“It’s not for me to say, but God helps those as helps themselves. Which is why I’m here trying to earn a crust.”

“I’m sorry, but I think that a very poor fate for a hero who bravely served queen and country.”

“It wasn’t the Russkis that did for me— it was my poor eyesight.” Mr. Scott snorted. “Didn’t see the cannonball coming, did I? The next thing I knew, I woke up in a field hospital with two bloody stumps.”

Margaret was moved to press his hand. “Oh, that’s awful.”

“Ach, I was so bad with the fever for a while, I didn’t know my own name. That’s what did for most of us that made it as far as the field hospitals, you know, the fever. No beds, no clean linen, water so foul it made you gag. I’m surprised any of us survived.”

“But Miss Nightingale, didn’t she put an end to such dreadful conditions?”

“Whatever she did, her good works never reached the place they laid me down to die, Miss Scott.”

“Please call me Margaret. Unless you are a ghost, and frankly after all that’s happened tonight, I wouldn’t be in the least surprised, you clearly didn’t die.”

“For a while I wished I had. People said I was lucky. Do I look lucky to you? I was crippled. I’d not only lost my legs, I’d lost my livelihood, for I’d served in the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders since I was a laddie of fourteen. Soldiering was all I knew.”

“You must surely be entitled to a pension?” Margaret said indignantly.

“There are ways to claim such a thing, but—” Mr. Scott broke off, looking sheepish. “Truth is, I’ve never been good with my alphabet—can’t write more than my name, in fact. Any road, I’d rather make my own way in life. I don’t need charity. Don’t shed any tears on my behalf, miss. I’ve a wife and three bairns waiting for me when I get home in the morning.” The veteran winked. “They took my legs, but that was all.”

“Oh!” Margaret blushed as she took his meaning, but she met his gaze boldly. “That must be a great comfort for you.”

She was rewarded with a bark of laughter. “Oh, indeed! There now, I’m glad to see you’ve got your smile back, and a right bonny one it is. That’s enough about me, though. Tell me, for I’m fair dying to know, what scrape have you got yourself into?”

Margaret’s smile faded. “Not so much a scrape as a big black hole. I’ve run away from a party held to celebrate my betrothal.”