With 3 Coy, 5/60th Rifles

"You wouldn't think that he's only been in my service since just before Christmas," Vickery said, wondering why it was easier to talk about Cotton than anything else. Maybe it was because they'd already been talking about him. "He made himself quite indispensable and I have no idea how I managed before taking him on."

"It is always quite often that way when one finds a good servant," Padstowe said, taking another sip of his brandy. He was starting to feel slightly steadier now. "Cotton strikes me as a useful sort to have around."

"He is. He does chatter a bit, and seems to constantly apologise, even for things that aren't his fault, but I never yet heard of a man being hanged for excessive cheerfulness."

Padstowe was looking a more normal colour. Vickery hadn't mean to embarrass the man; he had just stated his honest opinion, but he had been a little taken aback to find an officer going out of his way to help a private soldier.

"Oh I don't know," Padstowe said, throwing a seemingly casual glance over the paperwork on Vickery's desk. "Were he to be excessively cheerful around the Beau at the wrong moment he might yet find himself dancing the Hemp Fandango."

"Well, the Beau is one of a kind, of course." Would this be a good moment to change the subject? "I have heard - who hasn't - that there is something of a history between the Beau and Lieutenant Sharpe."

He could believe it, too; from what little he'd seen of the man, he was a tough, competent soldier, confident in his capabilities. But how easy was he going to be to work with?

"There is," Padstowe said. He filed away a few details from the open accounts and Punishment books for future reference. "Years ago, when the Beau was in India, Sharpe was a sergeant in the 33rd. At the Battle of Assaye Beau was unhorsed amongst the enemy and Sharpe was at hand; saved his life. As a reward Sharpe got a field commission and a telescope."

Here Padstowe smiled.

"A very nice telescope with the words "In Gradititude. AW. September 23rd 1803" on a small brass plaque set into the woodwork. It's his most treasured possession."

"I will be sure not to steal it from him, then. He must be a fierce opponent, when roused."

Vickery somehow couldn't imagine the General unbending enough to offer anyone a gift, let alone giving a telescope to a sergeant. Or an ex-sergeant, whichever one was the case at the time.

"He strikes me as being fiercely independent, and rather unwilling to bend to authority," Vickery said. "I would rather work with him than against him, and in conjunction with his men rather than in command of them."

It was an unusual position that the two Rifles officers were being placed in, and Vickery did not want to command Sharpe's men, and find himself being resented by them as a usurper.

"Sharpe will bend to authority is he thinks it is competant authority." Padstowe took another mouthful of drink and then drained his glass. "Which I suspect is why the Beau has put him with you. He knows Sharpe, knows him to be a damned good fighter - one of his best, I've heard him say - but too independant and too 'unofficerly' to be put in a Line regiment. Not on his own, anyway. So what can he do with thirty-seven riflemen? He can't send them back to the 95th where Sharpe would be relegated to Quartermaster again, he needs every sharpshooter he's got, which is why he decided on you; Rifles with Rifles, albeit a different regiment. It's awkward for you, Sharpe and the Beau, but that is war for you."

"I'm sure we will all do our best, although I can't ever say I have served with an officer raised from the ranks. War makes strange bedfellows, however, and even if we do things a little differently from how the 95th do them, it won't be as great a difference as being with the Line and expected to do things their way."

And they had been attached to the 62nd, and were only going to be allowed to do things the Rifles' way if it didn't interfere with discipline in the redcoat ranks. Not an easy task at all.

"I would rather treat Sharpe's men and mine as two companies that happen to work together under the senior officer, than one large company. And from what I have seen and from what you say, I suspect that is Sharpe's own preference as well."

He really didn't want to have to forge a relationship if one participant in it were soured by resentment.

"That shall probably prove acceptable to him," Padstowe said, fiddling thoughtfully with his empty glass. "Sharpe does not mean to be awkward, but he sometimes cannot help being. He is a good sort though; a valuable man to have on your side. He's been in the army since he was sixteen, was fighting long before that and I suppose never will stop fighting."

He paused for a moment.

"I suppose he's what I'd call the Eternal Soldier; he fights because that's what he's always done and all he ever will do. Were he born French I suspect he'd be fighting for Bonaparte with as much enthusiasm as he fights for the Beau." He gave an amused snort. "I count our blessings that he was born English!"

"Heaven help him if we ever get to an end of this war with France, then," Vickery said lightly. He noticed Padstowe fiddling with his glass. "Would you like some more brandy? Or - Cotton has been here for five minutes, so there will be tea, if you'd prefer. I think that man could find tea in the middle of the desert, sometimes."

Tea? He had only thought to stay for one drink, but it was a comfortable seat he was sitting on, and he was as weak-willed as any true addict.

"A cup of tea would be very nice, thank you - that is if I am not imposing."

"Of course you're not. It has been a while since I last had such an interesting conversation with anybody, and you look as though you could do with a bit of a rest."

He crossed to the door again. "Cotton, could we have two cups of tea in here, please?"

There was an answering call from somewhere in the direction of the house's kitchen, and Vickery returned to his seat.

"There are times when I miss having a bell-pull," he said. "Even if that does mean twice as much running around for the servants, and hot drinks getting to you barely lukewarm."

Two cups of tea? If that meant Captain Padstowe was staying a little longer, Cotton didn't mind. He filled two cups from the kettle, added sugar to one and milk to both - they would be a long way from any regular supply of milk on the march - stirred them and took them upstairs to Vickery's room.

He pushed the door open carefully. "Here y'are, sir," he said, putting Vickery's cup down in front of him.

"I didn't know if you wanted sugar or not, sir," he said, turning to Padstowe. "I can go and get some if you want."

"Well, I do not know if I could call my conversation interesting..."

He smiled briefly as Cotton put the tea down in front of him.

"No thank you, Cotton; I prefer mine without sugar. But yes, bell-pulls are a luxury I miss as well. Halves the amount of shouting going on about the place."

"D'you want anythin' else, sir?" he asked, looking from one to the other. He hoped that Padstowe had had his promised chat with Vickery; he couldn't think why else the redcoat officer would be visiting.

It was not usually the guest's place to say so, so Padstowe looked across to Vickery with the usual blank expression that indicated that he personally did not require anything.

"No, that will be all for now, Cotton. Just make sure everything's packed ready for tomorrow's march."

Cotton grinned and left, closing the door behind him.

"Knowing him, everything was probably packed this morning. Three times. I hope the tea's to your liking; he does make it overly strong sometimes."

"No, no, quite pleasant. I'm used to far stronger," He smiled again. "Usually laced with gunpowder."

"I think that's the secret ingredient he can't believe officers should be allowed to have. He keeps his tea supply and mine apart religiously. Not to mention somehow obtaining sugar. He'll be most upset if I have to revert to the smouch he and his fellows drink, once on the march."

"I think some of them must believe officers are of some separate species," Padstowe said, chuckling a little as he took a sip of the tea. It really was rather good. "One which can't possibly do anything for themselves or exist on the same food as they."

"Well, of course we can't. We might catch something." He smiled. "He seems to like you, though." There was a story there, somewhere, but he wouldn't go prying into other people's business.

Padstowe shrugged with his good shoulder.

"Well, he did thank me for defending Williams, although I told him it was my duty to do so."

Which although it was not the whole truth may go some way to explaining it. In fact Padstowe was fairly puzzled as to why the young rifleman seemed to like him; though being a Kentish Man, though probably in his favour, could not account for it all.

Why Padstowe and not one of Williams' own officers? This just got more and more interesting, although Vickery accepted he would probably never learn the whole story.

"If he likes you, he's made his mind up and there's nothing more to say on the matter. He'll do pretty much anything you ask of him, so long as it doesn't conflict with the interests of his mates. Things are very black and white for Cotton, and you're on the right side."

"I'm relieved to hear it!" Padstowe laughed. "Though I don't imagine I shall try to poach him from you; useful though he might be I prefer to take care of myself."