Les Prisonniers, 1 June

Jenny heard and recognized the voice. So they had brought her to see "the cripple" after all. "Those must be the prisoners they mentioned," she said in English to Olivia, letting her voice carry.

"Indeed," Olivia replied, following suit. "Well, Miss Ross, it would seem we are in the right place."

She had heard the English voice, sounding irritable, and hoped that they had made the right decision. Not that it made much difference by that point anyway. She turned back to their French escort, putting her hands on her hips. "Shall we proceed, gentlemen?"

Despite the weighty blanket of weariness, Newbury sat up as quickly as he could when he heard a distinctly familiar female voice from the same direction as the French chattering. His interest was checked somewhat when a second woman spoke up, but the inclusion of Miss Ross was enough for him.

Were they coming here? That was stupid. Of course they were. Oh hell.

"Ain't no such thing as a 'right place' with this lot," Newbury called out, wishing he felt up to getting to his feet.

"Noisy rabble, aren't they," Jenny commented, her French deserting her while she looked around. There. There was Newbury on the ground. She could see his face by the light of the campfire nearby. Then, speaking to Blanchard in French once more, she said lightly, "Ah, it's him, yes, the man with the badly leg?"

"That's him," Jérémie confirmed, having looked toward the outspoken greenjacket. He had recognised the irritated voice easily enough anyway.

"Well, take us to him," Olivia said impatiently. "We have come here to see him, yes?"

Jenny carefully stepped over and past the other men on the ground until she was standing above Newbury. She looked down at him and offered her hand without stooping. "Well, private. I am Miss Ross, the lady whom you aided in the baggage. I want to thank you for your assistance."

Jérémie shrugged. "That's what you said you wanted, anyway," he told her, then watched the light-haired one make her way over to the grumpy crippled greenjacket. What connection did these two have, anyway?

What in the hell sort of talk was that? Newbury didn't understand. He knew perfectly well who she was. Unless she thought him so thick as to need reminding?

"Right," he muttered, reaching up after a hesitation to accept the offered hand. "Seems you done all right for it, considering."

"Yes, thank you," she answered primly, though she squeezed his hand. "Well enough, though Mrs. Graham and I are on our way to a rather dubious officers' 'dinner.' French officers can be as bad as provosts, so they say." She looked hard at him. "Are they treating you well, Private - what was your name?"

Dining with officers. Somehow, Newbury wasn't terribly surprised. If it wasn't the Guards, it was the French. It made him feel rather low.

"Newbury," he replied dully, heartened at least by the quick squeeze of his hand. "It ain't so bad, I reckon, Miss."

"Good. Have you seen a surgeon? I know how your leg was injured. I should very much hate a repeat of that circumstance."

At that, Newbury shrugged. "No." He didn't trust these Frog surgeons and he'd not seen Mister Todd since the morning.

"But it don't matter so much, Miss."

Jenny cast her eyes over the other men nearby. "I expect you have friends here to look after you, yes?"

He shrugged again but did not reply. Friends. That was a relative term, wasn't it?

Jenny frowned. She could see for herself that there were other riflemen nearby, even recognized some of their faces. They were sitting a ways apart from Newbury, probably because he preferred to sulk alone. "My maid Palmer is with me, a brave and sturdy sort of girl," she said. "It's a comfort to have someone familiar nearby, especially since her husband and my lieutenant are so far away. Which is just as well. You know how devilish people can use one person against another. I'm just glad they've not harmed the women, yet."

Out of all that, Newbury only really heard the words my lieutenant. He should have expected that, he supposed. After all. What was a Rifleman next to an officer, anyway?

"Aye." It was all he could safely say, really. This was strange and not a little confusing. He was glad to see Jenny, of course, but he wasn't at all sure why she was here, with a companion and French escorts. And why was she talking as though she was a proper lady?

Jenny sighed. The Palmer brothers had looked up at her words, and she spared them only the briefest glance. She could never remember which was which, but it hardly mattered.

The throbbing had intensified and her hands were sweating. She needed to get out of there.

"Well, goodbye. I'll tell your captain of your gallant behavior next time I see him. Unless he's a prisoner too."

Olivia frowned, watching Jenny talk to the green-coated soldier. This was dragging out rather long, and a couple of the French guards were beginning to give them curious looks. The last thing any of them needed was to gain the suspicion of their captors.

Not bothering to look at the three soldier who had escorted them, Olivia made her way over to where Jenny was standing over the injured Rifleman.

"Is all well here, Miss Ross?" she asked, keeping her tone light. "I hope you have had time to extend your gratitude properly."

His captain. Newbury's blood chilled and he looked away. "No," he said tonelessly. "He's not a prisoner."

The other woman approached then and anything else Newbury might have wished to say dissolved entirely from his mind. This whole situation was too strange.

"Best not to keep your officers waitin'," Newbury added with a deliberate blandness in his tone.

Jenny barely noticed Newbury's parting words. Her skin was clammy and her mouth was watering. She must get away, somewhere out of view of all these men. She acknowledged Olivia only by pushing past her, blindly stepping and tripping on the men on the ground as she rushed away from the fires to a darker more private spot.

While he could not understand the words being spoken, Jérémie did sense a particular unease on the part of the greenjacket. This struck him as odd. Didn't the man appreciate having visitors, especially since one of them was the woman he had spoken of earlier?

When the light-haired woman abruptly stood and hurried away, Jérémie was concerned, without knowing fully why. He made a move to follow her, pausing only to give a word to the other two to keep an eye on on the second woman.

The sound of retching reached his ears after a few steps and he halted at once, unwilling to intrude.

Her sudden departure left Newbury feeling bewildered. Had he said something stupid, again? Or maybe it was something he hadn't said but wasn't aware of not saying. He didn't know and that frustrated him.

When one of the Frenchmen set off after her, however, his confusion gave way at once to indignation. "Hold on there," he grunted, forcing his leaden limbs to stir. Getting to his feet was no easy proposition but he managed it. "What're you about, toady?"

Olivia hurried after Jenny, concerned in spite of herself, and winced in sympathy at the sounds of the her retching. Expressing concern was not by any means Olivia's strong suit, but vomiting was always a miserable experience. Kneeling by Jenny, she rubbed awkwardly at the other woman's back.

Frowning over at where Blanchard had stopped, she snapped, "Go and fetch her some water!"

Jenny winced at the other woman's touch and pushed her away with a shaking hand. "I'm fine," she whispered in protest. "I just want some water."