She awakened with a start at the sound of someone calling out in distress.
Lottie almost fell off the chair in her haste to be at the young private’s side. His eyes were open, but unfocused, and he was babbling incoherently. She clutched his hand. ‘It’s all right, Gideon. That’s your name, I believe.’
‘Mother?’ He attempted to sit up, but she pressed him back against the cushions.
‘Lie still, there’s a good boy.’
‘You’re not my mother?’ He gazed at her, puzzled and frowning. ‘Is she here?’
Lottie swallowed hard. The lump in her throat threatened to choke her but she managed a smile as she held his hand to her cheek. ‘Your ma isn’t here, Gideon, but I’m sure you’ll see her soon.’
‘I need to send her money. I have to make sure she’s taken care of while I’m away.’
‘You mustn’t worry. She’ll be all right.’
His hazel eyes, framed by ridiculously long and thick brown lashes, focused with difficulty on her face. ‘Where am I? I don’t know you, do I?’
‘My name is Charlotte Lane, although everyone here calls me Lottie.’
‘Lottie.’ He closed his eyes with a sigh.
‘Gideon.’ Alarmed, she shook him by the shoulders. ‘Don’t die. Please don’t die.’
‘It’s all right, miss. We’re back now.’ Joe Benson had come into the room unnoticed. He leaned over Gideon. ‘He ain’t dead. It’s the bump on the head that’s making him like this. We’ll take over now. You get yourself back to bed.’
‘I’ll go with you if you want company.’ Frank stood in the doorway with a tankard clutched in his hand. He was grinning stupidly, and it was obvious that he was in the early stages of being drunk.
‘No, ta, very much. I’ll say good night, then.’ She hesitated, staring down at Gideon. ‘Are you sure there’s nothing we can do for him?’
Benson patted her on the shoulder. ‘We’ll take care of him tonight, and we’ll see how he is in the morning.’
‘But where will you sleep?’ Lottie asked anxiously.
‘We’re sappers, miss.’ Frank saluted drunkenly. ‘We can doss down anywhere.’
‘He’s right. Don’t worry about us.’ Benson moved swiftly to the door and held it open. ‘We’ll probably be off before you’re up and about. This was an unplanned stopover, thanks to Ellis falling down a hole in the road.’
‘I hope he gets better soon.’
Lottie tried to convince herself that Private Ellis was in good hands as she made her way back to the attic, but she had the nagging feeling she could have done more for the injured man. Ruth and May were already in bed, snoring gently, and Lottie had to feel her way in almost complete darkness. She lay down on the prickly palliasse, and, despite her worries, sank into a deep sleep.
Her first thoughts when she awakened next morning were for Private Ellis, and she dressed quickly. It was still dark, but she could hear movement in the stable yard below.
She nudged Ruth, who slept next to her. ‘Wake up. I think the soldiers are leaving.’
Ruth snapped to a sitting position, although her eyes were still shut. ‘What’s the time?’
‘It’s early, I think, but I’m going down anyway.’ Lottie did not wait for a reply. She hurried to the stable yard, where she found men assembled, and Lieutenant Gillingham and his sergeant about to mount their horses. Mrs Filby was conspicuous by her absence, and it was Filby himself who was in charge.
Lottie knew better than to put herself forward, but she could not see Private Ellis and she was alarmed. He might have been taken to hospital, or his cold corpse might be lying on the sofa awaiting the arrival of the undertaker. Her imagination was rapidly getting the better of her, and some of her anxiety seemed to have communicated itself to the lieutenant. He handed the reins to his sergeant.
‘Miss …’ he hesitated, smiling ruefully. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know your name.’
‘Lottie, sir. Lottie Lane.’
‘Well, Miss Lane, I want to thank you for turning out in the middle of the night to assist my men.’
‘It was nothing, sir. How is Private Ellis?’
‘Mr Filby has kindly agreed to allow Ellis to remain here for a day or two, until he’s fit to travel on to Chatham. My men moved him to one of the guest rooms, first thing, but unfortunately I cannot spare anyone to stay with him. Mr Filby assures me that he will be well cared for.’
‘He will indeed,’ Lottie said firmly. ‘I’ll do everything I can for him.’
Gillingham’s serious expression melted into a smile that crinkled the corners of his grey eyes. ‘From what Benson has told me you would make a good nurse, Miss Lane.’
‘Oh, no, sir. I did what anyone would have done.’
‘Don’t underestimate yourself, Miss Lane. Did you know that Miss Nightingale is recruiting nurses to take with her to the Crimea?’
‘Don’t put ideas in her head, I beg you, sir.’ Filby had come up behind them, and, although he was smiling, Lottie knew him well enough to realise that he was growing impatient.
‘I am just a chambermaid, sir,’ she said hastily.
‘Yes, indeed.’ Filby jerked his head in the direction of the kitchen. ‘I think Mrs Pretty is preparing some gruel for the patient, Lottie. You’ll find him in room fifteen, but don’t loiter longer than necessary. There’s a mail coach due from Exeter in half an hour.’
‘Thank you for your hospitality, landlord.’ Gillingham mounted his horse, tossing a coin to the ostler as he rode through the archway that led into Gresham Street.
Frank Jenkins marched past Lottie without a glance, but Joe Benson saluted and winked. It was obvious from his tight-lipped expression that Frank was sober now and suffering the consequences of drinking too much ale. He must, Lottie thought, have received quite a shock when he discovered that Jezebel Pretty did not live up to her name. She could picture the scene, and was still chuckling as she entered the kitchen, but her smile faded when she came face to face with Jezebel, who did not look too pleased.
‘Gruel,’ she said bitterly. ‘As if I hadn’t got enough to do without cooking pap for a sick soldier. They should have taken him with them.’
‘It’s all right, Mrs Pretty. I’ll see to it.’ Lottie took the wooden spoon from her and stirred the mess of oatmeal and water in the soot-blackened saucepan. ‘I’ll take it to him.’
‘You’d best watch out. Military men are all the same. My man was a soldier. He was a conceited turkeycock, always showing off and putting hisself about. He ain’t so handsome now, and that’s a fact.’ Jezebel picked up a cleaver and severed the head off a chicken carcass before tossing it into a stew pot. She threw the head to Lad, who pounced on it and ran under the table with it in his mouth.
Lottie filled a bowl with gruel, and poured the tea, adding a generous dash of milk to both. ‘I’ll be back in a tick, Cook.’
‘You’d better, or I’ll come looking for you. I ain’t handling breakfasts on me own, not with her ladyship yelling at me to hurry up with the bacon and