Gill Paul - No Place For A Lady

The quayside at Varna was milling with soldiers of different nationalities – noisy Greeks in olive green, golden-skinned Ottomans in purply-blue tunics with a red fez cap, the French in red trousers with blue jackets, plus others whom Lucy couldn’t identify – and everywhere there were piles of cannonballs and shells. The town itself was small and whitewashed, its pot-holed streets broiling in fierce heat. While Charlie oversaw the disembarkation of the horses, Lucy and Adelaide strolled along the main street purchasing supplies to supplement the army rations they would receive in camp later: a loaf of black bread, a side of ham, a bag of lemons. Lucy hesitated over a bottle of milk because Charlie didn’t like tea without milk, but Adelaide warned her that in this heat it would surely turn before they could pitch camp.

A much-decorated officer scowled at them as he hurried past. He wasn’t wearing a helmet and they could see that the top of his head was quite bald while hair grew profusely down the sides and around his chin in an elongated U-shape.

‘That’s Lord Lucan, commander of the cavalry,’ Adelaide whispered. ‘His plan to stop ladies accompanying the army has been sorely thwarted. I don’t think any women stayed behind – certainly none of the Hussars’ wives.’

‘I hope he has more influence over his men than he does over us,’ Lucy giggled.

Charlie ordered two of his men to bring their luggage ashore and load it onto a gun carriage, which was a relief to Lucy, who had a niggling worry about bringing too much, especially in comparison to Adelaide who had only a modest bag. That night they were to sleep outdoors on a large plain alongside a lake, before travelling north the following day. It was a pretty spot as the sun began to set, with flocks of graceful white birds swooping down to rest on the water then lifting off in a giant cloud. Some folk set about erecting tents but Charlie peered at the sky and decided there was no need for shelter that night.

‘I don’t expect you have ever slept under the stars, my dear. It’s a glorious experience in a climate as temperate as this. Everyone should try it.’ He began arranging their bedding underneath a sprawling bush.

‘Will we be safe?’ Lucy asked, all kinds of worries simultaneously crowding her brain: snakes, scorpions, Russian soldiers …

‘We’re surrounded by the bravest and best of the British army, my love. What could possibly happen?’

He built a little campfire on which to boil water for tea, and in lieu of milk he added a glug of rum to his cup.

‘Anyone care to join our party?’ he called to those round about. ‘Bring your own hooch!’

Bill and Adelaide joined them, and several of the men, all passing round their bottles. Mrs Williams and her husband Stan perched on the edge of the group, and she and Lucy exchanged smiles.

‘What about a sing-song?’ Charlie suggested, and burst into a tenor rendition of the popular ballad, ‘Thou art gone from my gaze, like a beautiful dream’. He sang the first verse, then turned to Lucy: ‘I don’t know any more of the words, my dear, but perhaps you do?’

She took over – ‘In the stillness of night, when the stars mildly shine’ – and the group fell silent as they listened to her pretty singing voice, quite the finest many of them had heard. For years she had been studying under an Italian singing master, hired by her mother so that there would always be music in the house. Lucy put her heart into it, wanting Charlie to be proud of her.

When she reached the end he cheered ‘Bravo!’, and the others joined his applause. One soldier piped up with the lively ‘Cheer, boys, cheer!’ and Charlie rose to his haunches and began a clumsy Cossack dance, hopping, kicking and falling over in a parody of the well-known Russian dance style. Everyone laughed until their sides hurt. It was clear he was the company jester and Lucy suddenly felt a pang of sadness that her mother never met him. Their characters were so similar she was sure they would have got along famously. Mama would never have allowed Dorothea to cause this horrid rift in the family. She would instantly have welcomed Charlie as one of them.

When Lucy crawled into her bedding later, Charlie was inebriated and keen to make love. He cupped her breast, squeezing it a little too hard, while trying to push up her skirts.

‘We can’t,’ she shushed. ‘Others will hear.’ The nearest men were only ten paces distant and although they appeared to be asleep, Lucy didn’t want to risk them seeing or hearing anything compromising. Charlie grumbled but soon gave up, fell back on his bedding and began to snore.

Lucy lay awake, alert for movements on the ground. Dorothea’s words about scorpions and snakes echoed through her head, but all she saw in the moonlight was a large beetle with yellow markings and sharp black pincers. She watched it for a while, wondering if it might bite her in her sleep. And then she reminded herself that she was a captain’s wife, who must be strong to survive this extraordinary experience. She picked up a rock and crushed the beetle, then settled down to sleep.

Bugles sounded at daybreak and everyone rose to pack any belongings that had been unpacked the night before. Lucy washed her face and rearranged her hair, smoothing down the creases in her pale blue silk gown as best she could. They were travelling eight miles north to a place called Silistria, where the Russian forces were under siege by the Ottomans, and Lucy felt a knot in her stomach when she thought about that. But for now, Charlie helped her and Adelaide to climb onto a gun carriage to ride with their luggage and they enjoyed the drive through the countryside while it was still early enough to escape the glare of the sun: the sky was cloudless but a light breeze made the temperature pleasant.

Adelaide transpired to be something of an expert on wildflowers and plants and she identified the blooms they passed in fields and hedgerows: wild roses, larkspur, borage, even purple heather, which Lucy had always thought to be uniquely Scottish. ‘I enjoy gardening,’ she explained. ‘We have a pretty garden at our house in Oxfordshire.’

When they arrived at Silistria, the French had already set up camp on one side of the plain, and Lucy caught sight of the red fezzes of the Turkish soldiers further off. The area left for the British troops lay on swampy ground near a river and black clouds of flies rose into the air as they stepped on it.

‘We’ll have our work cut out making this a home from home, but I’m sure we’re up to it,’ Adelaide called cheerfully.

They chose a patch that was slightly drier than the rest and some soldiers helped to unload Lucy’s trunk and bags onto the ground. Charlie and Bill approached, joshing each other.

‘I’ll put a plug in your nose if you snore as you did last night,’ Bill told Charlie, while Charlie insisted that Bill’s socks must never be allowed in the tent.

‘What’s going on?’ Adelaide smiled at them.

Charlie answered: ‘They brought four-man tents. Bill and I have decided we’d rather share with you ladies than with any of our men – if that’s acceptable to you, of course.’ He bowed theatrically.

‘I’ll hang a sheet down the middle so we have a modicum of privacy,’ Bill added.

Adelaide and Lucy looked at each other and agreed. In fact, Lucy felt greatly relieved that her friend would be so close at hand, even during the night. It would make her feel safer. She wondered what Dorothea would make of her sleeping under canvas. She would be forced to revise her low opinion of her younger sister if she saw how well she was coping with army life. Just the thought of Dorothea made her feel cross. Lucy shook her head, trying to erase the memory of their argument.