Free Colonel Brandon's Diary by Amanda Grange

deaths. I thanked God I had acclimatized, and that I no longer felt the agonies produced by the exotic spices and rotten meat.
    My eyes wandered to the bullocks walking past, carrying loaded panniers, and I wondered if we would have enough of them to pull the guns and ammunition wagons when we broke camp.
    Carstairs joined me, evidently thinking the same thing, for he said, ‘Do you think we should buy a couple of elephants to pull the heavy guns?’
    ‘They are expensive,’ I said. ‘Can we afford them?’
    ‘The purchase price, yes, but the maintenance?’ He shook his head. ‘Perhaps not. At least with bullocks, they can graze off the land. It is a pity, though. A couple of elephants would make easy work of it.’ His eyes wandered to the men, who were forming a square. ‘They seem to be shaping up well.’
    ‘Not well enough. They are not ready for battle. Their formation is sloppy, and they do not react quickly enough to commands.’
    ‘They will improve.’
    ‘I hope so, or they, too, will soon be dead.’
    He looked at me curiously, for I used not to be so grim, but I cannot rid myself of the thought that, if only Eliza had had more strength, we could be married now, she and I, and we could be happy.
     
     
    Tuesday 21 September
    Another letter from Catherine arrived this morning, already many months old, giving me news of my father’s funeral, and telling me of Eliza.
    We are staying at Delaford with Harry and Eliza. Harry is worse than ever. I lectured him on the evils of drink but he took no notice of me. He was already drunk when we sat down to dinner and he could barely stand by the time Eliza and I withdrew. Eliza was pale and seemed unwell. Her spirits must have been sadly affected by my father’s death, for she spoke barely two words to me all evening, and I cannot think what else she has to make her unhappy.
    I hope it is only the melancholy occasion and my sister’s presence that caused her low spirits, but I fear it is her marriage. If she still regrets it, what torment for her.
    What torment for us both.
     
     
    Friday 24 September
    I am finding it impossible to control my thoughts. They are not here with me, but at home, with Eliza. Is she happy? Is she well? Is she thinking of me?
    I turn a thousand possibilities over in my mind. If I had not left home, if I had returned sooner, if . . . if . . . if. . . .
    I must gain control of my thoughts soon or I fear for my sanity. My only solace is work, and I am determined to think of nothing else, for how else will I survive?

1781

    Thursday 24 May
    A letter from Catherine this morning, the first in two years, for not since my father’s death has she written to me. I opened it with nerveless fingers, wondering what news it would contain, and wondering if it would mention Eliza. For all my efforts to forget her, I cannot banish her from my mind, and when there is a lull in my duties, I find myself thinking of her.
    I read Catherine’s news of her family with little interest, scanning the page until Eliza’s name caught my eye.
    ... and so Harry has divorced her.
    Divorced? I sat back in my seat, rocked.
    I steeled myself to read on.
    It is not to be wondered at. Harry drank, it is true, and gambled, and had numerous mistresses, but Eliza should have borne it. I always knew that she was unsatisfactory. There was something ridiculously romantic about her, for which I blame you, James, for you encouraged her. It is true that Harry should not have invited his mistresses into their London home, but if Eliza had only been sensible and withdrawn to the estate, instead of going into a decline and then falling prey to the first man who showed her a little kindness, she would be a married woman still. I have no patience with her. She should have valued herself, and her good name, more. Of course, Harry was obliged to divorce her, and I would not be surprised if he marries again. He has run through Eliza’s fortune, and you know how Harry has always needed