18th May - Camp at Avelãs.

"Thank you very much, Captain Hunter, sir," Thornton said as he entered at last, setting down the pie on the nearest flat surface. "These kitchens tend to make the house to get so hot. Very sensible of them to put the kitchens outside. Have you supped tonight, sir? I don't reckon Himself will be eating this all, and he didn't say nothing about guests."

George glanced at the stove, and saw the pan empty. 'Erm, Thornton, I rather think Sir Arthur might not eat much of that pie at all, if what I suspect happened is true.' George was starting to look embarrassed. 'There was stew in that pan that was going to be my dinner, until I had to, er, rush out. I told Colonel Brandon, who was seeing about Sir Arthur's dinner, that I was not going to eat the stew...'

Thorton's face fell. "Colonel Brandon seeing about Sir Arthur's dinner?" He pulled off his apron with a snap. "Well I never. Can't a man be let to do his job anymore?"

Colonel Brandon wrote:"I certainly am at a loss of what to make of his intentions sometimes too.” He started to eat the stew, dipping the bread into it to make it less dry.
“But I would like him to return rather sooner than later and just do his duties as the rest of us.” He shook his head slightly in thought. “I don't know why that seems to be so difficult for him at times when at others he does what is expected of him.”
He spoke more in wonder then in anger now, seriously trying to figure out what made Hunter behave like he did.

"He lacks consistancy," Wellesley said, turning over another sheet of paper. The stew wasn't too bad; a little too much onion though for his taste. "And by that I mean in every aspect of his character. Were he to settle down he could be quite valuable, certainly as a field messanger; no one would be able to intercept him and live. There is a demon behind those eyes... Any more reports in as to the French disposition?"

What he had here was several weeks old, and though detailed fresher information would help to build upon what he already knew.

'Apparently not, when Sir Arthur is hungry. Maybe he will have the space to have a slice or too, if not will it keep until tomorrow lunch, Thornton? I'm sure he'll be glad of it when we are on the march.'

Thornton grumbled indistinctly. "Well I'll go up and ask him. Don't suppose you'd lend a hand with the door again, would you, sir?"

George paused, thinking. He might have have dealt with things that were troubling him, but were they hidden as deep down as wished them to be? I can't avoid people forever. 'Of course, Thornton. Shall we?' George held the kitchen door open.

Sir Arthur Wellesley wrote:
"He lacks consistancy," Wellesley said, turning over another sheet of paper. The stew wasn't too bad; a little too much onion though for his taste. "And by that I mean in every aspect of his character. Were he to settle down he could be quite valuable, certainly as a field messanger; no one would be able to intercept him and live. There is a demon behind those eyes... Any more reports in as to the French disposition?"

What he had here was several weeks old, and though detailed fresher information would help to build upon what he already knew.

Brandon nodded at the General's words. It was true, Hunter would be a good officer if he would be willing to dedicate himself fully to his work.
He looked up at Sir Arthur's question. “No, sir. At least none that I know of.” He sighed. “What do we have so far?”

There was a knock at the door.

"So far it seems that Soult has no immediate plans to start further south," Wellesley turned to the relevant page, squinting to make out Stephen's small and cramped hand. Padstowe's handwriting was so much easier to read... "And that they believe our progress to be slower than it actually is, which can be nothing but an advantage. Re-enforcements of about 11,000 were being sent from Madrid - a priliminary figure only, mind, and knowing how strapped Joseph is he'll keep a few of those from himself - but unless some tremendous misfortune should befall us we will be in Oporto well before they cross the boarder - Yes, who is it?"

It was Thornton who replied: 'It's Thornton, Sir Arthur, I have your dinner.'

Wellesley looked at the closed door with astonishment.

"I don't believe it!" he muttered, the tiniest hint of anger entering his voice.

Hunter held the door open for Thornton, and the man entered with the pie held firmly in his hands. His expression darkened somewhat as he saw that the General has not waited for him to bring his dinner.

"And where have you been?" Wellesley growled as the cook stepped over the threshold. "I looked for you earlier, but nobody had a damned clue as to where you were!"

'I was in the kitchen, sir. The outside kitchen. Making this pie for you, sir.'

Brandon stared at Thornton. Where had that man come from suddenly? He looked from him to Hunter to Sir Arthur, feeling slightly embarrassed with that awkward situation.

Thornton gave their stew a doleful glare. "But maybe you won't be needing it no more. Anything else that I can get for you, sir?"

"Not now, no. It still does not explain why you could not be found. You must have been an hour at least cooking that - why could no one find you in that time?"

'Perhaps, they came into the kitchen as I went to out to get some water. Or maybe they did not bother looking there at all.' The last sentenced was muttered under his nose. Now, what was he going to do with the pie?

"Was the Mess cook with you?"

'He was at first, sir. But, I think he went out for more supplies when he realised they sold him a bad cut of meat.' Thornton glanced down on the pie in his hands forlornly. 'Now, sir, are you sure you won't have some pie?'

George shifted from one foot to another in the doorway, and stared resolutely at the wall.

"No, Thornton, I do not think I shall. But take it down to the front parlour to serve to the Mess there - as their own cook seems to have been delayed we might as well use that to start them."

He was somewhat surprised to see Hunter lurking just outside, and turned his attention on him.

"What is it, Hunter?" he enquired?

Thorton frowned and shook his head. 'Very good, sir.' George stepped aside to let the man pass into the corridor, and closed his hand around the door handle. 'Nothing, sir. Thornton asked me to help him with the doors, what with his hands being full.'

Brandon still did not know what to say. Hunter had returned from his ride quite soon, he thought as he watched him and Thornton turn to leave.

"I see. Very well."

Wellesley bent his head to the papers again, then paused.

"Hunter," he called before the man had time to move very far. "Are you at liberty at the moment?"