Ashes of Waterloo

By Olivia Andem

April 1815-Rumors of Napoleon’s war plans spread across the French border into the Province of Brabant; the tyrant aims to split the forces allied against him and capture Brussels.
The caretaker’s stepdaughter dreads the arrival of Napoleon’s soldiers with good reason...she knows their violent ways only too well. One fateful afternoon, Lisette is left in charge of the empty chateau on the estate where her mother resides with her second husband and young children. She barely escapes a violent attack by a spurned young man due to her brother's arrival. However, his visit brings terrible news about their Irish father, a deserter from the French army. During the dark days that follow, a vow of revenge mars Lisette's efforts to make new friends and bask in the attentions of a rugged British artillery officer. The kitchen of a small hotel in a nearby town becomes the center of her new life as a servant-of-all work but the peaceful haven is soon invaded by trouble. While fleeing the catastrophe of war, every step is fraught with peril and spine-tingling surprise. Three men she cares about- brother, officer and young friend- experience the ordeal of the battle of Waterloo with the British, Prussian and French armies. Swept onto the smoldering battlefield with a band of scavengers, Lisette's disguise as a stable boy causes unexpected heartache and puts her in danger when she begins a quest to save a British officer's life.
A soldier’s daughter with an iron will and a kind heart, she refuses to surrender to hardship or vile threats...when faced with defeat by the past, Lisette must find a way to protect all she holds dear and win a precious victory.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Olivia Andem
• Release date: Aug 15, 2015
• ISBN: 9780991218783

Olivia Andem

THE AUTHOR, a native of Texas, lives in Southern California and enjoys speaking to book clubs, library and civic groups about the historic Georgian era that inspired The Hawthorne Diaries saga and Ashes of Waterloo. Olivia is a member of Romance Writers of America and is an avid reader and researcher of her English heritage. Aided by the encouragement of family and a grand-dog Yorkie terrier, Harley-Girl, her current projects include works of both romance and historical fiction.

Book preview

1

APRIL SURPRISES

The caretaker’s daily chore of inspecting the abandoned chateau fell to Lisette whenever her stepfather was absent.

Once this task was done, a few hours were hers to spend as she wished; the prospect hurried her from the family cottage with the door key and a workbasket in hand. Skirts held aside, she crossed the wide courtyard under clearing skies, avoiding the puddles strewn in her path.

Chateau Austerlitz, slate roof glistening like a dark mirror after the noonday rain, towered above the estate grounds.

A massive door of oak planks, studded with iron brads in the medieval fashion, guarded the converted fortress above a shallow flight of steps. The rusty lock, stubborn as always, finally yielded; as the door creaked open, dank air rushed past her cheeks. Out of an abundance of caution, she relocked the door from the inside.

Engulfed in a dusty gloom, the cavernous hall held a trove of tapestries, paintings and heraldic shields until the summer previous. Faint outlines on the limestone floors still marked where fine French carpets had resided.

Lisette hastened across the great hall to the stone staircase, pausing now and then to sneeze into her work apron.

Entering the second-floor ballroom, the sound of her footsteps provided ghostly company.

The open space was empty except for a carved trunk mistakenly left behind when the elderly Count Walbourg fled to Vienna; the aristocrat was banished from Brabant when Napoleon was exiled to Elba.

Fond recollections rushed from every corner.

On many a summer’s night, lively music from this grand room drifted across the courtyard to the caretaker’s cottage and into the open windows of Lisette’s attic bedroom.

During winter celebrations, logs blazed behind giant andirons in the two fireplaces. Here, the Austrian nobleman entertained his friends, the fine gilded panels brought from Paris resounding with their gaiety.

Now the salon’s ceiling was freckled with black mold, sad evidence of its changing fortunes.

Loud clattering arose in the courtyard...the sharp echo of horse hooves raced through the empty halls, a sound familiar to Lisette when she was a household servant here.

Was the visitor coming from Genappe? The narrow road past the chateau crossed the Baisy forest and led to Brussels but was seldom used until the drier summer months.

Thoughts in an excited jumble, Lisette rushed down the stairs and crossed the hall while untying her work apron, round wood heels of her shoes clacking on the stone floor.

No one had ever arrived at the estate when she was alone!

This morning after her family sped off to Genappe, she felt capable enough but now her confidence sagged.

Why had she not worn her best skirt instead of the shabby one? Stowing the apron in the basket, she checked her red knit stockings and white cap with trembling fingers.

Lisette carefully turned the large key and, opening the door a few inches, peered outside.

A military helmet, its metal badge gleaming...a soldier!

Sparks lit her memory afire...the French soldiers came to arrest her Irish father for desertion. Jabbing bayonets in every hay-filled corner of the small barn, they found him.

No one is allowed here, Lisette said, studying this soldier in the courtyard from behind the safety of the door.

His muddy black boots and splattered greatcoat suggested an arduous journey; tethered beside the steps, his dark bay horse was covered from muzzle to tail with brown road slurry.

Before she could warn the soldier not to come closer, he boldly mounted the steps.

Bonjour, Miss Lisette. His helmet perched in the crook of his arm. I am Corporal Grosbek, serving His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Napoleon. Is Monsieur Pollard at home?

What do you want with him?

How startling to hear their names spoken by a stranger!

Is not Monsieur Pollard caretaker of this estate? The soldier’s tone was firm but polite. He is on a list of possible suppliers for our regiment.

He is not here. Good day.

Grosbek sprang across the threshold, forcing her aside as he said, May I wait until he returns?

My stepfather doesn’t allow strangers in here!

Ignoring her protest, the corporal loped across the entrance hall to the drawing room like a haughty fox.

Why was he so certain of himself? Alarmed, Lisette edged to the open doorway, poised to run down the front steps.

I am not a stranger, he said, returning.

I don’t know you, so you are a stranger.

Monsieur Pollard surely knows our family, Grosbek replied, as we have always lived in this parish. In fact, you visited Wavre a few summers ago. We spoke after Mass.

I’m very poor at remembering names, she replied, unable to think of a better excuse while turning the matter over in her thoughts as if scrubbing potatoes.

After bitter arguments with her mother, Lisette was sent away to visit a distant cousin in Wavre for an entire summer.

That was three years ago...however, she recalled fleeing the church hall to escape from a brash young man, a pestering nuisance!

Could this be the same fellow?

I remember you were rude to me, Miss Lisette, and hurried away as if I was a bore.

The truth of his accusation stung. You are mistaken.

Well, it was a few years ago. He shrugged, adding a wry smile. When does Count Walbourg return?

His Excellency resides in Vienna, she replied, her pride in tatters, and you may write to him there. However, you should know...since leaving here, he seldom replies.

Lisette rubbed her fingers, recalling how raw they were after days of packing every candle, pot and kettle of Count Walbourg’s into straw-filled barrels and crates.

Walbourg is an Austrian and Austria is our enemy, he said in a gruff voice. We can take property or anything else from enemies...or their friends.

What kind of loyalty to a staunch ally was this? She wanted to explain how Count Walbourg received the former Spanish estate as a gift of France and later renamed it in honor of Napoleon’s victory at Austerlitz.

Arguing with the soldier, however, did not seem wise.

Surely, he said, eyeing the staircase, some useful articles were left behind.

No, my family watches over an empty house.

He tapped his boot toe in a rapid drumbeat. Empty, yes, he said finally, and not what I had expected to find.

While he spoke, she picked up the basket. Forgoing the search for new dampness in the chateau for the time being, Lisette opened the front door wide and stood beside it, always a hint for a visitor to leave.

Grosbek agreeably followed her outside and looked up at the Latin motto chiseled above the doorway.

While she locked the door, he read the inscription aloud.

FORTUNA AUDACES IUVAT...what does it mean?

I recall it translates as, fortune favors the bold.

He hiked his chin. When my unit from Paris arrives in this area, we will be very bold.

What town will they inhabit? Lisette slipped the chateau’s key into her hidden skirt pocket, her mind racing with alarm. Towns are the best place for billeting troops.

That hardship must not darken their doorstep; she prayed he did not intend to bring his unit to the chateau.

I’m not allowed to say. He frowned. We’ll forage to supply our regiment, possibly for weeks. I thought we might store supplies here...but it’s too damp.

The burden of that terrible run-for-your-life feeling eased; her common sense, having flown away in fright, returned.

Relieved to be outside and thinking the soldier was a reasonable man, she sighed inwardly.

After they went down the steps to the courtyard, Corporal Grosbek glanced at his horse.

I am traveling home from Charleroi. Pushing aside his greatcoat, he grasped the hilt of the short saber at his waist. May I water my horse and allow him to graze in your pasture for a while?

2

AT THE FOREST’S EDGE

Lisette offered grazing and water for the man’s horse in the front pasture; Count Walbourg always insisted upon aiding a traveler. The duty fulfilled, she waited while the soldier stowed his greatcoat, helmet and other military items on a ledge inside the entrance gates. By the time they returned to the cottage, it seemed rude not to be more gracious.

Wait on the terrace and I will make coffee.

Once inside the cottage Lisette returned the chateau’s key to its wall peg.

Meanwhile, the young soldier waited in the back garden as she bustled about the kitchen. Soon the water kettle simmered over a bright fire on the hearth and she ground the last of her mother’s prized coffee beans.

While filling the family’s only china plate with spicy shortbread, she compared this soldier’s garb to the memory of her father’s French uniform. The corporal’s sleeve sported a red bugle horn badge. Terrance O’Neal’s military coatee had been Irish green with yellow collar and trim.

She sighed; so many of her memories were like apples moldering in a basket, the bad ones spoiling the few that were good.

Pushing the past aside, she added Count Walbourg’s chipped porcelain cups and the coffee pot to the tray, then called for the soldier’s help. While she held the door open, he carried the refreshments outside where a rustic table and two chairs awaited on a small stone terrace.

From this spot, Lisette often watched the doves coming and going from the eaves of the nearby barn. To the east loomed the tawny stones of the chateau with its central tower and paved courtyard; to the west, the estate stretched to the edge of the Baisy forest.

Corporal Grosbek watched her too intently.

Was there a sooty smudge on her chin?

Flustered by the attention, Lisette’s fingers darted over her starched white cap then flew to the buttons of her gray jacket and hurried to smooth the sides of her black skirt.

She resisted the notion to run inside the cottage to wash her face and borrow her mother’s best apron.

Instead, she gestured to the spicy shortbread biscuits.

I baked them this morning.

Then I must take two, he said in a jovial tone.

Charmed by his friendly manner, she was giddy with surprise to chat with a young man in private; the notion of courtship had to wait until she succeeded in life.

Last year, she wanted to leave this place and begged to go to Vienna as part of Count Walbourg’s household.

She next came up with a plan to teach English to genteel ladies in Brussels with her brother’s help but her mother refused to allow it.

While she was lost in thought, the man ate all of the shortbread, leaving a few crumbs behind on the plate.

Beg pardon? I was watching the birds going in and out of the dovecote.

I said...I was in Paris when the Emperor returned. His dark eyes glinted. Now I am a chasseur à cheval. My uncle, a veteran of the Grande Armée, arranged it.

How fortunate.

Perhaps I should state my feelings in a bold manner, ma petite, Grosbek said slyly. I am lost in the sparkle of your saucy blue eyes. Your lips pout just so, your smile flirts with me.

My goodness, she replied, confused by this abrupt shower of silly compliments.

He removed a metal flask from inside his coat and began to drink deeply from it.

The heady aroma of juniper berries drifted to her nostrils; it was the potent smell of jenever.

You must go. She piled the dishes onto the tray.

Eyes wandering over her bosom with rakish abandon, Grosbek asked, Is that a barn? Show it to me.

He ignored her strong hint to leave!

It’s unlocked. Before you go, you may look inside, she said firmly, but I must do my chores now.

While closing the flask lid, he stared at the barn as if she had invited him to stay!

My stepfather Hans doesn’t like people poking about the chateau. Go now and I won’t mention you were here.

Standing, he placed the flask inside his coat.

I want what any man wants from a girl. Don’t try to push me away, he said, grabbing her upper arm, it will not happen again.

Again? She collided with the table, the tray crashed to the ground, cups and plate breaking into pieces.

She stared at the mess, too shocked to run.

Come with me! Pushing her towards the barn, his hot breath pulsed over her neck.

Along the way, her white cap slipped away, her hair tumbled to her shoulders.

He pushed her inside; Lisette’s knees buckled; dizzy and faint, the rafters and walls spun in wild circles.

Cold metal pressed against her cheek!

Her eyes flew open...the sharp point of his fearsome saber was angled by her nose. Holding her from behind, his forearm pressed hard across her chest.

Be quiet...do as I say and all will be well.

The rafters of the barn echoed with a rustling sound; the dovecote was full, the birds were unsettled.

Escape, but how? Sunlight glinted on the blade!

Leather straps and rope hanging on the wall drew his attention; distracted, he let her go.

She dashed to the doorway; intending to hide in the dense woods at the back of the chateau.

Cursing, he grabbed her by the hair and twisted the ends like a rope, bringing her down on her knees.

Yanked along like a sack of grain, Lisette could not save her red knit stockings from snagging on the splintered floor. Somehow, she wrestled free.

Stay here! Grosbek shouted; as if to strike her with both fists, he dropped the saber.

Landing just beyond her reach, it fell on the wooden floor with a hollow metallic clang.

3

ONE LAST BREATH

Frightened by the sharp noise, the birds fled the barn’s dovecote with a furious beating of wings.

Grosbek, startled by the racket, looked up.

Seeing her chance, Lisette lunged for the saber...nose inches above the dusty floor, she grabbed the saber’s handle and scrambled to her feet.

Holding on tight with both hands, she slashed the air with awkward, uncertain strokes.

Get away, she screamed, ...get away from me!

I’ll wait. Smirking, he crossed his arms, ...it’s heavy and you’ll soon get tired.

She glanced at the door, desperate to reach it.

Crouching, he lunged for her arm.

No! she cried, thrusting it at him with all her might.

The sharp edge slashed across his cheek, a faint shudder rippled up the metal shaft when the weapon crossed his forearm.

Shocked, she pulled away, still holding the saber.

Falling to his knees, Grosbek groaned.

Holding his face, blood gushed between his fingers.

The open barn door...only a few steps away!

He scrambled to his feet. Be damned woman!

She tried to run.

Tripping, she stumbled, struggling to right herself.

Caught...she cringed, sides heaving like a trapped hare.

He yanked the saber away, smearing her fingers with blood.

Fury spewed from his eyes, murderous and wild.

Her next breath might be her last!

Lisette!

Her brother...rushed in, pistol raised.

Stand away, you blaggard...or I will fire!

Henri! She collapsed to her knees with a surge of joy so strong she could not breathe!

Her life’s end had been a heartbeat or two away.

What is his name? Henri asked.

Corporal Grosbek, she said, gasping, He was drinking and...

Another man, apparently shocked by the scene, hovered in the doorway.

Weak and exhausted, Lisette struggled to her feet as Henri introduced his friend as Andrew.

Please, wait outside, Henri said to her.

Thank you, she managed to say; bracing her by the elbow, Andrew helped her from the barn.

Without comment or question, the man quickly righted the table and found her a chair where she remained, unsure of what was going to happen next.

Meanwhile, Henri remained inside the barn with her attacker while his friend politely quizzed her about the soldier’s horse and belongings.

Andrew hurried away to the pasture to retrieve the horse; her thoughts in disjointed pieces like the broken china beneath her feet.

Deep shadows now covered the courtyard.

Her mother and family would be home very soon...how could she explain?

When Grosbek stumbled outside in her brother’s custody, she gasped at the sight of the bloody mess on his cheek. The fellow slumped forward, staring at the ground.

However, Henri’s face was rigid with anger; he must have threatened the man with terrible retribution.

Andrew led Grosbek’s horse forward with his trappings piled on the saddle. While the soldier put on his greatcoat, helmet and gloves, Henri guarded her, his pistol at the ready.

Shrugging away Andrew’s help, Grosbek mounted the horse, pulling the reins taut.

That Jezebel, he shouted, enticed me like a harlot...she aimed to rob me! She will pay for this!

Henri raised his pistol. Keep away from my sister!

Without ado, Lisette and Henri went into the cottage to confer while Andrew kindly remained outside.

Tell me what to say to Mama when she returns! she said as soon as Henri closed the kitchen door. I used her coffee, broke her cups and best plate, too.

Say nothing, I will explain it. Perhaps out of old habit, he tossed a few twigs on the hearth’s dying embers. I brought along a visitor, we made coffee, knocked over the table and broke the china. We are men, after all, and clumsy. Mama will be angry for a little while.

Lisette blinked hard.

Do you mean...we won’t mention the soldier?

No. I’ll promise to buy new china for her in Brussels and all will be well.

That will please her. Lisette sat down at the table across from Henri; his expression was strangely sad.

I saw the military horse, her brother explained, in the front pasture and when I heard your screams, I was frantic to find you.

You saved me...yet again, she reminded, overcome with gratitude.

There was that other time...three years ago.

After a long French campaign in Spain and Portugal with the Second Battalion of Napoleon’s Irish Regiment, their Papa returned to Brabant.

Her poor father was too distraught and angry to care about the consequences and had left his assigned post, arriving at the chateau soon afterwards!

Who could blame him for rushing to this estate to confront his wife and see his children?

Henri pulled her away from harm when the French soldiers ordered, Get out of the way, child! as she clung to her father’s arm, refusing to let go.

She nodded. Why did you come back here today, of all days?

There is an important reason.

Important? A shiver raced up her spine.

Tragic news...our Papa...died only weeks ago.

4

LIES LIKE ECHOES

What a troubled web of lies! The next moment passed in silence. Not three years ago? Are you sure? she asked, her anger rising.

Yes. Through my connections with the English and Dutch military, he explained, rubbing away his tears, I would have tried to free him.

Connections?

Henri leaned closer. I am now a lieutenant in the royal military service of England but in the most secret way possible. Promise to pretend you know nothing about me other than I work at a hotel in Brussels.

The sound of wheels approached the cottage.

Yes, but make an excuse for me while I clean up!

Still wearing the torn stockings and blood-splattered clothes, Lisette ran up the narrow stairs to her attic bedroom and closed the door.

No bigger than a horse stall with a peaked roof, the screen across an attic corner provided the only privacy; she changed into her best clothes, hoping to make a better impression on Henri’s friend, Andrew.

She could hear the excited voices of the four youngsters and their father’s gruff order to be quiet.

This morning Lisette waved goodbye to the excited children as they left for Genappe in the family wagon.

Tilly, at age nine, was born a few months after her mother married Pollard. Basil came along next and the twins, Peter and Petra, were almost five.

Her father left on a new campaign never guessing his wife would plot to marry again. Fleeing poverty in Ireland, he joined the French army in Antwerp; it was there he met and married Marie Boscage.

In those days, a soldier in Napoleon’s army was always going away to war.

The youngsters were blameless but grief for her father’s troubles beclouded Lisette’s love for them.

While splashing water on her face, she heard Henri and their mother arguing downstairs.

I said I’ll replace everything!

No! I will buy china in Genappe with the money.

The uproar quieted; Lisette went downstairs to be at Henri’s side when he delivered his shocking news.

Smoke billowed from the low cooking hearth as she entered the kitchen. Henri crouched on a stool. Their mother sat at the table beside her bulky husband, her aging beauty in contrast to Pollard’s coarse features.

Papa died at Ostend earlier this year, Henri stated.

No, your father died three years ago in Antwerp. She glanced at her husband. Remember? Terrance came here after we thought he died in battle.

Please, let us not dwell upon it, Lisette said to her brother. Andrew is outside and can hear all of this.

Marie turned to Lisette, her eyes molten with fury.

You are strangely silent. Does Henri speak for you?

Her brother’s solemn nod gave her courage enough.

Yes, Mama, he does. We are grieving.

My quarrel, Henri said, is this...we had no chance to save him or give him any comfort.

Hans, he can’t say such things to me!

I will not have this! Pollard bolted to his feet. Marie, tell your son to leave and take his sister with him!

After a restless night, Lisette rose the next morning at dawn, amazed at how suddenly her life had changed.

She padded down the creaking attic steps, shoulders brushing the walls of the narrow staircase for the last time.

Henri and Andrew waited outside as they had agreed the night before; the two men stayed in the barn.

The journey to Valois-la-Ville, her brother advised, is but five miles. My acquaintance there will help us.

Without mention of the circumstances, Henri’s frown warned her not to ask for an explanation.

Lisette stared at the carriage, its bonnet folded away.