Dinner at Vickery's

Had Captain Padstowe been at home in England the invitation to dinner at seven would have been taken slightly differently to one given here in the army. At home 'dinner at seven' would have meant seven for half past seven, and so the correct time to arrive would have been seven fifteen. In the army, however, 'dinner at seven' usually meant that would be the time the food was put on the table, and so the Exploring Officer duely knocked on the front door of Captain Vickery's lodgings at a quarter to seven, for once having made an effort with his dress; being in his best coat, hair groomed neatly into place, sword and accoutrements polished (he'd paid the stable boy half a crown for his efforts), though he had been unable to persuade himself to part with his comfortable trousers, and so wore a new pair of those beneath his riding boots - they too polished.

The authoritative knock at the door made Cotton jump, even though he'd been expecting it.

He opened the door to find Captain Padstowe on the doorstep precisely as expected. "Evenin', sir," he said, straightening to attention as he stepped back to allow the officer in. He was looking very smart, though Cotton gave a private grin at seeing he was still wearing trousers.

Padstowe probably knew his way up anyway; it wasn't really all that long since he'd left, but Cotton was determined to do things properly. "This way, sir," he said, turning to lead the man up to Vickery's room.

Padstowe smiled.

"Good evening, Cotton," he said and followed the rifleman up to Vickery's room. He had changed his dressing and sling this evening, so he was feeling very satisfied with his presentation. It was not very often he had the opportunity to make an effort for social occasions, and he was looking forward to enjoying the evening, short though it would probably be.

Cotton knocked on Vickery's door before pushing it open.

"Captain Padstowe, sir," he said and allowed the redcoat Captain to enter before closing the door and heading back down to the kitchen.

It wasn't that he begrudged Vickery having someone round for dinner. It was merely the fact that he'd never been an indoor servant, never had any experience at waiting table properly, and knew it showed. Occasions such as this always made him nervous, worried that he'd make a mistake or have a sudden attack of clumsiness, or something like that.

Vickery stood as Cotton announced Padstowe before withdrawing.

"Captain. I'm glad you could come," he said, showing Padstowe to a chair. Vickery had made an effort to smarten his uniform up, as had the redcoat officer, despite his best uniform being packed away with the baggage in preparation for leaving in the morning. "I must apologise in advance for the service; Cotton gets rather nervous when I have guests to dinner."

"An honour, sir," Padstowe said, shaking Vickery's hand. He removed his hat and placed it on a side table before taking his seat. "And I would be glad of any service; it is not often I get the chance to dine in company."

"I rather suspected that would be the case," Vickery said. "May I offer you a glass of something? There's a rather good wine Cotton managed to scrounge from somewhere, though I didn't ask where."

"Thank you."

Padstowe waited as Vickery filled his glass and then passed it to him. He raised it to the young man.

"Your very good health, captain."

"And yours, Captain."

He studied the older man a little. He'd made the effort to smarten himself up; and it would have been quite a bit more effort than usual, as his arm was in a sling. "I hope that doesn't hurt too much," he said, indicating the sling. He wondered how the other man had come to hurt himself.

"Some soreness, nothing more," Padstowe said dismissively. It had been feeling a lot better recently - probably because he was not currently haring about the countryside seeking to avoid errant Frenchmen. "The doctor says I should be able to start using it again in a couple of days. I was rather fortunate."

"i should imagine you would need both arms, as an Exploring Officer," Vickery said. "Although, on the other hand, I would not think you would get close enough to the French to have to fight them off. At least, you wouldn't willingly get that close to the French."

"Not in my current capacity, no," Padstowe said. The fact tht he had got that close to the French with only one useful arm was neither here of there. "Though I have been able to master mounting and riding with one arm, so I can get about if needs be."

The next thing for him to do would be to master eating with one arm, but Cotton had insisted on doing a stew... "It's jest about the one thing I know I can do prop'ly, sir!"... so hopefully it wouldn't be too hard.

"It must have quite tricky to do so, the first time, though," Vickery replied, wondering how he would cope if the same thing happened to him.

"Trickier had I not known how to go about the thing," Padstowe said. "But there was a friend of mine, Joseph Smith, who lost his arm to a cannon ball in '03. I always remebered that he used to mount not by pulling himself up with his arms, but by propelling himself up with his legs - his hand only there as balance."

The captain gave an embarrassed smile.

"It was awkward when I first tried it, but it has become easier with practice."

It was at this point that Cotton put his head round the door again. "Will I serve dinner now, sir?" he asked. There was still that nervous look on his face; he didn't want to undo the good opinion Captain Padstowe had formed of him, and he was terrified he would drop something, or spill something.

"Well, practice makes perfect, as they say," Vickery said, looking up as Cotton asked about serving dinner.

"If you would, please, Cotton," he replied. "Shall we adjourn to the table, Captain?"

Padstowe rosed and followed Vickery, his glass in his hand, and sat where it was indicated he should.

"I hope you will forgive Cotton if he makes a mistake; he's very keen but has almost no experience of being a footman. He told me before I hired him that he'd never been an indoor servant."

Cotton pushed the door open, entering backwards at first as he had both hands full. Well, he wasn't about to kick the door open, was he? Turning round as he came in, he brought two plates over and laid them on the table in front of the officers before stepping back to wait.

"I am sure he will perform admirably," Padstowe said, an amused smile coming to his lips. He caught the look of nervousness on Cotton's face and wondered how such a competant lad could doubt his ability.

Vickery adjusted his plate. Cotton hadn't stinted himself when it came to serving. Each plate was full almost to overflowing with a plain, though no doubt delicious, stew. "Would you like a spoon, Captain?" he asked courteously, mindful of his guest's injury.

"If you would not mind."

He would be able to spear most of the meat with a fork, but that would mean he would miss most of the broth.

He smiled. "Of course not. If you don't mind, I'll do the same." He turned to the waiting Rifleman. "Cotton, could you bring a couple of spoon up, otherwise we are likely to leave this half-eaten."

"Yes, sir."

He left the room, wondering why he hadn't thought of that. After all, he ate most of his own meals with a spoon. But then, he wasn't an officer, was he?

It wasn't long before he was back and laying a spoon down next to each plate. "D'you want anythin' else, sir?"

Vickery looked enquiringly at Padstowe. "Is there anything else you need?"