Rose in the Brier
By Liz Rein
Copyright 2012 Liz Rein
Sterling Fairchild return from war wounded and looking for more from life than being the second son of a duke. He finds it in the arms of midwife and healer Cecilia, the disgrace of local society.
To my mother who pushed me to use my love of books and creativity to write my own novel.
I would like to thank Maryanne for editing my books. Spell check can only go so far.
Prologue
As the second son or as he is affectionately called by his family and with a slight distain by society, the spare, Sterling had no real purpose in life. His older brother, Marcus, expertly ran the ducal estates and attended parliament and sitting in the House of Lords ever since their father died five years before. Marcus took both responsibilities of his position very seriously and Sterling knew his services were not needed. As his brother expanded the family coffers Sterling felt useless as any spare was. He loved his brother; they had a great relationship and sitting around waiting for something dire to happen so he could move up in the world never sat right with him. After Eton, Cambridge and then sowing his oats for years Sterling began feeling restless. Carousing at all hours of the night no longer satisfied him. Months of searching led him to his answer. Now he knew what he would do; all he needed to do was tell his brother. He knew Marcus would object but feeling useless, doing nothing significant of consequence with his life, especially while there was a war going on did not sit right with him. Becoming a wastrel, drinking and womanizing is no longer as satisfactory when he was youth of one and twenty.
Determined he walked down the hall, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpets as he approached the library door. Sterling was a big man, well over six feet. He came from a long line of tall men starting from the first duke, a warrior in his time. He was a head taller than any other gentlemen of the ton with the exception of his older brother Marcus. Unlike most tall men he also had a large frame with wide shoulders. Boxing, one of Sterling’s favorite activities, made his frame even more immense with a heavily muscled chest and arms that seem to be made for the sport. His size made him second only to Gentleman Jackson himself. In addition to boxing Sterling also practiced fencing, a sport that his father taught both his sons. Sentimentality made him keep up with the discipline. The combination of the two disciplines and years of training made Sterling light on his feet something that was in odds to his height and size.
At the door Sterling paused and took a deep breath before knocking. He did not wait for him to call enter but opened the door. They always had a casual relationship, one almost unheard of in the ton. He knew that whatever Marcus was doing he would not mind the interruption, in fact, he usually welcomed it. He crossed the Ashburn carpets and approached the massive wood desk that had been in the family for generations. Marcus was finishing writing a letter, probably to one of the many estate managers he had on retainer. After sanding the ink, he folded the letter and slid it in to the waiting envelope. Marcus looked up in surprise to see his brother there, he was concentrating so hard on the instructions to the solicitor that he did not hear Sterling enter. He smiled at his brother but did not receive one in return, which gave Marcus his first hint at the gravity of the situation. Sterling had a very serious look on his face as he took a seat on one of the heavy dark wood chairs. Marcus leaned back into his chair, ready for the news. Whatever this is about he had a feeling that he’s not going to like it.
Sterling took another deep calming breath. “I’m leaving. I can’t wait around here any longer. I need to do something, be someone other than the Dukes unfortunate younger brother. I have decided to join the army. I am going to buy a commission.”
The words came out in a rush, he wanted to get the words out before he lost his nerve. Sometimes his brother still unnerved him, he will always be his big brother.
Marcus sat there in surprised silence; he leaned back in his chair while he thought. Marcus knew that Sterling was restless but did not know it had come to this. He had been thinking about the situation for some time and he may have finally found a solution.
Sterling, determined to not be talked out of his decision, quickly jumped out of the chair before Marcus could respond and rushed out of the room saying “This is my decision”. Marcus sat there in silence for a few more minutes, in the morning, when they both had time to sleep on it, he would talk to Sterling and tell him of his plans.
The next morning he was gone.
****
As a young girl Cecilia did not know that she was a walking scandal. Living in seclusion outside of the local village and the high rank of her father did not subject her family to the whispers that usually follow someone of her affliction. She lived with her mother in Rose Cottage just on the edge of Blackbrier Park, the largest estate in the county, assisting her as a midwife. Her father, the owner of Blackbrier, would come to visit often and those days were bliss. They would explore the woods, picnic and play. Although her father was not there often the time they spent together was always filled with joy.
It wasn’t until she was older that she realized that her life was not normal and that most fathers lived with their mother all the time. Then as she grew even older she realized what she was. A bastard.
Cecilia was an outsider in the local village. As the only midwife delivering babies throughout the countryside and the low tolerance her father, the Earl, had for disparaging the love of his life and longtime mistress made her mother respected but outside the local social circles.
Even as an outsider she still wanted to help, to make a difference, just like her mother. Learning midwifery at her mother’s side she realized she wanted to be a midwife but more. With the encouragement of her father she continued her education beyond childbirth with the local physician who tolerated a female for an apprentice and learning the newest techniques from books, periodicals and writings published. Although her gender made it impossible to become a true physician she wanted to learn as much as she could and she hoped that one day she would become an accepted member of the small physician’s society.
When Cecilia was eighteen her mother became ill. After months of painfully wasting away, her mother grew impossibly thin and she slipped away in the night.
Both she and father were grief stricken but life continued on. She filled the hole her mother left as midwife, and she lived like she had for several years. She delivered babies for the village and she took care of simple ailments for those who could not afford to bring in a private physician when the local doctor was already engaged.
Her father visited her many times and more often that not she spent her time with him at Blackbrier Park. But he had obligations in London attending to the House of Lords and his other duties and properties as an Earl. When he was gone she spent her days alone at Rose Cottage.
It was not until two years later that her life changed drastically.
Chapter One
Sterling was on the peninsula fighting for his life. The battle was long, exhausting and hard but he did not regret his decision to join. After leaving his brother’s home he bought his commission but he only paid for a Lieutenant’s rank even though he could afford more. He did not want to jump to a higher rank just because he could afford to when he knew nothing about fighting or strategy, he was not trained in the art of war. His efforts as it turned out was for naught. His quick thinking, a higher education, reflexes from years of training as a pugilist and surprisingly the nightly chess games he and his brother used to play while they were in the country made him an excellent strategist and formidable soldier. Despite his efforts, he quickly moved up in the ranks, promoted on the battlefield an
d achieved the title of Captain in record time.
Six months after arriving on France’s shores he was on the front in a surge against the French army and were finally overtaking the enemy. The men, sensing success, began aggressively engaging the opposing force. Preparing to engage his next opponent when out of the corner of his eye Sterling saw one of his men go down. He knew in an instant although obviously injured, he could be saved. In a quick decision he made a beeline for the downed soldier. Out of shot Sterling tossed aside his rifle and only clutching his cavalry sword he began nimbly picking his way through the battlefield’s carnage stepping over friends and foe alike. He was never one to leave a man behind and unlike other Captains and higher ranking officers who purchased their commissions he did not make unnecessary risks with his men’s lives. Coming up in the ranks with the other soldiers made him connect with every man, knowing that he was once just like them and ill planned attempts to surge forward, risking men’s lives, were not worth any price.
Out of nowhere a crazed French solider jumped into his path wielding a long blade. Screaming in French “Me faut retourner à la pute qui m'a accouchée” he attacked taking an aggressive but uncoordinated swipe. Sterling quickly leaned back from the arching blades but was not quick enough. The blade, slashing down, grazed his brow missing his eye by a hairs-breath and descended on to his cheek slashing the skin deep. Sterling quickly dispatched the Frenchman with a well timed thrust. Shaking off the attack he pressed a hand to his bleeding face, wiping blood that was dripping down into his eyes and continued to the downed man. He reached him and looked into the soldier’s eyes, it was Thomas, an enlisted man he had met briefly before when he joined the regiment. He was in shock and in a tremendous amount of pain but Sterling knew that if he got away from the combat’s fierce and filthy conditions he would have a fighting chance. With the strength of adrenaline Sterling picked him up and hefted him over his shoulder. He dexterously picked his way through the debris and aftermath of war.
Sterling was just reaching the tree line and safety when he heard a loud musket report then he felt an excruciating pain pierce his thigh. Crying out, he fell to his knees in pain, dropping Thomas in the process. Grunting in pain, he knew he had to get off the battlefield. Pulling himself together he pushed through the agony, he held his breath as he stood. Strength sapped, Sterling limped to Thomas and dragged him the last few paces to the tree line.
Sterling fell not far from a tree. He pulled himself and Thomas so they were leaning against the tree, out of sight of the fighting. Shrugging out of his red jacket Sterling sets it aside then grabbing the sleeve of his lawn shirt tore it away, then he repeated the move with the other arm. Using one sleeve he quickly wraps his leg, stopping the blood flow then he turned to Thomas to staunch his wounds. Clearing away the debris the wound was jagged but not as dire as it could have been. After pressing the compress into Thomas’ chest there was nothing else to do but wait and pray that a friendly unit finds them soon and takes them to a field surgeon. As that thought passes through his mind he felt a wave of dizziness come over him and passed out from the loss of blood.
When Sterling next woke he was hot, dizzy and it was so stuffy that he could barely breathe. He could hear the sounds of groaning and moans of pain. Opening his eyes he saw that he was in a tent, a surgeon’s tent. He looked around and the soldier Thomas, was laying next to him on a cot. He said something to him but he could not hear him. His vision swimming in and out of focus he saw that a surgeon was standing at the end of his cot. He barely looked at Sterling, uncovering his leg for a few seconds then flipping the sheet back he muttered seemingly to himself.
“Legs gotta come off.”
Without pause Sterling faintly said, “no”. Then louder “No.” His throat was dry. The doctor ignored him and turned to his assistant and asked for the saw. They were going to cut off his leg. The surgeon walked away to work on another patient while the orderly fetched the tools.
Trapped in a living nightmare Sterling turned his head back to Thomas, who was also awake and through the pain he pleaded ”Do not let him take the leg. Don’t take the leg.” Before passing out again.
Thomas knew that he owed Captain Fairchild his life. His wounds although fairly superficial would have killed him if he was left on the field either by bleeding out or by the scavengers picking over the fallen soldiers. He knew the least he could do was make sure the sawbones did not take his leg, without it being necessary. He knew that field surgeons where notorious for cutting off limbs rather than taking the time to heal the injury.
When the surgeon and the orderly returned and began to layout the tools needed to cut off Captain Fairchild’s leg, Thomas sat up in his cot and addressed to the doctor in his rough cockney accent of the streets of London.
“He don’t want cha to take the limb.”
The doctor ignored him. He sat up straighter and said louder.
“He don’t wan ya’ ta’ take the leg!”
The doctor turned to him. And said “I’m the surgeon and if I say the leg must come off, the leg must come off. The man’s care will take too much time. It's better to take it now.”
“No. you no’ take the leg, ill take care o’ him. You jes patch him up and I’s take care o him.”
The doctor in a huff mutters to himself about the stupidity of enlisted men. How they think that wounds will heal by themselves. He doesn’t have time to give the care necessary to save every bullet riddled leg. Then to Thomas he says ‘fine’ and orders his assistant to give Thomas the tools to close the wound.
It was a grizzly mess. The bullet entered his thigh and hit the bone shattering the bullet into multiple pieces and fracturing the bone. With the help of the orderly he fished out as much of the bullet fragments and dirt particles as he could then sewed up and bound the wound before setting the leg in a brace. Addressing Thomas the orderly said “He must not move this leg. It is fractured, broken. It will take many weeks if not months to heal.”
“Yes, sir” Thomas replied “I’s will take care of the captain n’ make sure he do’ move it.”
Then the orderly moved onto the cut on his face. Before he could set the first stitch from across the room the orderly heard his name called, they needed his assistance with another patient. When he started to explain that he was stitching the Captain’s facial laceration the doctor curtly ordered him to hurry, there was an issue with another patient that could use his services more. Quickly he stitched his cheek explaining that when he had time he would come back and re-stitch it better. Thomas knew from the looks of the other soldiers around him that he probably would not make it back, there were too many men that needed help.
****
Thomas took care of Sterling as he himself healed. He nursed him through a fever and infection of his leg. The severity made Thomas question his decision to fight for the leg. What was better; a man with no leg or no man at all? It was over two weeks before the wound healed enough for returning to England but it still was red, angry and swollen. Thomas watched it with concern but did not trust the doctor who was so busy sawing away at the wounded to care. As soon as he was able he took Sterling home on the next packet out.
Sterling and Thomas arrived on his brother’s doorstep six weeks after he was wounded and almost two years from the day he left. He knew he looked bad, his leg was bound in a makeshift cast, his face had a huge fresh scar that was so swollen it felt tight on his face, he has not shaved in a long time and all he had on him was the old stained tattered uniform missing the sleeves he was wearing when he was wounded. By the time he and Thomas could be moved from the hospital tent his regiment had moved on taking with them all of his personal belongings including his clothing.
Sterling exited the hack gingerly climbing down the steps careful not to jar his leg too much. Thomas, who exited first, was waiting with his crutches just in case he needed support. Even weeks after the initial injury his leg was still stiff and sore and unable to put weight on it, more so than a
fracture should be. Once on the ground standing on the curb Sterling looked up the stairs. His leg was paining him so much he could barely walk much less stand without support, without the help of Thomas he knew he would have never gotten home. The battlefield created a camaraderie among the enlisted men but their wounds created a bond that could never be broken even with their different backgrounds. In battle you trusted the merits of the man not the balance of his bank account.
Thomas turned to looked at the house for the first time, his eyes widened.
“Are you sure this is the place?” he asked.
Thomas did not know much about Captain Fairchild. He knew that the captain was well off but he did not know to what extent. The house was a mansion, the largest house he had ever seen, the largest on the street. It was a monstrosity of cut red stone bricks and tall columns flanking the wide double doors with an extra wide staircase rising from the street to the porch.
Sterling ignored the question. With grim determination Sterling started up the steps with the crutches tucked under his arms. Thomas came up behind him helping him navigate the stairs. Grunting in pain he took one pain filled step at a time, he was determined to make these last few steps home on his own.
The front door was swagged in black fabric, Sterling looked at it in concern. With a little hesitation he reached up and tapped the knocker.
A few moments later Gideon, the butler, opened the door. He stood there for a second looking like he was about to say something when he suddenly stopped and just stared at Sterling.
“Master Sterling? He croaked wonderingly. He backed up in sheer dumbfoundment.
Sterling chose that moment to enter. Now leaning heavily on Thomas and his crutches he asked Gideon “Is my brother at home?”
Before Gideon could respond Sterling heard footsteps coming down the corridor. It was Marcus, he would have known it was his brother even if he had not shown himself. His tread was a familiar and welcome sound. Marcus glanced up from the London Times to see who was at the door, he was not supposed to be home for anyone right now, and stopped dead in his tracks.