“How so?”
“He got the bed in this place as he was nominated by the lieutenant whose life he saved from that same cannon fire.”
“Tell me more.”
“Well…” The young lad swallowed. “We’d held steady in our square formation all day when Imperial Guard cannon fire came at us. We regrouped but there were dead and wounded scattered with the lieutenant unable to move. Jacob, with just a whistle from that gob of his, managed to call a riderless horse over, hoisted the lieutenant across its saddle and sent it galloping back to safety. Then he went back for the injured sergeant an’ all but…”
“Those bloody cannons,” muttered Dempster to his side. “Sergeant didn’t make it.”
Miles breathed deep, saluted his thanks and twisted back. “A gallant act.”
Dempster shrugged.
Yet Waterloo had been two years back and customarily the hospitals pushed one out the door at the first opportunity. “But why are you still here, if you don’t mind me asking? Is that arm not healing as it should?”
“Nah, I’m back in fer me third stint. Keeps gettin’ bloody infected but this time they cut shrapnel out. Nurses say to get out of London’s filthy air and into the countryside, but to do wot? Ain’t no work here, let alone in the country for a one-armed man. The lieutenant, gawd bless him, is trying to find me a place at Chelsea Hospital as they need the bed here but…”
Miles nodded. Chelsea had been opened by Charles I to care for those ‘broken by age or war’, as he’d described it, but it was not straightforward to gain admittance as places were so limited.
“But?”
“I’ve only two and thirty years, Captain. No disrespect but I ain’t quite ready to spend the rest of me days treated as an invalid.”
Miles sat back and pondered. Dempster was not behind any of the mishaps to befall him. And he liked him. He liked him very much.
“You mentioned you missed the horses when you were transferred from the dragoons?”
“Aye. Working with ’em was why I first joined your lot. Problem was I preferred the horses to the officers. Other than you, C’tain, goes without saying.”
Miles returned the chap’s grin. “What would you say to a job at a country estate? As groom? Can work up as well.”
“I’d bite yer bleedin’ hand off. Whose is it?”
“The Earl of Stonewold’s.”
“Who’s that fancy prig, then? And won’t the rum cove mind a groom with one arm?”
“Doubt it as it’s me.”
“Bloody ’ell.” He whistled through his teeth. “How’d that happen?”
Miles rubbed his jaw. “It’s odd isn’t it, Dempster. With all the damn battles we went through, I ended up outliving my elder brother who lost his footing and fell off a mountain in Scotland.”
“Poor bugger. Well, condolences to yer. Fate can be a right pissy bugger, can’t it? Always ready to give us a good kick in the arse when we least expect it.”
“Never a truer word. So you’ll accept?”
“Too right I will.” Dempster nodded. “Will I have ter tug me forelock at yer?”
“Yes.” Miles winked. “And you do have to get well. I’m not returning to the estate for a month or so but if they need the beds here, you can come and recover at mine and have one of the rooms in the mews.”
A salute. “Yer won’t regret it, Captain. My thanks.”
Miles nodded but twisted in his seat to the chap in the next bed. “And what about you, my lad? Will you be getting out of here soon? Do you need work?”
The lad smiled but shook his head. “Thankin’ yer, Captain, but I’m going back to my girl in Berkshire. Her folks got a farm there. The regiment’s surgeon set me broken leg wrong so I’m just having it reset. Hurt like blazes but I shouldn’t limp so bad.”
“I wish you well th–”
