Les Prisonniers, 1 June

Not far off, some Englishwoman or another was raising hell over one thing or another. That was always the way with women and, he thought to himself, English women in particular. Something they were not happy about, and what do they do? Make noise. Her accented French, rising in volume, was jarring to the ears. Sounded flat.

He recognized Kerjean with them, looking red. More red than he usually did, in any case. Mouth pressed all flat and shut, looking like he was suffering from some kind of particularly unpleasant maladie. Sure he was, and it was called a bunch of pouting Englishwomen.

He strode the couple of paces it took to meet them. "He can't help it," he shrugged, not really addressing either the women or Kerjean in particular.

The other Frenchman's sudden arrival was startling, and Olivia turned to face him, fully ready to give him a verbal lashing as well. She raised her eyebrows at the sheer size of the man, but still glared up at him, refusing to be intimidated.

"Can't help what?" she snapped. "The apparent lack of honour in the French army?"

He nodded, then. And shrugged, which was his dominant means of expression. He wasn't much phased by the Englishwoman's temper. She was of no consequence to him, and in any case, there wasn't a single name in the book which Fréres hadn't already been called at one point or another. Dishonorable was among the least hostile.

"Sure," he said. If she thought he'd pitch a fit for making a mockery of the French, she had another thing coming to her. Fréres wasn't fond of his side any more than he was of the other, but at least his side hadn't tried to shoot him. Recently.

"We're soldats. We have orders," he explained. That was just the way of things. The order of things.

Jenny simply stared at them all. She was bloody well tired and becoming a bit stupid. She had realized that belatedly when Kerjean had spun around at her insult, and she had flinched thinking that he was going to strike her. "That was a stupid thing to say," she thought. "Get a hold of yourself." Self-preservation was of primary importance, and insulting angry armed men might easily destroy that goal.

"Let it be, Turcat," said Paol wearily. He appreciated what the other man was trying to do, but arguing with the two women would do nothing to ameliorate their plight. If anything it would simply provoke them further.

The soldier's complete resignation took some of the heat out of Olivia's anger. She was tired and sore, and none of this seemed to be helping the situation.

With a sigh, she said, "I suppose you had better lead on. If nothing else, we can give your officers pieces of our minds."

Jenny shivered, suddenly growing chilly with her weariness. "Might as well get it over," she agreed.

“Took you long enough!” Bourque, Jourdain’s batman called, hurrying over to the small group. He looked the two women up and down appraisingly, then smirked. “The tent.” His English was heavily accented, spoken in an overloud voice and accompanied by exaggerated gestures. “You go in the tent.” Waving away Paol and Turcat, he began attempting to herd the women in the desired direction. “The clothes. The clothes are in the tent. Wear the clothes.”

"I want wine," Jenny demanded, cutting him off. "Vin rouge, immediately. That will be all." And she waved her hand dismissively as she moved into the tent.

Olivia followed Jenny into the tent, purposely not even sparing a glance for the batman.

She turned her attention to the clothes to which they had been directed. There were two dresses laid out, both simple but fairly lovely. Olivia frowned at them.

"I'm a little worried to know why a French officer would have women's clothing at the ready like this," she said. "Where on earth do you imagine they came from?"

Jenny too frowned at them. They were indeed quite pretty, much nicer than the old thing that she was wearing. Still, that was no doubt what any camp follower was supposed to think, not counting fine ladies like Mrs. Graham. It would have been lovely to wear and perhaps keep such a pretty gown, but Jenny doubted they would have been given the chance to do more than disrobe from their own garments.

"I don't know, but he won't have them for much longer," she said with a smirk. The obsequious grinning batman had brought them a small decanter of red wine. Jenny poured a little into two glasses and handed one to Mrs. Graham. "Your good health," she said, swallowing the contents of her own glass, and then she upended the bottle over both of the gowns.

Laughing for the first time that day, Olivia raised her glass.

"Cheers," she said, and quickly drank her own wine. No reason to make anything any easier on the French officers than it had to be.

"We could tear them too," Jenny said, eying the dresses thoughtfully. "Though that might be a bit much. The trick is to avoid making them outright angry, vengeful. Damn it all."

Angry, vengeful officers would certainly not be a good addition to their evening. Olivia nodded.

"Spilled wine can easily be considered an accident," she said. "Outright destruction, less so."

Not that she honestly believed that the Frenchman would buy the excuse that they had managed to spill a nearly full decanter of wine onto the dresses. But, it would be difficult to prove otherwise, and it gave them excuse to stay in their own clothing.

Jenny nodded. She scooped the dresses up in her arm and dropped them on the floor before dropping herself onto the cot. "May as well bide our time," she said, flopping back and covering her eyes with her arm. That throbbing in her head was making itself known by now, and drinking wine probably did not help. "Maybe they'll forget us," she added quietly.

"Perhaps," Olivia agreed, not believing it.

She bit her lip, looking over at Jenny. Concern was not something that she expressed well or easily.

"Are you quite alright, Miss Ross?" she asked. And then rather wanted to roll her eyes at herself. Given the situation, it was potentially the stupidest question she could have asked.

Jenny snorted. If she had not been feeling such pain behind her eyes, she would have laughed. "Why shouldn't I be all right?" she asked with a weak attempt at levity. "Tell him we spilled the wine and ask for some more. And then I'll be sick when the officer comes." She moved her arm and ran her hand through her hair, tugging at the very roots. "Let's get it over with."

Olivia sighed, sitting in a chair. "I feel that we've still a minute or so to wait, Miss Ross," she said.

She did her best to offer a cheeky smile. "Their reaction to the dresses will be something to see, won't it?"

Jenny smiled slightly. "Yes. It's strange, those dresses." She was quiet a moment, wondering where they had come from and why they were there. Then she sighed, deciding it did not really matter. "Maybe they really are having a dinner. Though why they should care how we dress is a puzzle. What sort of women were they expecting? Not ladies like you." She sat up and frowned. "I'm trying to think if you should tell them you're an officer's wife or not." The frown made her head ache further, and she rubbed at her eyebrows.

"I'm not sure," Olivia replied, frowning as well. On one hand, it might cause them to treat her and Jenny with more respect. On the other... well, it was not unheard of to ransom officer's wives. Glancing at her companion, and thinking on what their expectations for the evening were, it probably would be worth risking.

"I think I might," she said after a moment. She looked to the entrance of the tent. "I wonder when they are coming back."

Jenny did not answer but sat up and looked at her. "Do you have a maid?" she asked abruptly.

"A maid?" Olivia asked, puzzled by the sudden switch in conversation. "No, I do not. Why?"

"Oh," Jenny answered, lying back on the cot again. "Never mind. I was just thinking." She did not elaborate, because her movements had caused her head to throb even worse. Instead she closed her eyes and lay very still.

If he didn't know better, Jérémie would hazard a guess that Sous-lieutenant Leclerc was out of his mind. The officer had been acting strangely all day but it was only this evening that Jérémie paid any close mind to it. His presence outside this tent was down to Leclerc countermanding his own orders of a half-hour previous.

Thus, instead of resting by the guttering little fire on which his mess' dinner was cooking, Jérémie was now responsible for fetching two Englishwomen to dinner - which he doubted was the real occasion - with two lieutenants - who he doubted would be the only officers present. A red-faced Paol was idling nearby and Jérémie spared him a nod.

"Leclerc's sent me for 'em," he told the other soldier in an undertone. That brief explanation ought to be enough. Then, steeling himself, he ducked through the tent flap.

Francois managed to make his way over close to the tent where the English women were being held, him being a most curious sort. It seems the soldiers were to move them on some officer's order. He figured just in case there was a disagreement or misunderstanding maybe his ability to speak English might come in handy.

Alright....that and he wanted to see if any of 'em were pretty.