The Phantom of the Regency

"The Regency Era 1811-1820, an era of pride and prejudice where elegance, society and manners were valued above all else... Marriages were made in fortune and love was an unnecessary complication."

My dear Beta, I'm glad you enjoyed editing! Thank you for picking up on the little things.

I do not own The Phantom of the Opera.


The Man in the Green Coat

Mondego Bay, 1808

"Heaton. A moment," Lieutenant General Arthur Wellesley said, staying Erik when he would have left the tent with the other officers. He waited a moment and considered the young man standing in front of him.

Captain Lord Erik Heaton was an intriguing officer who he was having difficulty assessing. The man looked little more than a boy. Yet, he held wisdom well beyond his nineteen years. The leader of a small company of the 95th, Erik had proved himself as an excellent shot and leader in the short time he had been in Portugal.

He had had little opportunity to talk to the man but had heard quite a lot from the ranks and the officers. Rumour had it that Heaton was in a fight sometime during his childhood and received a face of boiling oil. That rumour did not bother the general – it would only add to the Captain's reputation.

No, it was the talk that Erik's mother was a French aristocrat that concerned him. Apparently Heaton's father met his mother in Paris before the terror started and it was there that his brother was born. Mere months before his birth, Erik's parents and brother fled the capital just as the chaos was beginning and well before there was the threat to the aristocracy. It was his connection to France and his possibly loyalty to the Emperor that concerned Wellesley.

"I have heard that your mother is French."

Heaton remained silent, preferring not to respond to the Lieutenant General's statement. He was never close to his mother who despised him because of the deformity which cursed the right side of his face. His mother, Lady Pénélope Bontecou gladly left the care of her second son to the nanny. Nanny Grey was paid handsomely for having to cope with young Erik.

At ten, Erik watched Pénélope happily wave him off to join his elder brother Benedict at Eton. There and Oxford, Erik excelled in all of his studies. This did little to please his mother who disliked the spare outshining Benedict, the first born and heir to his father, the Marquess of Renton.

When he turned seventeen and left university with his tutor, he quickly commenced the Grand Tour and took in the sites of the Continent. That the Continent was at war did not bother Erik; if anything it added to his excitement and the thrill of the tour.

"You will not have any confusion as to where your loyalties lie, will you, Heaton?"

Erik remained as impassive as possible at the question. It was a fair question considering the times. England was at war with France. He was fighting with the English. He was French. He was also English.

"Sir, my mother may be French, but my father is an Englishman. I am my father's son and that makes me English. My loyalties lie with His Highness King George."

Wellesley offered him a ghost of a smile. "That is what I thought." He paused significantly and looked boldly at Heaton's mask. Erik resisted the temptation to squirm uncomfortably under that intense gaze. "For, if you ever have any problem recalling where your loyalties lie, I will have no problem making an example of you… and your mask."


Waterloo, 1815

Colonel Heaton watched as the 95th boiled up kettles of water on the cold morning on 18th June. The night before, all of Wellington's soldiers had seen a downpour unlike any other. It left the ground muddy and difficult and dangerous to navigate through. Erik was pleased to see his men were checking the readiness of their rifles, ensuring no water had found its way into the powder packets.

The 95th were camped near Mont Saint Jean ridge and were quickly serving hot tea to officers and sergeants. Erik watched the movement of the soldiers in a variety of coloured uniforms move across the landscape according to the Duke's plans for the upcoming confrontation with Bonaparte.

The light troops and German Legion occupied the farm, La Haye Saint. Erik, with Captain Leach under his command had been stationed in a pit halfway up the hill to provide a skirmish for the artillery and cavalry at the top of the steep incline. Three companies were also hidden behind hedges.

In front of the men prepared to protect the main force, was the artillery. Hidden from view of the French, was the infantry. To the right of the 95th was more infantry. The Guards Division defended the chateau Hougomont.

All was relatively quiet until the fighting began in the early afternoon when the French began to fire their eighty gun assault. Heaton and the other 95th in the sandpit could do nothing but wait for the shots to end. The near useless shots fired by the French continued for almost an hour.

Then, the French infantry attack commenced. Heaton could hear the familiar and despised tune of Vie l'Empereur as they advanced in columns, engaging the 95th as they approached the slope. Despite the French's confusion, Heaton, Leach and the men were forced to surrender their place in the sandpit and join the others on the ridge.

The French cuirassiers, having recently gained Haye Sainte with little resistance continued its assault on Wellington's main force. The 95th had just witnessed the slaying of the Germans minutes earlier; the events of Quatre Bras where the 42nd and the Highlanders were trampled underfoot of the horses and slain by the sabres were too recent. When the French issued the order to form a square, the riflemen panicked.

Heaton watched in absolute horror as the mass of French cavalry with their sabres came charging towards him. He was aware of dozens of the rifles running to the rear of Wellington. He wanted nothing more but to join them and run and escape the bloodbath that would be a result of their brush with the cuirassiers. Aware of the need to rally the remaining men, Heaton gave the command to fire at will. They withstood the cavalry assault.

The British cavalry assault saw the seizure of two golden eagles and the retreat of thousands of Frenchmen. Heaton, Leach and the three companies of rifles returned to their positions at the sandpit and Haye Sainte. Here, the men knew some respite, being able to hear, but not see Bonaparte's attack between La Haye Sainte and Hougomont.

At six o'clock, the French infantry attacked yet again. Heaton looked on in a horror as the Germans, having run out of ammunition and taking many casualties fled La Haye Sainte. The French were quick to use their newfound position as means for stopping the rifles in the sandpit. Left with the option to defend the position against the French infantry who were joining the assault and die or live, Heaton, Leach and the survivors returned to the safety of the ridge.

By now, the light was fading with the setting sun. With this fading light came the turn of events Wellington had been waiting for all afternoon. The French Imperial Guard in the centre was defeated. The Prussians arrived on Wellington's left.

The battle was done. Britain and her allies had won.