Hetty swallowed the lump in her throat. Now wasn’t the time. What letter was he talking about? She was content to wait.
“Always ready for a good joke was Master Damien, never seeming to worry much about what the next day would bring. Several of those dispatches he carried, well, I can tell you, ma’am, they weren’t about the weather. I thought a lot of him, I did.”
“Yes, Pottson?”
“Well, ma’am, sometimes it seemed to me that all wasn’t right with Master Damien. Just when I’d expect him to be charting the route for some important document he had to deliver, I’d find him instead sitting alone in his room, not even a candle lit, brooding-like, you know. I didn’t mean to be forward or anything, ma’am, but I’d ask him if there was anything bothering him. He’d just smile at me, a kind of sad smile. And he’d say it wasn’t anything to bother me with, naught of anything really, he’d say, and I knew it was just to protect me, to make me go away and leave him to his thoughts.
“Just before Waterloo, back in the early days of June, he got his orders to attend the Prince of Orange in Brussels, a safe spot, I told him, seeing as how we all knew it was coming to a bloody battle and all. Next thing I knew, he was assigned under a General Drakeson, a very different kettle of fish, I remember him telling me, a man on the prince’s staff, a gentleman with spiky side whiskers and a back so stiff he couldn’t bend, I was sure of it. I was with Master Damien when he got orders to lead a frontal cavalry charge, right in the thick of the fighting. He wouldn’t let me come with him, ma’am, just patted me on the shoulder, that sad smile on his face. I’ll never forget what he said. ‘Well, Pottson, I must believe that my charmed existence is about to come to an end. It looks, old fellow, as if I’m to be the sacrificial goat.’ That’s all he said, ma’am. I never saw him again, ma’am.”
Pottson saw that the young lady’s face was as white as her gown was black. Her hands were trembling in her lap, but she didn’t cry, didn’t sob, didn’t do anything. She just said calmly, “What about the letter?”
“Well, I got to wondering about what Master Damien said before he left, ma’am. When I was preparing his personal things to be sent back to your family, I found a letter folded up and tucked inside the lining of his valise. I read it, ma’am. I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help myself.”
“Let me see the letter, Pottson.” Hetty unfolded the single sheet of paper and slowly began to read. She looked up, past Pottson’s right shoulder, then lowered her head and read the letter yet another time.
Dearest Love:
I cannot believe that you have been torn from my arms. Oh, Damien, if only we’d had time to be together, if only I had some hope that you could return to me. You must see now that I have no choice. I do not know what Lord Oberlon will do now, but you must understand that my own fate is no longer in my hands.
May God damn him to hell for what he has done. I will love you forever, my darling. Adieu
Your Dearest Elizabeth
Hetty straightened and carefully folded the letter. She looked up, directly into Pottson’s face. “You did quite right to bring the letter to me. Yes, you’ve done excellently.”
Even though Miss Worthington considered it a trifle odd for her charge to spend nearly an hour in the company of a servant, she gave it only cursory thought, for not twelve hours later she found herself in a sudden whirl of activity. The quiet young lady who had sat so very many long hours staring into the fireplace, who had taken long walks, had disappeared as if she’d never drawn breath. It was Henrietta who suggested over breakfast that they visit the Pantheon Bazaar. At last, Miss Worthington thought, her patient efforts had reaped their rewards. She had succeeded in redirecting Henrietta’s thoughts. Being a Christian woman, she also admitted to herself that the timely visit by the late Captain Damien Rolland’s batman must have, in some small way, assisted Henrietta to recover her spirits. She most willingly assisted her charge to exchange some of the black gowns for soft gray ones and pack them, black veils and all, in an old attic trunk that had belonged to Hetty’s grandmother.