Ralph: The Diary [EBOOK]

Chapter 1<br>
Burnley Abbey, Lancashire, England, 1794.<br>

“Forward, you cowards, charge the enemy – let them see the whites of your eyes!” the sergeant shouted, urging his men forward, his red uniform spattered with mud.<br>

Musket shots were ringing out all around, and smoke billowed from the cannons. It was raining, dark clouds hanging over the battlefield, as the troops surged forward in a final, desperate charge.<br>

“After them, men! Don’t let them get away,” a young lieutenant called out, running forward into the fray, his sword drawn in an act of heroic example.<br>

But as he charged head on into battle, a single bullet caught him in the chest. His arms flailed out, a cry emanating from his lips, his features contorted terribly as he fell backwards into the mud. Around him, the other soldiers looked on in dismay, scattering as their lieutenant lay dead in the mud.<br>
* * *
Teresa Baker awoke with a start. Her brow was sweaty, and she was shaking with terror, her heart beating fast. The nightmare had seemed so real. The lieutenant was dead – but who was he? She turned over, the bed creaking as she sat up. It was still dark, the grimy window of her attic room framing the night sky, where only the merest slither of a moon could be seen over the trees which grew next to the house. She sighed and stood up, shaking her head as she fumbled to pour herself a glass of water from the jug on the bedside table. Her hands were trembling, even as she tried to steady her nerves.<br>

It was only a dream, she told herself, though it had seemed all too real.<br>

That night was not the first night she had dreamed that same dream. It was always the same – the battlefield, the smoke, the musket shots, the rain, and the dead soldier lying in the mud. She could see his face, and whilst she did not recognize him, she felt certain she knew him, even as she feared to admit it.<br>

It isn’t him, it isn’t, she told herself, as though repeating those words would make them true.<br>

Her back was hurting, and she tried to stand up straight, finding it difficult in the cramped space of the attic. Her stomach was getting bigger – she was with child, and now it was starting to show, even as she was trying her best to hide it. She crossed to the window and wiped the pane with the palm of her hand. The inside was wet with condensation, and she shivered, peering out across the dark gardens towards the rolling moorland beyond. Only a few stars were visible amidst the cloudy sky, and she shook her head as a tear rolled down her cheek.<br>

It was only a dream. It’s not true. He’ll come back. I know he will. He’ll come back for both of us, she told herself, placing her hands on her stomach, even as she feared the very worst.<br>

Teresa knew she would not sleep again that night, and even if she did, she was afraid of returning to the dream. It haunted her. A nightmare so vivid she believed herself to be there amidst the musket shots and cannon fire. But she was merely a passive observer, the battle raging around her as she watched the soldier felled by that deadly bullet. She could not bring herself to believe it was him – she refused to believe it was him.<br>

I won’t believe it, she told herself, as she dressed for her early morning duties.<br>

The hearths around the house would need sweeping out, and the coal scuttles carrying up from the cellar. As the first light of dawn broke, Teresa splashed her face with water from the jug on the bedside table, and looked at herself in the broken shard of mirror which hung above the small dressing table in the corner of the room. She was an attractive young woman, olive skinned, with deep blue eyes and curled black hair. She sighed, her cheeks were red, and her eyes filled with tears. Mrs. Mason, the housekeeper, was bound to chastise her. She barely tolerated her as it was, and Teresa felt certain that toleration would not continue once they discovered she was with child. <br>

“Look at her, brazen with the child,” they would say, shaking their heads – Teresa could just imagine it.<br>

She knew her time as a servant in the home of the Duke of Lancaster was limited, and she could only imagine what the Dowager Duchess would say when she discovered Teresa’s condition. The Duke himself was away fighting on the continent with his brother, and Teresa often saw the sadness of that separation in the dowager’s eyes when she passed her in the corridors. <br>

I’ve got to stay strong, Teresa told herself, even as she was dreadfully afraid of what the future would bring.<br>

Teresa took a deep breath, knowing the challenges ahead of her were immense. She would soon give birth to her child, and what prospects would she – or the baby – have then? She had no family of her own, and she could hardly expect the household to support an unmarried servant giving birth amidst their walls. <br>

A day at a time, Teresa, she said to herself, as now she left the attic room and made her way down to the servants’ hall to begin her duties for the day.<br>

But as she worked – hauling coal scuttles up the stairs, and sweeping out the hearths, coughing and spluttering from the soot – her mind remained focused on one thing alone. The face of the dead soldier haunted her, his contorted features, his wide, lifeless eyes. She saw him everywhere she went, a man without a name, a man she feared to name lest her dream come true. It was a living nightmare, and one Teresa knew she would not escape from until she learned the truth of what was happening far away from Lancashire, in a distant land, where a war was being fought, the purpose of which she had never understood.<br>
* * *
“I had a letter from Ralph this morning,” the Dowager said, as Teresa kneeled by the hearth in the drawing room where the old lady spent her days.<br>

Teresa looked up at her in surprise. The Dowager never spoke to her. She was a mere maid, to be seen and not heard. . Teresa set down her brush and rose to her feet, standing meekly before the Dowager with her hands clasped over her stomach. The Dowager sighed.<br>

“He writes from the battlefield, my Lady?” she asked, and the Dowager nodded, unfolding a piece of paper, and peering down at it.<br>

“He gives an account of a recent battle. I don’t like reading about it. The danger they’re both in…my dear sons, it doesn’t bear thinking about, and yet… I feel compelled to read. He hopes to be home in a few months, but this dreadful war rumbles on, and I can’t see either of them returning soon,” the Dowager replied.<br>

Ralph was her son, the younger brother of the Duke of Lancaster, who was also fighting abroad in the same conflict. Teresa thought back to her dream, knowing all too well the fear of losing a loved one on the battlefield. The Dowager looked tired, and older than she really was. Her hair was gray, arranged in a bun, and her face was wrinkled and forlorn. Teresa could vividly imagine the fear she was harboring, and the prospect of motherhood brought with it an understanding for Teresa of just what the Dowager was feeling as she read her son’s letter. <br>

“Then we must pray for that safe return, my Lady,” Teresa said, and the Dowager nodded.<br>

“I do so every day” she replied, shaking her head, and turning away, as a tear rolled down her cheek.<br>

Teresa felt terribly sorry for her. The Duke and his brother had been gone for what felt like years, even though it had been only a matter of months, and each day, the Dowager waited anxiously for news of what was happening in a far and distant land. Teresa kneeled down and resumed her sweeping, laboring over it for fear of leaving the Dowager alone with her tears.<br>

“My Lady,” she said, turning to the Dowager, who looked up.<br>

“What is it,?” she asked, and Teresa blushed with embarrassment.<br>

“I’m sure they’ll come back safely” she said, knowing it was not her place to say such things, but wanting to offer words comfort, too. <br>

The slightest smile broke over the Dowager’s countenance, and she nodded with a sigh.<br>

“I pray they will. But…well, we must bear the matter as best we can. They fight for a noble cause – or so they claim. But I can’t help wondering if a faraway war on some distant island is worth it. How fragile life is, how easily it can be snatched away from us,” she said, turning again to look out of the window.<br>

Teresa finished her sweeping, rising to her feet and curtseying to the Dowager Duchess before hurrying out of the room. She returned to the servants’ hall, hoping not to encounter Mrs. Mason as she went, but at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the hallway, she came face to face with her nemesis.<br>

“I hope you’ve not been bothering her Ladyship, Teresa,” she said, narrowing her eyes as she peered at Teresa with a stern expression on her face.<br>

Teresa shook her head. Mrs. Mason was a formidable character, always dressed in black, with a pinched nose and red face, her black hair combed back into an aggressive bob.<br>

“No, Mrs. Mason, I was just sweeping out the hearth in her ladyship’s drawing room. I was just seeing to my duties,” she said, and the housekeeper shook her head.<br>

“Shirking your duties more like. You’ve become tardy recently, Teresa. You’re not working hard enough. What’s got into you?” the housekeeper said, fixing Teresa with an angry gaze.<br>

Teresa was struggling. She was growing tired more easily, and tasks like hauling the coal scuttles up the stairs to the bedrooms were getting harder. Soon, there could be no hiding the fact of her current state, and then what would become of her?<br>

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Mason. I’m doing my best,” Teresa replied.<br>

The housekeeper’s eyes narrowed.<br>

“I’ve seen this in maids before. I know what can become of maids with loose morals, Teresa,” she replied.<br>

It was as though she suspected something, and Teresa drew a sharp intake of breath and returned her gaze defiantly. She was not ashamed to be with child, and whilst she knew what the other servants would think of her when they discovered it, she would not be cowed by their pious opinions.<br>

“Her Ladyship…” Teresa began, but the housekeeper interrupted her.<br>

“Her Ladyship knows nothing about you, Teresa. She’s not your friend. I don’t understand it, and perhaps I don’t want to. But mark my words, if you put a foot out of line, I’ll throw you out myself – whatever Her Ladyship says,” she snarled, and pushing past Teresa, she clattered up the stairs to the hallway, leaving Teresa with tears in her eyes.<br>

They’re all so cruel, Teresa thought to herself, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe her eyes, just as a shout came from the kitchen.<br>

“There’re potatoes to peel, Teresa. Get in here this instant,” the cook, Mrs. Partrdige, called out.<br>

Teresa was feeling tired. The dream had made her restless, and she wanted nothing more than to lie down and rest. But Teresa knew Mrs. Mason would gladly make good on her threat, and with no family of her own, and nowhere else to go, she had no choice but to obey whatever orders were given her.<br>

“Coming, Mrs. Patridge,” she called out, making her way down the kitchen corridor to the pantry, and heaving out a large sack of potatoes.<br>

The cook eyed her warily, and the kitchen maids tutted amongst themselves and shook their heads – it was clear they suspected something, and with each passing day, their suspicions would be realized. Teresa sat down at the kitchen table, pulling open the sack and taking out a pile of potatoes. This was her lot in life, but when the baby came, Teresa did not know what she would do. She could not go on working as a maid, nor could she hope to be treated charitably. <br>

And what if that terrible dream comes true? she asked herself, thinking of the face of the unknown soldier and fearing the worst…<br>