No Place For A Lady: A sweeping wartime romance full of courage and passion

Lucy leapt from her chair and came to kneel at Dorothea’s feet, head tilted, her clear blue eyes peering up, her pretty lips pursed with the same endearing expression that must have swayed their father earlier. It always made Dorothea want to kiss the flawless skin of her little sister’s cheek and stroke that soft strawberry-blonde hair. Lucy’s was a beauty that turned heads in the street and made it hard not to stare.

‘Oh, but you’re wrong! It’s because you’ve never experienced that glorious feeling of falling in love and finding you already know everything about the other person because you are so perfectly matched. We laugh at the same things, cry at the same things, think the same way about simply everything … You’re soon going to learn to love Charlie as I do. I know you will.’

Dorothea stood abruptly and stepped over her sister’s legs, ignoring the disappointment that clouded her expression. ‘Forgive me,’ she murmured. ‘I really must change for dinner. We’ll talk more later.’

As she climbed the stairs with leaden feet, one thought was foremost in Dorothea’s mind: the marriage must be prevented, one way or another. She was the only responsible guardian the girl possessed, since she could patently wrap their father around her little finger. It was up to Dorothea to take action and she felt the weight of the responsibility keenly. If Lucy wouldn’t listen to her, who else could she appeal to?

Chapter Two (#u1c234de0-394a-5f42-8068-2e2dca99a9e3)

The following morning, Dorothea left early and asked Chalmers to take her via Lincoln’s Inn, where a gentleman of her acquaintance was a barrister in chambers. Mr William Goodland was the brother of her friend Emily and around a year ago he had begun to call on them for tea every Sunday afternoon. He would ask after their father’s health and Dorothea’s work, comment on the weather, then Dorothea would struggle to maintain a conversation of sorts until he wished her good day and left after barely an hour.

Behind his back, Lucy made fun of him for his bushy side-whiskers and social awkwardness, and was rather good at imitating his tedious conversation: ‘These scones seem to me the perfect combination of lightness and sweetness. It is quite some time since I have encountered such a sublime scone. You must compliment your cook on their sublimity.’

‘Don’t be so cruel, Lucy,’ Dorothea had chided, unable to suppress a smile. ‘We can’t all have your conversational skills.’

Dorothea was unsure of the purpose for Mr Goodland’s regular visits. Did he feel protective towards them as two women living under the roof of a father whose mental capacities were failing? Or did he consider himself a potential suitor for one of them? If so, he had never made his intentions clear. However, she had decided to seek his advice about the legal position regarding Lucy’s proposed marriage.

‘She is still two weeks shy of eighteen,’ she explained to him now, ‘and I consider myself to be in loco parentis. Is there anything I can do?’

Mr Goodland pursed his lips. ‘I’m afraid, Miss Gray, that if your father has given his consent, upon reaching her eighteenth birthday your sister may legally marry; unless there are any grounds for objecting, perhaps because of a prior engagement by either party. What impressions have you formed of this young man?’

Dorothea frowned. ‘He seems very affable but Lucy is young and I am concerned by the speed with which they have made their decision.’

‘Do you know much of the family?’

‘Nothing at all. I believe they live in Dean Hall, Northampton, but there have been no introductions as yet.’

‘Perhaps it would be worth writing to introduce yourself and to ascertain their views on this – may I say – precipitate courtship. If they support Captain Harvington, they can perhaps bring some financial pressure to bear and urge him to behave with less impetuosity.’

‘Yes, that seems a sensible idea.’ Dorothea was glad of the suggestion, which seemed likely to help.

‘As for going to war, I can’t believe the army would give permission for such a young girl to accompany them. Perhaps Captain Harvington has not told his superior officers quite how tender in years she is. If I might make a suggestion, you could write to his company – the 8th Hussars, was it not? – and make your objections plain.’

Dorothea hesitated. ‘I don’t want Lucy to hate me for my interference. She is such a passionate girl and feels things so strongly … I don’t suppose I could ask you to write to them discreetly, as a friend of the family?’

He sat up straight, puffing his chest out: ‘Indeed, I would be delighted to perform this service, Miss Gray. Do not concern yourself overmuch; I’m sure common sense will prevail.’

That evening, Dorothea wrote to Charlie’s parents telling them of her fears for her sister if she went to war, and asking them to consider putting a restraining hand on their son’s shoulder. Perhaps, she suggested, the families should meet to discuss what was best for the headstrong pair.

She gave the letter to Henderson to post straight away. There was no time to waste. With any luck Lucy would never find out it was she who had curtailed their nuptial plans – but even if she did, Dorothea didn’t doubt she was acting for the right reasons.

A reply came from Mr Harvington of Dean Hall three days later and it struck alarm into Dorothea’s heart.

‘We have washed our hands of our erstwhile son Charles,’ the letter read, ‘and we sincerely advise you to prevent your sister from marrying him. He is a scoundrel of low morals, a wastrel who will never be sufficiently practical to look after a wife, and all in all a man who is not to be trusted.’ Mr Harvington added that although they had bought Charlie his commission as a captain, he could expect no further support from his family but was quite alone in the world, with no one to blame but himself.

Dorothea read the letter several times, agonising over what to do next, and finally she decided she had no option but to show it to Lucy. She knocked on the door of her sister’s room, and opened it to find Lucy engaged in brushing out her waist-length hair in front of her dressing table. It was a cosy room, with heavy drapes and a fire in the grate. Candles flickered by the bedside and on the dresser, making shadows dance on the walls.

‘I wrote to introduce myself to Captain Harvington’s family,’ Dorothea confessed after a moment’s hesitation, ‘since we must soon be kin. This reply has recently arrived.’

Lucy grabbed the letter and her cheeks reddened as she perused it. When she reached the end she screwed the paper into a ball and flung it across the room. ‘You had no right to contact them!’ she hissed. ‘I could have told you his family hate him! He explained to me all about it. They disinherited him over some stupid argument five years ago which was not his fault in any way and it is a source of great sadness to him. How dare you go behind my back and write to them!’

It was just the reaction Dorothea had feared but she tried to stay calm and reasonable. ‘Of course I had the right. It is a serious matter if Captain Harvington has no family backing. I’m surprised Father didn’t ask about his prospects. You are too young to know what it means to marry for love to a man without a secure income; you’d have six months of happiness followed by a lifetime of worry and petty resentments.’

Lucy was intractable. ‘Charlie will make his own money. Major Dodds speaks highly of his prospects in the army and he’s extremely well liked in the regiment. Extremely.’ She swept her hairbrush off the dressing table, her temper clearly building by the minute.

‘He can’t advance up the ranks without family money to buy another commission. You know that, Lucy-loo.’ Dorothea used the childhood pet name and reached out to touch her sister’s shoulder in a conciliatory gesture but Lucy batted her hand away.

‘This is my one chance to be happy and I will not have you spoil it. You’re jealous and bitter and I hate you!’ Tears sprang to her eyes. ‘I wish Mama were here. She would love Charlie as I do, and she’d be happy for me.’ Lucy turned her back but Dorothea could tell that she was crying.

She paused: their mother had been very similar in character to Lucy – lively, gregarious, but hopelessly impractical. No doubt she would have reacted with frenzied excitement to the marriage announcement and would already be planning dress fittings and floral arrangements. But that didn’t make it the right thing to do.

Dorothea tried another tack: ‘Have you thought about the danger you would be in overseas, with Russian guns aimed at your living quarters, wherever they might be? There would be none of the amenities you take for granted. Imagine – no running water, no clean, pressed clothing, no meals served at a dining table or servants to serve them. Lucy, do you even know where the Turkish lands are? They are fifteen hundred miles distant, across rough seas. And once there, perils lurk all around: vapours that rise from the land and cause fatal disease; snakes and scorpions that kill with one bite; not to mention the horrors of battle. It would not be some nursery game of soldiers.’ She stopped, wanting to comfort the sobbing Lucy, but the set of her sister’s shoulders did not invite affection.

Lucy’s words were muffled by tears. ‘Don’t you think I’ve considered all that myself? Charlie will protect me now. I’ve had a lifetime of being patronised by you and I’m fed up with it.’

Dorothea tried once more: ‘I’m not saying that you shouldn’t ever marry Captain Harvington. I’m just saying wait till after the war …’

‘Don’t you understand that I can’t be happy for a single moment without him?’

Dorothea sighed. ‘You know I have to show Father this letter, don’t you? He will have to rethink his decision once he knows Captain Harvington’s precarious situation.’

‘I see you are determined to ruin my happiness. Well, get out of my room. Just leave me alone.’ Lucy was shouting now, completely beside herself.

Dorothea paused in the doorway, but could think of nothing more to add and so she closed the door softly behind her. She could only hope that her father would see sense and, if not, that Mr Goodland’s letter would have the desired effect and Major Dodds would talk some sense into Charlie. It seemed Lucy wouldn’t listen to any point of view that didn’t agree with her own.

The next afternoon, Dorothea returned from her work at the Pimlico hospital to find an agitated Henderson waiting by the door.

‘Apologies, Miss Dorothea, but I didn’t know how to contact you. Captain Harvington came around noon with a coach and four and Miss Lucy asked me to carry down her trunk and help the driver to load it on board. Your father did not seem to appreciate …’ He paused, trying to find a tactful way of expressing himself.

‘My father didn’t try to stop them, you mean. Did she leave a letter?’

Henderson handed her an envelope and Dorothea hurried into the drawing room, threw herself into an armchair, and tore it open. Lucy’s normally pretty handwriting scrawled all over the page with rage emanating from every line. ‘I will never forgive you for trying to stop my marriage,’ she wrote. ‘Never. I am going to stay in lodgings with Charlie and as soon as I turn eighteen we will be wed without your presence since we are to be denied your blessing. I’m sorry that your jealousy led you to try and ruin our happiness but our feelings for each other are so strong that was never a possibility.’ At the end, she wrote the most hateful words of all: ‘I want nothing more to do with you. Charlie is my family now.’

Dorothea buried her face in her hands and curled forward into a ball. ‘Oh God, no. What have I done?’ She wanted to cry but all that came out was a keening sound. How could everything have gone so badly wrong? She’d only acted as she did because she loved Lucy more than any other human being on the planet. Now she had caused her to run off into goodness knows what kind of danger. Anything could happen. Her good name would be ruined, and her very life might be at risk. All she could hope was that war could be avoided, or that Major Dodds would forbid Lucy from accompanying the troops. While Charlie was away, she would surely have to come home again and that would give Dorothea a chance to repair the damage she had caused. Oh please, let that be the case.

An agonising four weeks later, Mr Woodland received a curt reply from Major Dodds and he called round that evening to share it with Dorothea. It read that Lucy and Charlie had been married on 20th February in Warwickshire and that the Major had been honoured to act as Charlie’s best man. The regiment was still waiting to hear if they would sail for the Turkish lands – the decision was in the hands of politicians – but in the event they did, he would be happy for Mrs Lucy Harvington to accompany her husband.

‘Your sister is a foolish young girl,’ Mr Woodland began. ‘I shall reply to Major Dodds in the sternest terms insisting …’

‘No, don’t.’ Dorothea rose to her feet, suddenly finding his pomposity unbearable. Whatever he had written to Major Dodds had clearly exacerbated the problem. Had he been more tactful in his letter, she was sure the reply would not have been so abrupt and unhelpful. ‘You must forgive me, but I find myself quite overcome. I must be alone. Perhaps …’ Tears were not far away and she was unable to finish the sentence. She turned and fled from the room.

‘Of course,’ Mr Woodland said. ‘I’ll see myself out.’ Though by then there was no one to hear.

Chapter Three (#u1c234de0-394a-5f42-8068-2e2dca99a9e3)

During the winter months of 1853–1854, Dorothea had a particular favourite patient at the Pimlico hospital. Edward Peters had been a soldier at the Battle of Waterloo almost forty years before but had since fallen on hard times. He had no children and no family members came to visit but Dorothea enjoyed the company of this softly spoken old man whose health was slowly but surely failing. Every day she brought him her father’s copy of The Times from the previous day because he liked to keep up with the news. He had trouble reading because his spectacles were not strong enough (she guessed he couldn’t afford another pair), so she would sit and read aloud the articles that interested him most, namely those about the impending war in the Turkish territories – which were, naturally, of great concern to her as well. Mr Peters interjected his own comments as she read, fiercely critical of government procrastination: ‘All this time we could be preparing for action and instead the politicians sit chin-wagging. They’re yellow, I say.’

‘We’ve given them an ultimatum and with any luck the Russians will comply,’ Dorothea argued.