Band of Angels by Julia Gregson

Author:Julia Gregson
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Simon & Schuster
Published: 2010-05-17T16:00:00+00:00

Part Three

Scutari and the Crimea

Chapter 37

Constantinople, November 2, 1854

They traveled east in an old mail boat called the Vectis, and as it drifted toward the shore, Catherine and Lizzie stood on the deck together watching the city’s hills, trees, spires, and churches take shape.

It was snowing; a gauzy, sunlit snow like the inside of one of those children’s toys that, when shaken, suggests magical Christmas scenes. The snow lay on the domes of the mosques, the points of minarets, and on the tips of trees. It sparkled and swirled in the air, making a soft drapery of light behind which the city trembled.

“Did you ever imagine it would be so beautiful?” said Catherine.

“Never.” Lizzie gave a soft groan.

Catherine longed to know immediately where the Barrack Hospital was, but for the moment kept her mouth shut. Lizzie had been so seasick during the second of two big storms on the way out that Catherine thought she would lose her. Now, thin and pale and covered in bruises, she leaned her head on the rails and watched the shimmering city.

“We made it, Lizzie.” Catherine put her arm around her and gave her a gentle hug. “You can put your shoes on again,” she teased, for Lizzie had been barefoot for most of the voyage, frightened that seawater would spoil her one pair of boots.

“Boil your head, missie” came the mumbled reply.

* * *

They dropped anchor off Seraglio Point. The fishy smell, the screech of seagulls, and the slap of water against the boat reminded her of home, of Aberdaron. Then boats appeared out of the mist: brilliantly painted, gondola-shaped boats called caïques, which seemed to float above the sea and skim through the snow. A man in a fishing boat sang what sounded like Behommmmen naaah, bee oommmeeen nah. He was dressed in wide, baggy, blue trousers; his lips were blue with cold. Beh ommmmmeen naaah. A brave, free sound like a drover’s cry. A man braced against the elements singing, and her soul singing, too. They were alive! After ten days of storms, of seasickness, of overflowing water closets and boredom and basket-making, and the listless circular conversations of fifteen women in a too-small cabin, they were alive and could leave the ship.

“Listen, Lizzie! Look! Isn’t he wonderful?” The boat had drawn up below them and was bobbing in their wake. The man caught her glance and held it, and his cheerful expression changed to a look of deep disgust. She drew back quickly.

“Why did he look at me like that, Lizzie?” she cried.

“Eeerrrr.” Lizzie lifted her head from the railings; the skin under her eyes was blue with cold and fatigue. “He don’t like us much, does he? What a funny look.”

A bell rang and men began shouting in foreign tongues. Then, one by one, ghostly apparitions against a white sky, the nurses and sisters appeared on deck. Their faces were pale, their eyes ringed with sea salt, their uniforms sodden and grimy. It was the first day of their new life and they looked worn out before they had begun.

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