Kelly, Carla - The Wedding Journey.htm

His Magic Touch

"You know I'm not a miracle worker," Jesse said.

"Oh, I think you are," Nell said, sighing. "Could you scratch my right shoulder blade?" He did, and she sighed again. "A little lower. Oh, lovely."

He made great progress on the area around her neck, marveling at the lightness of her bones and the softness of her back. A hospital steward had remarked to him that Elinore Mason had such a fragile air about her. You're so right, Jesse thought, as he expertly manipulated her shoulders through her nightgown. He knew the resiliency of the human body as well as any surgeon, but he still felt reluctant to press too hard. Even if he were permitted to grow old and cranky with her, he would always wonder how she preserved that gentleness. What is it about women? he asked himself. Or at least, what is it about this woman?

The

Wedding Journey

Carla Kelly

A SIGNET BOOK

SIGNET

Published by New American Library, a division of

Penguin Putnam Inc., 375 Hudson Street,

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First published by Signet, an imprint of New American Library,

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First Printing, December 2002

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Copyright Carla Kelly, 2002

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"This book is lovingly dedicated to the surgeons

in Wellington's Marching Hospitals"

One must always get over heavy ground as lightly as possible."

Sir Arthur Wellesley, Duke of Wellington

Prologue

Captain Jesse Cameron Randall, assistant surgeon of Marching Hospital Number Eight, was no lover of paperwork, but he had no trouble declining an invitation from his brother officers to drink up the dead ration that always signaled the beginning of a retreat. Even using the argument that the bottles would be an encumbrance, it struck him as unseemly to polish off the liquor and wine belonging to officers who had died during the campaign. Somehow, toasting "Glorious War" and then downing the booze of dead men smacked of more hypocrisy than he cared to tote about.

Besides, everyone would be required to give a toast. Yes, he was shy, but more than that, his quiet toast of "Do no harm," had dampened other such gatherings. Do no harm. Eight years ago in 1804, with another company of practitioners, he had recited the Hippocratic Oath in the cathedral adjacent to the University of Milan. It was his own toast to death, and after all these years, he had drunk his fill of it. He preferred to stay under Number Eight's canvas and finish his reports.

Thinking of hypocrisy, he smiled to himself, and knew he was the biggest hypocrite in Wellington's Peninsular army. Paperwork be damned; he wanted to keep Nell Mason in view. Elinore Ophelia Mason, to be accurate, he amended, a grandiose name for the compact young lady preparing a plaster at the other end of the tent. He loved her. Even the occasional glance in her direction was balm in Gilead, here on the outskirts of boring, disgusting, irritating Burgos. He knew it was love; he never doubted it.

Rain had thundered down for three days now, dratted rain. Somewhere in normally parched Spain, he was certain there were farmers lighting candles in gratitude. He took no pleasure in it, not after a frantic camp follower had rushed into Number Eight yesterday, carrying her toddler, blue and suffocated from falling in the mud and unable to right herself. He had tried for an hour to resuscitate the little one, long after the chief surgeon, Major Sheffield, gave his shoulder a shake. He hated the mud.

The only bright spot in the whole, dismal affair was his relief that Nell didn't see him fail. Her own mother was ill with camp fever. By the time she learned of the incident from Dan O'Leary, chief hospital steward, the baby had already been taken to the dead tent. She had cried anyway.

Jess put down his dip pen. Rain had first called his attention to Nell Mason seven years ago in Canada, his first posting with the division. In autumn on a rainy day much like this one, he had watched two children digging in the mud by their tent. Tired from duty in the fever tent, it had taken him awhile to realize that they were trying to spade out a trench around the family tent to keep the rain out.

Major Sheffield had come over to stand beside him, and swore. "Blast and damn! Why can't Bertie Mason look after his own?" In a moment he had summoned two privates from Number Eight to dig the trench. The boy was frankly embarrassed and ducked his head. The girl gathered her soaking cloak around her and picked her way to stand beside Sheffield, inclining her head toward him for a small moment and then hurrying away.

"You wait, now," Sheffield had told him as they removed their cloaks later in their tent. "Tomorrow there will be a little something just inside the tent."

Sure enough, when he had opened the tent flap in the morning, he stared down at a blue bead, which he handed to Sheffield. With a smile, the chief surgeon took out a strand of similar beads from an inside pocket, unknotted the string, and added it. "She is scrupulous about paying for help," he had said, then held up the little necklace to the light. "When I feel all puffed up, I like to pull this out and think about the widow's mite. Help'um when you can, lad. No one else will."

That was his introduction to the Masons and endless camp gossip about Bertram and Audrey Mason, two sillies with no more income than a captain of foot, who lived precariously one step ahead of their creditors. In that hypocrisy peculiar to the officer corps, he had watched officers' wives ignore Audrey Mason, and admonish their children not to play with Will or Nell.

Even now, eight years and a continent later, he remembered when the blue beads ran out. He had left the butt end of a roast, crispy-cooked, outside the Masons' tent, something hardly worth mentioning. In the morning, Nell had come to Number Eight in tears, brushing past him to stand before his superior, who knelt beside her.

"I have no more beads, sir," she had whispered to Sheffield while Jesse eavesdropped shamelessly.

The starkness of that memory made him pick up the pen again to continue the death report. Then he put it down, not sure, even after eight years, which was the lesser of two evils. In his own youth, or ignorance, he had almost told the Chief to give her back the beads, so the game could begin again. A closer look told him volumes about the character of the little girl standing so close to Sheffield. The matter was deeply real to her. The realization of just how much the Mason children needed the surgeons' little favors came like a slap.

As he watched, Sheffield had eased himself onto a stool and took Nell on his lap. "I have a better idea," he told her. "You can come to work for me. We're always in need of a good sweeping out, and Will could carry rubbish to the burn pit."

She nodded, the shame gone, but replaced by hesitation. "I might be afraid," she said.

"No need, lass," the Chief had told her. "You and Will may only come here when I say so." He seemed to understand her hesitation. "I need your help! So does our good king."

Jesse had watched in amusement then as she seriously considered Sheffield's adroit appeal to her patriotism.

"You are certain?"

"Never more so. You must come when either I or Captain Randall here call you."

She had nodded and left the tent then. Sheffield held up his hand, ready to ward off an argument. "Jesse, don't tell me they'll be seeing life in the rough in Number Eight! They will be warm here and dry, and we always have food, even when Bertie Mason gambles away his pay."

"But ..."

Sheffield only shook his hand, the gesture as clear as yesterday to Jess as he sat staring at the papers in front of him. "No arguments! A marching hospital is not a bad place to grow up. You might, too. Stranger things have happened."

Chapter One

I must ask you, Chief, if I grew up, he thought, returning to his paperwork. He stirred the ink, cursed the titans of red tape, and glanced down the tent to Nell Mason, eighteen now, as she warmed a bit of plaster on the portable hob. Two parts each of powdered lead monoxide, pork lard, and olive oil, he thought, and one part Nell Mason.

He got up and walked the length of the tent to observe as she efficiently rolled the plaster pill around the hob with a wooden spatula until it was the right consistency. She flipped it onto the little slab of marble, then flattened it onto the two layers of gauze that he obligingly anchored with his fingers. Two strokes measured the precise thickness. She looked at him then. "Should I?"

"Of course," he told her. "Private Hornsby would be dashed disappointed if I applied that plaster, Nell. He might decline and die."

She laughed. "Doctor, no one dies from a plaster!"

He smiled, and watched as she sat on a stool by the lucky private. Carefully she drew the edges of the wound together, then applied the little plaster down its length. While she held the plaster in place as it hardened, she kept up a soothing conversation with the private, which rendered him speechless with shyness.

When the little plaster was hard and firmly in place to Nell's satisfaction, she stood up, and remained there a moment, her hands together. Jess smiled. The private practically writhed like a puppy under her calm gaze. When she could see nothing else to do, she twitched up the blanket a little higher around the man's shoulders, then returned to her perch by the medicine chest.

He hadn't been around to watch her turn from a fetching little girl into a lovely woman. Before another month was out in Canada, Jess found himself on a frigate bound for Jamaica with a portion of the division. The rest of Picton's Third had been posted to Portugal after Boney started taking such an interest in the place. Like the others in Jamaica, Jess chafed to follow the action. The call came finally.

He went home to Dumfries briefly, grateful to be free of the feverish islands after four years. He happily became reacquainted with his parents, admired the family estates, kilted up and danced a jig with his older brothers and their pretty wives. He couldn't tell them why he liked his army life, so different from their own quiet ways; they never expected much eloquence from him, so it hardly mattered.

His arrival in Lisbon couldn't have been better timed. Wellington and his army were chafing behind the lines of Torres Vedras, eager for spring and another chance at the French. There was the inevitable typhus to contend with, and what David Sheffield always called "stupid wounds" from an army careless and tired of inaction.

And there was Nell Mason again. He had thought of her now and then in Jamaica. Sheffield had given him a blue bead from his stash when he left Canada for Jamaica, with the mild reminder to look at it occasionally and remember to help others.

He had met Sheffield in Lisbon, and spent a pleasant evening drinking port and catching up on division news. "Will and Nell?" he asked finally.

Sheffield leaned back and shook his head when the waiter offered more port. "Will's at Cambridge."

"What? Surely Bertie Mason never came out of an alcoholic stupor and noticed that he had a son with brains?"

"Alas, no. Bertie's parents told their son that they would educate Will, perhaps in the hope that he might amount to something." He stared at the port remaining in his glass. "He won't disappoint them." He sighed. "Nell cried to see him go."

"Surely she's married by now? Or maybe not. She's but sixteen, eh?"

"Aye, lad. No, she's not married, even though she is the prettiest little thing."

"Why ever not, then?" Jess remembered her earnest blue eyes, and the intense way she swept the tent, as though the fate of nations depended upon it. Charming in that way of eleven-year-olds, but he couldn't really see her as grown up.

"Would you want Bertie Mason for a father-in-law?"

"Good God, no," Jess said fervently. "Poor Nell."

"You understand." Sheffield leaned back with a sigh. "Now you're going to ask me if she still sweeps out the hospital tent."

"I suppose I am," he said, amused.

"She does more," Sheffield said simply. "At Talavera, I had such need of her."

"God, no!" Still in Scotland, peacefully fishing his father's favorite stream, he had heard of Talavera: three days of heat and death, with fires licking at the wounded.

"The assistant surgeon who replaced you froze and couldn't do a damned thing," Sheffield said, his eyes stern with the memory. "Dan O'Learyyou remember my steward?edged him aside and took over, and Nell took Dan's place with me."

Jess was quiet for a long moment. "It's so irregular."

"It's damned irregular!" End of outburst. Looking slightly embarrassed, Sheffield, stared down again. He spoke after a long moment. "We've been training her to do Dan's little jobs, and he's been assisting me. I know you're here now, but I want Dan to help both of us. He has the gift, lad, same as you."

It was a compliment of blinding proportions, unlooked for, and in Jess's opinion, undeserved, but he knew better than to protest. Savor the moment, Jesse, he told himself with a smile. You know that Sheffield will be on you first thing in the morning for some infraction or other.

Or maybe not, he thought, as he looked at his mentor. Maybe I did grow up. He thought about the earnest little girl he remembered. And maybe I should allow Elinore Ophelia Mason the same opportunity.

Sheffield was right, he had discovered the next morning, when he entered the little church housing Marching Hospital Number Eight. There was Dan O'Leary grinning at him, hair as red as ever, Irish eyes bright with good humor, looking six years older, but none the worse for wear. And there was Nell grown up, smiling at him and coming forward with her hand outstretched. She gave him a firm handshake; as he looked into her blue eyes, he knew he would never love another.

It was that simple. His university training in Milan, that mother of universities, had taught him to be skeptical and to trust nothing he could not prove. But here was Nell standing before him, not much taller than before, but with a womanly shape now, possessing an indefinable something even medical training could not explain. He knew that he could never leave her again.

It was more than the way she looked, and he knew it, even as he admired the beautiful woman before him. She was quiet, but everything about her was confident and capable. Her own lovely character sparkled before him, and it spoke louder than words. He knew how good this woman was, because he knew the child inside her.

So the matter stood for two years: the triumph of Bus-saco, then back to the lines of Torres Vedras, through grubby sieges at Badajoz, that damned town, the storming of the walls at Ciudad Rodrigo, then on to the brilliance of Salamanca. He looked, he admired, but looming behind Nell like a cloud was Bertie Mason, all smiles and trouble, and Jess's own shyness.

He admitted it. He chafed at his shyness. Even more, he chafed at his inability to find a moment for Nell and no one else. When he chose his life's work, he knew that he would be busy, but he hadn't counted on Napoleon's genius for stirring up Europe. There was no balance in his world of war, and Jess knew he needed time he would never have to convince Nell of his devotion. He decided that war was no place to woo.

Not that he didn't seriously consider courtship with Eli-nore, despite the terrors of Bernie Mason as a potential father-in-law. He even went so far one day early in the Burgos siege, when he had a free fifteen minutes, as to park himself in front of the mirror for an assessment. He knew he had enough height to please ladies fond of tall men. His hair was that shade of red the people were prone to call handsome, because it was dark instead of carrot-colored. What a relief not to be mistaken for a root crop, he thought, and smiled to himself. He frowned in the mirror next, wondering why an ordinarily merciful God had chosen him to have curly hair, which was such a bother on campaign because his comb always went right to the bottom of his trunk and stayed there, resisting all discovery.

His face was just a face. He had grown up among thin-lipped, tight-nosed folk, Scots frugal physically as well as economically. One of the first things he had noticed about Spain was the full lips of the Spanish beauties, whether flower girl or marquesa. Ever the anatomist, he admired the deepset, dark eyes of men and women alike, and the effect of a nose with character. Ah, well. At least his teeth were all his own, with none of the gaps he saw in the local population. He knew his mother would credit that to oats for breakfast.

The mirror was small, but he backed away from it and turned sidways. He patted his waist, noting that it was especially easy to maintain a flat stomach during a siege. No one was well-fed on either side of the walls of Burgos, except the regimental quartermaster. Suspicious, that. He sat down again in front of the mirror. His father and brothers were all lean men, too; he had no reason to fear that he would someday run to fat and make his wife uncomfortable.

With growing impatienceand the realization that it was almost time to administer powders to the fever patient in cot threehe stared at himself. You, sir, who are so eloquent when describing diagnoses and prognoses, tighten up like a clam when a healthy female is within at least a three-hundred-yard radius. You, sir, who can deliver babies, and deal with private female functions without a blush or murmur, turn into a bumbler when a disease-free lady even glances in your direction. Too bad you never learned a remedy for shyness at the University of Milan.

He turned away from the mirror in disgust.

And now it was Burgos in late autumn, only one tantalizing river away from the French Pyrenees, but too far. They would begin a retreat soon and retrace their steps of summer through Salamanca, and back to Portugal. He did not fancy it, but he fancied Burgos even less, and the dismal little village close by where the regiment was quartered. Here Number Eight waited with its military cover for the retreat.

He looked up from his paperwork to see David Sheffield glaring down at him. "Yes, I'm wasting time," he said. "There is something about reports, especially this one." He gestured at the paper in front of him, the one describing the death of the toddler yesterday.

Sheffield rested his hand on Jess's shoulder for a brief moment. "Just finish it, Jess," he said gently.

He did as Sheffield directed, his heart heavy, then looked around the tent, soothing himself with the order he saw. As a reward, he gave himself permission to seek out Nell Mason with his eyes. She was scraping lint with Dan O'Leary, no one's favorite job. The lint would be stretched into long rolls and sandwiched between sheets of paper, ready for use at the next battle. The lint clung to everything; Jess was sure he could taste it in his food, lurking among slabs of dreary beef and great whacking hunks of squash.

Nell must have sensed he was looking at her, because she turned his way and nodded. "Join us?" she teased, holding up a fistful of lint. He could see it in her dark hair.

"In a word, no." He smiled at her. "You know how I love my paperwork."

They both laughed. Then he stopped, put down his pen, and rose, every nerve on edge, because Major William Bones had entered the tent. A chair scraped behind him, and he knew that Dan was on his feet, too, not out of deference but caution.

He also knew that Dan stood for the same reason. There was something about the way the major looked at Nell Mason that set off warning bells jangling inside his head. He had never really voiced the matter with Dan; it was something they understood.

Curious about instinct: every man who came into the tent unconsciously sought out Nell Mason with his eyes. In their hard world of bad water, poor quarters, seething latrines, and terror around the next hill, beauty was as rare as roses in January. After his return to the regiment, Jess learned quickly that most men wanted to look and admire. With Bones it was different. "It's like he takes her clothes off with his eyes" was the only comment Dan O'Leary had ever made about the matter.

And I don't? Jess had thought at the time, and wasted a useless evening contemplating the sin of hypocrisy. Even his overactive conscience had to yield to the fact that Major Bones was an ugly customer. I have cleaned up after your too-frequent floggings, he thought, even as he watched the man now. No telling what you would do to a woman, given enough rage or spite. So he stood up, keeping himself between the major and Nell, even as Daniel did.

"Afternoon, gentlemen. Miss Mason."

Jess winced. Anyone else saying that would sound perfectly unexceptionable, except that Dan O'Leary was no gentleman, which rendered the salutation condescending, even cruel. "Major, may we help you?" he forced himself to say.

"How many of my men in your hospital?"

"Three, sir," he replied, relieved to turn to medicine. "Jenks there with a chest wound. It's healing now, but it's slow." He could have said so much more about the hours and hours after Salamanca at the private's bedside, patiently reinflating his chest when his lungs collapsed, but he did not. "Holmes' boils are about to head. I think he'll be able to put on his trousers again in a few days. I am going to discharge Lewiston tomorrow."

"Make it now," Bones said. He stalked over to Holmes and flung back the blanket to look at the chafing boils on his thighs. "Get your pants on, Private." Bones grinned at Jess. "I expect when Granny Sheffield gets back from Officers Call, he'll have news for all of you. We're retreating,"

Jesse held his breath as the major took a long look at Nell, then brushed past hershe tried to step back, but he was too closeto stand over Jenks. The private looked up at him with terrified eyes. "Jenks, I think you're a dead man. Too bad, but there you are."

"Major, there's no call for that," Jess said. "We will take care of him."

"Oh, you will? Going to keep that ox cart from bumping him all over creation? Unlike you, little man, I am a realist."

You're a sadist, Jess thought. Jenks began to hyperventilate, taking greater and greater gulps of air into his sorely tried lungs. Daniel hurried toward the small bellows hanging on the closest tent post. Nell seemed rooted to the ground, and he knew then how great her own terror was.

Bones laughed. He went to brush past Nell again, but she moved away. He stopped, standing too close, but not touching her. "Miss Mason, I hear your mother is ill. Pity, considering how busy our dear Bertie will be soon. Who's to look after you?"

"We will, Major. How dare you bully my staff." Jess said it quietly enough, and almost surprised himself with the menace behind his words.

It was enough menace to distract Bones from Nell, who had gone as white as a new bandage. Jess took a deep breath as Bones walked the length of the tent to where he still stood beside his desk. "I don't care for your tone, Captain," he said when they were practically toe-to-toe.

Don't imagine for a moment that I won't stare you down, Jess thought. How dare you? After a long momentJess wasn't sure he was even breathingthe major turned away. "Hurry up, Holmes!" he shouted to the man struggling into his trousers. "Lewiston, help him, you sorry sod!"

He turned back quickly, swung his hand, and tipped over the inkwell on the reports. "Watch yourself, Surgeon." After another long look at Nell, who was helping Daniel with the bellows, he left the tent.

Swearing under his breath, Jess ran to Jenks' cot and held his hands while his steward continued to work the bellows. Nell ran to fetch a cool cloth. She dipped it in vinegar, their only antiseptic, and wiped it across the terrified soldier's forehead as he struggled to breathe.

"It's all right, Private, we know what to do," Jess said, keeping his voice soft. "You just have to know by now that we will never abandon you."

As they labored over Jenks, some of the other patients began to murmur to each other; one or two tried to rise. "As you were, men," Jess said calmly. "As you were." In a few moments, they were quiet again. Soon Private Jenks was breathing regularly, his eyes closed, exhausted from the effort.

Jess could feel two pairs of eyes on his, and he looked from Nell to Daniel, and back to Nell again, finding his own reassurance in her steady gaze. Well, Hippocrates, he asked himself as he gestured for Dan to remove the bellows, did you ever feel uncomfortable when people thought you knew what you were doing? He stood over Jenks a few minutes longer, then returned to clean up the mess on his desk.

To his gratification, Nell came to help. She moved quickly and surely around the table, moving books to keep them safe, and deftly pouring the ink that had pooled on the top sheet back into the bottle and saving the rest of the report underneath. How long have you been cleaning up after us? he thought, even though he knew the answer. He smiled at her as she worked, oblivious to his attention.

A chuckle made him glance over at the soldier lying on the nearest cot. As he watched, and felt his face redden, the man gave him a slow wink. Oh, Lord, I am a cloth head, he thought, but managed a weak smile at the whole row of invalids. To his dismay, one of them raised up on his only elbow and gestured with his head. "Hey, Doc, if that ugly customer shows his phiz in here again, bring him my way and I'll puke on him."

The other men laughed, and Jess had to laugh, too. "Promise?" he asked, then sat down at the desk again. He was smiling as he picked up his pen again, at least until Nell sat down suddenly beside him, and pulled the stool up close to his knees. "Are you all right, my dear?" he asked quietly, jolted into sobriety again by the fear in her eyes.

She looked at him for a long moment, as if willing him to understand what she was going to say, so she wouldn't have to speak out loud.

He did understand. "He wasn't far off the mark, was he?"

She shook her head. "He ... he comes around our tent now and then." Again the silence, longer this time, until her uneasiness was almost palpable. "Papa owes him money."

It was on the tip of his tongue to reply that charming Bertie Mason probably owed everyone in the Peninsula. He inclined his head toward her instead, and she moved in closer, as though seeking comfort. "Tell me, Nell."

"He looks at me, just looks at me! I don't think he even blinks. And then he reminds Papa how much money he owes, and he leaves." She leaned even closer, until he could smell the vinegar on her hands. "Mama tells me it's nothing, but Mama never did like to face unpleasantness."

You've had to face it for her almost since you were in leading strings, he thought, you and Will. Now Will's enjoying Cambridge, and you are here in the mud still. Keep it professional, Jesse, he told himself, especially with that whole row of pikers straining to hear. I swear they are worse than my old aunts! "Life's not easy here, is it, Nell?" he commented, amazed at his own vacuity.

His reward was a quizzical look, and then a slight smile. "It's all I know, Captain," she said. She laughed softly, but he swore he heard uneasiness in it. "Do you mean there is someplace without heat and dust?"

"Dundee," he replied promptly, then touched her hand lightly, hoping no one, including Nell, noticed. "How is your mother?"

Nell frowned, but did not move her hand. "Major Sheffield bled her this morning, but I do not believe she is any better." She rose. "I need to go, if you can spare me."

Never in a million years, Nell, my love, he thought. "Of course, my dear," he said, rising, too, for Sheffield had entered the tent, followed by a familiar figure. "Let me send Daniel with you. If you need something more, please ask." He sent them both off, then turned his attention to his superiors. "Tell me, sirs, are the rumors only that?"

Colonel James McGrigor, spare of limb, tall of frame, and devoid of meaningful hair, extended his hand and Jess shook it, always amazed at the formality of the man. We have stood, shoes deep in blood after Fuentes de Onoro, operating side by side, and still you hold out your hand. Now comes the bow, eh?

It did, the stiff little bow, looking slightly silly from a man so tall and thin. And so shy. Jess knew better than to look at him longer than necessary, even if he was Sir Arthur's inspector-general of hospitals, and deserving of all attention. "Lad, nae rumor bu' fact," he said.

Despite himself, Jesse had to hold back a smile, remembering the first time Nell had watched one of the great McGrigor's inspections. "But, sir, I cannot understand what he says! Where is he from!"

"Scotland, like me," he had told her, "but Glasgow, where they swallow half the words."

He nodded to McGrigor, who turned away, and hands behind his back, walked up and down the rows of cots. Jesse could tell he was counting, and it chilled him. "How soon?" he asked Sheffield, who stood beside him.

"Hard to say." The Chief shrugged. "One more river to France, but it's too far. Back we go to the lines." He leaned closer. "I hear you had a visit from Major Bones."

"Does anything move faster than talk from a hospital?"

"I doubt it. You know, Jess, it is one of the mysteries of life that good men like Fitzroy-Somerset lose arms, or worse, but the Major Boneses among us never even get a runny nose."

They waited together until McGrigor finished walking up and down. He paused before them finally, and nodded, then left. "I will see you in Torres Vedras," he said over his shoulder. "Carry on, men."

Sheffield looked at Jess. "He wanted me to thank you for your reports. 'No one's as thorough,' he told me."

"Well, guess who taught me?" Jess said with a grin that widened as Sheffield's own color rose in his face. "All right, jefe, do we start to pack?"

Chapter Two

They began to pack, but only after Jess's least favorite hospital duty: releasing soldiers who weren't quite ready. I need just a few more days on this one, and that one, he wanted to say. He sent them off to their companies instead, and wondered how soon he would find them drooping along the line of march. Ten men remained.

Sheffield did keep back two of the healthier ones to help with the packing, and it was accomplished quickly. What he could barely cram into his allotted two panniers at the beginning of the Salamanca campaign now fit in a medium-sized box, with the ubiquitous lint packed in here and there to keep his medicine bottles from rattling.

He had high hopes for this retreat, considering how orderly the plan sounded. Sheffield was less sanguine, even as he read over his notes again, taken in haste during Wellington's officers call. "I think it generous of Sir Arthur to hold back on the marching hospitals and send us off one at a time, but only if no one gets confused," he said.

"It won't happen," Jesse assured him. "Don't you trust our friends in the Third Division? Aren't we all veterans?"

Sheffield seemed on the verge of a comment when Daniel threw back the tent flap and came inside, shaking the rain off his cloak. He looked at Jess. "I don't know what to do," he said simply, discouragement high in his voice. "Please come."

"I thought Mrs. Mason was improving," Sheffield said, getting to his feet again with a sigh. "I took a good pint of blood off her this morning. What could have happened?"

Daniel held out his hand, as if to stop the chief surgeon. "Begging your pardon, sir, but Nell asked for the captain here. She told me you were to go to your cot, put up your feet, and rub eucalyptus oil on your chest, to cut your cough." He turned to look at Jess then. "Mrs. Mason specifically asked for you, too, sir."

Sheffield sat down again, but he was smiling. "Who would think Nell would turn into a tyrant! Did you, Jess? Well, I will do as you suggest, Dan." He looked at Jesse. "Hurry on, now, and answer the lady's summons. Maybe it's only a matter of another little bleeding for Mrs. Mason."

Jess pulled his cloak tighter with one hand and took a firmer grip on his medical sack, a shapeless leather bag that had quickly replaced the elegant casea gift from his motherhe had brought from home when he came to Spain. Through the rain he looked toward the damaged ramparts of Burgos, seen at a greater distance, now that they were quartered in one of the little towns nearby. Damn this siege, he thought. Maybe it is time for me to take up a practice in Dundee.

He and Daniel walked in silence for most of the distance to the officers' quarters. At least the Masons weren't in a tent. For some reasonsurely not because he was thinking of his wife or daughter's comfortBertie had managed to snag an abandoned casucha. Jess knew where it was, but had never been there. He was no cardplayer, so he was never invited to join a game. Besides that, he was as low on funds as most of Wellington's army. Even beyond that, when did a surgeon have a moment for cards?

Nell met them at the door, relief palpable on her face. Jess sighed inwardly, recognizing that look, and steeling himself against it. I can't give you a miracle, my dear, he thought. Don't look at me as though I just came from turning water to wine at Cana.

"Hey, now, my dear," he told her as she stepped aside so he could enter. "The Chief said your mother was looking good this morning. What can we do now?"

"Pray, do something," she said. He wanted to run his finger over that frown line between her eyes and make it go away. He followed her down the short hallway, then paused at the door to take a deep breath.

In the smoky glow of a cheap tallow candle, he saw a woman dying. Audrey Mason's eyes were sunk deep in her head, her breathing was spookily irregular. He couldn't be sure from the shadows in the room, but it looked like her blood had already started to pool, leaving her face drained of color, but her arms mottled.

"She wouldn't eat anything today," Nell said, standing next to him as he pulled back the coverlet to take a better look at her mother.

He looked, then tucked the coverlet back in place, not eager for a longer look at the woman's rickety thin body. You're a long way from home, Mrs. Mason, he thought. He leaned his shoulder against Nell, wanting the touch of her; there was nothing he could do for her mother. "I'll go find your father, Nell. Any idea where he might be?"

She wouldn't look at him. "Someplace where there is a card game, and you hear men laughing." Her voice sounded unusually hard to his ears. The easiest thing in the world was to put his arm around her, which he did.

Jess turned to Dan, who stood in the doorway. "Can you find Captain Mason?"

"Go, too, daughter."

Jess looked down at the bed in surprise. Audrey Mason's eyes were open. It must have taken an enormous effort to speak, because drops of sweat formed a fine and dignified line across her forehead. It filled him with sadness that she had to die so far from England. He looked at the dying woman, deeply aware that he had always thought her frivolous and somewhat stupid for staying with the worthless Bertie Mason. I fear I never saw you, Mrs. Mason, he thought. I do not think Hippocrates would be so proud of me right now.

He followed Nell from the room. Daniel stood at the door, distracted, saddened. "Do you know, Nell, she made the best ash cakes," he said simply.

Nell's eyes filled with tears. Jess sighed and laid another stripe on his own back. I never knew that woman, he thought. Daniel mentions ash cakeshow homely is that! and he is exactly right. On a whim, he took Nell by the hand. "What happened, Nell?" he asked, his voice low. "The Chief said she was much better this morning."

He did not let go of her hand, and she made no move to pull away. "She and Papa had a row this morning," she told him. She looked at his face, then quickly away. "He was badgering her to give up her little gold locket. The officers in the 28th Foot were auctioning off a dead man's property, and he wanted some better epaulets."

"She's still wearing the locket," he said when she stopped talking. He could tell she was listening to her mother's irregular breathing. He deliberately began to run his fingers over her knuckles, trying to distract her. She gave him a long, slow look, and he felt his own respirations behaving strangely. Oh, who is distracted? he asked himself.

"She told him it was my legacy," Nell continued. "My legacy! The last piece of jewelry she had not given to Papa for some reason or other."

He knew the reasons. "This upset her?"

She shook her head. "It upset him! Oh, Captain, he stood by her bed and berated her for selfishness. He accused her of staying with him because he was a meal chit and . . . and . . . oh, I can tell you anything ... a warm bed. Only that wasn't what he said."

She was crying now, tears of frustration and helplessness. "What a wicked thing to say!" She accepted the handkerchief he held out to her. "All these years of following him from garrison to garrison. All the hardship, to accuse her like that! She gave up so much for him, and all he could see was her selfishness." She dried her eyes then. "What must you think of us?" she said simply. "He left, after slamming the door really hard." She shrugged. "It was his usual response. At least Will wasn't there to slap and berate."

He took her other hand. "He does not beat you, does he?"

"No, no. These days he just looks aggrieved and wonders why I've never attracted a wealthy officer who would pay Papa's debts to marry me. Or why I couldn't have been a boy like Will, and make my fortune somewhere. Just words, Captain."

"Sometimes words are worse."

She nodded, and freed both her hands from his. "They're killing my mother. She turned her face to the wall when he stormed out. She is dying, isn't she?"

"Yes, she is."

Then she surprised him beyond his wildest imagination by reaching out and touching his face. "I know how you hate to admit that, Captain," she said.

"It's the job," he replied, his voice shaky. She has been watching me! he thought.

"I've watched you after a battle," she said, confirming his thoughts. "You sit at your desk, or by a cot so quietly." She managed a little smile. "The Chief tells me not to bother you, then."

"He ... he does?"

She nodded, then looked up when Daniel came back into the room. Nell rose and went for her cloak. She stood still a moment after Daniel put the cloak around her shoulders. That look of humiliation came back into her expressive face.

"Tell us, Nell," he said. "You know we care."

"Mama told me that Major Bones came by this morning just after I went to the hospital tent," she said. "He reminded her that Papa owes him a dreadful amount of money." She paused, unable to look at either man, as the color rose in her face.

"He has a way to cancel that debt?" Daniel asked.

She nodded, then looked from Daniel to him. "I need friends," she said simply. "Come, Dan. Let us find my father." She touched Jess's arm. "I think she doesn't want me to be here right now."

He understood, and also understood her hesitation. It didn't surprise him that she came back to the door of the sickroom and opened it. She stood there a long moment. She leaned against the door. "Mama was so beautiful," she said. "I have a miniature of her."

"I'll stay with her, my dear," he replied. "Daniel, don't let Nell out of your sight."

"Wouldn't dream of it, sir."

He was relieved when they left, so great was his anger. He stood in the little room until his anger passed, but he could not get beyond the great disgust that filled him to think that there was a biped on the earth who would threaten a dying woman with her own daughter. He knew that in these last eight of his twenty-nine years that he had seen men at their worst and their best, but that much depravity appalled him. How long has Major Bones been letting feeble Bertie get deeper and deeper in debt, with Nell as his goal? The thought made his stomach surge, as not even amputation did.

For some inexplicable reason, he thought of his own mother, a gracious woman living a life secure in the knowledge of her husband's protection and love. Jess looked toward the sickroom door. "Audrey Mason, I have misjudged you all these years. Somehow in your chaotic life, you raised a lady, with precious little help."

There was nothing to do but go into the sickroom now and pull up a chair by the bed. He sat there in the gloom, contemplating the folly of medicine in general, and the foolishness of physicians in particular, especially those who thought they could heal the sick. "But not if the sick don't want to be healed, eh, Mrs. Mason?" he said softly.

She surprised him by opening her eyes. He reached for her hand. She seemed perfectly comprehending. "Mrs. Mason, I sent Nell and Daniel to find Captain Mason."

She thought about that. "Then you will have two sillies on your hands."

He had to smile at her words, even though he could tell it cost her to say so much. What do you want to hear from me, he asked himself. This is no time for drawing room wit, even if I had any. He was silent a moment, then, "My dear, I have been remiss all these years in not complimenting you on your excellent children."

It was the right thing to say, to his gratification. "They are fine, are they not?" she said, and there was no mistaking her pride, even in her circumstance.

"Nell tells us that Will does famously at Pembroke."

She almost beamed at him. "Were you a Cambridge man, too?"

"University of Milan, ma'am. The Transmontane College."

She was silent then, as though the business of breathing occupied her exclusively. He leaned forward to raise the pillows behind her, but she shook her head. "I don't want an extra fifteen minutes of Burgos," she said then, her voice most distinct.

"I can appreciate that," he said, "but you know, we are retreating."

"I am tired of retreating, Captain. Hold my hand.

"He did, marveling at the fragility of her bones. Nell had that same fragile air about her. "Nell would want you to stay here," he reminded her.

"I cannot protect her any longer," Audrey Mason replied. "I think her own father is going to give her to a fellow officer to repay a debt. What can I do about that?"

So Nell had not guessed wrong. "Such things aren't allowed to happen," he told her, but it sounded feeble to his own ears.

She gave him a look that could have flayed away his flesh. "I know what people think of the Masons, Captain. They wouldn't care under ordinary circumstances, and during a retreat, they are concerned only about themselves."

He also could not deny the truth of what she was saying, as much as he disliked it. "What do you want me to do?" he asked instead.

"Protect her," the woman said. "Promise me."

I can't even keep Major Bones from dumping ink on my reports, and you want to trust me with your daughter, he thought. Oh, Mrs. Mason, you really don't know how to choose men, do you?

"I depend on you, Captain. I don't think you are like all the others."

She closed her eyes. While she struggled to breathe, he struggled to think what to say. It was as though someone was trying to hand him the greatest desire of his life, and he was pushing away the gift with both hands. He couldn't understand himself.

She got her breathing under control. He dabbed at the line of perspiration on her forehead. "I wish I had some ice," he said.

She smiled without opening her eyes. "I remember ice in Canada," she said, then, "Captain, could you not see your way to love her?"

The curious juxtaposition of thoughts jolted him with its strange jumble of the profound and the mundane. "I love her right now," he replied quickly. "Ma'am, I will do all I can for your daughter."

It was that simple. The woman opened her eyes. "I can't feel my feet." Panic filled her voice now.

"Just hold on, Mrs. Mason," he told her, touched by what was happening, moved by his enemy death, even as death began to press down. Be gentle, you demon, he thought.

"Do not lie to her. Make no promises you cannot keep." He could tell she yearned to tell him more, but death was gliding up her body.

"You can relax now," he said, his voice soft. "I will do as you say."

The fear seemed to leave her. Her breathing became quieter and quieter. She surrendered to death as he watched. She had extracted a promise from him, and he felt the binding force of it as if he were standing before a tribunal.

"I will not fail you," he whispered. He was not a religious man by any means, but he traced the sign of the cross on her forehead.

One long breath, then another. She exhaled, and did not breathe in again. Her hand relaxed in his. He released her hand and leaned back in the chair, pulling out his timepiece to ascertain the time of death for the records. Damned reports and forms, he thought. He put down the watch and just contemplated the woman before him.

Something was gone that had been there before. No instructor had ever attempted to explain the phenomenon, because there was nothing scientific about it. "There you are, but where are you now?" he asked. It had to be a better place than scruffy Burgos.

He closed her eyes with a gentle hand. Out of habit, he put two fingers on her wrist. He expected no pulse, and there was none. He remembered the first time he had pronounced death. Someone had sent a runner to the Trans-montane College, and his maestro had sent him. The victim was a street vendor crushed between horse and cart. Jess recalled with a wry smile how he had followed through with every possible confirmation of morbidity, terrified that the man would suddenly sit up in the morgue and demand to know what foolish medical student had consigned him there prematurely.

He placed the dead woman's hands together across her stomach. On second thought, he pressed against her chest to exhale any remaining air that sometimes startled the unwary. It came, and he pressed again until he couldn't hear anything else. No need for Nell to be jolted unnecessarily when she returned.

He heard voices then in the street, just beyond the outside door. No telling what kind of a scene Bertie Mason would make. He stood up and took another look at Audrey Mason, old beyond her years for the harsh life she had led, but timeless now. As he looked, the glimmer of her locket caught his attention. Without even thinking, he slid the clasp around the dead woman's neck, released the locking mechanismpraise God for dexterous surgeon's fingers! and pocketed the necklace as the door was thrown open.

He didn't even draw another breath before Captain Ber-trand Mason's rather imposing bulk filled the doorway to the sickroom. He watched, hoping his face was impassive.

"Is she ... is she . . . gone?

Jess hated euphomisms. She's right there, you twit, he wanted to say. "She died about ten minutes ago, Captain," he said instead.

"And I wasn't here?"

He wasn't sure when he had heard anything that sounded more tragic, unless it was on the stage in Edinburgh one time. "Well, no, you weren't," he said, not even minding the sharp look that Mason gave him. "Please accept my condolences, Captain."

Mason nodded. He seemed to realize that his audience was not appreciative of overblown anguish. He went quietly enough to the bedside and stood there for a long moment. "Didn't she have a gold locket around her neck?" he asked finally.

My God, Jess thought. My God. If I had placed shillings on her eyes, they would be in his pocket now. As he stood there in dismay, Nell came to stand beside him. Without giving it a thought, he put his arm around her waist. To his utter stupefaction, the darling woman slipped her arm around his waist.

"I'm so sorry, Nell," he whispered into her hair.

She shook her head. "Was it peaceful?"

"Yes."

She leaned her face into his shoulder, and he could feel her crying, rather than hear it. He encircled her with his other arm, marveling how well she fit within his orbit. She was far from the first person he had comforted after a death, but never had he meant it more. "She was a good mother, wasn't she?" he asked.

Nell nodded. "She read to us and drew pictures, and she always hoped for something better," she said when she could speak. "I don't suppose anyone ever knew except Will and me, but it was so."

"I am certain it was so," he replied. Nell, all I saw was the frivolous woman who elevated the artful sigh and the pitiful look to a fine art, and whose crochets set you and your brother early onto a life of work and worry, he thought. I've been wrong before. This is obviously one of life's lessons.

Bertie Mason must have heard them whispering in the doorway, because he heaved a huge sigh of his own, dropped to his knees by the deathbed, and sobbed in good earnest. "Audrey, how will I manage without you?" he cried out.

He misjudged his audience. Her face stony now, Nell pulled away and went into the front room. Jess stood another moment in the doorway. As he watched, the captain continued to sobat least his shoulders were shakingand began to pat around the bedclothes. Jess touched the locket and necklace in his pocket. Sorry, Bertie, but you're too late, he thought. He closed the door quietly, noticing with his well-honed sense of irony that Bertie was silent immediately, and joined the other two in the front room. Without a word, he took the necklace from his pocket and dropped it in Nell's lap.

She gasped, then looked around quickly. "Oh, thank you," she whispered.

"Hide it," he ordered.

She slid it into her apron pocket just as the front door opened and Major Bones came in without knocking. She took a deep breath, and Jess put his hand on her shoulder. "Major," he said, keeping his voice even. From habit, Dan had risen to put himself between the major and Nell. "Is there something that you want?"

His question seemed to catch Bones off guard, so he pressed his advantage. "Miss Mason is not without friends, Major."

There was no disguising the look of utter loathing that Bones threw his way. It didn't last long, but Jess felt it right down to his wool socks.

"What a vast relief that is to me, Captain," Bones said, biting off each word. "I would be distressed if during the general chaos of retreat that Miss Mason found herself on her own without protection."

"It won't happen," Jess assured him.

"Then her mother still lives?" Bones asked.

The sickroom door opened, and Bertie Mason leaned against the frame. "William, she has passed from this life into what I am hopeful is a better life," he said.

I'll say, Jess thought. You're not in it.

Nell rose. "Because of this, Major, you will understand if my father and I wish to be alone at this time to make plans. Don't let us keep you from whatever pressing business falls under your scrutiny."

"Oh, is that it?" he asked.

"I believe it is, sir." Nell held out her hand to the major, and Jess was impressed to see that it did not tremble. "Anything you might wish to discuss with my father can wait for another day. Good night, Major Bones."

He had no choice but to leave. Bones admonished Bertie to be a man when he started to sob again, and threw Jess another furious glance before stalking from the room.

I believe I have an enemy, Jess thought. Well, there is a first time for everything.

Chapter Three

Jesse assured Nell that the medical corps would find an army-issue coffin for her mother. It wasn't strictly regulation, but he had no doubts that Sheffield would approve.

Bertie shook his head. "I cannot think that a common coffin is worthy of my excellent wife. I will find something better if I must search all day tomorrow."

"Papa, we are beginning a retreat tomorrow," Nell reminded him.

Bertie looked at her sorrowfully. "It is the least I can do for your mother."

When did you ever do anything but the least for her? Jess thought. You expected so much and did so little, I wonder that you can summon the courage to glance into your shaving mirror each morning. But men like you never see that, do you?

"Papa, we haven't money for such a coffin. Army issue will do just as well," Nell said, with a firm voice. Jess recognized the tone from years past when Nell was much younger and took charge in situations where a parent should have led.

This time Bertie would not be put off. "I will borrow what I need from Major Bones," he told his daughter. "Five pounds should do it."

"Papa, that is five more pounds you must pay him back!" Nell burst out, and Jess heard the panic in her voice.

Bertie was oblivious. "Nell, I am wounded," he said. "How can you think so lightly of your own dear mother? Besides, Bones' terms are never onerous." The captain looked at Jess. "You may leave now, sir." He pulled on his cloak again. "I will only be a few minutes, Nell. I should find the major." He left without another word.

Jess looked at Nell. "Will he be back tonight?"

She was too ashamed to look at him. "It is highly unlikely, Captain. Someone will offer him a drink, and then another."

"Then I will stay."

To his relief, she didn't argue. She managed a ghost of a smile. "Captain, I will have no reputation at all," she said. She looked toward the door, as if all the officers' wives stood there pointing fingers. "Not that the Masons ever had the encumbrance of a reputation. Please stay." Her voice faltered. "I do not really want to be alone tonight."

A word to Daniel sent him out the door. He returned with Number Eight's orderlies and a stretcher. By then, Jess and Nell, who insisted on helping, over his protests, had prepared Mrs. Mason. Her hands were folded across her middle and bound lightly with a linen strip. While Nell gently smoothed down her mother's nightgown over her feet, he bound them together at ankles and knees, then tied a bandage around her face to keep her jaw closed against any rigor. I wonder if I could prepare my own mother for a coffin, he thought, and marveled at Nell's quiet strength.

When they were done, Nell ran her hand down her mother's arm. "No more headache, Mama," she said softly. "Or palpitations, or grocer's bills, or mud, or letters that never came." She looked at him. "Must she go to the dead tent?"

He hated to tell her yes, but he had no choice. "I'm sorry, my dear, but those are regulations. The bedding must go with her, too."

She nodded, and went quietly into the front room, where she sat on the packing cases and pallet that constituted the Mason family's sofa. She sat with her knees drawn up to her body, and her arms around them. She looked at him when he sat down beside her. "Do you think anyone is ever ready for death?"

"I know I am not," he said frankly.

Daniel touched her shoulder then, and nodded to the stretcher bearers to go ahead. "I have a nice peaceful corner for her in the tent," Daniel told her. "She'll have her bedding all around her, too, Nell."

The Chief was so right about you, Dan, Jess thought, as he watched Nell relax. I just get scientific and probably stuffy, but you have made death into a grouchy uncle that we have to humor, because that's what relatives do. "Thank you, Dan," he said.

The steward smiled and stood between Nell and the inner room, shielding her eyes from the bearers as they gathered up Mrs. Mason. He kept up a simple conversation so she had to pay attention to him. In another moment, they were quietly out the door.

Jess sat in silence. There was so much he wanted to say. Dear one, I have promised your mother I would take care of you, he wanted to tell her, but he knew this was not the time. And there was Major Bones, maybe even right now calling in his loans to Bertie Mason. He is probably right now promising poor, befuddled Bertie that he's the one to take care of you. He took a sideways glance at Nell, still tucked close, with her head resting on her knees now.

Still he sat in silence, not moving closer to her. In a few minutes she went into her room, coming back with pillow and threadbare blanket. "I do not know how you will be comfortable there tonight," she said, uncertainty high in her voice.

"I will be even less comfortable in my tent, worrying about you here alone," he replied, taking the bedding from her.

For some reason his words seemed to make enormous sense to her. She nodded. "Good night then, sir," she said. "Tomorrow will be a busy day, will it not?" She went to her own room, where the door only hung on by a leather strap.

Always acute of hearing, he lay on the packing crates, hands behind his head, listening as she rustled out of her dress. Her shoes hit the floor next, and then he heard the sound of a brush through long hair and the faint crackle of electricity. If we were married, Nell, I could brush your hair, he thought. We could sit on the end of the bed and talk about the day. He slept then; it was a more comforting picture than his usual last thoughts of fever and delirium, and who he would find alive in the morning.

He couldn't have slept long. He was still lying on his back, his hands behind his head. The rain had finally stopped, and he could hear Nell crying. She was being quiet about it, but there was no mistake.

He lay there, wondering what to do. He had almost decided to do nothing, convinced that solitude was often bestbut he knew better. He thought of Maestro della Suave, his excellent teacher of anatomy, who used to sit for hours beside a pallet in the poor ward that other physicians and students had passed with no more interest than the Pharisee on the road to Jericho.

He got up and went to Nell. "Move over," he told her. "I'm too tired to sit up, but I would be a poor surgeon if I let myself listen to you cry."

She gave him no argument. In another moment he held her close, one arm around her waist, as she burrowed into him like a small child. He didn't have to say anything; all he needed to do was think of his own mother, warm and safe in Scotland, oblivious to his own difficult life because in her goodness she could not really imagine armies. Mother, what would you do if I sent Nell to you? You always wanted a daughter. He knew the answer to that, and it made him smile.

The night was chilly, and he was thankful for her warmth. When her sobs subsided, she slept. He knew he could leave her then and return to the packing crate pallet, but it was his turn to reject the solitude of a single bed. He breathed deep of Nell's hair, and closed his eyes in complete comfort.

He woke up early to the sound of rain. For the smallest moment he wondered where he was, until the gentle rest-fulness of Nell against his back reminded him. He lay there with a smile on his face. How strange this is, he told himself. Here I am in a tumbledown shack, there is a retreat about to begin, and it has rained so much that I am wondering when Noah will knock on the door and ask for two of something. There is a captain probably drunk somewhere who is about as useful as tits on a boar, and a bastard who is quite ready to ruin this pleasant lady I am currently lying back-to-back with. And I am a happy man. Are all Scots so certifiable? No wonder the English do not allow us to have our own Parliament.

As much as he hated to leave Nell's warmth, he thought it prudent to retire to the other room. After years of sharing a tent with other surgeons, he knew how to leave a room quietly without disturbing someone who had been on duty all night. In another moment he was lying on the packing crates, certain he would not sleep.

When he woke, the rain had stopped again and Daniel O'Leary was shaking his shoulder. "Captain Randall! You have to hear this!"

He sat up, wide awake, as his training took over. "What is it, Dan?" He dragged out his timepiece. " Ton my word, it's nearly eight of the clock. Where do I need to be?"

The hospital steward shook his head. "Oh, Captain, it's where I've been! The Chief sent me directly here to tell you, and to warn Nell."

"Warn me about what?" Nell stood there in her bare feet, doing up the last button on her dress. Her hair was uncombed, but she had a brush in her other hand.

Jess patted the packing crate, but she just stood there. "Did my father ever return?" she asked.

He shook his head, then looked at Daniel again. "Did you find him?"

"I heard him," the steward said, his voice grim. "Oh, Nell." He turned back to Jess, as if unable to bear looking at her. "The Chief sent me after breakfast to bleed Major Tomlinson of the Fifth Foot."

Jess couldn't help a smile. "Ah, yes! He does this before every retreat."

"And all special occasions, Captain," Dan said. "Didn't you once say that if he added Jewish holidays to his special occasions, he would have no blood left?"

"In my lighter, more frivolous days," he replied, wondering what Nell was thinking of him. "But that is of no consequence. What is the matter?"

"It's Major Bones, isn't it?" Nell asked quietly.

The hospital steward nodded. "I wish you would sit down."

She did as he suggested, sitting next to Jesse and pulling his blanket over to cover her bare feet. "Did he call in those infamous loans?"

Dan nodded again. He looked at Jesse. "Sir, Captain Tomlinson was sitting outside under his tent fly." He glanced at Nell, his look apologetic. "I ... I suppose Captain Mason spent the night there, but I could hear him inside the tent, talking to Bones." His face darkened, and he started to say something, but shook his head instead.

"Tell us all, Daniel," Jess said.

"Nell, he told your father he had to pay the ninety-five pounds now, before the retreat."

Nell gasped. "Dan! That is even more than I thought he owed!" she said. "How will I find even the tiniest part of such a sum?"

Jess took her hand. "Let's hear it all, Nell."

Dan pulled up a stool. "Your father started to cry, and confess that he did not have it. He pleaded to repay him when we reached the lines of Torres Vedras."

"As though he would have it there," Nell said, her voice bitter. "That can't have convinced Major Bones of anything."

Dan shook his head. "Of course it did not."

He shifted his weight on the stool, and it protested. Jess noticed that he could not look Nell in the eye. Here it comes, he thought. "Tell us."

Dan was a moment in speaking, and even then he looked at Jess. "Sir, he said he would take Nell in exchange for the debt. Just like he was dealing in cattle!" he burst out. He lowered his voice, but he still could not bring himself to look at Nell, who had gone as white as a winding cloth. "Sir, he promised to marry Nell after the retreat."

"But not before," Jess said, amazed at his own calmness. "Even though we have chaplains aplenty in this army, and there is a priest behind every bush in Spain."

They were all silent. Nell pressed up against him, and he put his arm around her. Puny comfort, he thought, going over his own resources in his mind. We have not been paid in four months. I wonder if I have even ten pounds to my name? He thought about the family money gathering interest in Edinburgh so far away.

"What did Bertie say to that?" he asked.

Dan shifted again, and this time he looked at Nell. "To his credit, your father said it was an infamous bargain, and that no Christian gentleman would even consider it."

"Thank God," Nell said.

Dan frowned, then he glanced at Jess with a wry smile. "Captain, there I was, listening so hard that I forgot how much I had bled Captain Tomlinson. He's more than usually pale, and I do not think he will want to get off his cot anytime soon."

"Then it will be a typical day in his career," Jess said dryly. "Did he dismiss you?"

"I wasn't about to leave!" Dan declared, and had the grace to blush. "I hope you won't tell the Chief, but I told Captain Tomlinson that I needed to take his pulse for five minutes straight now, to make sure that all his bodily humors hadn't leeched out."

"Hippocrates would be honored," Jess said, with the ghost of a smile. "At least you did not get out a rattle and dance around him like an aborigine. All right, Dan, spill the rest of this. There has to be more, or you wouldn't look so glum."

"There's more." He looked Nell in the eye this time. "Oh, Nell, the major offered to find him a grand coffin for your mother. Said he thought he could locate a coffin suitable for a lady." He sighed and looked down at his hands. "That was all it took."

How strange are the workings of guilt, Jess thought. When Audrey Mason is gone beyond his reachor his regret, I supposehe thinks to honor her. He had been in Spain too long to doubt the next step. Bones will pay some starving paisano to dig up a coffin and dump out its occupant. He had seen it before. "We must stop him," he said.

"Major Bones?" she asked. "Can we take this to General Wellesley?"

He could hear no confidence in her voice now. Well, Captain Randall, he thought, you had better see how convincing an actor you are. He took a deep breath. "No, my dear, I think Sir Arthur will not have time to bother with us today, even if we could find him, which I doubt. Bones would only deny he had ever loaned him money." He gave her a hug. "No, my dear, we have to make your father a better offer."

You are quick with the comforting platitude, Jesse told himself sourly as he walked through the rain a few minutes later, shoulders hunched, to the marching hospital. He glanced at Dan, grateful that the steward chose not to comment. They had left Nell with a dubious look on her face, but packing anyhow. He knew she didn't want them around; a glance around Audrey Mason's bedchamber as she lay dying had pointed out more eloquently than words that the Masons had very little substance between them and ruin. He wondered that Nell could have much dignity left, not after her mother's death, her father's various stupidities, and Major Bones' plans. She had seemed calm enough. It is entirely possible that I may still be underestimating her, he told himself.

"It seems unfair," he said at last to Dan as they slogged along. "Why is it that good people invariably seem to come out on the slimy side of the pond, while wretched specimens like Major Bones rise to the top like someone three days dead?"

Dan's answer was slow in coming, and when it did, it was not a comment on his inane observation. "How are we going to find ninety-five pounds?" He stopped. "Did I mention that the major told Captain Mason that he had until six o'clock?"

To his credit, Major Sheffield didn't fly into the boughs when Jess told him the situation. His grip got a little tighter around the bellows he was working for Private Jenks, and he blinked his eyes a few times, but there was no outburst beyond a string of profanity that made Jess stare. "Chief, I wish I knew what to do."

"Empty out your pockets, lad," Sheffield said briskly, handing the bellows to Dan, who continued the slow, careful motion. "By God, I am inclined to dump every soldier in here upside down until he coughs up whatever shilling he is hoarding. Hear that, lads?"

It would have been difficult not to. "Oh, Chief, we can't ask our patients to pony up," Jess said.

"We can," Sheffield insisted. "Lads, listen to me. This is the only marching hospital in the whole army with someone as wonderful as Nell Mason in it. Her mother died last night, and she needs help with funeral expenses."

"Sir, I disremember when most of us were last paid," one of the men called, even as he sat up and reached for his trousers at the end of his cot. His searching turned up a coin, which he held up for Jess. "Not much, is it, sir? Ah, but she's a fine one."

She is, indeed, Jess thought as he circulated down the few rows of men who still remained, touched that they would willingly surrender what remained of their money a pence here, a shilling therewhen His Majesty saw fit to pay them so little in the first place. Each offering was given with an air of apology, the giver wishing the gift was greater. "You would call these men a rabble, eh, Sir Arthur?" he said softly to himself as he transferred the coins to the sole unbroken emesis basin.

While he had been collecting from his patients, Sheffield must have gone to their shared tent. He returned holding out an unmated stocking. "Eleven pounds, Jesse," he said, and poured the coin into the basin.

"We're up to fifteen, then, sir," Jess said.

"A far cry from ninety-five," was all Sheffield said. He went to sit by Private Jenks again. Jess went to his tent, relieved at least to see that the rain had stopped, and attempted to perform magic on the footlocker whose contents he knew too well.

He surprised himself. "Well, loaves and fishes," he said out loud as he lifted out his one remaining good shirt "good" defined a shirt with all its buttons and no obvious bloodstainsand dress uniform to reveal a leather pouch he had entirely forgotten. Eagerly he dumped the contents onto his cot and counted out fifteen pounds. True son of glen and loch, he had never been a wasteful man, but as he lay back on his cot, he felt only discouragement. Thirty pounds! Sixty-five more loomed as huge a treasure as all of Cortez's Aztec gold and Balboa's pearls thrown in for good measure.

"Sir?"

He sat up, on edge immediately. "What is it, Dan?" he asked, wondering if there would ever be a time in his life when he would not be on alert, nerves straining toward whatever it was that waited in the marching hospital.

His steward held out two pounds. Jess took it. "We're up to thirty-two pounds now," he said. "Dan, thirty-two pounds or three hundred! It's all the same, isn't it?"

Seeing the look on his steward's face, Jess regretted his words the moment he had said them. "I'm sorry," he said simply. "You are all trying so hard for Nell, and I am whining about it. I wish I knew what to do."

Jess indicated the camp stool by his cot, and Dan sat down. "You have something else to say, don't you?" he asked when a minute passed in silence.

Dan nodded. "It's really simple, sir. I'm amazed you haven't thought of it." He blushed and looked down at his hands. "Maybe it's because you're so polite and all."

"What, call out Bones and duel with him, scalpels at ten paces?" Jess asked, amused in spite of himself.

The hospital steward allowed himself a smile. "No, I mean really."

Jess sighed. "You'd better enlighten me, Dan. I'm fresh out of clever ideas."

Dan leaned forward. "We could collect ninety-five pounds from somewhere, but who's to say that Major Bones wouldn't offer Captain Mason another twenty or thirty pounds to be Nell's protector?" he spit out the word as though it tasted bad. "I mean, we have no idea what kind of resources Bones has, and you know Captain Mason's weakness."

"All too well. I still don't know where you're venturing, Dan, so hurry up. I know we should both be in hospital."

"If you married Nell, there is not a thing the major could do, is there?"

Jess stared at the hospital steward, who had spoken as calmly as though he were stating that gauge .05 gut was better than gauge 1.0 for suturing a leg wound. I never would have thought of that, he told himself, but what a simple thing! "I ... I doubt you could get Miss Mason to agree," he managed to say.

Dan shrugged. "Do you at least think it is a good idea?"

"Well, yes! Of course! It would certainly solve the problem, wouldn't it?" And make me the happiest man on all six continents, significant islands, and major peninsulas, he thought. He couldn't help but smile, until he began to doubt. "There is probably no possible way that Miss Mason would agree to such a harebrained scheme, O'Leary."

The other man shrugged again. "If you'll excuse me saying so, Captain, other than the fact that you are a little shy, there's really nothing about you that would disgust her. I mean, you don't have any particular noxious habits that I'm aware of, and I've been sharing a tent with you and the Chief for three years now. I'm not even sure you snore."

He knew O'Leary had thrown that in to lighten his mood, and he smiled obligingly, even as reason prevailed. "She will never agree to such a thing."

"I say she will, Captain, begging your pardon," O'Leary insisted. "There's nobody around to help her but us in the marching hospital, sir, especially now, with a retreat on." He leaned closer and lowered his voice. "And if that damned Bones takes her and ruins her, what choice does she have then?"

Such plain speaking called for an equally honest answer. He looked at the thirty-two pounds on the table between them, and it seemed to shrivel up like apricots under a Spanish sun. "She doesn't have a choice either way, Dan."

"Captain, do you think she would even know what to do with a choice?"

It was true. He got off his cot and went to the tent opening to stand there and gaze at the organized confusion as the regiment prepared to pull out. Although he would never do it, he knew that he was perfectly free to fork a horse and accompany the 12th Light Artillery passing now. He could resign his commission this minute, return to the Portuguese lines, take the first transport home, and have his shingle hung out in Dundee by the end of next month. He had a lifetime of choices ahead of him, and Nell had none.

"So it's me or Major Bones?"

"I think so, Captain," Dan said. "I mean, I like Nell, but she is a lady and I will never be a gentleman. The Chief is fond of her, but I know he sees her as a daughter, or ... or maybe a favorite niece. You could at least like her, couldn't you, sir?"

Oh, could he. Dan, I guess you haven't noticed how I watch her, and do everything I can to get near her in the hospital tent, he thought. You certainly can't see my dreams, thank God. "I could at least like her," he said, still watching the passing artillery. "I could do that, and it would certainly stop Major Bones."

Dan made a face. "Of course, that would mean Captain Mason for a father-in-law."

"I'm sure if we put our minds to it, we could think of worse fates, Dan," he said.

He watched the gunners dismount and put their shoulders to the wheel of the ten-pounder mired in the sludge, then glanced beyond them at a familiar figure hurrying toward the marching hospital, dodging one of Wellington's aides-de-camp riding too fast and splattering mud. Nell, you should be home in my house in Dundee, warm and comfortable, with nothing more to worry about than planning dinner with the cook, he thought. Damn this war. "Nell," he said softly.

"Yes, sir, Nell. I do think you should consider a wedding, even though we are a little busy right now," O'Leary concluded in a masterpiece of understatement.

Beyond my patients, she has been my chiefest concern these three years, he thought. "Yes, we are a little busy, Dan, but I think you may have something here. Do wish me all success."

Chapter Four

The proposal didn't begin auspiciously. He came into the tent at the same time Nell entered from the opposite end. Her agitation was obvious, and he watched in consternation as Sheffield sat her down beside him. Still wrapped tight in her old cloak, she covered her face with her hands, and Jess's heart went out to her. For once, he didn't ask himself if he would be inflicting more pain by a stupid offer of marriage, coming at her like a plummeting meteor. I think I can help, Nell, he told himself.

He started toward her, only to be stopped by one of the other hospital stewards, a harried-looking man named Al-cott who usually managed to vanish during crises. As it was, the man all but plucked at his sleeve like a peevish child to get his attention.

"You're still here, Alcott?" he asked, half in jest. "I suppose we have nothing to fear, then."

"Captain, two of the patients have gone missing."

"Oh, I must say this is a rare good time to go missing, Alcott," he said. "Perhaps you've miscounted?"

The man shook his head. "They are missing." He pointed to two empty cots, and Jess sighed. "Harper and Wilkie."

Oh, Hippocrates, even you would not want them back, Jess thought as he stifled a groan. Harper and Wilkie, two privates from the Subsistence Department, were slackers of the first order. Harper had been rescued in a drunken fog after a headfirst plunge into a latrine, and Wilkie was recovering from a knife wound inflicted by a local citizen who came home too soon and found the private banging his wife.

"Perhaps they have rejoined Subsistence," he said, hoping he didn't sound too eager. Of the two, he would miss Wilkie more. The knife wound had proved interesting in the extreme, slicing as it did through his stomach lining, but not entirely healing. The sight of the open wound was distressing, but not particularly dangerous, and it fascinated Jess to watch the workings of Wilkie's stomach.

"Should I go in search of them, Captain?" The steward plucked at his sleeve again as Jess was looking at Nell in her distress. "Captain?"

"By all means, Alcott," he said. With any luck, we will not find them, he told himself. My blushes, Hippocrates. "Do it now. I will attend in the tent."

He came close to Sheffield and Nell. "What happened, Nell?"

That she was afraid would have been obvious to a one-eyed man with cataracts. There was no serenity or calmness about her, and he wondered how hard it must be to live continually on the edge of ruin. She tried to speak, then shook her head. "Oh, I can't," she managed to say, then looked at Sheffield.

"She was packing out her mother's household effects when Major Bones' batman came and took them from her," Sheffield said, his own voice more agitated than Jess could remember. "He said Bones had told him to take her luggage to his tent."

"I just left everything else there in the house and bolted out the door," she said, picking up the narrative, but unable to look at him. "I mean, all I have is this dress and apron." She patted the apron pocket. "And Mama's necklace. I can't go back. I daren't."

She took a huge breath then, as though to steady herself, and looked at him, if only briefly. It was long enough for him to see the shame in her eyes. "Captain Randall, I do hate being at the mercy of men!"

"I doubt you are alone in your sex in that," he replied. Oh, this is a fine beginning for wooing, he thought, instant wooing, at that. He hesitated only briefly, then took her hand. Her fingers were cold and she was shaking, so he increased the firmness of his grip, and covered her hand with his other one.

She responded with a firmer grip of her own. "Major Sheffield tells me you have been raising money," she said.

"I have only thirty-two pounds, and we've exhausted our resources," he told her.

"There's another ten pounds in the hospital funds." Sheffield said. "I will authorize its use."

"Forty-two pounds is still not enough," Jess said. He loosened his grip on her, and was nearly overwhelmed with emotion when she increased hers. At this moment, she is as dependent as a baby, he thought. "Even if we were by some miracle to raise the sum, we have no idea what more money Bones has. I fear he could trump us without even flickering an eyelid."

He was sure that a lesser woman would have dissolved in tears. Nell did not. If anything, his bracing words stiffened her back. "What do you recommend I do, sir?" she asked, her voice calm now. "I am open to any suggestion, no matter how farfetched."

This was his moment. His heart pounded so loud under his waistcoat that he knew the passing artillery could hear it. "Marry me, Nell. Bones can't touch you then."

Sheffield burst into laughter. "Oh, bold stroke, Jesse," he exclaimed. "Nell, it's crazy, but I must agree. Nell?"

The silence continued. Jess was almost afraid to look at her. She had not withdrawn her hand from his, but he was clutching hers so tightly that he wasn't sure she could. He looked at her then, to find himself amazed that a pale face could go even paler. The color seemed gone even from her lips. As he watched, her color gradually returned. With it came a relaxation of her fingers in his hand.

To his ineffable, unspeakable pleasure, she inclined her head toward his. "You can't possibly love me on such short notice," she said, and there was no mistaking the amusement in her voice. It was as though he had diverted her momentarily from the more awful crisis looming, and she was savoring the respite, however transitory it might be.

Now what? he asked himself. If you say you have loved her these two years, chances are she will not believe you. After all, you have done nothing to show her any affection: no flowers, no chocolates, no lingering drawing room visits, no teasing notes. You have only handed her emesis basins, and accepted gut reeled off suturing spools. The only notes were receipts for medicines you have taught her to compound. Flowers? When did you last see a flower that had not been trampled by gun carriages or the cavalry?

No, I dare not say how long I have loved you, he thought. You would think me a lunatic, and surely no woman craves a lunatic for a bedfellow. "Nell, I must admit that the idea for this proposal is of quite recent origin," he said, and that was true enough. "But do you know, it's not such a bad idea."

He could have groaned out loud. How do other men propose, he asked himself. Surely not in a hospital tent with people listening, and guns rumbling by outside, and, for all he knew, a lecher bent on ruin with his ear to the canvas. Here I am telling this darling, this angel, that it's not a bad ideal

To his amazement, Nell still did not withdraw her hand from his. Granted, she was shaking her head, but there was something in her eyes now besides despair. "I suppose you will tell me that I'm a real game goer, and that you like me a lot," she said.

"Well, I do," he said, simply. It was vacuous in the extreme, but something told him it was right. "It would be the protection you need right now."

The expression in her eyes told him that just for a moment, she truly had forgotten about the threat of Major Bones. "Wellington left this morning, didn't he?" she asked.

"I believe he did, Nell, along with his staff."

"We already know there are no officers' wives in this corps who care particularly what happens to Audrey Mason's daughter."

"I fear that is so."

"Things do have a way of getting lost or coming up missing during a retreat." She shivered, and he felt the same cold chill. With everyone concerned for his own regiment, and looking over his shoulder for Souham or Soult, no one would ever wonder what had become of Elinore Mason until Major Bones ruined her.

"Again you are right."

She appealed to the Chief. "Major Sheffield, is this a good idea?" she asked.

"Completely," the surgeon said, and Jess closed his eyes in relief. "I am certain that Captain Randall would agree that should you change your mind by the time we reach the Portuguese lines, he would accept an annulment. Right, Jess?"

Never, he thought. Not in a whole year of Sundays. "Certainly, sir. You can depend upon it," he lied.

"I will do it then," she said in a rush, as if afraid too much thought would allow common sense to triumph. Her face clouded over then. "But aren't there banns to cry, or a special license? Can you find a minister? You're not even Protestant, are you?"

He didn't have any answers to her rapid questions except the last one. "No, I'm not," he replied. "Did you ever meet a more inconsiderate Scot from the land of porridge and John Knox?"

She smiled at that. "No, I did not. Why should I worry about something like dogma at a time like this?" She shook her head in wonder. "Dear me, do you realize I am behaving in a far more ramshackle way than even my parents would have contemplated?" She looked at the Chief again, and there was no mistaking her pleading glance. "Can't we think of anything else?"

Jess held his breath, then let it out slowly as Sheffield's silence lengthened. "I suppose I am no bargain, Nell," he began.

"Nonsense," Sheffield said. "You're an excellent surgeon!"

"That's not the issue," he said quietly.

"Perhaps not," Sheffield replied. He turned to Nell. "My dear, I have no idea what kind of a husband he will prove to be, but let me assure you, at the moment he is damned useful and you are in a bad spot."

She looked from one man to the other. Tears welled in her eyes and Jess felt his heart turn over. Suddenly she was eleven again, and had no more blue beads left to give. "You'll have to trust me, Nell," he told her, his voice scarcely more than a whisper. "I will abide by whatever you say when we reach the Portuguese border, and make it right, but you need me now."

"I do," she said after another long moment. She looked across the hospital tent. "I wish there would be a time in my life when I did not have to depend upon the goodwill of others. Do you ever wish life was fair?"

"All the time," he answered. He kissed her hand before she could take it from his arm. "I would have gone to the University of Edinburgh with the Protestants. By God, Nell, if life were fair, none of my patients would ever die."

He hadn't meant to sound vehement, but her question bit deep all of a sudden. I am a dog, he thought as the tears spilled onto her cheeks. I will not be surprised if she slaps me, turns on her heel, and marches out of here.

She did not. Her expression softened then. "I never considered that," she said. She squared her shoulder then, and the movement touched him deeper than anything else she could have done just then. "Lead on, Chief. Let us find a chaplain." She tucked her arm through Sheffield's, and made no comment when the chief surgeon blew his nose loudly and muttered something about dust in the air.

With a wave, he saw them off: Sheffield with a firm grip upon Nell Mason and a light enough step to avoid the increasing traffic streaming past the hospital. He stood at the tent's opening and watched them, Nell so graceful even though her cloak was old and patched. She raised the hem of her dress in a fruitless attempt to keep it out of the mud, and he stared at her ankles, so trim even in much-darned stockings. Oh, Mother, I am marrying a woman with