PROLOGUE
Spring 1864, London
The throb in Heath Foster’s right leg intensified.Must be rain on the way.Ever since that confounded bullet had lodged in his leg, Heath had a constant ache that refused to abate. He rubbed the leg, as if that would magically make the pain go away.
“Another storm coming in?” his friend, Griffin Bamford, asked as he sat next to Heath.
“Every damn time!”
“At least you can feel your leg.”
Heath inwardly winced. Bamford had suffered worse. The poor fellow barely had any mobility in his right arm, though he retained the use of his hand. Even that wasn’t much, just enough to grasp things. Hadn’t everyone in this place suffered? Heath glanced around the large ward he shared with at least twenty other soldiers. Every floor, every bed in the hospital held a man with a story to tell. War was never pretty. Heath and his fellow soldiers had returned from the clash raging on the island of New Zealand. When the natives of the country had revolted against the colonists, England had sent additional troops. During one skirmish, Heath had been wounded.
“Isn’t your mother coming today?” Bamford’s question brought Heath back to the present.
“Yes. I expect her any minute.”
“Another one of us is free.” He patted Heath on the back.
Several of their comrades had already left for their new lives, including their friends Royce Davis and Owen Fernsby.
“Will you return to Derby?” asked Dorian Shaw, an Army captain who had lost his leg.
“Yes. My family will be happy to have another set of hands to work the fields.”
Heath came from a long line of farmers. It was the only life he knew. The main reason he’d joined the Navy was to make extra money to help his family. When he’d enlisted at eighteen, he’d thought his service would only last a few years, but here he was, already twenty-five and he’d seen more than most men his age. Now it was time to return to his dull, mundane life.
His sister, Victoria, was married, so his brother-in-law, Jeffrey, had watched over the family during his absence. Now Heath had returned, ready to shoulder his share of the responsibility on the farm. Hopefully, his leg would not be too much of a hindrance.
The doors to the ward opened. A nurse walked down the row of beds and stopped in front of Heath. “This letter just arrived for you, Mr. Foster.”
Heath took the paper. The slight shake of his hand was the only outward sign of his unease. The letter was in his sister’s handwriting. Suddenly, his mouth was dry, and a lump formed in his throat. Something was wrong. Heath started at the parchment, as if waiting for it to speak.
“Are you all right, Foster?” Bamford asked.
“It’s from my sister.”
“Are you going to read it?”
Heath focused his gaze on his friend. “Will you read it for me? I don’t think I can right now.”
Bamford nodded his head and took the letter. He opened the folded message. “Do you want me to read it out loud?” Obviously, Bamford realized there might be personal information that Heath would not want reported.
There was only him, Bamford, Shaw, and their other friend Lucien Adwell in the proximity. Heath didn’t care if they heard whatever his sister had to say.
“Go on.”
Bamford read the letter in a slow tone, allowing every word to sink in. Heath’s mother was ill and could not come to fetch him. Victoria was nursing her while Jeffrey worked the farm. Victoria apologized for not coming for him, but hoped to see him soon.
Inside her letter was another note from a solicitor’s office. The seal was intact, the letter unopened, since it was addressed to Heath. His sister had merely forwarded the packet, which had arrived two weeks prior to the family’s farm.
“Shall I read this one as well?” Bamford inquired.
“Yes.”
His friend took a deep breath before beginning:
Mr. Foster,