July 23, 1809: The message arrives

Willoughby wheezed and coughed, raising a hand as if he wanted to say something but failed for a few moments longer. He thumped his hand against his chest and then finally with a few sharp gasps eased his breathing. "Well, first one in the front and after I'd have spun about another in the behind." He answered, his voice a little strained

"That is... if I do not suffocate myself on alcohol first,.. you could still send my grandfather a letter that you wish to receive your money since the celebrations that killed his grandson were done after the deed!" He grinned and poured himself another glass, this time taking a few slower sips.

"Not bad...the wine."

"I think your grandfather would disregard that letter, and I couldn't blame him."

Relaxing again, the engineer took his own glass again and took a sniff and a sip, carefully tasting.

"Quite tolerable!", he agreed. "So here's to years of distinquished service - though preferably not much longer against Napoleon."

"I'd have thought it entertaining myself. Not killed by enemy fire, nor by their sword, but by simply taking a sip of Spanish wine. Do you think it could be considered a malicious act on the side of the Spanish for slaying one of their allies so?" His voice had finally returned to normal, and he continued with the toast, the glass held up with it.

"To years of distinguished service and making it past 30, the milestone for every, cavalryman." He chuckled softly and drank more slowly now. "Quite tolerable indeed, this thing. " He took a few more sips from the glass before continuing.

"To perhaps seeing Napoleon one day too. I am quite curious whether what they say of his size, is true or whether it is all just washerwomen's chatter."

Torrington shrugged.

"I don't know. His portraits look all so different that I doubt I would recognize him on the street. It is rather ... dissatisfying to fight a monster and an ogre, and not even know what he looks like."

He opened a tin can, peered in, then poured a few bisquites (some of them broken, but all still without any additional life forms) onto a plate.

"Ah yes, I have heard of that one too. I am quite glad that our enemy is not truly of such species! Imagine, if we had to fight them? ..Not even unicorns and gilded lions could help us then!" He shook his head as if imagining a cavalry riding on a herd of unicorns and winged horses and Torrington using not merely his engineering skills but sort of light that would directly make things burst in flame and...

"Well, anyhow. I have seen one picture where Napoleon is depicted as the child of the devil himself, all wrapped up like a baby. The other, which would have been splendid if it were possible, showed him dwarf sized, all packed nicely in a bottle!" He tugged at the letter again.

"Do you think I should... read it now?..the letter?"

Torrington shrugged:

"It is probably better - it seems to be one of those letters that are better read with a clear head, and there is still enough in the bottle to drown whatever feelings it might produce."

Gently, he added:

"Just remember that he has written volontarily, and that he has to compress the feelings of many months on few pages."

"..Then..I will excuse myself for a moment." Willoughby glanced at the bottle. "Would you like me to pour you some more wine, while I read this..and may I read it here?" He asked nervous but quite hopeful of the sort of news that were often read in the romance novels, where all was forgiven and forgotten. He did not read them, but he did hear that it was so!

"Thank you - I'm quite comfortable still. Would you mind if I continue with my work while you read?"

Torrington indicated his mapping table.

"Not at all." Willoughby glanced around until he was able to spot a second chair and this he took possession of, carried it a bit further from Torrington so that he might not disturb him, and then sat down.

He carefully pried the envelope open, breaking the seal in the process though he had been tempted to use a heated knife on it, to keep it intact. This however would last for far too long and he did not have the patience.

He began to unfold the letter and then, flipping it over again until he found the beginning of it, he took a final deep breath before he started to read. His hands shook a little still, but were willed into stillness.

The letter started of on neutral grounds, then turned sour. He was being scolded for the immaturity with which he had chosen to simply disappear, and there were other words and phrases used, which had Timothy's heart sink at first. He kept on reading though.

He could almost imagine his grandfather standing there and delivering this lashing. His face probably showed the turmoil that he was feeling inside. But almost as if the storm had slowly abated and clearly written not all in one go, he could see the words become kinder. He held his breath when he began to sense the change, for fear that exhaling might mean this reality would shatter again.

On it went until he could almost have laughed at the very last sentence. It was a threat that he better not do something as foolish again or else. He touched his cheek and felt the skin a touch more moist. It felt as if a great boulder had rolled of his chest and he could inhale again. He better should, for he had held his breath and nearly forgot that he did and now the result was a rather dizzy hussar! A rather dizzy hussar who was drunk from this positive news much more than from wine.

Torrington, who could follow at least some of the letter by the way Willoughby's breathing changed, kept his eyes on his work and tried to concentrate on it and not to listen; he had to admit, though, that he was quite invested in this little family drama and had a hard time forcing his thoughts back to the rather dull task of accounting for the explosives they had used.

When Willoughby seemed to have finished, he kept his back turned, waiting for the other to give a sign that he had himself well in hand again. He supposed it at least made him finish his accounts sooner than he had thought when he had realized that Willoughby had come to celebrate.

Willoughby took a few deep breaths. He wiped at his eyes and cheeks making sure that nothing remained there that he had not noticed earlier. After that he straightened a bit. He cleared his throat and looked at Torrington.

"Well... your investment is safe. The lost son has returned in the good graces of his grandfather." He grinned. "Well.. to a point, he is equally concerned that I make your purchased service not a short lived one....." He stood and stumbled a bit the grinned. Drunk on joy and hapiness for certain. He had not even realised that he had walked all the way to Torrington, nor that he had hugged him - a rather unusual, nearly indecent act for a lord - muttering thank yous and the like. It was a firm embrace, made a little awkward because of their positions as one standing and one sitting behind his desk.

"My grandfather aknowledges my service!"

Somewhat startled, Edward held out his pen, not to accidentally leave ink stains on anything, then after a moment of confusion padded Willoughby awkwardly on the back.

"That is ... good to hear."

He shot a quick glance to the bottle, wondering just how much of the strong wine Willoughby had consumed. Trying to extricate himself from the hug without appearing unfriendly, he pointed out:

"Though you should thank your grandfather for that, not me. My service was but slight."

Willoughby stepped back and looked embarrassed at the slip from decorum, but far from guilty about it. "My grandfather would not have heard of me, nor written to me, had you not intervened." He answered putting the right amount of distance between them again.

He was still grinning though even if the letter had stated that the grandfather expected a letter from him directly and even if it had been quite strict and stern in places. He turned to his glass and filled it a little then barely stopped himself from dancing to release some of the compressed excitement.

"You were the pebble that sets of the avalanche of events, the most important piece." He gazed at the paperwork that Torrington had been working on as if to evaluate how much more he needed to do, to be finished.

"Would you,. if you need any help, assistance, even a writing hand..I can help, sir." His grin grew broader He would have more wine. He would celebrate more, this day was a complete opposite of the past few. Even if he accepted his duties as a trooper eagerly enough, if he did not mind to be a common soldier, his dream had most certainly not been to remain one for ever, nor to have no connection with his family and previous life.

Experience had taught Edward that he would only be checking everything twice if he let somebody else do it, and there was not much he could delegate anyway, so he shook his head.

"Thank you, but I'm afraid I'm stuck with my own report. Although you probably should get used to the fact that you will have to do those from now on as well."

He pointed to a chest where he kept his maps and reference material.

"Since you are a proper officer now - you might want a copy of the map of the area, such as it is, and you could give me that wrapped bundle you will find on top of the papers."

"Yes, sir!" Willoughby would have leaped to his feet, if he had not already been standing. Instead in a flurry of motion, he was beside the chest and had the desired bundle in hand in the next moment. He held it up as if to decide whether it was the one and then walked back to Torrington's desk.

"Here." He said holding it out. His letter was again neatly tucked away in his coat and safe from harm or danger of getting lost. "..Uh reports..." His face fell just a little. "How much paperwork exactly will I have to do?" He should have known that there were certain benefits of being a trooper!

"Never having been a cavalry man, I have not the slightest idea. Less than I do, I would presume, but more than you are doing now."

He didn't take the bundle - a very long, solid object, wrapped in something soft and then in canvas - but motioned for Willoughby to open it.

"I thought you might find this useful."

Willoughby looked quite startled, then with a slow nod turned to the bundle again bringing his hands closer to him. He began to carefully unwrap it, his eyes growing bigger in surprise until he caught himself and forced his expression to be less like a child's and more befitting an officer.

From the bundle he could first catch sight of the sash, the sort that was befitting his regiment and his new rank. An officer's sash that he got, prepared in advance as if Torrington was quite certain in his success. Well, he was not mistaken, that is for sure.

He was finding it quite hard to contain himself again and still the urge to embrace the engineer. He had removed the material carefully from the remaining length and then caressed it, base to end, weighing it and finally unsheating it fully. It was a beautiful thing. Just the right length, well balanced, sharp. He could see the mark of its origin and held himself at bay with the final strands of his willpower.

"This is,..this is too much, .." He spoke and turned to Torrington. "Are you certain that this is.. for me?" He asked still admiring the weapon. The sash needed a proper uniform that was worth it. It too was a very generous gift and made the young cavalry officer most grateful.

The engineer shrugged carelessly, playing down the not unsubstantial amount of money and urgent correspondence with his man of business in Lisbon this gift had necessiated.

"Well, I would imagine the army will want your current weapons back, and as i said, I would rather appreciate it if you were not killed by the French tomorrow. Besides, it is a rather self-serving gift - I'm lacking a constant partner to sharpen my fencing skills."

"I'll make certain that the only thing the French succeed in is failure." He shifted the sword from right to left and back, just getting the feel of it in his hand.

After a moment and with a few good steps back, a careful measurement of distance from things in the tent, height of the tent itself, willoughby did a somewhat practiced salute then lowered his weapon again. "Perfect. You can call me at dawn... or at any time that we might not be on duty." He said quite energetically. "I shant slack nor hide, nor will I protest against it.. and you can most certainly call me at any time when paperwork is the alternative." The last was followed by a cheeky grin. He was half joking of course, but he would not argue if a superior officer required his presence, now would he?

"I would prefer not to call you at dawn exactly - I already got one snub of our esteemed commander for practicing sword fighting at an unconventional hour. But should you feel it compatible with your duty, you usually will find me here after sunrise, unless I am away on some mapping expedition, and I will always be glad to put in an hour of practice."

"Then at sunrise.. or a little after. It will suit me. It is quietest then unless of course we are called to duty or to an early morning march. But should we be, you will be busy with the same anyway so we will both know that we must skip on the practice for that day." He nodded.

"Shall it be then, that I come to your tent and should I see you up, that we withdraw to a more private place, so that we neither disturb the still sleeping, nor are disturbed? And should you be of course still asleep, I may wait as I do not dare send your batman to wake you." He grinned. "Unless it is not that you are as other officers, who feast on the innocent if woken too early?"

He took the glass resting the sword momentarily propped against the chair, He poured himself some wine then with the bottle still in hand, offered to pour more to the engineer.

"If I really should at any point manage to sleep till after sunrise, I beg you not to wake me! You might shamelessly drink my coffee though."

Edward pointed towards the river.

"There are some level patches there that are far away from the tents not to disturb anybody, but still well within the pickets. And the bank is facing towards the east, so that we should have light."

He shook his head, covering his still nearly half full glass with his hand.

"Thank you, but I still have enough."

"I will take you on that word, though I will indeed in due time, provide you with my own, should you come visit." Willoughby promised having drunk his own glass till it was half full.

"That will be a good place." He agreed when explained how and where it would be. "The soonest light touches it, the soonest we may practice." He no longer knew if his merry, warm feeling was caused only by the news or by the wine as well.

"Do you have a lot to work on, until you are done for the day?" He inquired, sitting himself down. He placed the bottle to his left, the sword he lifted again, sash placed in his lap. After a few moments of silence he stood again and carefully began to settle the sash around his waist, tightening it so that it would not slip or undo itself.

Satisfied with his achievement he turned about a few times, looked quite pleased at how it looked, even if the uniform was still lacking the splendor, and then sat back down, briefly again distracted by the glass.

"I mostly have finished my report - what is left is mostly book-keeping. How much explosives we have used, from which supply they were taken, and of course the small matter that one of the artillerymen seems to have broken his toe by dropping a barrel on it while laying the charges. Another half an hour should see it done."

He glanced at the commission papers.

"You might want to inform Captain Vickery of your change in rank, by the way. I think he would prefer to hear it from you, and not through the rumour mill. If he can spare the time, perhaps he might even want to join us for a glass."

"He's broken his toe?" Willoughby winced. "The poor man." He could not imagine having to walk with that injury but then, the man in question probably was spending his time at the surgeons at the moment.

Sitting around while Torrington worked would have been quite awkward. He would have wanted to talk, but then to talk might disturb him, and to not talk would have just looked silly, as if he was overseeing his work. The officer however very soon offered an ideal solution to the problem without just kicking him out.

"Right! I shall inform captain Vickery and in about half an hour or so we will be back here." He decided to leave the bottle there with the glass he had just emptied. The new weapon however he took, deciding to have it with him (and at his hip or well as low as the straps made it) when he visited Vickery.

"..or... should we give you a little more time? " He asked, adjusting his sabre.