Page 242 of The Armor of Light

‘Oh.’ That would mean Amos would not see him. ‘For how long?’

‘I don’t know. As long as Henry is there – at least.’

‘I see.’

‘I can’t wait. It sounds like just the kind of life I’ve always wanted but Henry would never give me – all parties and dances and new gowns.’

She would never change, Amos thought. What a good thing she had refused him. If he ever married it would be to someone serious.

He had had a lucky escape.

38

ELSIE HAD NEVER TRAVELLEDon a ship, never been to a foreign country, and never stayed in a lodging house. She had only a smattering of French, she struggled with foreign currency, and she was astonished by the alien appearance of the houses, the shops and the people’s clothes. She was not a timid person, but she had never imagined the difficulties she would face on her own.

She knew now that it had been a terrible mistake to journey to Brussels with the five children, and when finally she sat on a lumpy bed in a dusty hotel room with her trunks and her children scattered all around her, she cried.

With considerable effort she was able to get a message to the earl of Shiring at the encampment of the 107th Foot Regiment, and after that things improved. Her messenger returned with a friendly note from the earl and a separate letter, not sealed, for her to take to the duchess of Richmond. The letter asked the duchess to extend the hand of friendship to Mrs Kenelm Mackintosh, and mentioned that Elsie was the daughter of the late bishop of Kingsbridge and the wife of a British army chaplain who had been wounded at Toulouse.

The next day Elsie went to the Richmond residence in the rue de la Blanchisserie. The house was three storeys high and had room enough for the fourteen children the duchess had borne. The location was not the most expensive neighbourhood in Brussels, and there were rumours that the duke and duchess had come here to save money. It was cheaper to live here than in London. Champagne wasonly four shillings a bottle, which made little difference to Elsie’s budget, but probably saved a fortune for the party-loving Richmonds.

The recommendation of an earl, combined with the mention of a bishop and a wounded army chaplain, were together enough to overcome the duchess’s famous snobbery, and she welcomed Elsie graciously. She was handsome rather than pretty, with a strong nose and chin that sandwiched a rosebud mouth. She gave Elsie a note to a Brussels merchant who spoke good English and would help her find a good house to rent.

Elsie settled on a town house near the cathedral of St Michel and St Gudule and moved in with the five children. She went to the lodging house to fetch Kenelm, and was amused to note that he seemed almost sorry to say goodbye to Signora Bianco, who had evidently won his gratitude.

The house Elsie rented was not grand, but it was comfortable. Best of all, it was not far from the jewel of Brussels, its park, which was thirty or forty delightful acres of lawns, gravel walks, statues and fountains. No horses were allowed, which meant that people could let their children race around without fear of them being run down by carriages.

Whenever the weather was good Elsie took Kenelm to the park. At first she had to push him in a wheelchair, but soon he recovered enough to walk, albeit slowly. They were always accompanied by two or three of the children, who usually brought a ball to play with.

She occasionally ran into Jane, countess of Shiring, who was living in Brussels now. They chatted amiably. Jane had become a close friend of the duchess of Richmond.

Jane asked Elsie why she turned down so many invitations to parties from the duchess and others. Elsie said she hardly had time for such things, with five children and a convalescent husband to take care of. That was true, but she also found balls and picnics andhorse races trivial and boring. She hated the constant meaningless small talk. She did not say that to Jane.

On one occasion Elsie saw Jane with a handsome officer, Captain Percival Dwight; and that time Jane did not stop to chat. She was being particularly gay and charming, flirting with the captain, and Elsie wondered whether they were having an affair. She could imagine that adultery would happen more easily in a foreign town – she was not sure why.

On a December afternoon, cold but sunny, Elsie and Kenelm rested on a bench, watching the play of water in a fountain, keeping an eye on Martha and Georgie, the two youngest. Elsie was amazed by the transformation in her husband. His wound was only part of the reason. He had seen a lot of suffering and death, and it showed in his gaunt face. His eyes looked inward, and he saw remembered carnage. Little trace was left of the cockily ambitious young clergyman she had married. She liked him better this way.

He said: ‘I’m almost ready to return to the regiment.’

He was not ready, in Elsie’s opinion. His body was healing faster than his mind. A sudden noise in the street outside – a heavy crate dropped on the flatbed of a cart, or a workman’s hammer demolishing a wall – would make him duck his head and drop to his knees on the drawing-room carpet.

‘Don’t be in a rush,’ she said. ‘Let’s make sure you’re fully recovered. I believe it was returning to duty too early that made you ill.’

He did not accept that. ‘God sent me here to care for the spiritual welfare of the men of the 107th Foot. It’s a holy mission.’ He seemed to have forgotten that the only reason he had become a chaplain was to improve his prospects of being made a bishop.

‘The war is over,’ she said. ‘Surely the need is less.’

‘Soldiers find it difficult to return to normality. They’ve got used to the idea that life is cheap. They’ve killed men, and seen their friends die. Such experiences blunt the edge of compassion. Theonly way they can get through is to become callous. They can’t simply go back to being ordinary chaps. They need help.’

‘And you can give them that help.’

‘I most certainly cannot,’ he said with a flash of the old assertiveness. ‘But God can help them, if they will only turn to him.’

She looked at him in silence for several moments, then said: ‘Are you aware of how much you’ve changed?’

He nodded thoughtfully. ‘It goes back to Spain,’ he said. He was staring at the fountain, but she knew he was seeing a sun-parched battlefield. ‘I saw a young soldier dying on the ground, his blood soaking into the dry earth.’

He paused, but Elsie said nothing, giving him time.