Lisbon: Officer's Mess

"Typical. We come to kick the French out of their country and they can't even give us decent wine."

He tried to reign his curiosity in, before giving up. "So what's the difference between wine and sherry, then?"

There was a startled choking noise from the officer of the 60th next to Sharpe, and Padstowe gave the man a hostile glare before explaining.

"Sherry is fortified with brandy after fermentation; makes it stronger. Though I would really like to find some decent port. Maybe later on..."

Sharpe managed to ignore the officer sitting next to him, but he had no idea how. Anyway, it wasn't his fault that he didn't know his knee from his elbow when it came to wine. Apart from knowing what tasted good and what didn't, of course.

He knew the 60th's officer a little, and respected him as a good soldier. Shame his manners in the Mess weren't as good.

"Port? The stuff they make in Oporto?" he asked, hazarding a guess.

"That's right. The best is said to be made by an English family, the Savages; a very wealthy tribe indeed. Maybe if I'm lucky I might find a bottle or two in the coming months."

"Let's hope you're lucky then. Be nice to taste somethin' proper-like, instead of this rubbishy stuff."

"Amen to that!" Padstowe mumbled, taking another sip of his glass before lapsing into silence again.

"Have you heard from the General yet?" he asked after a while.

"Me? No. What would he want to talk to me about?" Sharpe tried another mouthful of food. "He's the General, and me? I'm only a Lieutenant."

"Oh, I was just wondering," said Padstowe carelessly. He reached inside his jacket pocket and produced a small seal letter, handing it to Sharpe. "He asked me to give you this."

Sharpe blinked in surprise.

"I'm sorry, are you sure you heard him right? You haven't got the wrong man, I mean?"

What in Heaven's name would the General write him a letter for? It didn't seem the sort of thing Wellesley would do, take notice of a Lieutenant, and one promoted from the ranks at that.

"Quite clearly. It even has your name on the front cover."

(OOC: You can make up what's in it - Padstowe hasn't the slightest idea.)

Sharpe might not have known everything about manners and etiquette and stuff, but he knew enough not to open private mail at the dinner table. "Thanks," he said, awkward again now.

(OOC: I'll invent something and probably post it in Despatches. If it turns out 'shareable...')

Padstowe could not help but feel a little disappointment as Sharpe put the letter away in his coat pocket. He had half hoped that Sharpe would open the missive immediately, therefore making it possible for him to enquire about the nature of the contents - but it seemed for now he must control his curiosity and be patient; he would find out somehow sooner or later. Taking up his fork again he returned to poking his fish.

"Have you come across any of the 33rd?"

The remainder of the transports had landed the rest of the regiment that afternoon, but having been engaged with the General for the most of the day Padstowe had not yet seen any of the men; nor did there seem to be any of their officers in the mess tonight.

They'd landed already, had they? Sharpe had been prepared for them, but hadn't yet seen any of them to speak to.

"No, not yet." He wasn't sure whether he wanted to, even thought there were likely enough to be few of his old mates still serving with the regiment. It would be too much to hope for that Hakeswill would have left - or been killed - of course. He wondered if Garrard was still with them.

"Hm."

Well, that answered his question.

"You gentlemen seem very gloomy this evening."

Padstowe started slightly and looked up to see that Hogan had turned away from his other neighbours to the two of them. A slight reddish hue about his nose and cheeks showed that the Engineer had already drunk quite a bit.

"Sir?"

"Gloomy, sir?" He didn't think he'd been serious enough to be described as 'gloomy' with any accuracy. "We were just talkin', sir. That's all."

"That's as may be, but you're looking just a mite peeved, Richard. And you too, Jonathan my boy. You do know the fish is dead already and you don't have to kill it yourself?"

Padstowe looked down at his plate, for the first time fully aware of the mess he had been making of his dinner. He coloured slightly and hurriedly took a mouthful. Unsurprisingly it was cold.

Sharpe laid his knife and fork down and picked up his wine. If he was going to be charged an arm and a leg every time he ate in the Mess, he might as well enjoy himself.

"The 33rd are here and I'm tryin' to avoid thinkin' about them," he said eventually. He poked a bit more at his own plateful and took another mouthful.

"Oh, so it's not you being mightily peeved about your best shot losing out to a laddie of the 60th today, then?" the Major jibed.

Padstowe avoided looking at Sharpe and chewed on another piece of fish.

"If Hagman lost, the lad must be good," Sharpe said, privately wondering how Hagman had lost and whether the lad was as good as he seemed. It could have been just a fluke, of course, but then again, it could simply be that the Rifleman from the 60th was a good shot. And Dan Hagman wasn't one to bear grudges, anyway.

Something at the back of his mind clciked and Padstowe looked up, suddenly interested.

"Wait, the 60th? Tell me it wasn't the same lad as ran into me this morning?"

"I think it could have been," Sharpe said, reaching for a roll from the bread basket. He could hardly fail to notice the officer on his other side turn towards him.

"One of my men ran into you?" he said, leaning forward to address Padstowe. "Not literally, I hope?"

Padstowe silently cursed himself for being so careless. It was a sign of how distracted he was; but still, it was a shockingly bad mistake.

"Not quite, sir," he lied. "The poor lad was sent to find me and lost his footing as he came around the corner - slipped on something undesirable. Managed to right himself before crashing into me, though."

Satisfied, the officer of the 60th returned to his meal and his own conversation.

Sharpe lowered his voice conspiratorially as he spoke to Padstowe. "Economical with the truth, aren't you? And I think it was the same lad."

"Not economical enough," Padstowe muttered darkly. "That was foolish of me, dropping the lad in it like that. Especially as i had decided to let the incident go."

Besides, he thought. It's my job to be economical with the truth.

"I'm sure it's fine. You didn't give his name or anything, after all. And he won't do it again in a hurry."