“Not at all, Lady Jeanne!” Replied the delighted Russian. The four of them were soon engaged in a group conversation that naturally veered towards military subjects and military history. Sir Charles, who was standing nearby with other guests, soon excused himself with them and discreetly joined Gordon’s group, listening with growing awe as Jeanne went head to head with Koslov in an animated but friendly discussion on the strategies and tactics of the battles of the Napoleonic invasion of Russia in 1812. More and more guests around them then caught on to the fact that Jeanne was talking like an expert soldier and started eyeing her with both surprise and misgivings. Sir Charles saw that and gently touched Jeanne’s arm.
“Uh, I must congratulate you on your military knowledge, my dear Jeanne, but I believe that your musical instruments have been brought in and are waiting for you near the musicians. Would you like to play something for the other guests?”
Jeanne, suddenly catching on to the fact that she was attracting the wrong kind of attention, grinned and nodded to Sir Charles.
“I would certainly love that, Sir Charles.”
After Jeanne excused herself with Koslov and Von Schwarz and as she made her way towards the small musical band sitting in a corner of the lounge, Gordon patted his father’s shoulder.
“Nice move, Father. Sometimes, Jeanne talks and acts much like a soldier and, while I don’t mind that, others may think that she is not a proper lady because of that.”
“Well, now we will see her feminine side…which should be quite nice indeed.”
“You have no idea, Father!” Replied Gordon with a grin.
Jeanne first played her lyre, a small model that was actually more properly named a ‘bardic harp’ and could be played even when standing. Playing solo a melancholic tune on her harp, she started singing in the beautiful voice Gordon had quickly learned to admire and appreciate. Her words were however in some foreign language that, while sounding nice, was unknown to him and to the other guests. Her overall performance on her first tune however still attracted sincere applauses from the guests and from Sir Charles. Jeanne bowed at the applauses and smiled to the crowd around her.
“What I played was a very old Greek love song from 2,800 years ago. I will now use my lute to sing a French troubadour song of a more modern variety.”
Switching instruments, she asked for some extra room around her, then started playing a fast, catchy tune while singing in French and dancing around. That performance made a grinning Baron Koslov clap his hands to accompany her singing and playing.
“By Saint Peter, this woman could bewitch any man!”
Jeanne apparently heard him and, at the end of her second tune, waved to him to join her.
“You can dance a good Cossack tune, Baron Koslov?”
“Of course I can!”
“Then accompany me here!”
She then started playing a fiery Russian tune while dancing around. Gordon, like the others around him, opened his eyes wide when Jeanne, still playing her lute, crouched and started dancing by alternatively throwing up her legs, showing tremendous stamina and agility. Koslov made a meritorious effort to follow her but had to give up after a couple of minutes, out of breath and sweating heavily. Gordon gave him a glass of chilled champagne as the Russian officer rejoined the ranks of the spectators while Jeanne kept dancing, singing and playing around.
“Here! I believe that you need to refresh yourself, Baron.”
“Thank you my good Gordon. I’m afraid that I am not as young as I believed. Your fiancée certainly is in top physical shape, apart from being an excellent musician, dancer and singer.”
“I have to say that she keeps surprising me every day.”
Gordon then saw the loving look Jeanne was giving him while giving her performance. Koslov saw it too and whispered to Gordon.
“You, sir, are one lucky man indeed!”
“Ain’t I!” Replied Gordon enthusiastically, having eyes only for her.
17:41 (London Time)
Tuesday, March 28, 1854
14 Belgrave Square, London
“…and whoever has objections to this marriage, speak now or hold your peace forever.”
The judge looked briefly around the crowded lounge of the groom’s house and, seeing nobody with obvious qualms about the union, looked back at the couple facing him.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss.”
Cheers went up as Gordon and Jeanne, him in his best uniform and her in a custom-made white nuptial dress, passionately kissed each other. In the forefront of the onlookers was a relieved Sir Charles, holding the right hand of his crying wife. The bride’s gown had proved longer to make and fit than expected, due to Jeanne’s unusual size, a fact that had delayed the ceremony by two days and caused no ends of problems in rescheduling the invitations. To further sour things, this morning’s newspapers had announced that England was, along with France, declaring war against Russia, in defense of Turkey. Carmelia had cried then, knowing that her only child was probably going to go to war in a distant place. Now, Carmelia was crying tears of joy at the sight of Gordon and Jeanne kissing. Moving forward, Sir Charles and Carmelia were the first to hug and kiss the newlyweds, then stepped aside to let the other guests do the same. Charles thought that at least the announcement of war with Russia was a good explanation why Baron Koslov would not attend the ceremony: Charles and Gordon would still have welcomed the military attaché but the Russian was probably busy packing up for home right now.
Sir Charles’ attention was suddenly attracted to a soldier in uniform being led in the lounge by Thomas. The man, wearing a Hussars uniform, looked unsure of what to do, so Charles went to him and addressed him discreetly.
“May we do something for you, Sergeant?”
“You may, sir.” Replied the NCO, also keeping his voice low. “I have urgent orders to pass to Captain Smythe but I seem to have arrived at a most inopportune moment.”
“Indeed, Sergeant, but orders are orders. Please follow me.”
“Thank you, sir!” Said the grateful soldier before following Charles through the crowd of guests. Once face to face with Gordon, the sergeant stopped at rigid attention and saluted crisply.
“Sir!” He said in a loud voice as Gordon returned his salute. “I’m sorry to announce to you that your leave has been cut short on orders of Lord Paget. You are to report no later than sundown tomorrow at the Winchester Barracks, ready for field operations, sir!”
“Do you know why such orders were issued, Sergeant?”
“No, sir, but I know that the leaves in the whole army have been cancelled, sir.”
Gordon then looked sadly at Jeanne, who was fighting off tears.
“It must be about Crimea. I’m sorry, Jeanne: I will have to leave early in the morning.”
The despondent Gordon then saw a flash in Jeanne’s eyes. Her face hardening with resolve, she took hold of his hands and spoke out loud in a firm voice.
“Gordon, I will not let you go alone. I will go too to Crimea if you are shipped there.”
“But, that could be dangerous!” Protested Gordon. “You could get killed or contract a sickness.”
“I would much prefer die at your side than to wait in England while you risk your life daily over there, my love.”
Deeply touched by this, Sir Charles put one hand on her left shoulder.
“That was an answer worthy of a Smythe, Jeanne.”
He then looked firmly at Gordon as the guests around them nodded approvingly.
“Don’t leave her, my son. She deserves to be with you, all the way.”
Gordon exchanged a tearful look with Jeanne and spoke in a strangled voice.
“Then we will live and die together, me and Jeanne.”
Cheers rose from the male guests as the newlyweds kissed each other again, while Carmelia and most of the other women present broke out in tears.
16:22 (London Time)
Wednesday, March 29, 1854
8th Hussars regimental barracks
Winchester, Southern England
“Sergeant-Major, I see Captain Smythe up the road, riding this way with a woman.”
Grabbing the regimental roster list, Regimental Sergeant-Major Sean O’Neil got out of the guard shack located at the entrance to the barracks complex, joining Private Harry Brooks by the side of the dirt road that led in the complex. Squinting his eyes from the sudden change of luminosity, the beefy RSM saw that Captain Smythe was effectively approaching at a trot, followed closely by a tall woman on a brown horse. What then caught his attention was the fact that the woman was sitting astride her horse and was not riding Amazon-style, as a proper lady should have done. He soon had a better look at her as the two riders stopped briefly in front of the guard shack. Coming to attention, O’Neil crisply saluted Captain Smythe, while Private Brooks presented arms with his rifled musket. The captain looked to be in his usual good spirits as he returned their salute.
“Good afternoon, Sergeant-Major O’Neil! I’m reporting back early from leave, as ordered. Do you have any directives or orders from Lord Paget for me?”
“Yes sir! You are to report to his office on arrival, sir.”
O’Neil then glanced at the woman, who was dressed with a red jacket and a green skirt that curiously split in half, which permitted her to ride like a man without being indecent in the process. Her shapely body and beauty were going to attract many eyes around the barracks.
“May I ask who is the lady, sir?”
“By all means, Sergeant-Major!” Replied Smythe, grinning. “This is my new wife, Lady Jeanne. Jeanne, this is Mister Sean O’Neil, our RSM.”
To Sean’s delighted surprise, the woman then spoke in fluent Gaelic.
“Pleased to meet you, Mister O’Neil, or do you prefer to be called RSM?”
“Mister O’Neil will do just fine in your case, madam.” Replied Sean, also in Gaelic. Gordon then exchanged another salute with O’Neil and rode towards the regimental headquarters, followed by Jeanne. Stopping and dismounting near the entrance to the headquarters, they both tied their horses to a pole before entering the three-story brick building. The lobby they entered was decorated with battle trophies and pieces of regimental mementos. Jeanne looked at the 8th Hussars regimental flag, bearing the embroidered names of the battles the regiment had fought, her face solemn.
“A proud, distinguished unit indeed.”
Gordon nodded his head proudly.
“And one I am proud to belong to. Lord Paget’s office is on the next floor up.”
Leading the way, Gordon climbed the wooden staircase to the first floor and turned left, following a wide corridor for about twenty yards before stopping in front of an open door. The few NCOs and junior officers they met saluted Gordon before hoggling Jeanne in her back. The lieutenant who served as the Aide De Camp to Lord Paget also gave her a quick admiring look before speaking briefly with Gordon, then going inside an adjacent office. The ADC soon came back out, letting Gordon in Lord Paget’s office while inviting Jeanne to sit and wait.
Lord Paget was a small, aging man with graying hair and a large moustache. Gordon knew that, despite his age and time in the service, the aristocrat had no experience of real war, having purchased his commission and successive ranks. He was however a mild-mannered gentleman, in contrast to Lord Cardigan, and greeted Gordon warmly.
“Aah, my good Smythe! Please, have a chair.”
Taking the seat offered by his commander, Gordon sat rigidly as Paget went on.
“I’m dreadfully sorry to have had to cut your leave short, especially in view of your marriage, but Lord Raglan has ordered all leaves to be cancelled. He has also notified a number of army units, including our own, to be ready to depart for the Black Sea area.”
Gordon stiffened then: up to now, Jeanne’s predictions were decidedly proving to be flawless. That, along with her visions of advanced machines and weapons, kept raising gnawing questions about her in Gordon’s mind. While he loved her deeply and believed the feeling to be mutual, he was starting to wonder what her accidental amnesia may still be hiding from her mind. His few days at the Smythes Manor with her had demonstrated to Gordon that Jeanne was not only thinking often like a professional soldier: she also had proven that she could shoot both pistols and rifles like a top marksman and also ride a horse as if she had been born in the saddle.
“Do you know when we could be leaving, sir?”
“Details are still sketchy, but I expect the regiment to sail within a month, maybe as soon as two weeks time. What I want from you, Captain, is to make sure that B Troop is ready in all respects for a military campaign around the Black Sea, and this as soon as possible.”
“B Troop will be ready, sir!” Replied firmly Gordon, attracting a satisfied smile on Paget’s face.
“I know it will, Captain. Do you have any questions before you are dismissed?”
“Only one, sir. You know that, according to the Queen’s Regulations, about six wives per hundred men can accompany a unit in a campaign. My new wife, Lady Jeanne, desires to accompany me in the oncoming war and to serve as a field nurse and ambulance driver. I would be most obliged if you would permit her to do so.”
Lord Paget stared at him for a moment, not a little surprised.
“But…that could be a most hard and grizzly job. Is she sure that she really wants to do this?”
“You can ask her personally, sir: she came with me and is waiting in the next office. As for her abilities and toughness, I can vouch that she would be most fit for the job, sir.”
“Then, I would very much like to speak with her, Captain.” Said Paget before shouting towards his ADC’s office. “Lieutenant Campbell, please send the lady in!”
The moment Jeanne stepped in, Gordon saw Paget’s face soften as he looked up and down her tall, fit frame.
“I am told that you wish to accompany this regiment as a field nurse and ambulance driver, madam. You do realize the dangers and hardships of such a position, I hope?”
“I do, sir!” She replied, coming to attention. “I have a good knowledge of medicine and first aid, am an excellent rider and know how to drive a wagon. I also know how to live in field conditions, sir.”
Her firm reply and stance seemed to impress Lord Paget, who nodded his head in appreciation.
“In that case, consider yourself on strength of this regiment as a field nurse as of today. Go see the regimental surgeon first, then visit the paymaster, so that he can put you in his books.”
“Thank you, sir! Your comprehension is much appreciated, sir.” Said Jeanne, grinning. Paget then looked at Gordon.
“You are dismissed as well, Captain. You can escort your wife around for now. Be ready with a roster of the men fit for field duty in your troop by tomorrow morning.”
“Yes, sir!” Shouted Gordon, shooting up from his chair and saluting. Lord Paget watched in amusement as both the captain and his wife did a simultaneous about turn and walked out single file at a regulation pace. Lady Jeanne Smythe promised to be a very interesting cat indeed.
Leading Jeanne out of the headquarters building, Gordon followed its eastern façade towards a small building that appeared to have been built as an afterthought. It certainly looked neglected enough to Jeanne the nearer they got to it.
“This is the infirmary?” She said in a dismayed tone.
“What passes for one, unfortunately.” Replied Gordon, embarrassed. “Funds for medical care are quite scarce and have been so for many years. The regiment, like the rest of the army, had to make do with very limited resources in nearly everything.”
As they were about to enter the infirmary, Jeanne noticed that half of the windows were broken and were either boarded up or crudely covered with cardboard. She also nearly tripped on a broken step of the entrance’s wooden stairs.
“Well, I know now where to spend some of my fortune.”
“Wait!” Replied Gordon, deadpan. “You haven’t seen all of it yet.”
Once inside, Jeanne was able to see that the building was a near ruin, with rotting floor planks and ceiling beams and with whitewashed brick walls showing cracks. It was now evident to her that the so-called infirmary was nothing more than an old converted stable. Seeing her scandalized expression, Gordon led her straight to a small room next to the entrance, where they found a frail young man sitting on a rickety chair and reading a medical journal. Apart from a worn suit, the young man wore an overcoat to stay warm in the cold building, as the stove in one corner was empty. On seeing Gordon and Jeanne, the young man smiled timidly and rose from his chair, putting the journal he was reading on it.
“Good afternoon miss, Captain Smythe. May I do something for you?” He said in a juvenile voice. He could not be much more than twenty years old and looked very shy and unassuming. Somehow, Jeanne took an immediate liking to him. Gordon then made the presentations.
“Doctor, this is my wife, Lady Jeanne. Jeanne, this is Hospital Assistant Thomas Farrell, of the Army Medical Department. He took his post here only a few months ago.”
“Fresh from medical school, I presume?” Asked Jeanne while shaking hand with Farrell, who nodded his head.
“Correct, Lady Jeanne. I graduated from St-Thomas Hospital in December and immediately joined the army, hoping to travel around the World and see exotic places.”
Farrell then swept his arms around, his face reflecting disillusion.
“Instead I got…this!”
Jeanne then patted the doctor’s shoulder, smiling in encouragement at him.
“Don’t despair, Mister Farrell: you are probably about to see lots of exotic places, apart from having your hands full of patients soon enough.”
“What do you mean, madam?”
Jeanne looked sharply at the surprised doctor and shook her head.
“Let me guess, Doctor: apart from getting little or no consideration, this regiment is treating you like a mushroom, that is they keep you in the dark and feed you shit.”
“That’s the story of my short military assignment, madam.” Replied Farrell, smiling. “So, what is going on?”
“We are going to war against Russia and will depart for the Black Sea within a few weeks. The good news is that I am accompanying you as a field nurse and ambulance driver.”
His face reflecting joy, the young doctor looked at Gordon.
“Does this mean that I can be rid of Mister Connors, Captain?”
“Aah, yes, Trooper Connors!” Said Gordon, while Jeanne listened on, visibly confused.
“Who is this Trooper Connors, Doctor?”
“What passes as my medical orderly. Let me show you.”
Leading the couple out of his office, the doctor crossed the hallway and entered a large, dilapidated room filled with a double row of shoddy beds, each supporting a straw mattress of dubious cleanliness. Two of the beds were occupied, one by a young soldier sporting a big cast around his left arm, the other by a bearded man sleeping and snoring like a bear. Doctor Farrell pointed at the snoring man.
“That’s Trooper Connors, madam.”
Walking quickly to Connors’ bed, Jeanne bent down and sniffed close to his face before straightening up, reprobation on her face.
“This man is drunk! Is he still on duty?”
“According to my watch he is, madam.”
Gordon was about to give a rough waking up to Connors when Jeanne preceded him by taking hold of the side of the drunk’s bed and violently toppling it. Connors, thrown on his face without warning, woke up with a startle and got up on shaky legs. His angry look changed to surprise at the sight of Jeanne, then to fear when he saw Gordon. Jeanne then once again took the initiative, planting herself in front of the trooper and shouting angrily at him.
“Don’t you have duties to perform, Trooper? This infirmary needs a good sweeping and mopping. Get to it!”
“Yes maam!” Said the drunk, his eyes still foggy, before running out of the ward. While Farrell looked with awed surprise at Jeanne, Gordon had a hard time containing his laughter.
“By Jove, my dear! Should I expect this kind of treatment if I ever displease you?”
“You better believe it, buster!” She replied jokingly while shaking an index at him. Then becoming serious, she looked at both Farrell and Gordon.
“Doctor, lots of lives will soon depend on you. The last thing you need is a drunkard to weigh you down around a battlefield. Gordon, is there a way to get a more dependable soldier to help the doctor?”
The officer shook his head after thinking for a moment.
“I doubt it very much, Jeanne. Troop officers will not send a good soldier to what is considered a low priority duty, like infirmary duty. Connors was most probably assigned here because nobody wanted him. He has already lost his corporal’s stripes twice for drunkenness and dereliction of duty.”
“Damn!” Muttered Jeanne, annoyed. “What about some of the soldiers’ wives who will accompany the regiment to Crimea? Can one or two be assigned to Doctor Farrell?”
“Uh, probably.” Answered Gordon hesitantly, not prepared for her last question.
“Good! Then we could use up to two women to help the doctor at his future field dressing station, plus another one to assist me in driving the regimental ambulance, so that I can patch up wounded soldiers before loading them in our wagon.”
“Uh, there is a problem with that, Lady Jeanne.” Said Farrell, obviously embarrassed. “I don’t have an ambulance wagon. In fact, I don’t have any horse or vehicle assigned to the infirmary.”
That got him a look of shocked disbelief from Jeanne.
“Then, how the hell did the regiment expect you to go around and treat the wounded and sick?”
“The Commissariat representative told me that they would provide something if and when the need comes.”
“The Commissariat!” Spat Jeanne contemptuously. “Don’t wait for anything from those rule-bound, incompetent civilian bureaucrats, unless excuses are what you are looking for, Doctor.”
“She’s right, Doctor.” Added Gordon glumly. “Unfortunately, the regiment can’t help you here, since the Commissariat Department of the Treasury Ministry controls army logistics. I had to buy my own war horse with my personal money, believe it or not.”
“Bureaucrats!” Uttered Jeanne as if it was an insult. She then looked resolutely at Farrell. “Don’t worry about infirmary transportation, Doctor: I will take care of it personally. Do you have any other pressing needs to be filled before you are ready to do battlefield duty?”
“Well, I do have my own set of surgical instruments, but I am short of most medical supplies. I don’t even have a single stretcher as it is.”
“I will take care of that too. Please write down a detailed list of your needs by noon tomorrow. I will be going back to London then to place orders for supplies and equipment.”
Taking out her pocket watch, Jeanne looked at it briefly, then smiled at her husband.
“A quarter past five. How about presenting me informally to your gang of ruffians before supper, Gordon?”
“As you wish, my dear. Don’t expect geniuses and saints, though.”
“Believe me, Gordon: I’ve already seen the worst there is before.”
Taking time first to bring their luggage to Gordon’s room in the building reserved for the officers, then to lead their horses to the stables, the couple entered a barrack block that faced the headquarters building from across a large parade square. While clean, it became quickly obvious to Jeanne that the building was overcrowded and lacked even running water. The communal room assigned to B Troop was actually on the second floor and lodged about fifty men amidst wooden bunk beds and small personal lockers, with three tables and a few benches and chairs thrown in. The farthest bunks were actually crudely separated visually from the other bunks by gray wool blankets hanging vertically around their sides. A corporal that saw them enter then snapped to attention and shouted.
“ROOM!”
The soldier’s shout brought the room’s occupants to a standstill. It also made the heads of five young children and two women pop out from behind the blanket partitions. Gordon saw Jeanne’s surprised look and whispered in her ear.
“Those are the families of my married troopers. There are no formal married quarters for the junior ranks and a simple soldier can’t afford civilian housing. This is unfortunately the best that can be done for them.”
Gordon then shouted at his men.
“At ease, men! Please gather up in the middle of the room: I have news to pass. I would also like your wives to join in as well.”
“You heard the captain! Move!” Shouted the senior sergeant present. Gordon and Jeanne soon had 46 soldiers and seven women formed in a semi-circle around them, with a dozen children of varied age looking on with curiosity from atop bunk beds. Gordon looked briefly around the crowd before starting to speak in a sober tone.
“As you must know by now, we are at war with Russia because of its attack on Turkey. Our regiment is expected to sail within a month for the Black Sea, as part of an expeditionary force that will also include French troops.”
“Blimey, sir! We are going to travel with shiploads of frogs, sir?” Asked a young soldier, starting a round of laughter. Jeanne took a false air of indignation then.
“Et l’Entente Cordiale, merde?”
Laughter redoubled as the private turned red with embarrassment. Gordon shook an index at him playfully.
“Private Pearson, please be respectful to my new wife, Lady Jeanne, especially since she may be dressing your wounds one fine day.”
Becoming serious again, Gordon scanned the faces of his men and of their wives. While most of the men seemed to take the news of the war in stride, the women uniformly looked tense and apprehensive now.
“My wife Jeanne will accompany the regiment overseas and will help Doctor Farrell as a field nurse. She is looking for up to three women to assist her for infirmary work. I will now let her speak more on this.”
“Thank you, dear.” Said Jeanne to Gordon before stepping forward and concentrating her attention on the women present.
“I fully realize how hard separation can be, especially for those of you with small children. I also know about the financial hardships you may go through if left in England. The oncoming war will be no picnic, though. The Winter weather in Crimea is very harsh and diseases plague the whole area. You can also expect little or no material support from those uncaring incompetents from the Commissariat. On the other hand, the three women who will accompany me to work with Doctor Farrell can expect lots of hard work, primitive living conditions and heart-wrenching sights. I will need persons with a strong will, with at least one who can drive a heavy wagon. I would also prefer women with no children in their charge. I know that a ballot normally decides which of you accompany their husbands overseas, but I am ready to offer a better way out of your predicament.”
What she said then surprised even Gordon.
“As a strictly personal initiative outside of army rules and customs and out of my own pocket, I am ready to offer a special war separation allowance to all the wives from this unit staying behind in England. That allowance will run from the day the regiment leaves the barracks to until your men come home. If one or more of you are widowed by this war, then this separation allowance will become a lifetime pension.”
There were seconds of total silence as the stunned British stared at her, digesting what she had just said. One woman then timidly raised one hand, speaking after Jeanne nodded her head to her.
“I don’t want to sound picky, madam, but how much would be this…allowance?”
“One Pound Sterling a week per wife, plus an extra two shillings a week per child.” Answered Jeanne, smiling. She could nearly feel the wave of relief and joy that went through the crowd then. The same woman who asked about the allowance grinned to her.
“Madam, with such a generous allowance you will not get one volunteer to follow you overseas.”
“Depends!” Replied Jeanne, deadpan. “Apart from offering a good field pay, I was counting to find women dedicated enough to their husbands to follow them to Hell if need be.”
A stoutly built woman in her mid-thirties then stepped out of the crowd. About five feet four inches tall and with red hair, her brown eyes looked firmly at Jeanne as she spoke resolutely.
“I’m going with you, madam. I know how to drive a wagon or a mule as well as I can drive a man and I’m damned if I will let my James down!”
“May I have your name, madam?” Asked Jeanne, both amused and impressed.
“Sarah Champion, wife of Troop Sergeant-Major Champion. All my children died of chol