She was still a little dazed by what she’d done as Brosy’s Grace came to see her off. ‘You pregnant again?’ Grace asked, studying her expression. ‘No. Why?’ Grace laughed. ‘Always seems to occur at the first mention of goin’ overseas,’ she said. ‘I’m glad you’re not. Pleased to be off?’ ‘I think so.’ Suddenly Augusta wasn’t sure. The conditions on the trooper proved to be appalling, though for the women of the other ranks they were an inferno. The washing facilities were dreadful, the sanitation worse, and into the remarkably little privacy Augusta possessed permeated the stench of ammonia from the horses. She had a bunk so narrow it seemed like a coffin and under the mattress were all the clothes she would need on the voyage. All the rest went into the trunk, and whenever they dressed for dinner, Colby in his mess kit, she in frills and furbelows, they had to do it separately because there wasn’t room for both of them.
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