An Inexorable Invasion: Book Ten of the Peninsular War Saga

An Inexorable Invasion: Book Ten of the Peninsular War Saga is up for pre-order at last. Publication date will be November 10th, the anniversary of the Battle of the Nivelle in 1813.

It is December 1813.

The great powers of Europe are meeting to decide whether to seek a negotiated peace or a decisive victory over the Emperor Napoleon. Major-General Paul van Daan and his brigade are beginning to look forward to the end of the long war but the fighting is not over yet.

Now fully established on French soil, Wellington’s army faces Marshal Soult’s defeated troops once again in three days of fierce combat on the banks of the River Nive.

For the first time in his career Paul is faced with not one but two colonels fleeing the field with their battalions, leaving General Hill’s corps in desperate peril. Ensign Laurence Fox is still adjusting to his new post as Paul’s ADC when he is called upon to make a vital decision.

Major Giles Fenwick receives news from home which threatens to distract him from his assignment working with the Royal Navy to build a bridge over the River Adour.

Lord Wellington is beset by unwanted visitors to headquarters and is infuriated by a determined attempt by a party of Royalists to force him to declare for their cause. Anne van Daan has to leave the surgeons’ tents for a while and use her diplomatic skills to diffuse the situation.

With winter quarters over, Wellington’s army marches further into France towards the town of Orthez and another encounter with Soult’s battered army.

The Book

I’m always excited to release a new volume in the Peninsular War Saga but this one is also rather poignant. I was halfway through writing this when I realised just how close to the end of the war we are. For the first time my characters are beginning to look ahead. They’re probably afraid to hope too much at the beginning of this book but by the end it’s becoming clear that things are about to change.

It’s easy to throw a 21st Century mantle over the whole period at this point and imagine everybody being really excited that the war may well be ending and for some of my characters that is undoubtedly true. Paul and Anne are longing to go home to their children and extended families and there are men returning to wives and fiancées. Looking at biographical details of various officers in 1814 it’s clear there was a spate of weddings. Not every officer went home of course. Men like Harry Smith and Edward Pakenham were almost immediately sent to America where the war of 1812 was still dragging on.

For some of the enlisted men the end of the war brought new problems and difficult decisions. After years marching through Portugal and Spain, many had formed relationships with local women, and had children. Some would probably have had no hesitation in leaving these families behind but others were devastated. Some decided not to do so at all.

We have all that to come in book eleven, before marching with Wellington again on the field at Waterloo in book twelve. In the meantime I hope you enjoy this account of the adventures of the third brigade of the Light Division at the Nive and at Orthez. Once again I’ve taken a few liberties with history and geography and I’ve listed these in my author’s note at the end. Otherwise I’ve tried to keep to the facts as far as they’re known while still keeping Paul and his men busy.

Many of you are also fans of the legendary Bernard Cornwell and his Sharpe series. You’ll probably have already read his version of some of the events in this book in Sharpe’s Storm. It’s the first time I’ve accidentally collided in time with Sharpe and once I got over the sheer panic of people reading my book back to back with his I’ve quite enjoyed the process. At one point Sharpe and Paul were very close on the same battlefield but they didn’t run into each other which is a shame.

I’m now returning to finish my Age of Sail book for Sapere and will then move on to Manxman four. I’ve been putting that one off because of the sheer volume of research but I’ve now decided that I’ll be bringing the two series together for book eleven and I can’t do that without first writing about Hugh and Durrell’s adventures in Northern Spain in 1812.

In the meantime there will be the second collection of short stories coming out in December. It’s called Winter Quarters and will once again bring together some of my previously published free short stories along with one brand new story just for this collection.

Thanks to all my readers for your loyalty, enthusiasm and really dodgy sense of humour which causes you to laugh at all my jokes. I hope you enjoy the book.

16th October 202516th October 2025

Autumnal Ramblings

Autumnal Ramblings is a procrastination post.

I’ve written many such posts over the years. In fact the list of my displacement activities to avoid writing is probably into its second volume by now. Dogs are incredibly useful for this because they genuinely need things like walks, feeding, brushing and playtime. My children are less useful than they used to be because they’ve grown up. My son has left home and my daughter is about to do the same for the third and final time as she’s buying her first home with her partner. My husband, who also works from home is two floors up in the loft conversion and only really interrupts me for coffee breaks and lunch.

No matter. I don’t need help to procrastinate. My brain just does it. Knowing how badly I need to finish my Halloween short story before I go away next week, I was just about to open it when I remembered several vital admin tasks that needed to be done. Prior to that I was on my way to my desk when it occurred to me it would do me good to spend a bit of time in the garden before settling down. Now, with the admin done, I realised it was a while since I’d written a post. You get the picture here.

It won’t be a long post but I’ve been thinking over the past few days how much I’m enjoying autumn this year. I always used to love autumn but for the past few years a lot of family stuff has been going on at this time of year and I think I rather forgot to slow down, look around and appreciate the breathtaking variety of colours. This year that has come back to me and it’s an unexpected and much appreciated blessing.

I can’t manage really long walks at the moment as I’m awaiting my second hip replacement, which I’m hoping will be done in February. Luckily I don’t need to go far to get the best of autumn. We live in a tree-lined road and have a good-sized garden with two beautiful beech trees.

The garden is in need of a good tidy-up before winter and I’m a bit behind with that. Some of it is time related but a lot is my usual reluctance to prune and cut back when things are still flowering. We’ve had a few windy days lately so my big dahlias and the roses have taken a battering. I’ve been bringing some of the late roses indoors so that I can appreciate them. They don’t last long but they make me smile.

This morning I sat on the bench at the back of the garden to drink my tea and enjoy watching the birds at the feeders. I do this so often that some of them, particularly the hooded crows have got very tame. They completely ignore my presence and carry on with breakfast. quite close by. Alfie used to scare them off by barking at them but he’s got very relaxed about it these days and just lets them get on with it.

We’ve had a good year in the garden, probably because we’ve had more time to work on it. Through most of the spring and summer we spent all weekend out there and it’s paid off. For the first time I managed a proper wildflower patch. It wasn’t easy because the mixed seeds take time to grow and my husband prowls restlessly with a hoe and his favourite weeder, intermittently muttering things like “Are you sure those aren’t just weeds coming up? How can you tell?” He managed to control the urge to dig everything up though and the results were spectacular. They’re coming to an end now but there are still enough flowers to make me reluctant to clear it just yet.

My dogs take different views of early morning tea outside. Alfie likes to prowl, walking round the perimeter fences on sentry duty, checking if anything has changed overnight and stopping regularly to mark his territory just in case. Oscar will happily wander for a while but then comes to sit with me on the bench. It’s one of his favourite things and has been since he was tiny. He’ll just sit next to me watching the birds and sniffing the air and then eventually snuggles down with his head on my lap patiently waiting for me to give him the last mouthful of tea. I’d never come across a dog who liked tea until Oscar. It’s very companionable.

Eight years on and he still loves to sit like this.

Eventually Alfie feels that he’s made the garden safe for us again and comes for his share of cuddles, pushing his head in between Oscar and I for strokes and attention. With the tea finished I’m getting colder and it’s time to go inside. Alfie heads straight for the sofa in my study but Oscar waits in the kitchen patiently, making sure I don’t start procrastinating by starting some chore. He knows what I’m like and actually herds me into the study eventually, only settling once I’m at my desk with my laptop open. Then he can relax. This is a daily ritual and always makes me smile because Joey, my much-loved yellow Labrador used to do exactly the same thing. Perhaps he taught Oscar how to do it.

Move over Oscar, it’s my turn to cuddle Mum

Sometimes procrastination is a disaster, but I don’t think days like this are a problem. I recently read an article and I wish I could remember where, about writers feeling the need to treat their work as a nine to five job and trying desperately to glue themselves to their desk during office hours. That can sometimes help if I’m really off course with work but mostly I’ve learned that so much of the writing process goes on in my head before I ever type a word. I can visualise a scene while I’m walking the dogs or weeding the garden and it probably makes my actual writing time far more effective.

I probably have rambled enough now but I’m not sorry. I think this post is really about thankfulness for where life has brought me. The view from my window is a joy through every season and the view behind me is even more precious.

Right. Now it actually is time to get back to October 1812 and the approach of Halloween, or Hop tu Naa as the Manx call it. Wish me luck.

7th September 2025

September Ramblings of a Historical Fiction Writer

My favourite reading spot on a much sunnier day than this.

It’s early on Sunday morning and the rest of my household is sound asleep. I should be too, but arthritic hip number two woke me at two thirty this morning and hasn’t really settled down since. Number one, which was replaced in January is mostly well behaved these days although the scar sometimes objects if I sleep on that side all night.

It’s a grey morning with on and off drizzling rain and a breeze which feels oddly warm. I can’t really get my head around that. I went outside with my first cup of tea to sit on the bench at the back of the garden and expected to feel cold before I finished it. The sight of trees and shrubs dancing in the wind and leaves beginning to swirl down onto the lawn says autumn to me but this mild breeze speaks more of summer.

The dogs enjoy an early cuppa on the patio. They waited patiently while I caught up on some work on the laptop, clearly wondering why I was awake and typing in the middle of the night but the moment I put the kettle on they were waiting hopefully by the back door ready to join me on a morning inspection of the garden. It was pretty much the same as during their evening inspection but they have to check all the same.

I’ve just left the latest instalment of the Peninsular War Saga with my editor along with the next volume of short stories and the notes for a talk I’m giving next week. It feels very satisfying to move work off my desk and on to hers, even if it’s only for a short while. Fairly soon chapters will start winging their way back to me for corrections. At the moment though, it’s quite a pleasant limbo.

The hydrangeas have been particularly lovely this year, even so late.

I wish I was better at knowing what to do with that time. I’d like to spend it in the garden; I love gardening but it’s a funny time of year. The weather is unpredictable and as much as I love autumn it’s not the same as the excitement of sowing and planting and watching new flowers grow in spring.

I’ve spent a few days getting my website up to date. I was honestly embarrassed at how behind I’d got with it but I’ve decided to blame that on a hip replacement and a new book. I’ve also finally committed to uploading regular posts onto Substack. I joined ages ago as part of my ongoing quest to find a new way of connecting to readers. One of the things I’ve never managed to do in the eight years since I started publishing is establish any kind of mailing list, despite being told regularly how essential it is for an author.

I think I was put off the whole mailing list experience by my fear of spamming my poor readers. I have a Facebook page and a Twitter / X account which for years worked very well at getting the word out to people but although I still get a fair bit of engagement on Facebook, Twitter is not what it once was. I’ve experimented with BlueSky and Threads but neither of them really did what I wanted and I found them terminally irritating. Instagram remains the ultimate mystery to me although I think that might be because I’m old.

I like Substack so far because it’s easy just to transfer blog posts over from my website. So easy in fact, that I’m going to start transferring my short stories over gradually in the hope that they’ll reach a new audience. More to the point, it’s possible for readers to subscribe if they want, to keep up to date with new books, short stories and general ramblings from the world of Writing with Labradors.

So if you want to keep up with my news, please subscribe here. I’ll try not to spam you with endless links to BUY MY BOOK, though there will be book related news. But there are just as likely to be pictures of Labradors, flowers in the garden and my new obsession, Colin the fledgeling hooded crow and his family who seem to have moved into my garden.

Colin the Hooded Crow. He’s a bit scruffy still, I think he’s growing into his feathers…

Thanks for reading.

26th June 202526th June 2025

Endings

Endings have been on my mind rather a lot recently.

For me this is not usually the time of year to think about endings. Summer is here, as much as it ever is on this windy island home of mine and although the solstice has passed and I’m aware that the evenings will be growing shorter from now on, it’s still warm and there’s sunshine between the inevitable Manx showers.

There are some life stages slowly coming to an end though. Both my offspring are in their twenties now and my son has recently moved out to share a house with friends. My daughter is back home along with her partner, but it’s temporary; they’re viewing houses and hope to buy their first house soon. It will be the first time that I’ve really experienced an empty nest and that will definitely be an ending to be marked in some way. It’s also a new beginning.

But I’m not deceived that my slightly melancholy sense of the end of something important has been caused by my children moving on with their lives. It is changes in the lives of my fictional offspring which are causing me to pause and reflect. For the past eight years my working life has been dominated by a series of books called the Peninsular War Saga. I’m now working hard on book ten and there are constant reminders as I write that the Peninsular War is coming to an end.

Dear Readers, don’t panic. This doesn’t mean the end of my writing career or even the end of time spent with these characters. I’ve always promised that I’d follow Paul van Daan and the 110^th light infantry through the Battle of Waterloo and I have every intention of further books featuring some of the characters from my most popular series. I also have the Manxman books to pick up and my new Age of Sail series for Sapere Books which is ongoing in the background.

Still, when the fighting ends in the vicinity of Toulouse in April 1814 nothing will ever be quite the same. Wellington’s Peninsular army was gradually broken up over the next months. Some regiments went home to England. Others were sent to America to fight in the closing stages of the War of 1812. Some would later go further afield to Britain’s expanding colonies in places like India and South Africa. But they did not all go together.

I’ve recently published a collection of short stories entitled Brothers in Arms. As I’ve stressed in the blurb, most of these stories aren’t new; they’ve been published on my website and are still available for free. The only exception is the title story, which I wrote specifically for this collection and which won’t be available anywhere else. The title for the story and the collection was suggested by my editor and although the phrase has been used so many times before, I loved it for this book because it says so much about how I’ve come to view my characters over the years.

For six years the men of Wellington’s army and the women who accompanied them fought and died over the hills and plains of Portugal and Spain, through the heights of the Pyrenees and into France itself. For eight years I’ve been writing about them. Some of the stories have been bloody, brutal and tragic. Others have been funny. I’ve tried to portray these people as flawed human beings, living their lives in the midst of war.

It’s gone better than I ever expected. When I decided to take the independent publishing route I was just grateful to anybody for reading my books. Every good review was a celebration and every bad one was a tragedy. I’ve come a long way since then.

Back in 2017 I wrote a short piece on my blog about how difficult I found it to call myself a writer. These days I’m proud to tell people what I do. I do it full-time and I no longer say it with an apologetic tone. I have the best job in the world and it isn’t going to end when Paul, Carl, Johnny and the rest of their brothers in arms say goodbye to each other after Toulouse. It isn’t even going to end after the bloody Waterloo campaign.

I will feel sad though. There’s a strong urge to try to find ways of keeping them all together. Above all I’ve loved writing about the bonds of friendship and loyalty forged in those long years of war. I won’t do it because it wouldn’t be realistic. Over the coming years, they’ll never forget each other. Some of them will remain with the army, in their current regiments and go off on new adventures. Others will choose to settle quietly at home, making up for lost time with wives and families. Some may decide to forge a new and interesting path. My brain is teeming with ideas.

Some may not be going home at all. There are still several months of fighting to go and then there’s Waterloo. The Peninsular War Saga isn’t over yet, but I – along with my characters – can see the end approaching. We’re all going to share a sense of mingled joy and sadness along with a sense of pride at how much we’ve achieved together. We’ll also be looking ahead to see what we can achieve next.

Last night I had dinner with my editor and close friend Heather Paisley from Dieudonne Editorial Services. She’s been eagerly following the progress of book ten as she’s an enthusiastic reader as well as the woman who deals with commas so that I don’t have to. Unexpectedly she asked a question.

“How far are you through this book. I mean have you worked out yet where it’s going to end?”

The Final Charge of the British Cavalry at the Battle of Orthez by Denis Dighton

I hadn’t realised until that point that I couldn’t really answer her. When I finished the previous book I thought there was so much still to do that there would probably be two clear books before the war was over. Now that I’m in the middle of this one I’m not so sure. There are still several important battles to go but the Light Division isn’t always as heavily involved in them as in the rest of the war.

I admitted my indecision to Heather and talking it through with her helped to clarify things. Which turned out to be not very clear at all, but I’m happy with that. I know where my characters are going, both historically and in their personal lives and I’ve decided this time just to let them get there in their own time. I don’t want the end of this part of the series to meander on until everybody dozes off but I’m also not prepared to rush it just to get to the Grand Finale. This is not the final series of Game of Thrones, people.

My instinct is that I probably won’t reach Toulouse in this book but the following book will definitely take Paul and his men into peacetime. I want to do justice to these final battles because they were more than just a sideshow while the European powers fought their way towards Paris. Men still fought and died, right up to the end of the war.

So I’m just going to keep writing this and I’ll decide when to end it when I get there. I’m really enjoying book ten. There’s a lot of action right from the start but also some reflective moments as my characters contemplate the approach of the end of the war and the changes about to overtake them.

Of course unlike me, they have no idea that many of them will be back in the field facing Bonaparte himself the following year. That’s just an author’s privilege.

In the meantime I thought I’d share the opening paragraphs of An Inexorable Invasion, book ten of the Peninsular War Saga. I hope my readers are looking forward to it. I think you’re going to love it.

And for anybody new to the series, An Unconventional Officer is where it all began…

Southern France, December 1813

The forward pickets were relieved at dusk and were almost blue with cold by then; blowing on numb fingers to keep them nimble enough to load and shoot a musket if necessary. The changeover was usually accompanied by cheerful greetings and a good deal of banter as the departing sentries described how miserable the posting was going to be while their replacements scoffed at them for being softer than the camp women who would probably make a better job of guarding the outposts.

For weeks, the Light Division had set their picket line so close to the French that it had led to a few skirmishes and a good deal of fraternisation. This was particularly bad among the German hussars who often accompanied them because they had quickly discovered that the opposing French cavalry vidette was also provided by a German regiment. The opposing sets of cavalrymen spent much of each day in friendly conversation but this evening brought an unpleasant shock. Along with the relieving pickets, provided by a company of the 110^th light infantry and a dozen cavalrymen from the 9^th Dragoons, rode a tall figure on a big roan gelding.

The officer’s uniform was hidden by a dark greatcoat but every one of the pickets immediately recognised the commander of the third brigade of the Light Division. He was accompanied by his ADC, a slim young man in a grey cloak on a neat bay mare. Both reined in, staring in surprise at the scene before them. They had arrived just in time to find the cavalry chatting about the best fishing spots on the banks of the River Nive while the pickets from the 43^rd light infantry were bartering for French brandy with half a dozen French infantrymen. They appeared to be offering the French packets of tea and what looked like wrapped packages of tack biscuits in return and these were being accepted.

There was a long, agonised silence as the two groups stared at each other.

For anybody interested in regular updates on what’s happening at Writing with Labradors I’m now publishing on Substack as well and you can sign up for free. Here’s the link.

26th April 202526th April 2025

Brothers in Arms: the collected short stories of Lynn Bryant Volume 1

A little bit of news. Brothers in Arms: the collected short stories of Lynn Bryant Volume 1 – the War Stories will be published in July.

This is not exactly a new book, but it’s a new venture. As some of you know, for years I’ve been publishing free short stories on this website. I write these for fun, and release them for free as a bit of a thank you to my army of very loyal and hugely engaged readers. The stories cover a wide expanse of time and location and often fill in gaps in the story that I’ve not managed to cover in the books.

I’ve had a lot of requests over the years to publish these stories as a collection and with the help of my brilliant editor, Heather Paisley from Dieudonne Editorial Services, who has done most of the work for me, the first volume will be published on 18th June. That date will have meaning for a lot of you, as the 210th anniversary of the battle of Waterloo. Three of the stories in this first collection are connected to the battle.

I’ve decided to publish the stories so far in themes. The first of these are about war and will include not only the Waterloo stories, but tales of the combat on the Coa and the battle of Sorauren. The next volume will be Christmas stories, published in December.

A lot of my readers have already read all of these tales, and I want to be clear that all these stories remain free on my website. This is more of a collectors’ edition. However, for anybody who does decide to buy it or get it on kindle unlimited there is one new story which won’t appear anywhere else.

Brothers in Arms is a short story set during the storming of Ahmednaggur in India in 1803, when Paul van Daan was still a very junior officer, just deciding how much he really hates storming a fortress.

I’d like to thank the creativity of my wonderful husband Richard Dawson for the amazing cover.

7th January 20257th January 2025

Welcome to Kaunas

Welcome to Kaunas, as Writing with Labradors tackles a whole new challenge. Leaving the Peninsular War and Royal Navy behind for a short time, I’ve arrived in Lithuania as a medical tourist to get my right hip replaced.

I’ve written before about the difficulties I’ve had getting treatment for severe osteoarthritis in my hips. After a lot of heart searching and even more research, my husband and I decided to take the plunge and go overseas for the operation. We read a lot about Lithuania, particularly the Nord Clinic in Kaunas, joined a patient group on Facebook and before Christmas we booked to make the trip, leaving Oscar and Alfie in the care of Jon, Anya and Anya’s partner Ollie.

Largely because of how much worse my mobility has got over the past year, we’ve not travelled much. I had a relaxed break in Mallorca at the end of 2023 and a few short trips to visit family or to attend conferences during 2024. This trip to Kaunas hardly counts as a holiday but there was still a sense of anticipation as Christmas came and went and it was time to pack for the journey.

In the chaos of packing, organising the house and trying to get the broken central heating fixed before setting off, it didn’t occur to me I was going to be nervous, but the day before we were due to travel I unexpectedly realised I was absolutely terrified. It suddenly seemed insane that I was about to set off to a country I’d never visited to have a major operation. No matter how much I’d read about the excellent record and glowing testimonials for the Nord Clinic I wanted to cancel the whole thing and go back to bed. My poor husband patiently talked me down from my panic, soothed my tearful moments and reminded me how much better my life would get when I could walk my dogs on the beach or in the forest again.

Travelling off island in winter is always a slightly risky proposition and we watched the weather reports with growing concern as snow and ice were predicted. This is seldom too much of a problem on the island but it’s a different matter in the UK and on Sunday morning we woke to news that whole areas of the UK had been affected and that Liverpool airport was temporarily closed while they tried to clear the runways and de-ice the plane. We went to Ronaldsway and waited, stress rising as the flight was delayed, then delayed again. We were due to stay overnight in Liverpool but if we didn’t make it that day we would miss our connecting flight on Monday to Kaunas and the whole thing would have to be rearranged.

A day of stress, virtually no food and complete exhaustion ended with us collapsing into bed in the Liverpool Airport Premier Inn. We got to the airport so late that it was closed and the passenger assistance we had booked completely failed, leaving us stranded on the plane. I’d like to give a heartfelt shout out to the EasyJet pilot, Mark. It wasn’t his job to wait behind with us, to chase up a man with a wheelchair or to personally help Richard to get me down the icy steps from the plane. He then went off to track down our checked-in luggage and escorted us to the taxi rank to make sure I was okay. That man went well beyond the call of duty and I’ll never forget how kind he was.

Things went much better the following day and we arrived in a snowy Kaunas to be met by the Nord Clinic driver who took us to the Hotel Kaunas. Fear of not making it in time was now replaced by fear of something going wrong with the pre-operation check-up which would prevent me having the surgery. I have no idea why I thought this might be an issue. Apart from the arthritis I’m in excellent health, very seldom get so much as a cold and had no reason to think that had suddenly changed. It turns out that pre-battle nerves can take some strange forms.

Fortunately my fears turned out to be as unnecessary as my patient husband had said they would be. All was well at the clinic this morning and with the knowledge that the surgery can go ahead, along with my first experience of the kindness and professionalism of the Nord Clinic staff, my mood improved significantly. Suddenly I realised I was in a new city, the snow had mostly gone, though it was cold and drizzling rain and I wanted to go out.

Richard made faint murmuring sounds about whether it was wise to go for a walk when the pavements are still covered in slush and I forgot to bring my walking stick from home. He didn’t really argue for long though. I’d spent far too long inside over the past few days, perched on uncomfortable airport seats or wedged painfully into airplane seats without enough leg room. I set off with a mission; I wanted to see the river and at least a little bit of the old town. Richard had a mission of his own which was to buy me a new walking stick before I killed myself.

Both missions were successful. We made it down to the old town despite slightly miserable weather and once we got there, Richard gleefully spotted some rather lovely hand carved walking sticks in a shop which sold local arts and crafts. The shopkeeper helped me to test for the right size and I was delighted with my new stick, for several reasons. It will enable me to make the most of my limited visit to Kaunas before I’m laid up after the operation. It will also be a rather lovely souvenir. Finally, it made me think affectionately of my late father, who bequeathed me a fine collection of walking sticks, mainly because of the number of times he left home without his and had to buy a new one while he was away. I felt like a bit of an idiot for forgetting mine but I’m rather pleased now. I just have to make sure I don’t leave this one in the hotel room.

Our hotel is on the Laisvės Alėja which translates as Liberty Boulevard. It is apparently the longest pedestrian street in Eastern Europe and was mostly built in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century. On our way down to the old town we passed an open square with several statues and a memorial plaque. It looks a little bare at this time of year though I suspect it must be pretty in the summer months. The plaque tells a tragic story from a very different era to the one I’m used to reading and writing about. It is a memorial to Romas Kalanta, a 19-year-old Lithuanian student who killed himself by self-immolation in an act of protest against the Soviet regime in Lithuania.

At noon on 14 May 1972, Kalanta poured three litres of petrol over himself and set himself on fire in the square in front of the Kaunas State Musical Theatre where, in 1940, a puppet legislature had declared the establishment of the Lithuanian Soviet Socialist Republic and petitioned the Soviet Union to admit Lithuania as one of the soviet socialist republics. He left a note on a bench which blamed the regime for his death. Kalanta’s suicide. His death provoked a wave of anti-Soviet public demonstrations throughout 1972 and 1973 including 13 other suicides by fire.

I’d done a little reading about the history of Lithuania before setting out on this trip, so I knew the outline of its struggle with the Soviet Union. Reading about a nineteen year old giving his life in such a horrific way brought the background sharply into focus. As always, it’s the story of individuals that makes history real for me and this was such a sad one.

There are some lovely buildings in the old town, though slippery streets and some major building work meant I was cautious about exploring as much as I wanted to. I really took a liking to this particular house though. It’s known as the House of Perkunas which means the House of Thunder and was named after a sculpture of the god Perkunas which was found in the house during some renovations in 1818. The house was built at the end of the fifteenth century by a wealthy townsman and was later the home of a famous Jesuit historian. In 1844 the first drama theatre in Kaunas was established there. In 1991 it was returned to the Jesuits and is now used for educational purposes as well as housing a museum dedicated to the poet Adam Mickiewicz.

By the time I staggered back to the hotel I was in some pain, though delighted with myself for walking so far. We rewarded ourselves with coffee and pastries in the coffee shop next to the hotel. Being restricted in what I can do and where I can go has been a big problem for me and I was pleased to have seen even a little bit of Kaunas. I have a whole day tomorrow and if the weather allows and I feel up to it, I’m hoping to walk over to the castle and get in a tiny bit of history tourism to go along with my medical tourism.

We found a lovely restaurant last night, called the Wood Fired Kitchen. It’s directly opposite our hotel and given its extensive menu, nice atmosphere and good beer we’ve decided not to be too adventurous with eating out and to go back there. It’s tempting to feel I should explore but this week I’m happy with familiarity. I’ve been very impressed so far with how friendly the people of Kaunas have been. Many of them speak some English and I’ve found them very welcoming and helpful.

Thanks to everyone who has sent me good luck messages over the past few weeks. I’ll keep everybody updated with how things are going and hopefully, with how work is progressing while I’m convalescing. After all, there are always stories to be written.

Signing off for today from Writing with Labradors does Lithuania. Looking forward to a new hip and some new adventures once this operation is done.

31st December 202431st December 2024

Welcome to 2025 from Writing with Labradors

Welcome to 2025 from Writing with Labradors. It’s New Year’s Eve on the Isle of Man and it’s foul weather; high winds and driving rain. After zooming around outside like a lunatic earlier, Oscar is very happy to snooze the afternoon away in my study, snuggled up on the sofa. Sadly for him, his younger brother is bored.

“Muuuuummm! Tell Alfie to stop wrecking the sofa. Look what he’s done to it again.”

“Alfie, don’t do that. It’s not good for the sofa and neither of you can settle properly like that. Down you get and I’ll fix it for you.”

“Sorry Mum. I’m just bored. Can I go outside again.”

“Just for a bit. I’ll get my coat.”

20 minutes later…

“Muuuuummm! Come and speak to the Ginger Sponge again. He’s come in soaking wet and is lying all over me chewing on his bone. It’s ridiculous, there are two sofas in here.”

“Alfie, come and get dried off before you get on the sofa. And give Oscar a bit more space. There’s plenty of room for two on there. Or use the other sofa.”

15 minutes later, I’m immersed in work.

“Muuuuuummm! He’s done it again. Look at the state of this. What’s wrong with him?”

“I think he’s just got the fidgets, Oscar. Alfie, come outside again. We’ll play with the new Christmas shark for a bit.”

“You’re not taking Big Shark out in this weather, Mum. He’ll get soaked and probably blow into next door’s garden. And don’t take Blue Octopus either, he hates the rain. Like me. Take Big Puppy.”

“All right. Come on, Alfie.”

20 minutes later, I’m in the kitchen making a cup of tea and trying to dry out.

“Muuuuummm! Look at what’s happened now. Can’t somebody adopt him when it rains? He can come back when it’s dry.”

“No, Oscar. You’d miss him. Come into the living room and I’ll light the fire. There’s more space in there.”

“All right. And put a blanket over his head. It might work the same as for parrots.”

“I’m not convinced, Oscar, but we’ll give it a try.”

Half an hour later the house is quiet. Working at my desk I can hear the rain against the window panes and the wind blowing somebody’s left-out recycling round the front garden. I can also hear two lots of snoring on the sofa behind me.

“Are you back now, Oscar? Did you get lonely in there?”

“A bit. And look at him – he’s fairly cute when he settles down. Maybe he really is a parrot.”

“Whatever the reason, it’s worked.”

“It was a great idea. I wonder if Anya still has that weighted blanket. That would really do the trick.”

“Don’t even think about it, Oscar.”

Happy New Year from all of us here at Writing with Labradors. It’s been a very strange year in many ways but despite all the difficulties, it’s ended so much better than it began. I started the year with depression and anxiety and the horrible feeling of not knowing where I was going next. I’ve ended it feeling safe and grounded and ready to face anything.

It’s just as well, because physical health hasn’t gone quite so well this year and my osteoarthritis in both hips has got so bad that it’s severely limiting my mobility. I’m also in constant pain. As mentioned in a previous post, I’m off to Lithuania in a week for my first hip replacement operation. I still can’t entirely believe I’m doing it, but if it gets me back to climbing hills and running along the beach with my dogs again it will be so worth it.

There were some work achievements. I wrote and published book nine of the Peninsular War Saga and a Formidable Frontier is proving very popular. I was offered a three book contract by Sapere Books to write a new Age of Sail series, which I’m working on at present. I published my usual free short stories which my readers seem to have enjoyed. A Provincial Nobody for Valentine’s Day told the story of the first meeting of two well-liked characters from the Manxman series. The Kittiwake at Halloween was a ghost story with a nautical theme. The French Lieutenant brought a little Christmas cheer into the life of a French prisoner-of-war. And a bonus story, An Ungentlemanly Officer took us back to Paul van Daan’s early days in Portugal.

I’m looking forward to writing more books, more short stories, more blog posts and more tales of Oscar and Alfie in 2025 and onward. Thanks to all my readers for your messages, e-mails and fabulous reviews. Your support means so much to me.

In the meantime, it’s still raining but the boys seem to have decided that the sofa is big enough for the both of them after all.

Happy New Year Everybody.

3rd December 2024

Writing with Labradors does Lithuania

Writing with Labradors does Lithuania

It’s been a while since I did much of a personal update on here. With book nine of the Peninsular War Saga almost ready to launch, the Christmas short story written and work underway on the new Age of Sail book for Sapere Books, I thought I’d take time to let you know what’s been happening for me.

I’ve mentioned a few times that this has been a difficult year. Some of that has been family matters which are now much improved, but a big part of it has been my health. I’ve suffered for years with osteoarthritis in both hips and they’ve been getting steadily worse. I’ve always taken the view that pain is manageable and while I can still get out and about, life is good.

At the end of August, I had a fall and then another one. Quite suddenly the pain went off the scale and my mobility decreased very quickly. I went to the GP and had x-rays. There was nothing broken but my arthritis in both hips has moved from moderate to severe. My right hip is the worst and I’m now having to use a walking stick because every now and then it just gives way.

Working from home as I do, my ability to write hasn’t really been impacted that much. Occasionally I forget, and it’s only when I stand up and the pain hits that I remember. But there’s so much else I can’t do. My life has been turned upside down in less than six months.

I can’t walk my dogs. Those of you who have followed me for a while know that Oscar and Alfie, my two Labradors, are the joy of my life. Winter is a favourite time for walking, since they love splashing through puddles and racing up and down a windswept beach. I miss that with a permanent ache in my soul.

Housework is incredibly difficult. I can’t haul the vacuum cleaner about any more, and everything has to be done one-handed so that I can use my stick to balance. Cooking is okay if it’s something quick, but I need to sit down in between which makes more complicated meals a trial.

Gardening is almost impossible. I ask other people to rake up leaves and tidy beds, and there are bulbs in my shed which probably aren’t going to get planted this year. I’m so sad about it.

I don’t sleep. I doze off but wake up every time I move in my sleep and the pain knifes through me. I have strong painkillers and they work well for a few hours, but the effect wears off long before I can take another dose. I’m sleep deprived in a way that I’ve not been since having a new-born baby and with far less joy.

Everything is difficult. Shopping, laundry, tidying the house. There are other people who can step in and pick up the load but I loathe the loss of independence and the sense of helplessness. I’m a naturally happy, optimistic person but sometimes now I just can’t maintain that.

There’s a solution of course. I need a hip replacement. Actually I need two, but the right hip is the one causing most of the pain so that needs to be done first. It needs to be done now, but the NHS on the Isle of Man is in the same dire state as the NHS in the UK and the wait is unbearable. I’ve been told by my GP that it will take at least a year to see an orthopaedic consultant. Until that happens, I don’t even show up on the waiting list. That list is likely to be years.

We’ve spent months discussing options. The cost of private treatment in the UK has risen sharply over the past few years. We’re both self-employed, with no company health plan. Funding it ourselves is the only option. After a lot of research and a good deal of heart-searching, I’ve decided to travel overseas, where I can get a very comprehensive treatment plan for around half the cost. I could never have imagined doing this a few years ago, but I’m desperate enough to try anything now.

The Nord clinic in Kaunas, Lithuania has been remarkably helpful and easy to deal with from start to finish. They’re seeing so many people like me coming from the UK that they’ve refined their system so that it works seamlessly. After the operation I’ll stay for seven days physio and rehabilitation. I’ve joined a patient group and got to know a number of people who have been through this process and their stories are very reassuring. I’m scared but I’m determined.

It won’t surprise any of my readers that I’m already working out how to set a Napoleonic short story in Lithuania. I mean I’ll be laid up. I’ll have to have something to do while I’m there.

So why have I shared all this, when generally I like to write fun stories about my dogs or lovely walks through the glens of the Isle of Man? It isn’t really because I wanted to vent about the unfairness of it all. I have family and friends I can share that with. Mostly I think it’s because I hope it might help some people who are also struggling with this. I’ve felt very down about it. Almost desperate at times, as the people I love carry on their lives around me and I’m marooned here, in a place where I can’t be myself any more.

What I’ve learned from this process is that paying for private treatment for something this painful and disabling is no longer exclusive to the rich and privileged. I’ve talked to people who have taken out loans, dipped into their pension pots and even tried crowdfunding in their desperation. One lady sold her home and downsized because she valued being able to walk over a bigger house. And these, like me, are the lucky ones.

I can’t stop thinking about the people who can’t manage this no matter what they do. They’re reading the news about further cuts to the health budget and wondering if they’ll ever walk properly again. Their joints are deteriorating along with their mental health and the operation gets more challenging with every year’s delay.

There’s no quick or easy solution to this. Some people rant about how useless the NHS is. Other people are angry about that and list all the ways it has worked for them. Some blame fifteen years of Conservative government. Others blame all the things Labour did wrong before that. I can find bits that make sense in all of this, but the truth is that we’re an ageing population; the NHS hasn’t worked well for years and the abandonment of almost all healthcare during lockdowns has left a backlog which may never be cleared. There’s no point in apportioning blame. Looking for solutions would be far more helpful. I don’t do political debate in public and I’m not going to try.

I’m incredibly grateful that my amazing husband is completely supportive and will be with me every step of the way. I’m lucky that we’re in a position to afford this, though not especially easily. I can look forward to a time when I can walk my dogs through a forest again.

Photo by DAVID ILIFF. License: CC BY-SA 3.0

In the meantime, my brain is mostly still working and I can still type. I can write about people scaling mountains and hauling on sails, even if I struggle to get to the back of the garden at times. I’ll keep everybody updated on progress. Wish me luck and expect to learn some information about Lithuania during the Napoleonic Era along the way.

13th December 202313th December 2023

A Family Row 1812

A Family Row 1812 follows on closely from the previous post. In a Redoubtable Citadel, Paul and Anne have had a wonderful time with the children but relationships among the adults are becoming strained…

Lisbon, March 1812

They met the following day in the dining room with Patience included. Her taut hostility told Anne that Joshua had shared Paul’s conversation with her and she wished he had not. Seated around the long table Paul took his family through the arrangements he had put in place should he be killed. It was hard not to be sombre. He and Anne had talked it through months ago and then set it aside, refusing to let thoughts of potential disaster ruin the pleasure of their days together. They revisited it now.

When he had finished, Paul closed the file of documents. “I’ve sent copies of everything to More and also to Sir Matthew Howard’s lawyers. A third copy will be held by the firm of Blundell and Merchison in London who represent Lord Wellington. They drew up the will and the trusts and they’ll represent Nan if she needs anything. One of their junior partners is currently attached to Wellington’s staff and knows her well.”

Anne glanced covertly at her brother-in-law who was staring at his father. There was a veiled warning in Paul’s words and she knew Joshua would have understood it. Franz was looking at Anne. “This is a huge amount of responsibility for a girl of your age,” he said.

Anne studied him, weighing up her reply. “Sir, I know it seems that way to you. And I’d much rather not have to take it on, since that would mean the man I love is dead in some Spanish grave. But I’m capable of it. They send boys of my age out to lead men. Paul was younger than I am now, I believe, when he led his company at Assaye and nobody told him that was too much responsibility.”

“That’s different. He’s a man.”

“Why is it different?”

“Anne, I am aware that you are a very unusual young woman. And believe me, when I tell you that I have nothing but admiration for what you have done for my son. You’ve made him happier than I have ever seen him. But…”

“He’s made me happy too, sir. But that’s not our job. That’s not what we do, that’s just a consequence of two people in love being together. In addition to that we have other lives, other things that we do which matter. I…”

“My dear, while I think you are very noble to help with the nursing you can hardly equate that with what my brother-in-law does,” Patience said with biting sarcasm. “Nor can I see how that is likely to help with managing four children, at least two of whom can be very difficult. Besides which, you are very young. Forgive me, but I would not wish to see Paul’s children – or his fortune – fall into the hands of some ne’er-do-well whom you might decide to take up with after his death.”

Anne shot a glance at her husband. He was keeping his temper surprisingly well, but she wished Patience would temper her remarks. “Well I would not wish to see that either, Patience, so let us not speak of it further,” she said calmly. “I am hoping that none of this will ever be needed. We just want to be sure that if the worst did happen, my position with the children is very clear.”

“My dear Anne, like you I hope it will never come to that,” Patience said smoothly. “But if it did, I suspect in a court of law, the judge would consider everything, including moral character.”

There was a frozen silence around the table. Joshua said mildly:

“Patience, I know you’re upset, but that was uncalled for.”

“Uncalled for?” Paul said, and Anne looked quickly at his expression, seeing that his father was doing the same.

“No!” she said firmly. “Do not say any of the things you want to say just now, Paul, it will not help. And you can’t hit her, she’s a female.”

“I’m rethinking my position on that one, girl of my heart. Patience, did I just hear you suggest that if I am killed in battle, my family would consider attacking my wife’s good name in court in order to take my children from her?”

“I am simply pointing out…”

“We wouldn’t, Paul,” Franz said softly. “Christ, you must know that.”

“I hope I do, sir, but it’s an interesting light on the character of my sister-in-law. I am definitely beginning to think I want her influence on my children kept to a minimum if that’s how her mind works.”

He was visibly furious and Anne put her hand firmly on his arm. “Enough, love. We need to solve this.” She looked at Patience. “For the sake of the children, who are genuinely attached to both of us, I am hoping we can put this to one side,” she said quietly. “But please understand that if you were ever to impugn my virtue or attack my reputation in any way, the first person to stand up in court to defend me would be Lord Wellington. I would probably follow with Marshal Beresford and General Sir Charles Stewart. But I could choose any one of the senior staff. You would lose and you would look like a spiteful, vengeful female jealous of a younger sister-in-law. So let us put that idea away and focus on…”

There were sounds from the hallway and Paul looked around. Mario appeared in the doorway.

“My apologies for disturbing you, Colonel, but there is a messenger for you. It is apparently urgent.”

Paul looked over at Anne and gave a rueful smile. Anne felt her heart sink. “Well you did better than you thought you’d do,” she said gently.

“I know, girl of my heart. Who is it, Mario?”

“It’s me, sir. Sorry.”

Paul got up and Anne did the same. “It’s good to see you, Sergeant, although I wish you’d managed to lose that on the way. Everything all right?”

Hammond came fully into the room and saluted. “Fine, sir. I’ve got letters from Colonel Wheeler and Major Swanson. And one for you, ma’am, from Keren.”

“How is she, Jamie, I’m missing her?”

“She’s missing you too, ma’am, we all are. Place isn’t the same without you.”

Paul observed with some amusement the consternation among his family at the sight of his wife embracing a sergeant. “At ease, Sergeant and hand it over. Is he yelling yet?”

“He’s been pretty good, sir, but he had a letter from General Alten yesterday. It seems his return has been delayed and his Lordship is ready to move out to Badajoz. All of a sudden he’s marching in on Colonel Wheeler demanding to know where you are and why you’re not back, as if he’d no idea how it had happened.”

He handed Paul a letter in Wellington’s familiar scrawl and Paul glanced at his father. “I’m sorry, I need to read this.”

“Of course.”

Paul opened it and skimmed it quickly, his lips quirking into a smile. “Grumpy,” he said mildly. “He seems to have forgotten he gave me leave at all. He thinks we’ll breach Badajoz before Alten gets here in which case he wants me in temporary command.”

“Of the Light Division?” Franz said, shocked.

“Well, he’s not going to put me in charge of the cavalry, that’s for sure. Barnard and Vandeleur are going to yell at this and quite rightly. I’m going to have to get back there and fast, girl of my heart, before he stamps all over their pride. He’s not noted for his tact when he’s in this mood.”

“I know, love.”

Paul came forward and lifted her hand to his lips. “I’m sorry. Look, why don’t you stay a few days longer? I’ll move faster on my own and you can come up with the supply column as we originally planned. It will give you a chance to say goodbye to the children properly, and you can make sure everything is in order with the column.”

Anne smiled. “And it means you can ride through the night and sleep rough and not have to think about my delicate sensibilities along the way.”

“You have none, bonny lass. It’s up to you…”

“It’s all right, Colonel, I know you need to get going. Stay tonight though and let Jamie get some rest since it’s unlikely he’ll get much for a few days.”

Paul laughed and bent to kiss her very gently. Behind him, his brother said:

“Paul, are you mad? She can’t do that journey without you or any respectable female to chaperone her.”

Sergeant Hammond gave a splutter of laughter which he hastily turned into a cough and Paul grinned. “Bad cough that, Hammond. Josh, she’ll be fine. There’ll be an escort with the supply column, they’ll probably pull together a few men returning from sick leave. And if they get lost, she’ll tell them which way to go.”

Anne glanced at Hammond. “Jamie, go with Mario and get something to eat. We need to finish here and then go and tell the children. Which I am going to find very hard.”

When he had gone Anne turned back and looked at them. “I’m going to find the children,” she said. “I don’t need to be here. What you all need to do now is mend some bridges. He’s going tomorrow and you don’t need me to tell you…anyway, talk for a bit and then let’s move on. I am sorry that you don’t really approve of me yet. Perhaps you never will. But what is more important just now is that you make your peace, you don’t need me here, I’m the outsider.”

“No you’re not,” Paul said quickly and Anne smiled and went to kiss him.

“Not with you, idiot. But we’re asking too much of them in a short time, Paul. I understand you had to tell them how we’re arranging things, but they don’t have to like it. Just talk to them.”

She left and there was silence. Into it, Franz said:

“It’s gone too quickly.”

“I know.” Paul turned and studied his family. “She’s right,” he said.

“According to you she’s always right, Paul,” Joshua said.

“Josh, she’s my wife and I love her. I also love you. But when it comes to the future of my children, I’m putting them first. I really hope you don’t have to cope with this before you’ve had a chance to get used to the idea. Let’s not fight any more.”

Paul was exhausted by the time he was ready to set off the following morning, worn out by the tears of his children and the restrained unhappiness of his father and brother. Hammond waited impassively with Jenson and the horses and Paul knelt and kissed Grace, Francis and Rowena then took Will from Anne’s arms and kissed his sleeping son very gently. He handed him to the nurse and turned back to his wife.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes. I’ll be seeing you very soon, Colonel, don’t worry.”

“I won’t, bonny lass.” Paul turned to his father. “Father, it’s been good to see you. Thank you for coming – you too, Josh. And for bringing the children. I can’t tell you what it’s meant to me. Will you tell Patience the same?”

His brother nodded and hugged him. Paul had the odd impression that they had never before really thought about the possibility of his death in battle and he supposed that talking through practical arrangements had made it real to them. He turned to embrace Franz and his father hugged him hard.

“Take care, Paul. Not that you will.”

“I will. I always do as far as I can, sir.”

“Listen to me, boy, because I know you’ve no time. You shouldn’t have to go off without being sure. Whatever you want, whatever you’ve set up for her, I’ll see it done. No question.” Franz glanced over at his daughter-in-law with a slight smile. “You’re wrong to think I don’t approve of her. I do, very much. It’s just not what I’m used to. But I promise it will be done the way you want. And I’ll take care of her.”

“Thank you,” Paul said softly. “It means so much…look I need to get out of here before I embarrass myself. I love you.”

“I love you too, lad. Goodbye.”

13th December 202313th December 2023

A Family Reunion 1812

A family reunion, 1812 is an excerpt from A Redoubtable Citadel, book four of the Peninsular War Saga. I was asked as part of #HistFicXmas 2023 to describe my happiest family scene in the books. There a few lovely scenes between Paul and his family but this one is probably my favourite. It’s the first time Anne has met her older step-children and her in-laws and I think it gives an interesting picture of what kind of relationship they’re all going to have. It is also a lovely moment between Paul and his father.

Lisbon, February 1812

They arrived at the villa shortly after noon. They had travelled at an easy pace, giving Paul’s wound a chance to heal and were greeted at the door by Mario who ran the household and who emerged shouting orders in Portuguese about luggage and horses.

“Mario, it’s good to see you. It’s been a while.”

“Too long, Colonel. You look well and your lady is as beautiful as ever. And a new little one.”

“This is William, Mario, and be thankful he’s asleep because he is very noisy.”

“He looks like his father, Señora.”

“Is my family here, Mario?” Paul asked.

“They are, Colonel. Señor van Daan is in the courtyard.”

“We’ll go straight through and then Nan can take Will up and get him settled with his nurse.”

“Yes, Colonel. I will make sure they are unpacking.”

Paul walked through into the courtyard with Anne beside him. There was a man sitting at the table reading. He looked up and then rose and Paul stopped very suddenly.

“Father. Oh Christ, I’d no idea you were coming.”

“Paul.”

Anne shot a glance at her husband and saw that there was an unexpected shine to his eyes. She looked across at her father-in-law and realised that he was equally affected. It was not surprising. They must have been angry with each other for so much of their lives, these two towering personalities. But since they had last met, Paul had almost died at Talavera, had lost a wife and married another and had risen to the rank of brigade commander at a very young age. His communication with his father had been limited to writing letters during that time and Anne wondered suddenly how much Franz van Daan worried. She stepped forward.

“You two need some time alone,” she said quietly. “Let’s do the introductions later. I’m going to take Will up and get him settled with Gwen and I’ll change into something that doesn’t look as though I’ve been on the road for a week.” She looked over at her father-in-law, who tore his eyes away from his son to return her regard. “It is good to meet you, sir, although we’ve not properly met yet. But we’ll do that later.”

She touched Paul’s arm and made to go, but he caught her about the waist and drew her back. “Just a moment, girl of my heart. Father, have a quick look at my latest.”

His father came forward and Anne held out the sleeping child for inspection. “I am going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you meant your latest offspring,” she said and Paul gave a choke of laughter and kissed her.

“I did. Go on then, go and get him fed and settled.”

***

When Anne had left Paul looked at his father. Franz stepped forward and embraced him.

“Christ, Paul, I know it’s not possible, but I’d swear you’ve grown. Perhaps I’m shrinking.”

Paul laughed and released him, blinking back the tears. “You’re not, I promise you. It’s the uniform, it makes us all look bigger. I wonder if that’s why they chose it? Something about scaring off the enemy. I’m sorry about this, you caught me by surprise.”

“I’m sorry, I should have written to tell you. It was a sudden decision. I thought about it and realised it had been too long, and there isn’t much chance you’re coming home any time soon, is there?”

“No. I’m so glad you came. Where are Josh and Patience?”

“Out sightseeing. And that was your wife.”

“Yes. Now that you’ve seen her…”

“Now that I’ve seen her, boy, it’s very clear to me how you came to marry her so damned quickly. You could hardly let her sit and wait; I presume there was a queue?”

Paul laughed, going to pour wine. “There would have been, but I was very fast,” he said, handing a glass to his father. “Sir, thank you for coming, I’m so glad I made it down with Nan, now.”

He held out a chair for Franz and sat down opposite. “So were you hoping to see me and or were you curious to meet Nan?”

Franz laughed. “Both. Brigade commander, Paul – how old are you now?”

“You’re my father, you’re supposed to know that. I’m thirty one.”

“Christ, you really took this seriously, didn’t you?”

“Very. Although I’m well aware you never expected me to.”

Franz gave a wry smile. “No. I thought you were doing it to snap your fingers at me because I suggested the law. I gave it a couple of years and thought you’d be back at home and ready to fall into line.”

“When did you stop thinking that Father?”

“After Assaye. I was privileged to watch you those first weeks at Melton and I spoke to Colonel Dixon. It was obvious you’d found where you wanted to be.” Franz glanced at him and smiled slightly. “And I’m guessing you found something else as well.”

“My lady? Yes. I’m still getting used to it, I suppose. Although I’m not sure I’m ever going to learn to take her for granted.”

“I was sorry about Rowena, Paul.”

“It still hurts,” Paul admitted. “She was so much a part of my life, it was as if there was a hole left that nothing else could fill. I have Nan, and had from the first, and I love her in a way I never did Rowena. But I don’t think I ever knew what Rowena meant to me until she’d gone. She stood by me through so much. It’s been hard at times, so much has happened in the past couple of years.”

“It is difficult to keep up by letter,” his father said dryly.

Paul accepted the implied reproof with a rueful smile. “It’s impossible, and I’m not a very reliable correspondent, I know. Once you’ve got to know Nan properly you’ll do better, she’s very good. And you can read her handwriting which is more than you can say for mine.”

“I’m looking forward to getting to know her. How long can you stay?”

“Probably not long. Wellington treats requests for leave like being bled by an over-enthusiastic junior surgeon. And he’s especially bad with me, God knows why. Bloody Craufurd got three months in England last year and I couldn’t manage a week to get married. I’m here and I’m hoping for a couple of weeks but if one of my ensigns walks through that door in a week’s time telling me that Wellington is screaming for me, I won’t be a bit surprised. If that does happen, I may leave Nan for a bit longer if you’re happy with that. There are always supply columns coming north, she can get an escort back when she’s ready. And the way the commissariat feel about her, they’ll move a lot faster with our rations if she’s with them.”

“What on earth does the commissariat have to do with your wife, Paul?”

“More than they’d like, she’s my unofficial quartermaster. As well as my unofficial regimental surgeon. You ought to hear the medical board on the subject.”

Franz was laughing. “I am more and more glad I came. She’s got you somewhere I never thought you’d be, Paul, you can’t keep the smile off your face when you talk about her, can you? How long have you been married?”

“About a year and a half. It doesn’t seem that long, and yet it’s hard to remember life without her.”

“How old is she?”

“She’s twenty-two. She married for the first time very young, he was killed just before Bussaco and we married soon after that.”

“And how long had you known her, Paul?”

Paul could hear the suspicion in his father’s voice. He considered for a moment then decided to tell the truth. “I met her in ’08 in Yorkshire.”

“I see. You’ve been surprisingly constant then.”

Paul looked down at the wrought iron table for a moment, then up into his father’s eyes. “You mean given that I was unfaithful to Rowena? Yes, sir. If I could go back, I’d change what I did back then, but I can’t. I intend to keep my marriage vows this time around.”

Franz gave a faint smile. “This wife of yours seems to have thoroughly tamed you, my boy.”

“I don’t see that as an insult, sir.”

“It was not intended as one. Is there anything she can’t do?”

“Well I’ve yet to see her cook a meal, and if you hand her a shirt that needs mending she’s likely to tear it up for bandages. She isn’t much like other women, sir. Although she has proved surprisingly adept at motherhood which is a bit of a surprise to both of us. I missed the birth completely but she seemed to sail through it without a hitch, and she’s proved astonishingly competent with Will. It’s going to be hard for her, he’s very young.”

“Is he weaned?”

“We’ve brought a wet nurse. She’s an Englishwoman who lost her man at Fuentes de Oñoro and she has a young daughter. She’s from London and wants to go home. Once Will is properly weaned, which won’t be long, it’s up to you if she stays on as his nurse or goes home – just make sure she gets there if that’s what she wants. Her name’s Gwen and she’s a good girl, you’ll have no trouble with her.”

“We still have Mary who came home with Rowena,” Franz said with a smile. “She’s proved herself very useful and she married a few months ago, one of our grooms. Paul, there’s something I’ve not told you yet.”

“Go on.”

“When we decided to come out to collect William and meet your wife, we…”

There were sounds of arrival in the hallway and Paul heard his sister-in-law’s gentle tones admonishing. The door to the courtyard burst open and a child entered. He was wearing a white shirt and breeches with a loose jacket, open and with two buttons missing. He looked at least nine or ten from his height and manner, but Paul knew it was deceptive, knew he was not quite eight.

“Papa!”

“Francis.” Paul moved forward uncertainly and then the child ran. Paul caught him up into his arms and held him tight, the boy’s arms wrapped around his neck in a stranglehold. Paul buried his face in his son’s hair, fairer than his, almost white like Rowena’s and inhaled the scent of him. Beyond him he saw his brother coming forward, smiling, and then his sister-in-law holding the hand of a girl of around ten, dainty and fair in a pink dress with a white pinafore over it. Paul dropped to his knees, still holding his son with one arm and held out his other arm to his daughter.

“Grace. Oh lass, come here. You’re as pretty as your mother.”

Grace ran forward and joined the embrace and Paul knelt holding them and kissing them. Finally he looked up at Patience.

“Thank you,” he said softly. “You’ve no idea. I’m revising my plans, if Wellington wants me out of here before two weeks, he can either come and get me himself or cashier me. I can take the loss.”

“Oh, Good Heavens.”

Paul looked up. His wife was coming into the courtyard from the inner door, laughing. She had changed out of her travelling clothes into a sprigged muslin gown trimmed with blue and she looked very young and very beautiful. “You kept this very quiet, Paul.”

“Love, I didn’t know.”

Anne smiled at her sister-in-law and Joshua, both of whom were staring at her in considerable astonishment. “But there’s one missing, and she’s the only one I’ve met before.”

“She’s here, but she’s a little shy,” Patience said, lifting the smallest child from her skirts. She was not yet two, as fair as the others. Anne came forward.

“My poor Will is going to look like a changeling in this family if he keeps that dark hair. Although he’s got the eyes and the attitude already.”

“And what makes you think that attitude comes from me?” her husband said, laughing up at her. Anne thought, her heart unexpectedly full, that she had never seen him look quite so carefree. Reaching out she took Rowena from Patience and settled her on one hip.

“You were very tiny the last time I held you,” she said, studying the child. Blue Van Daan eyes looked back at her. Anne kissed the soft cheek. “When he’s stopped feeding, which might be a while, you shall all come up and meet your new brother.”

“Half-brother,” Grace said. She was staring at Anne as if she could not tear her eyes away.

“Grace!” Patience said, horrified. Anne laughed.

“No, she’s completely right. There are a lot of half relationships in this family, aren’t there? I’m going to sit over here with Rowena because she’s heavy, come and sit by me, Grace, you need to help me work all this out. You’re the eldest, aren’t you, which makes you how old?”

“I’m nine. My mother is dead.”

“I know, Grace, and I’m sorry. She died of fever in India, didn’t she? Your father has told me about her.”

Paul was watching the two of them, fascinated at seeing them together for the first time. His daughter went slowly to the chair beside Anne. Rowena was fidgeting, and without hesitation, Anne took the two combs out of her hair and gave them to the toddler, showing her how to lock them together and slide them apart again. Enchanted, Rowena began to play with the combs.

“Anne, let me take her up for you,” Patience said, and Anne looked up with a quick smile.

“Oh not yet, please? I’ve waited so long to meet them all.”

“Father told you about my mother?” Grace said, sounding incredulous, and Paul felt guilt twist like a knife.

“Of course he did,” Anne said without a moment’s hesitation. “He didn’t need to tell me about Rowena because she was my best friend. I never met Nell but your father told me she was very pretty. And looking at you, Grace, I can believe it.”

Francis was watching Anne as well. Paul set him down and got up, his eyes on the children. Francis went to stand on the other side of Anne.

“My mother was pretty as well. I’ve seen a portrait.”

“I don’t know what my mother looked like, I’ve never seen a portrait of her,” Grace said wistfully.

“No there wasn’t much opportunity going to India,” Paul said lightly. “But if you want a fairly good idea, Grace, find a mirror. Your eyes are my colour but the shape of your face is Nell’s and no mistake.”

“Did you really know my mother?” Francis asked, and the wistful tone of his voice made Paul want to cry. He had not expected to see his children this week and he realised he had given no thought to how he would explain Rowena’s death, his marriage to Anne and their complicated relationship. He realised abruptly that Anne had already thought about this and knew exactly what she wanted to say.

“I knew her very well, Francis,” she said. “She was the best friend I ever had.”

“And was she really pretty?”

“She was lovely.”

“I look like my father,” Francis said, and Anne studied him and laughed.

“You really do,” she said. “But you have one little thing that reminds me so much of Rowena that I want to cry.”

“What’s that?” Francis said eagerly.

Anne reached out and ran her finger lightly over the bridge of his nose. “You have her freckles,” she said softly. “Each one of them stamps her name all over you, Francis van Daan. And there are other things about her I’m hoping you have too.”

“What?”

“Her goodness. Her kindness. Her sense of right and wrong. If you keep hold of those as well as your father’s stubbornness you could be prime minister one day.”

“I want to be a soldier one day,” Francis said.

“Do you? Wherever did you get that idea from? Anyway, you can be a soldier and a politician, Lord Wellington has done both. Perhaps he’ll be prime minister one day, who knows?”

Grace had reached out and was touching the silky strands of Anne’s hair, which was coming loose without the tortoiseshell combs.

“Your hair is so beautiful.”

“Thank you, Grace. Although I admit I always used to want fair hair like yours. I was envious of Rowena for that.”

“I think you’re prettier than my mother,” Francis said quietly, and Anne reached out and caressed his face gently.

“No, you’ve just forgotten how lovely she was. You can’t see it in a portrait. In the story books they gave me as a child, the prettiest princesses were always fair haired and blue eyed, like both of your mothers. What your father was thinking when he chose me as number three, we’ll never know.”

“I know,” Francis said firmly. “I think you’re beautiful. I think you’re the most beautiful lady I have ever seen.”

Anne was smiling. “There are an awful lot of beautiful ladies out there, Francis. But thank you.”

“Number three?” Grace said, and there was an odd tone to her voice as though it had never occurred to her to place her long dead mother on the same footing as her two stepmothers. Paul felt guilt again and opened his mouth to speak then stopped as his wife reached out and put her arm around his daughter.

“Number three,” she said firmly. “Your mother was the first, Grace, then Rowena and now me. I know I can’t replace either of them with you, how could I? But I hope you’ll get used to me. I’ve heard so much about you all. Now who is going to come up and see Will? He can’t still be eating or he’ll explode like a shell.”

“And that one is going to haunt nursery teas for a while,” Paul said, beginning to laugh. Anne smiled up at him.

“What is the point of nursery teas if you can’t have unsuitable conversations? You should have heard some of the things my brothers used to say around the table, Nurse used to cover her ears.”

“If your brothers were the most badly behaved at your nursery tea table, I would be very surprised, girl of my heart. Hand over my youngest daughter, you’ve had her long enough.”

“Is that what he calls you?” Grace said, wide-eyed.

“He calls me a lot worse than that. Get those combs off her before she eats one of them, Paul, she can’t be hungry it’s not close to tea time.”

Francis began to laugh. “Combs for tea!”

“Only if you don’t behave, Master van Daan. Patience, I am so sorry, I’ve not even said how-do-you-do yet. And you as well, Joshua. Let me go and introduce Will, and when we’ve all driven him mad and he’s howling through over-excitement I’ll give him back to Gwen and come down for sherry and civilised conversation, I promise you. And I’ll dump this lot off in the nursery on the way to wash themselves, Francis looks as though he’s been through a battle on a wet day his face is so dirty.”

“It is not! I do not!”

“You absolutely do, and don’t argue with me, I’ve seen a lot of battles.”

“Have you? I didn’t know girls went near battles.”

Paul was laughing so hard he could not stop. “They’re not supposed to, Francis, but try telling your stepmother that, she hasn’t the least sense of propriety.”

His wife regarded him severely. “You’re becoming as over-excited as the children, Colonel. Give me Rowena and put those combs on the table before you break them, I’m serving them to Francis for tea later. Don’t come up, stay and be civil to your brother and Patience, I’m not sure you’ve even had a chance to speak to them yet. I’ll see you later.”

She left, and they could hear her progress with Francis and Grace suggesting a collection of bizarre items which could be served for tea.