Her misfortune

*Zac*
Sitting astride my horse on a small tree-covered rise, I watch Calliope smiling and carrying on with my son. She appears so joyously happy, so excited, so full of life. I think I even hear her laughter on the breeze, although surely I am too far away for such a gift. She sits on a blanket with Jeanette, but it’s obvious that all her attention is focused on Zane.

People stop to talk with her, to smile, to share in her joy.

How different she is from Fancy.

Fancy came to visit last night. Zane cried whenever she tried to hold him. She quickly gave up trying. I don’t blame her. It will take some time for the boy to get used to her.

I try not to compare her to Calliope, but I can’t see my mate giving up as easily as Fancy has. She’d have cooed and cajoled and won him over. No matter how long it took.

When Jeanette finally took Zane away, Fancy and I went in to dinner. It was a ghastly affair. I ask her to tell me about her time in the East. I didn’t reveal that my own memories are lacking. I simply indicated that I wanted to know what she had been doing when I was no longer near the hospital, when I was back at the battlefield.

Complaining a lot, it appears. Floors had to be scrubbed. Shirts were sewn so the men had something to wear other than their bloody clothes. Bandages were rolled. Their living quarters were small and crowded, a dozen she-wolves sleeping in one cramped room. The food was not up to snuff. Comforts were few. It is horrendous.

Calliope has never complained about her own discomforts. She had been more concerned with the discomfort of the men and harbors guilt because she had been unable to eradicate their suffering completely. She still dreams of them, of what she considers her failings.

Who holds her now when the nightmares come? Leo, perhaps. The man is devoted to my mother, but he has an artist’s gentle soul. Surely, he would hear her cries; he wouldn’t leave her alone to face her demons.

Not as her bastard of a husband has done. No matter how justified I feel in my anger, the guilt eats at me.

I never intended to allow her to see Zane again. I am loath to admit it, but I brought Jeanette all the way into London to stroll through the park for an hour when other parks are nearer to my residence for one reason and one reason alone: I wanted to see Calliope, even if only from a distance. I knew if I sent a missive to my interfering mother alerting her to Zane’s visit, she would share the news with Calliope, and damnation, but I need to see her smile in order to erase the painful memory of her parting. I, who abhor the loss of memories, want to forget the moment when she strode out of my life with such dignity and strength and poise. Dear Goddess, not even a queen could have been so regal.

Yet gazing on her now only serves to add more remorse to the tragedy of her being sent away. I damn my pride to perdition, because it won’t allow me to invite her back into my life.

Tugging on the reins, I turn my horse about and begin to gallop away. I’ve seen enough. I’ve seen too much. My foolish pride prevents me from going in the other direction, toward Calliope, to greet her, to talk with her. I seeked to punish her, and all I accomplished with this silly farce today is to punish myself.

*****

And Leo, it seems, is intent on punishing me as well, damn the man. When I return home, I discover a small package waiting for me on my desk. Inside is a miniature of Calliope.

And damn it all if she doesn’t look like a she-wolf whose heart has shattered. With my finger, I touch the face rendered in oils. It’s a poor substitute for her warm skin.

Unfortunately, I no longer know where to place the blame for this hideous life I now live. Fancy, for following me to the East and getting herself with child? Calliope, for pretending she was the child’s mother? Myself, for allowing her deception to cut me to the core?

*****

“My man had no luck in Paris," Draco says. “He was unable to confirm whether the child was stolen or abandoned. Apparently, Fancy and Calliope were most discreet."

I stand at the window in the library. It seems of late all I do is gaze out windows, as though I might spy Calliope strolling past, introducing Zane to the world around him. No joy greets my days.

Fancy has visited again, but she has no interest in Zane. Instead, she speaks of clothing styles and the upcoming mating Season and all the balls we will have to attend. And the theater. And dinners. We will be the talk of the town, she assures me.

Ah, yes, in the midst of scandal once more. Surrounded by speculation and gossip. Why does she crave what I abhor?

I pull the miniature of Calliope from my pocket where I always keep it now. I think of the dinners I’ve shared with her, the lively conversations, the quiet moments. I think of waking up in the morning with her nestled in my arms. I reminisce about our lovemaking. Always different. Always breathtaking. Always touching on so many levels. She caresses my body, embraces my soul, reaches deep within my heart. When I am with her, it’s almost as though the past no longer matters.

“I did have a bit of luck, though,” Draco says now.

I try to give the appearance that I care for whatever it is my brother is blabbering about, but I am once again lost in the memories of Calliope. The way she could look at me with a slight tilting of her head, a mischievousness in her whiskey eyes that speaks of her being both a lady and a vixen. Innocent yet knowledgeable. Sweet and yet tart. Demure and yet daring.

Fancy has become as skilled as I in the art of seduction, and yet I haven’t even bothered to kiss her since she’s been reintroduced into my life. I know of a time when I could barely keep my hands off her. But I have no desire at all to marry her, even if she is Zane’s mother.

“I discovered a sergeant who served under you. Gent named Mathers. Name mean anything?” He asks.

“Mathers?” I roll the name around in my head, hoping it will latch onto some shred of memory. Tall or short? Fat or thin? I can’t envision the man. I can draw up nothing from the dark recesses of my mind. “No."

He gives me a small smile, “He’ll be at the White Stallion tonight if you want to buy him a pint."

I glance over my shoulder at Draco. “And what would be the point in that?"

“To begin filling in the holes of your memory."

*****

Business is brisk and the crowds are boisterous at the White Stallion, but I manage to locate an empty table in a far corner. I think I should be excited at the prospect of talking with someone who fought beside me. Haven’t I for months now wanted to know exactly what happened, what I don’t remember?

Instead, I wonder if there will be more surprises, things I wish I didn't know. Like the fact that Calliope is truly not Zane’s mother.

Why did she never encourage me to seek the truth about my time in the Crimea? What does she truly know? Her parting words resound through my head, making an icy shiver race up my back.

‘I have a wish for you, dear mate. I pray you never remember what happens in Seurari. For if you do, you will never forgive yourself.’

What happened? What do I do? Why can I not remember?

I hoped Fancy could shed some light on the matter, but she speaks only of her experiences there, of our time together. If she has a clue regarding precisely what Calliope refers to, Fancy is skilled at pretending she doesn’t. What the devil happens over there?

Suddenly, a large, strapping fellow blocks my view of the establishment. His jacket is brown tweed, one of the arms pinned up as it is not needed. The man’s long brown hair appears a bit ragged, but it is obvious he’s recently shaved, and his brown eyes are somber. They are the eyes of a man who sees a good deal more horror than most men. I am taken aback by the kinship I feel with this stranger.

“Good to see you, Major,” the man says in a voice that, even when spoken low, still booms. “Or I suppose I should say Sir Zac. I saw in the Times where you got knighted. Well-deserved, sir.”

I almost ask, “Is it?” Instead, I take a chance and say, “Good to see you, too, Mathers. Join me.”

The man takes a chair, and I have the serving girl bring over a pint.

“I’m sorry to see you lost your arm,” I say somberly, wondering if I should have known that.

Mathers shrugs. “Would have lost my life if not for you, sir. I swear you were a bloody heathen out on the battlefield. You were a sight to see. Gave no quarter. Then carrying me off the field under fire. Not just me. Others too, I hear, but that was after my time.” He lifts the tankard. “Still, to the boys of the Light Brigade, sir.”

I tap my mug against Mathers’s. “To the Light Brigade.”

We sit in silence for a few moments. It is obvious Mathers is lost in reflections. I want to know the path his mind travels. Perhaps I should tell him where I stand… with no memories at all. Here is a man who can tell me anything I want to know about my time in the Crimea.

“I don’t remember you, Mathers.”

The man rubs his head. “Well, sir, I don’t know what to say to that. I’d never consider myself an easy bloke to forget, what with my size and all.”

“I was wounded, you see. You come back without your arm, and I come back without part of my mind.” I tell him.

“You mean, you don’t remember nuthin’?” He asks.

I nod, “Nothing at all.”

Mathers seems to ponder that revelation. “I hear you took a cannonball to the head.”

“Not sure if I’d still have my head if that was the case, but something happened.” I mumble.

“If you don’t mind me saying so, sir, it might not feel like it, but it’s a blessing. It was awful out there, sir. Awful. I hear there’s nearly five thousand buried in the cemetery near the hospitals in Scutari."

“Five thousand,” I whisper. How have I forgotten something that had to have been horrendous? “They’re expecting peace any day now.”

“Yes, sir. I pray for it.” Mathers shakes his head. “We were so bloody cocky when we marched off. Held our own, though, sir. But, the Goddess help us. What a price.”

Again, we fall into silence, as though the words that need to be said are too heavy. Finally, I ask, “Tell me, Mathers, do you remember a nurse, a nurse named Calliope?”

Mathers shakes his head. “Sorry, sir. Can’t say as I do, but then I weren’t nearly as familiar with the nurses as you were. I remember there was always at least one at your bedside.”

“But I’m interested in one in particular… Calliope,” I insist. “Calliope Dawns.”

Mathers grins. “Miss Dawns. Yes, sir. Remember her well. An angel she was. If I may say so, she worked as tirelessly as Miss Swallow. Many a night I heard her praying over a lost soul. Shame what happened to her that bloody night. Can’t believe she didn’t leave straightaway, but she was there the next time I was wounded. Held my hand when they took my bloody arm.”

I feel an uneasiness that I can’t explain. I don’t want to think about what Mathers has suffered. He’s a big brute of a man who wouldn’t welcome sympathy. But something else he’s mentioned has me breaking out in a cold sweat. “What happened to her, Mathers?”

“She was attacked, sir. Fortunate for her that we got there when we did, you and me, although I’m a-betting she was a-wishing we’d gotten there before the first blackguard was finished with her and the second was queuing up.”

My stomach roils. Mathers can’t be implying what I think he is. Calliope told me I’d arrived there in time. I’d saved her. Were they lining up to hit her? No, you damned fool, they wouldn't line up for that. They would only line up if they were allowed one man at a time.

Dear Goddess, I think I’m going to be ill. I take another chance, praying that this time I’m not wrong. “We gave them a sound beating, didn’t we, Mathers?”

“We did, sir. Especially the first blighter. Thought you were going to kill him. Maybe you did. He didn’t leave the field following the next battle. But then neither did the other two. I made damned sure one of them didn’t. Either you or the enemy took care of the third. My money was always on you.” He leans back, blows out a quick breath. “Whew! I never before confessed to what I done. It’s a bit of a relief to have it off my chest.”

Mathers looks at me expectantly, as though he wants a reciprocated confession.

“Sorry, man. As I said, I don’t remember... any of it. But I’ve no doubt that what you did was the right thing to do. And I hope I had your courage to see justice done.”

Mathers nods and stares into his tankard. Then he tosses back what remains and orders another.

After it arrives, I ask, “What of Miss Whisenhunt? Did you know her?”

Mathers scratches his jaw. “Yeah, she was a real beauty, but she weren’t as caring as Miss Dawns. It always seemed like she thought of everything as a chore. I know it was work, all of it, everything they did. None of it was fun. But Miss Dawns always made it seem as though she was glad to be able to do something to ease a man’s suffering. Always smiling with a gentleness in her eyes that reminded a man of home, reminded him why he was fighting. I think many a soldier fell in love with her, sir. I wonder what happened to her.”

“She had the misfortune of becoming my wife.”