Dinner at Vickery's

"My Company will be marching with the 2nd Division, presumably scouting ahead of the 62nd, to whom we are attached, as are Lieutenant Sharpe and his men." He hoped that would be the case, anyway; he wasn't sure how well he and his men would react if they had to march with the redcoats.

"I daresay you will go off scouting again. One man can go where even a company of greenjackets can't go."

"Perhaps." Padstowe took a swig of his wine. "It all depends on the outcome of the campaign. But for now Bethany and I shall be happily trotting behind the gold lace."

"Bethany? Your horse?"

Vickery had his own horse, which he would ride on the march, although he fought on foot, as befit a Rifles officer.

"You know, when I acquired Brandy, Cotton very nearly swore at me."

"Why so?"

The concept of Cotton swearing at anything or anyone in a passion seemed a foreign one.

It had been amusing at the time, and was more amusing now. "He was a farm labourer, and while he was used to horses, they'd been farm horses. Suffolk Punches, I understand. And while Brandy is not a thoroughbred, he is much finer than Cotton said he was used to. He also admitted that he was a general labourer, not one of the waggoners who did the actual job of looking after the horses."

"Ah, I can see his reason to fret."

Riding horses was one thing, but actually looking after the beasts, as well as the tack, was a completely different thing as Padstowe had found out when he had started out in his current employment.

"I think he would have preferred if I'd managed to get a pack-horse, but he gets on all right looking after Brandy. But do you look after your horse yourself, then?

"When I am away, yes. My circumstances do not permit an orderly; it is impracticality and there is no point in engaging a man purely for my stays in town. When I am back I hand her over to the groom at Headquarters to take care of."

"I can see that your circumstances are unusual enough not to permit engaging a man. And of course you have to rely on yourself a lot more. But it must have been difficult at first."

"Well once I'd worked out which end of the horse the bridle went it was not too difficult," the captain said, smiling. "It was more getting used to caring for the tack. But Bethany is a quiet horse and very patient; she puts up with me brushing her down admirably."

"it is always good when you have an even-tempered horse," Vickery said in reply. "If Brandy had been anything but even-tempered, I would have had to sell him again, or risk losing Cotton's services."

(OOC - and I have to go. I've got to grab a shower before heading to work this afternoon. No fair.)

"And somehow I don't think any horse would be worth that."

[OOC: Meep! I'll see you later on.]

"No. Although I would ask you not to let him know I said that. He isn't exactly the boastful sort, though."

(OOC - Back! Are you?)

Padstowe made a noise of agreement, taking a longer draught of his glass. He was mindful of the time, remembering that he was to meet Maturin that night, but nor did he wish to outstay his welcome.

"Should we both survive this wretched war, I must admit I am tempted to offer him a position as my valet. Of course, that depends on whether he will have had enough of me by then and will want to return to his home."

It was getting late, although Vickery was enjoying Padstowe's company. He wished they had met properly before this, and did not wish to kick the man out. It was nice to be able to have a conversation with a Captain outside his regiment; the different views Padstowe held were very refreshing.

"I think he would be foolish to turn down such an offer." The concession of 'should we both survive' was one that did not sit well. "Besides, I would not have thought his circumstances would have permitted him to return home."

Vickery raised an eyebrow at that. "He told you his story, then? I must admit, I only know but little of it."

Padstowe realised that he may have just put his foot in it.

"I suspect it was only the barest bones of the story he told me too; his lifelong disagreement with the squire, his family's eviction and his subsequent enlistment at the hiring fair?"

Sound familiar, John?

"Something like that." Vickery thought Padstowe looked a little concerned at having let something slip, and hastened to reassure him. "I don't mind if he told you more than he told me; he can be a very private person, and you have more of a connection with him than I will, in a way. You are both from Kent and, as I am from Hampshire, I am merely a 'foreigner'. Not, of course, that he would ever say such a thing to my face."

"Well," Padstowe said, somewhat reassured. "If he considers Hampshire as foreign one can only marvel at what he must think of the Portuguese."

"Or the Germans. Remember most of the men in the 60th are German. I don't know what he made of that when he first entered a barrack room in Cowes."

Poor lad...

"Tell me, how do you get around the problem of orders? Do many of them speak English?"

"He seems to be doing all right. Battlefield orders are given in German, but I know that he and Tom Roper use English between themselves. I wouldn't say he is fluent in German, but he can make himself understood, even if it takes sign language and particularly ungrammatical English."

Padstowe shrugged.

"Das Englischer Mann..."

Always the same abroad; speak loudly and slowly enough and hope the foreigners will understand.

"It seems to me that all English soldiers expect everyone else to be able to speak English, and they can never understand why they can't make themselves understood."