.'

Cassie smiled at Betsy, and said, 'a little. You gave me a lot to think about.'

'Come and have some breakfast,' Betsy said, as she put a loaf of bread on the table, 'you must eat when you can. You never know, at times like these, when or where you'll be able to eat next.'

Cassie was slicing herself some bread when Susie came into the kitchen and sat opposite her. Susie was still a little frightened of Cassie. All the young women at the club had, at one point or another, been the recipient of Cassie's sharp tongue, and Susie had been no exception. 'Would you like some bread?' Cassie said brightly to the young girl as she sat down.

Susie nodded and whispered shyly, keeping her eyes down and staring at her plate, 'thank you.'

Betsy brought a steaming pot of tea to the table and then sat down. 'After breakfast,' Betsy said as she poured three cups of tea, 'we need to make a start, preparing for the next few days. It'll be quiet during the day,' she had said to them authoritatively, 'so this will give us a chance to make a start.'

'What are we preparing for?' Susie had asked curiously in between mouthfuls of bread that she had plastered with butter. At the club, food had been rationed, and Susie had always been hungry. Now, she was in Betsy's care, decent food, and copious amounts of it, were always available, and she always took full advantage of this abundance.

'The injured,' Betsy said softly. 'I know it's quiet out there, but later, when we start to hear the artillery,' Betsy said, with a faraway look in her eye, 'we'll know our boys have begun to fight.' She stopped and looked down at her cup of tea, her eyes full of sorrow, and added, 'come late afternoon, we can expect the first of the wounded to arrive.'

'Wounded?' Susie had said, looking at Betsy with wide eyes, 'But I don't even like the sight of blood. It makes me weak at the knees!'

Betsy smiled at her affectionately and patted her on the back of the hand. 'Yes, my child,' Betsy said quietly, 'there will be many of our men, some with horrific injuries, coming back to us today from the frontline.' Betsy was always very patient with Susie. She desperately wanted Susie to have back a little taste of her childhood that had been cruelly taken away from her by Ellington. It saddened Betsy to think that the young woman, who was still only a child, would have to witness the harrowing aftermath of war. However, there was nothing she could do to shield her from the inevitable events of the next few days. 'Just stay with me, and I'll look after you,' Betsy had said as she let go of Susie's hand.

It was not long after they had finished breakfast that the distant and relentless sound of artillery, at last, began. The three women said very little as they started to prepare themselves for the casualties they knew that would be on their way later that day. They sat around the kitchen table, tearing up old pieces of linen to make bandages, listening in silence, to the faraway rumble of war.

Later that evening, when the shelling had eventually stopped, the streets, which had been almost deserted during the day, were beginning to come back to life. Carts, full of groaning wounded men, were slowly starting to trundle into the city. 'Come,' Betsy had said to Cassie, 'we had better go and see if we can find any of our boys and bring them back here. Susie,' she gently commanded the younger woman, 'stay here and look after the children.'

Later that evening, Betsy and Cassie returned to the safety of the barracks, bringing with them many of the suffering. They both spent the rest of the night, tending to their injuries and providing comfort to those they could not help.

'Betsy,' Cassie had said, in the early hours of the following morning, 'they are all so grievously injured, and there is very little we can do to alleviate their suffering.'

'Yes, dearie,' Betsy had replied sadly, 'only those men, who have life-threatening injuries, are given permission to leave the field of battle. If it's only a flesh wound, they will eventually have to rejoin their regiment after they've been patched up by the saw-bones.'

The next morning, Cassie sat at the kitchen table, that was still covered with clean linen bandages, with her head in her hands. She was completely exhausted. Earlier, she had given the last few drops of the laudanum she possessed, to a dying man, who had been calling out in excruciating agony. She had a deep sense of guilt when she realised that she could easily ease his torment for the last few hours of his life. But her act of charity had come at a personal cost. Only a few hours after surrendering the last few drops, she could now feel her own body starting to tremble, and there was nothing she could do to lessen her torment.

'Are you quite well?' Betsy had asked her as she put her arm around her shoulder, 'I'll make you a nice cup of tea.'

'Thank you, Betsy,' Cassie had said, in a whisper, 'I'm afraid I do not feel at all well.'

'You're exhausted,' Betsy said as she hung the kettle above the fire, 'go and lie down for a couple of hours. You'll be as right as a trivet in no time.'

'It's not that Betsy,' Cassie said looking up at her with tired, sore eyes, 'I gave the last of my laudanum to that poor lad with the missing leg.'

'Then I must go and get some more,' Betsy said decisively, 'I can be back in an hour,'

'No, Betsy,' Cassie said firmly, 'you are needed here and must stay. I'll go and get some myself.'

'I don't know,' Betsy said warily, 'I don't like seeing you going out by yourself.' As she reached up to get the cups from the dresser, she added decisively, 'I know, I'll send Susie with you. She'll keep an eye on you.'

'Please, Betsy,' Cassie had said, looking up at her, 'You need Susie to stay here. You must admit that she is superb with the children, and when she looks after them, it allows you the freedom to see to the men, without having to worry about the little ones.'

Betsy had then reluctantly agreed to let Cassie go by herself. 'You must be careful, dearie,' Betsy had said as Cassie was about to leave, 'please don't go anywhere near the club. If they see you, they will...'

'I won't,' Cassie had said as she was preparing to leave, 'don't worry about me, I'll be very careful.'

When Cassie returned later that afternoon, she felt shattered. 'Cassie, my dear,' Betsy had said when she had seen her, 'you look as white as a sheet. Sit down.'

'Thank you, Betsy,' came the weak reply.

'Did you manage to get any?' Betsy said, sitting down next to her and picking up the basket, Cassie had used that afternoon, from the floor,

'Yes,' Cassie replied, her voice frail, 'it was expensive, but I eventually found some.'

'Never mind the price,' Betsy said as she reached into the basket and retrieved the small, brown glass bottle, 'you must take a few drops now.'

Betsy went and poured out a cup of milk and then added a few drops of the brown liquid. 'Drink it all up,' she said, with a smile, as she put the cup in front of Cassie.

Cassie drank it in one go, and it was not long until she began to feel the soothing effects of the drug. 'I saw my sister today,' she said as she looked at Betsy. 'I never thought I'd ever see her again,' Cassie then added, a few tears welling up in her eyes. 'My sister told me my brother was in the thick of the fighting,' Cassie then said as she pulled out a handkerchief from her sleeve. 'He's so young,' she said softly, 'not much older than Susie.'

Betsy put her arms around her and let her cry on her shoulder. 'Come, dearie,' Betsy softly crooned, 'don't worry yourself, there is nothing you can do to help him now. Anyway, my dear, there will always be someone in his regiment looking out for him. The more experienced boys always take care of the younger ones, especially those who have never witnessed any fighting. Come to bed and lie down, dearie. You look exhausted.'

Cassie lay down on the bed, and for the first time in days, she slept.

It was now the third day since Damien and Joe left, and for the first-time, Cassie could tell that Betsy was beginning to worry. It was late morning, and the distant sound of artillery had still not yet begun.

'Is anything amiss,' Cassie had said to Betsy, 'you look drained.'

Betsy sighed. 'Yes, dearie, I am,' she said with a furrowed brow, 'it's late in the morning, and I would have expected to hear the cannon by now.'

Cassie came over and gave Betsy a hug. It was the first time since they had met that Cassie had the chance to give Betsy some comfort. 'Yesterday, when the locals were shouting in the street that the French had won and were on their way to Brussels, you told us to ignore them. You said that you would only trust the word of an Englishman and we were all fools to believe a rumour.'

'Betsy, I know you are worried about Joe, and you have every right to be anxious, but the last news we received from the front, was that he was still alive and well.' Cassie then added. 'Betsy, please, go and lie down and get some rest. You haven't slept for nearly three days, and you're bone-tired. When Joe gets back, he'll need you to be rested.'

'Yes, dearie, you're right,' she said wearily, 'I will go and get a little rest, but you must wake me up if there is any news about Joe.'

It was not until half-past eleven that morning when the distant, monotonous sound of the cannon began its relentless pounding. Betsy had managed to get a few hours' rest, but the continuing presence of dark smudges under her eyes only accentuated her exhaustion. She spoke very little that day; she just kept herself busy, tending to the injured men that were continually arriving.

Then at nine o'clock that night, the sound of battle finally stopped. 'It's over,' Betsy had said, 'now all we can do is wait.'

It was just after two o'clock in the morning when there was a commotion outside. Cassie, who had been trying to get a little rest, ran over to the window. She saw two men coming towards the barracks. One of them was leaning heavily on the other and could hardly walk. Cassie then ran to the kitchen, just as they begun to pound on the door.

'Quick, clear the table,' Joe said as he burst into the kitchen, 'it's the Captain. He's been badly hurt.'

Cassie felt numb. But instead of panicking, she went to the table and quickly cleared its surface. As soon as his superior officer was lying down, Joe said, 'he's been shot in the shoulder. I'll have to cut off his jacket. Quickly, get me a knife.'

Cassie ran over to the dresser and grabbed the knife, that only a few hours ago, had been used to slice bread, and gave it to Joe. As Joe cut open his jacket, Betsy came into the kitchen. 'Oh, Joe,' she said, her hands across her mouth, 'you're alive. I thought you were...'

'There's no time for that now, my love,' Joe said as he continued to cut away at Damien's jacket. 'The Captains in a bad way. I need you to send for the saw-bones. The musket ball is still in there, and it's too deep for me to get out.'

Cassie, who was now standing by the table opposite Joe, helped him remove the cut material that had once been part of his jacket. It was soaked in his blood that was still oozing from the wound. 'Get a sheet and rip it up,' Joe commanded Cassie, 'and then press down on the wound. We have to try and stop the bleeding, or he'll die.'

Cassie felt detached from reality. It was like being trapped in a nightmare that, however much one tried, you could not rouse yourself out of it. Instead of regaining consciousness, your mind only gets sucked deeper into its dark, frightening narrative. Cassie came back to the table with the piece of linen. 'Press down on the wound,' Joe said as he removed the last of the old dressing, 'and try and slow the bleeding.'

Damien, who had been unconscious since entering the kitchen, groaned with pain as Cassie pressed down onto the wound. She gently touched his forehead with her other hand. 'Please don't die,' she said, in almost a whisper, 'I love you.'

The surgeon came into the room and looked at Damien and sighed. 'I'd be surprised if he survives until dawn,' he said dispassionately, 'just give him some laudanum and leave him in peace. If my digging in his shoulder won't kill him, then the fever, that sure to follow the surgery, will almost certainly kill him off.'

'No! sir!' Joe said firmly, 'you'll get that damn ball out of him and then you'll patch him up. I'm not letting you leave until you at least try to save him.'

The doctor murmured something under his breath and removed his jacket. 'You're an impudent bastard, aren't you,' the surgeon growled, 'you'll only make his suffering worse in the long run. Are you sure that's what you want?'

'Yes,' Joe said resolutely. 'That's what I want, and I know that's what he'd want as well,' he said, pointing at Damien, 'now get to work!'

The surgeon muttered under his breath and then rolled up his shirt sleeves. 'Get me some hot water and plenty of linen to soak up the blood,' he ordered Cassie and Joe, who was standing next to the table waiting for his instructions. 'I need you to hold him still, in case he wakes up,' he said pointing at Joe. 'And you!' he said, now motioning at Cassie, 'you can clean around the wound while I'm digging around in there, trying to find that damn musket ball. You're not going to have a fit of the vapours, are you?' he then added, still looking at Cassie, 'you look rather pale to me.'

'No, sir,' Cassie said, proudly holding her head up high, 'I have never felt faint at the sight of blood.'

'Well,' he said, unsure whether he believed her or not, 'if you feel unwell, please leave the room immediately. I don't have time for the fits and starts of young ladies.'

The surgeon then began the troublesome task of removing the musket ball. Occasionally, Damien would regain consciousness and struggle with the pain, but Joe was there with a strong arm to restrain him and keep him still. At last, the surgeon dropped the musket ball into the metal bowl with a clang. He then cauterised the wound, using a hot poker and then bandaged it. 'Is there a quiet room we could bring him to rest? If he survives the next few hours, which I doubt, he will undoubtedly get a fever and will need constant supervision.'

'His bedchamber is just through there,' Cassie said to the surgeon, trying to sound authoritative, 'he will be comfortable in there. And, I'll stay with him and nurse him through his fever.'

The surgeon looked at her suspiciously, 'I don't think that this is a job for a slip of a girl, who should be at home with her family.'

'What do you mean by that?' Cassie replied crossly, 'just because I'm a mere "slip of a girl" does not mean I cannot be trusted to look after a sick man.'

'Suit yourself,' the surgeon said as he wiped his hands of Damien's blood, 'just don't blame me if he doesn't make it past dawn.'