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

‘Nine weeks.’ Adelaide raised an eyebrow and Lucy hurried on. ‘For some people that might not seem like much but when you are in love, why wait? I couldn’t bear him to go off to war without me. Even an hour apart is difficult, a day unbearable. Don’t you feel the same way about Captain Cresswell?’

Adelaide cocked her head to one side. ‘My story is quite different because Bill and I grew up knowing each other. We lived nearby, our families were friends, and we played together as children. The realisation that we loved each other came gradually, and I think our families knew before we did. We married around your age – are you eighteen or nineteen, my dear?’

‘Eighteen.’

‘And it was blissful. But then we had some difficult years when I lost four babies in a row …’ She stared out towards the horizon, her voice flat. ‘I felt terrible for Bill. Such a fine man should have a son, and it seemed I would not be able to give him one. I became very ill and almost wished I would die so he could be remarried to a woman who would be able to give him an heir. And then, at the age of twenty-eight, when I had long since given up hope, along came another pregnancy. I rested all the way through, never venturing out of the house, and my daughter Martha was born hale and hearty, followed a year later by little Archie.’ She turned to Lucy, eyes glinting. ‘Bill was beside himself with joy when he held his daughter for the first time. He was nervous as he cradled her tiny body in his big hands,’ – she curved her own hands to demonstrate – ‘and I have never loved him as much as I did at that moment. You see, love changes through the years. We had our childish love, when we played together as youngsters, then the love of sweethearts and the thrill when we were newlyweds, but going through adversity together deepens love and makes it more true. You’ll find this with Charlie, my dear. You’re only at the very beginning.’

Lucy was enthralled. ‘What an inspiring story! You make me want to be a better wife to Charlie so as to earn this deeper love you talk about.’

‘I’m sure you will. And in time you will prove to your sister Dorothea that Charlie is a worthy husband for you. She’ll come round, I know she will. If nothing else, she is going to want to meet her nieces and nephews one day.’

Lucy blushed. ‘That blessing, I hope, is a little way off.’ Charlie had assured her he was taking precautions, although she wasn’t entirely sure what these might be.

‘Of course,’ Adelaide teased, ‘but babies have a way of surprising you, just as my two did.’

‘I realise now why they are so precious to you, after such a long wait and so many disappointments.’

‘Yes, indeed.’ Adelaide blinked hard. Evidently it was difficult to talk of them. ‘If only your children could one day help to heal Charlie’s rift with his own family. I wish that could be so.’

‘Do you know the Harvingtons?’ Lucy was keen to hear about them. Charlie had painted them as heartless but surely they couldn’t be all bad.

‘Bill has met them and told me a little. It’s such a tragedy.’

‘They must be very harsh people to cast off their own son. Charlie told me it was over some debt or other. Why do his brothers not forgive him at least? I know he feels desperately sad about it.’

Adelaide’s eyes widened, and she seemed lost for words. ‘At least he has you,’ she said finally. ‘He told Bill he loves you so much he would do anything for you. Already we can see how much you have helped him to overcome his grief. Now I think it’s time to prepare for luncheon, my dear. Shall we go down?’ She offered her arm.

When Lucy reached the door of her cabin, one of the soldiers’ wives, a Mrs Williams, was hurrying along the corridor towards her. ‘May I come into your cabin for a moment, Mrs Harvington?’ she asked, her tone urgent, and Lucy replied ‘Yes, of course,’ thinking that perhaps the woman wished to borrow some item she had forgotten to bring herself.

‘Sorry to intrude, but Mrs Duberly is after me,’ Mrs Williams whispered and put a finger to her lips.

Just then they heard Mrs Duberly charging along the corridor, calling for Mrs Williams. Lucy quickly pulled her cabin door closed and the two women stood quietly until her footsteps had passed.

Mrs Williams gave an indignant snort. ‘I agreed to act as her lady’s maid on the ship but I didn’t think that meant I had to be her general skivvy. She wants me up all night laundering whatever lace handkerchief she might have blown her dainty nose into during the day, then woe betide me if it is not dry by morn when she wants to use it again. The woman’s a battleaxe. Not a human bone in her body. She’s only interested in her beloved horse.’

‘Can’t you resign from your position?’

‘I tried, but she threatened to have me put off the ship. Says I only got a place on board because of her. So it seems best I just stay out of her way.’ She cackled. ‘I’m rather enjoying making her charge round huffing and puffing with ill temper.’

Mrs Williams winked at Lucy before opening the door a crack and peering out to check it was safe to leave.

‘Thanks, Ma’am,’ she said. ‘I reckon as far as officers’ wives go, you’re one of the decent ones.’ She slipped away and Lucy smiled to herself, while hoping that Mrs Duberly never found out about her complicity.

On the 18th May, the Shooting Star entered the Dardanelles, an enclosed channel with high rocky coast on either side, thickly covered in dark green trees running from just above the waterline to the top of its slopes. The ship was becalmed for two days while awaiting a steamer to tow them to Constantinople and the ladies had ample time to view the cattle and mules grazing wild in the forests. Lucy borrowed a pair of binoculars and peered with curiosity at a Turkish fort high on a rock, with some camels at the gate and soldiers in bright red uniform milling around.

They arrived in Constantinople at sunset on the 22nd and Lucy’s first impression was of tall slender towers (Adelaide told her they were minarets) standing stark against the rosy-orange of the sky. As they admired the view, a melancholy chant echoed round the town, and Adelaide told Lucy it was the Muslim’s call to prayer, an exhortation that was repeated five times a day. Lucy was thrilled at the exoticism of it. They hadn’t even disembarked but already she could tell that this city was much more foreign than Malta. Once they were at anchor, hawkers paddled out on boats that looked little more than large wicker trays, holding up goods for sale: bales of fabric, live chickens, and unfamiliar fruits. It was too dark to see but still they called out in English: ‘Hello lady, beautiful things, very cheap.’

By daylight, Constantinople was impressive, with houses painted in pretty shades of mustard, terracotta, pale blue and mint green, surrounded by dark green trees and masses of purple flowers. Adelaide explained that the city was sliced in two by the Bosphorus, the wide strait in which they were at anchor. One side was Europe and the other Asia, making the city unique in straddling two continents.

It was a disappointment when they disembarked to find the quay was made of rotting planks on which they had to tread carefully for fear of falling into the foul water below, where a dead dog floated amidst some yellowish foam. The water in Malta had been clear turquoise, but this was murky brown.

For three nights they were to stay in the Selimiye barracks, a fine building from the outside, built of brick around a huge quadrangle with turrets on each corner. But as they entered they were assaulted by a fetid smell of unknown origin that had the ladies covering their noses with handkerchiefs. The rooms they were shown to were filthy, with a thick layer of dust on each surface and stains of an alarming nature on the walls. During the first night, Lucy provided sustenance for a number of insects who seemed to find a way to bite her skin even when she swathed herself from head to toe in her mother’s bedspread. Next morning she had eighteen angry red lumps on her skin, which itched like the devil, including one on her cheek about which she was particularly self-conscious. For some reason they had left Charlie alone.

‘Your blood is so much sweeter than mine,’ he soothed. ‘I’ll find a net to cover the bed before night falls.’

Lucy attracted more bites during the day, and the itch became fiercer if she scratched them. Adelaide advised that she cover her skin with lemon juice to deter the creatures and went to the barracks’ kitchen herself to procure some lemons. It made Lucy feel sticky but she didn’t get any more bites and the itch in existing ones lessened a little.

The ladies were too nervous to venture outside the barracks by themselves, but in the late afternoon when Charlie returned from his duties they went exploring, taking a small boat known as a caïque across the water to the European side of town. They lay back on cushions, barely higher than the water level, while a dark-skinned sailor, in an open white shirt that showed off his chest, steered them around the huge ships traversing this international shipping channel. On arrival they hired a guide who took them by landau to a magnificent mosque, where gilded domes were balanced on top of each other like oranges in a bowl; to the Sultan’s Topkapi Palace set in lush pleasure gardens; and to Lucy’s favourite place of all, the Grand Bazaar, a maze of stalls under a wooden roof selling more goods than she could ever have dreamed of. The guide warned them that it was easy to get lost so they concentrated on keeping their sense of direction, but even so within ten minutes had to admit, giggling, that they were completely disorientated. The stallholders wore flowing robes and a headdress, and many were smoking hookah pipes that gave off aromatic scents. Lucy saw a few women wearing loose-fitting gowns of Eastern colouring, their heads and faces covered in veils; they flitted into doorways and through archways like elegant tropical moths.

On one stall Charlie spotted an intricate ship in a bottle with a painted backdrop of the minarets of Constantinople and he picked it up. ‘How much?’ he asked the stallholder and when he heard the price, he mimed great shock. ‘That’s over a shilling,’ he told Lucy. ‘They must think me a fool.’ He put the trinket back, upon which the stallholder lifted it and pressed it into Lucy’s hands, naming a figure that was about half of the original offer.

‘Lucy, put it down,’ Charlie instructed in a low voice. ‘We’re going to walk away and see what happens.’ She did as he asked. Instantly the stallholder came after them, grabbing Charlie’s arm and indicating in mime that he was a poor man, that he had children to feed. He caught Lucy’s eye, making a sad face and miming the rocking of a cradle and she flushed. Charlie shrugged with open arms; it was none of his concern. The stallholder suggested another price. Charlie shook his head. It was a good-natured game and it seemed to Lucy that Charlie’s gambling skills came in handy: he could keep a straight face and not give away his tactics. Eventually a price was agreed that was about a tenth of the original and Charlie counted out some coins and handed them over, whereupon the stallholder wrapped the ship in a bottle in fine tissue paper.

Lucy and Charlie chuckled as they walked away. When she turned back, the stallholder was watching them with an inscrutable expression. She got the feeling he didn’t approve, whether of her or of both of them she couldn’t tell, and it made her nervous. She knew that Muslim women covered their hair with veils, and wore high-necked, long-sleeved tunics to disguise their figures, yet here she was wearing a short-sleeved gown patterned with rosebuds, her blonde hair visible beneath her bonnet. Did the market stallholders look down on her? She didn’t like all the stares she was attracting, sensing an element of hostility in them.

‘I have some news, darling,’ Charlie told her, ‘and I don’t want you to worry about it. Promise you won’t?’ He made her swear with hand on heart before he would continue. ‘Lord Lucan wants to leave women behind in Constantinople when we sail to Varna.’

Her consternation registered on her face but all she could say was ‘Oh.’ She would be scared in this city without him. She was even nervous by his side. She couldn’t bear to think of them being separated.

‘However, I think he will face a mutiny if he tries to enforce it. Bill and I have discussed it and decided that if you and your lady friends board the ship tomorrow morning, take up residence in your cabins and refuse to leave, I can’t believe he will dare to drag you off, petticoats flying.’

‘Why does Lord Lucan not want us to come?’

‘We’re going to be camping at Varna and I suppose he imagines the conditions will not be suitable for ladies. But I think you have proved on the voyage out here that you are remarkably resilient.’

Lucy hesitated. She had never slept in a tent before and wondered whether it would be safe. Would they have to sleep on the ground? How would she manage her toilette in privacy? She did not want to lower his opinion of her resilience so she simply asked, ‘Will Adelaide be coming?’

‘Bill certainly hopes she will.’

She nodded. ‘Then of course I will. I’ve brought many home comforts to turn our tent into a palace where you can relax after your duties. This is exactly what I came for. I’m not about to turn back now.’

Charlie grabbed her and pulled her to him for a kiss, his arm curled around her waist. She sensed rather than saw the disapproval of the Muslim stallholders who surrounded them. When she looked up, their expressions were blank but they were all watching in a way that definitely didn’t seem friendly.

Chapter Six (#ulink_93a77b91-4d14-564e-bf93-4cb9f65a2024)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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