An Inconvenient Arrangement

The First Kiss and The Final Farewell

1815

Raphael St. Alexander was....exhausted. It was a tiredness that ran so deep he felt it beyond his bones to the depth of his very soul. He was so cold. So numb that he felt nothing when he received his summons to return to Belgium. Ten days ago, Napoleon had escaped from the Island of Elba where he had been exiled and he was mounting his forces to retake his "Kingdom."

So numb that he felt nothing as he loosened the noose tied to the banister in the home of Lieutenant Walter Windfrey. The Lieutenant's body fell to the carpeted floor with a soft thud as Raphael padded down the stairs and rightened the body, closing the dead man's eyes.

What a fucking waste.

Just twenty years old, barely out of boyhood. Walter had been the only son of one of the tenants who lived on their property, a cheerful boy five years younger than Raphael who had enlisted after recruiters had come to Carlisle promising coin and glory.

The homeland needs you!

There is no pursuit more honorable than defending innocents against the French!

Paintings of burnt villages and accounts of all the atrocities the French had committed spurned young boys like Walter to sign away their lives. Accounts of glorious victories and hard-won battles were told, then retold, and then told again once more to convince these boys that they could be the same as those generals who led their men to war.

Raphael had believed in it too, once upon a time, when he had been young and arrogant and proud. Off to singlehandedly turn the tide in the war. His own youthful hubris astounded him at times. He had really thought himself invincible. The first time he had taken a bullet had really shocked him. No one ever told you that even more fatal than the bullet wound was the infection that could set in if the wound was not treated in time.

But Raphael had survived. That wound had not been his only, there had been many close calls over the years once he had stopped being just a code breaker. He had learned to become numb to that sort of physical pain. There was no room for weakness or fear when you were in this business. Fear led to mistakes, mistakes led to death.

No one ever told the boys of the cost of those victories. Of the piles of dead bodies that lay along the path to victory, the blood of men that carved the path to triumph. No one ever told them that death was far more likely than glory. No one told them that death could be painful, and it was rarely ever quick. Boys were left to bleed to their deaths over the course of hours on the battlefields. Men died after days in pain until gangrene could claim them.

Walter had never been the same after his legs had been crushed when his horse had been shot out from under him, leaving him with useless limbs and a broken spirit. His only solace and source of pride was that he had fought with England until Napoleon had been exiled. How much must it have disturbed him to learn of the futility of his sacrifice? In morbid amusement, Raphael thought of how much effort it would have taken him to hang himself. Certainly slitting his wrists would have been easier to accomplish for a man with only one leg?

Walter had been Mrs. Windfrey's youngest and the only child to remain with her after her daughters had been married and her husband had passed away. He stepped into the hallway and approached the woman who had not stopped weeping since Raphael had arrived.

"I think it might be best if you went to stay with a neighbor for the night, Mrs. Windfrey. I will speak to the vicar about the funeral. Don't worry about anything, I will make all the arrangements,"

The woman nodded as Raphael offered her a somber grimace. "Forgive me for the trouble my lord. Ye've been so kind to us, helping us pay for Walt's treatments and medicine. Ye said I could call ye if I ever needed any help with Walt and I jus'....I didn' think before I sent for ye fer help. I could no' bear to have the neighbors see him. They will talk.... And they won't bury my boy on consecrated ground."