In those first weeks, contrary to what the staff of the hospital believed, it was the dying who comforted me. In my moments with them, their candor and tranquility soothed me. It was their care of me, their uncomplicated concern, that allowed me to grow accustomed to my new responsibilities. It was little enough to thank them by penning a letter to a family member or sending a memento to a friend. In whatever time I had free, I did what I could to help those not so close to death, bringing them water, reading to them, writing missives home for those who were too wounded or ill to do so, or who were unlettered.
I had written to my brother, who had thought me dead, reports having reached him from those who saw me fall in battle. His letter in return I found quite moving, and he urged me to come home. I put it off. I sold out of the army, but given my sincere belief that I could communicate with the unconscious, I did not want to return only to be placed in an asylum.
Through my visits to the hospital, I gained a valet. Even before the war, Merritt had taken care of his young lieutenant, who now lay dying of a wound from a saber. He had been his batman on the Peninsula, and returned to the Continent with him after Napoleon escaped from Elba. Merritt was a quiet man, and did not flinch from any task the care of his wounded master required.
One evening I told him I would sit with the lieutenant, so that he might sleep for a few hours. He refused, saying he did not think the lieutenant would last the night.
He was right, and as the final moments of the lieutenant’s life drew near, I felt the nearly gravitational pull the dying had on my attention. I took the lieutenant’s hand.
You can trust Merritt, he said. Let him know you can hear me.
No, thank you. I’ll either be thought mad or frighten him.
Frighten Merritt! I’d like to see you try. Tell him I said there’s a creaking third step on the second landing at Wyvern’s Lair. Go on, man, do it. Haven’t got much time.
So with great trepidation, I repeated the message aloud.
Merritt’s eyes widened, and he stared hard at me, then said slowly, “So there is.”
“Yes, you old fox, and a boy’s treasures hidden in a wooden box in a hollowed-out oak in the home wood.” I blushed and added, “Or so he says.”
“Yes, Captain,” Merritt added, tears coming to his eyes. “So there is.”
As you can see, Captain Hawthorne, the lieutenant said to me alone, he can keep secrets. He’s a good man-has a gift with animals, as well-and I understand that your own batman was killed. Will you take him on?
I looked across at Merritt. I will ask him, but I do not want him to feel pressured into becoming my servant out of love for you.
I knew you were the right man for him! You won’t regret it. And now, if you would be so good as to tell him…
What followed was a mixture of reminiscence and requests. The reminiscence showed the lieutenant to be a man of good humor and kindness, if not completely able to keep himself out of scrapes. He told Merritt not to blame himself for this injury, and to seek my help in sending certain items home to a beloved aunt.
“For you know I liked her above all the rest, Merritt,” I repeated on the lieutenant’s behalf.
Merritt spoke to me as if I were the lieutenant’s ears, which I realized I was, as the lieutenant answered him. The lieutenant mentioned that I might need help back to my rooms, as this visit had put a strain on me.
A short time later, the lieutenant died. The fever set in on me not long after, and I was grateful for Merritt’s assistance in returning to my lodgings. Although I recovered quickly, he did everything possible to provide for my comfort in the hours when the fever laid me low, not seeking his own rest until dawn.
When, after the lieutenant’s burial, I asked Merritt if he would work for me, he readily agreed to do so.
“I must ask,” I said, “that you do not tell others of…”
“Your gift, Captain? I would not think of doing so, sir.”
“There is a dog…”
“Yes, I’ve made his acquaintance. Shade, I believe you call him. He’s a fine gentleman, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” I said, somewhat at a loss.
“It will be my pleasure and honor to serve you, sir.”
In the coming weeks, I saw that the lieutenant was right. Merritt was a discreet and capable man, and his assistance freed me to spend more time at the makeshift hospital.
Eventually the dying made clear to me that I was to return to England.
Your gift will go with you to England, Captain, one of them told me, so never fear. Be sure to give the dog a walk in a cemetery now and again.
A cemetery?
Sure, he’s a cemetery dog-didn’t you know? And they need their time among the graves. No shortage of graves here, of course, but it won’t be the same when you go back.
I thought about this, and felt a rising tide of uneasiness over my return to England.
There’s a bit of business for you to attend to there, Captain, but if England doesn’t suit you, sir, you’ll find another home. God bless you, Tyler Hawthorne, and many thanks for your kindness to me.
Before I could ask him what “bit of business” he meant, he died, and his thoughts were lost to me.
28
Our passage back to England was largely uneventful. The most unsettling moment came before we set sail, when I visited Lord Varre’s agent in Brussels, who gave me to understand that I was now an enormously wealthy man. Since I had assumed that the amount sent to me a few weeks earlier was the largest portion of what Lord Varre had intended me to have, I was shocked. When I ventured a question regarding the source of this wealth, he said that Lord Varre had left a letter for me. The letter informed me that this was merely a small portion of his own wealth, which he was willing to share with me. These funds came from his alliance with an Italian merchant’s family and investments made on the ’Change over many years. I must keep in mind that these funds must be made to last quite a long time.
The meaning of those five underlined words was not lost on me.
The agent happily arranged our passage. He did not question my need to add Merritt, Shade, and the casket of Private Makins to those arrangements. He took care of every detail, including the purchase of a team of horses and a carriage for my use in England.
Merritt helped me to deliver Private Makins’s remains to his widow, a beautiful young woman who seemed overwhelmed by my attention to her late husband’s burial.
“Your husband was a great help to me at Waterloo,” I told her. She accepted this without question. I gave her his last letter, as he had asked. I left a sum of money with her that would ensure she would not be forced within the next few years to seek a new home or spouse out of desperation, telling her that these were the earnings of her late husband, from a venture we had entered into together. This was not entirely untrue.
I saw that Merritt seemed quite taken with her, and she seemed to feel very much at ease in his presence. But she was still in mourning, and he quite rightly honored that. We took our leave after the funeral.