Some of the long shots were not so long, one young buck at the Pump Room had sniggered, earning himself a withering look from both Blake and his friend Michael, who was still confined to a wheeled Bath chair after the damage to his back and legs during the battle of Toulouse over eight months before.
But it was really Michael's frame of mind which was his worst malady, for after having been the perfect solider ever since the Peninsular war had started in 1808, Michael now was plagued by remorse over all the men he had killed. The fact that he had done it to preserve life and freedom seemed to be lost upon him. He was horrified because he said he had actually enjoyed it.
Blake had tried to steer his conversation away from the topic, to music, which had been one of Michael's great loves, to the politics of the day.
Michael was an ardent Radical, as were all his friends. Blake promised to get Michael and the Rakehells together again just as soon as he was well enough to receive visitors.
"No, no visitors," Michael refused for the hundredth time. "I'm officially dead, remember? I want it to stay that way. My family are not to know!"
"But--"
"I'm polluted. Not fit for decent society," he argued vehemently.
"Your legs are improving every day. Your mind will as well, eventually. They're old friends. They served in the war themselves. They will understand. It will-"
"No one understands! No one," he maintained.
"I'd like to try."
"You, who have saved so many lives? How can you possibly understand!" Michael had said bitterly.
"You saved lives too! Hundreds of them, thousands. The French were the enemy, for Heaven's sake. They invaded Portugal without the least provocation. The Spanish only gave them leave to march through their country, but the French turned on them and desposed their rightful ruler. Installed Joseph Bonaparte in his place. It was tyranny, plain and simple! Look how they devastated both countries. There would have been far more bloodshed if we had not gone to fight!"
Michael shook his head. "I bathed in blood for almost six years. I can still smell it. Taste it. Feel it. See it. The hot red stickiness..." He took a ragged breath. "I'm not fit to be in civilized company."
Blake had sighed. "Michael, it's all a sick fancy. It's over now."
His handsome friend, looking worn and haggard as though he rarely slept, shook his head. "It will never be over for me."
"I pray God that's not true. Christmas is a time of miracles, forgiveness. Gifts of joy, love and hope. I pray you are blessed with some sort of happiness some day," he said sincerely.
Michael's eyes, pale blue and glittering like a wolf's, fixed his friend coldly. "You may pray for me, Blake, my friend. But we both know I deserve no such thing."
"Perhaps that's why God is so merciful? He gifts us with life and love and happiness even when we don't deserve it."
Michael sighed raggedly, but managed a small smile. "And you, Blake? What of your love and happiness? Your life is just as blighted by your past as mine is."
Blake shrugged. "We are not talking of me, but you. And speaking of Christmas, it's a time when families re-unite-"
"No, never. Out of the question."
"But at least-"
"No. In no circumstances. Swear you won't interfere."
"I won't, but-"
"Promise me!" Michael had demanded.
"I give you my word," Blake had reassured him. "Now come, let's have that game of cards you promised me."
Blake had tried to be unfailingly cheerful and polite for the rest of the evening for the benefit of his brooding friend. But the very next day after his arrival he drove the seven miles to Bristol and back, and got information about the apothecary, including his full address in the town. He was in two minds as to whether he should leave a note. In the end he decided not to. He still had no idea what to do for the best about Belle.
By his third day there, Blake thought he would go wild if he didn't leave Bath soon.
Finally even Michael said to him, "All right, out with it! What on earth is the matter with you? You're like a cat on hot coals. And I don't think it is because we quarrelled. Or at least I hope not."
Blake stared at his friend and blurted, "Dash it all, Michael, I think I'm in love."
Michael laughed shortly, envy burning in his breast, though he was genuinely glad for his friend too. "Thought so. You have it bad, that's for sure. Some little chit from Town you met at a ball?"
Blake shook his head ruefully. "Worse than that. The woman I met in the carriage accident the other day. I have no idea how to find her again."