Time for Tea, 11th June

"I see. I am sorry yer had to leave him behind, sir. Though it was fer his best." He wondered if the dog would not live till the end of the war to see his master again. It appeared that Vickery thought so. Unless the dog has already passed.

"....sir, may I ask wot' other animals you have? " He relaxed , his cheek again dozing off. He rested his injured hand in his lap , glad to see his fingers were getting better and he did not need to have them sliced off.

Vickery shook his head. "I just had horses and dogs. There was a cat to keep the mice down, although she was mainly in the kitchens. And Mother had a songbird." The home farm had had all the usual sorts of animals to be found on a farm, of course, but Vickery had had nothing to do with that - his father had pretty much left the overseeing of it to old Penney, the estate steward.

Pye nodded thoughtfully. He could not imagine having a horse, or owning a dog. They were terribly demanding, terribly expensive things that ate a lot, kicked a lot, bit a lot and made you want to never ride again. Then again, perhaps he had to give the horses a second chance - if ever he needed. Vickery's own had not appeared half bad, and the French horses, while dumb, did not attack him either. Maybe there was some truth in believing that horses were alright even if big.

"Sir... wot'.. wot's did you do as a ..um... when you was young? Durin' t' day?" He had seen young noble folk, but as before knowing how they lived was alltogether very different.

"Lessons," the Captain replied bleakly, before chuckling. "All sorts of lessons, including riding lessons. I went to school when I was quite young, and learned all sorts of boring things, and when I left school, my uncle was kind enough to buy me my Colours - I mean, he paid for my commission as an Ensign in the 45th. I must have been about... sixteen, I think. And then my father paid for my Lieutenancy, so I exchanged into the 69th, and then I exchanged into the 60th, which meant even more lessons, and I was promoted Captain just before Christmas."

It was an advantaged life, especially in comparison with what Pye knew, but the lad had asked.

Pye nodded and listened attentively all till Vickery was done and after that, when he observed, was silent and waited what more he might be told. Once he was certain that there would not be any more he dared speak again.

"Sounds like it was quite exhausting sir. Especially all that studying and learning alll t' time." That the other bought himself half of his promotion and progresses seemed compeltely natural (and also was) to the lad.

"It was over several years and was not all day every day," Vickery pointed out. "The lessons weren't always the same, either. Music, drawing... all sorts of things that really are not that much use out here."

"Music, sir? You know ter play many instruments, sir?" And drawing. The life of a nobleman was full of intrigue, of lessons and of perhaps entertaining things too.

"Do officers often change... uh.. regiments like that? Ye've said earlier you did.. an' got into t' 60th in t' process too." He added with equal amount of intrigue. It was a whole new world for him to listen about and he was curious while not being jealous of it at all. He knew where he stood, and that was quite enough for him. But he was still curious too.

"The pianoforte, badly," Vickery said dryly. "I am a better hand at drawing, which is more useful out here, for being able to sketch the lie of the land and draw maps."

He nodded. "Officers frequently change regiments when buying their way up. There may not be a vacancy in their current regiment of the rank they wish to purchase, so they will buy into another regiment. I must say, however, that I do not intend purchasing into any regiment that will take me away from the 60th."

"That's very good to hear sir. We might not have a say at all sir, but. .i think I speak fair for t' other riflemen too, t' say that...we'd like t' keep you with us sir. 's long as we are granted the honour of it." Pye flushed embarrassed then, for he had said this quite directly ,and did not know whether the captain would like to hear it as such.

He tried to think of that pianoforte....whatever that was, and of the drawing lessons which he understood would have indeed been useful , much more useful than chugging a big instrument - if that was such - around and playing a sweet tune on it.

"Why, thank you for your good opinion, Zachary," Vickery replied, pleased and impressed that Pye had actually come out and said what he thought. Other officers may have considered such an opinion to be impertinent, but Vickery didn't, being an officer in the Rifles.

He pulled out his Day Book and pencil and flipped it open to a blank sheet, before doodling a quick sketch of a piano. "There, Pye, that is a pianoforte," he said, showing the doodle to the Rifleman.

Pye grinned when he saw that Vickery did not hold it against him, for such an opinion or rather, for voicing such a thought. He peered at the Day Book at first thinking that the other man intended to write something in it. Perhaps mistaken in that, he was rewarded with a small but well done doodle which represented the instrument. It looked a rather peculiar thing to try playing on too.

"Uh, sir...is it this small? How's it played?" If it was bigger than that, how much bigger would it be? And it did not look anything like a bugle, or a fife or any of the other instruments he might have seen travelling with them - not that he had been attentive to many.

"No, it is much bigger than you'd think," he replied, and quickly added a figure playing it. "There." He showed the sketch again.

"It's very large sir." It helped imagine it now. The little figure and what it did to the instrument, where it sat and where it's small hands were. It made more sense. This however did not explain how such a strangely shaped cupboard of an instrument could make sound, a good one at that, by playing it.

"Did your tutor decide you ought t' play this , sir.. or do all noble folk play this instrument as per instruction, when young?" It was all painting him a pretty, well detailed picture now.

"I think most people who are taught music are taught the pianoforte," Vickery said, taking the piece of paper back and turning it over. "Certainly we all had to learn it." His pencil moved briskly over the piece of paper again, sketching something else. "I daresay a lot of people learn to play by ear, though. I believe that is how young Cavender knows his bugle calls, anyway."

"So.. you don't need that scribbles on paper which look like summon had splattered ink all over... ter know how t' play?" Sheet music was very similar to written word. It made no sense, it looked silly, notes represented sounds, which quite as those spoken, could not have a physical form. Yet, on paper they did.

Only sheet music looked even more like somebody had been rather careless with paper. He was curious to see what Vickery was sketching next and tried to contain himself. He could not just lean forward, peek over Vickery's shoulder and check!

Vickery shook his head. "No. Just as you don't need to know how to read in order to be able to talk. Reading music isn't quite as hard as reading words, though. If you can count, you can learn to read music."

He really could do with a bigger sheet of paper for what he was trying to do, but the single sheet torn from his Day Book would do.

He smiled and tucked his Day Book and pencil away before holding the sheet of paper out to Pye. It was a small but neat pencil drawing of the Rifleman and his chick. "There. Just for you."

(OOC note - Wrote this post, then thought 'I've seen that actual drawing!' Chicken Pye, sketched for real by our own Boots. Thanks for letting me link to it!)

Pye blinked. He looked at the paper and his smile broadened. He yet again might have resembled an adorable puppy who had been most grateful for that scrap of meat, but in this case it was something more." Look! There's Little Peggy too!" He exclaimed, and studied the sheet. He grinned, observed the little details, recognised this man as himself, recognised his little chick. He loved the picture and, nobody ever had drawn him, like the men had their paintings made. This one was his first, and it made him feel special. He bit his lip. The last days were hell. But all of it was forgotten as Vickery handed him the little pencil drawing.

"It's... it's amazing sir! Really for me, sir?" He chewed on his lip fighting emotion. " Really?" He expected Vickery to say that he was teasing him and then take the paper back and with it the beautiful drawing. His drawing. "Sir, really, for me?" He hesitated looking actually quite worried about this not being for real. He knew he had to find a book now.. or something equally solid so that his picture would not wrinkle!

"Yes, Zachary, really and truly for you," Vickery said. The pleasure the Rifleman took in the simple sketch was all the reward he needed. To be able to find pleasure in simple acts like that... Vickery wouldn't trade his Captaincy for the title and estate that his brother would inherit. Robert had no sense of small random kindnesses, although he was kind enough in his own way.

Of course, Robert would shrink in horror from the privations that Vickery and his men endured on a daily basis, although Vickery usually had the small privacy of a tent and his camp equipage.

"You may keep it, Zachary, for your very own," he added, reassuring the lad.

"Thank you sir. 'tis.. a real honour ..and.. and it's Peggy n' me!" His smile was broad and proud. His little chick was soon shown the picture. She did look at it, studied it for a mere few moments and then decided that it was not food, nor water and thus not of a vital importance. She did give a chirp in response to it, but it was not clear whether that was a compliment or a simple..chirp.

"Y'um very kind sir..Finest offic'.." He paused, looked at Vickery, then quickly murmurred. finestofficerthereeverwas!" There. He could pretend that Vickery had not understood his broadside of words.

Vickery grinned. Pye looked so happy he could burst. "Make sure she doesn't go mistaking it for her dinner," he said, and chuckled as the chick decided it wasn't worth bothering with.

"Thank you, Pye, although I'm sure that isn't true." Although, after Pye's previous regiment, maybe it was. "You enlisted into the 33rd, didn't you? I take it that was your only regiment before you transferred to us?" The answer would be in Pye's papers, which he had read, of course, but he couldn't remember precisely what was contained there, and he had no intention of digging everything out so he could check.

"No sir. 'tis true. Very true." He smiled and then pondered about the next question and how to answer it. He made dead sure the chick could not reach it and think of making a nest out of it, or just poop on it because she could.

"Yes sir. T' 33rd were my first. Then t' 60th that I am in now. 'fore that I was as.. i was one o' them common folk, sir." He hesitated. He did not want the man of such noble blood think worse of him for any reason.

"An' then one day.. I woke up n' I wos in the 33rd." No lie on that. He did wake up to realise what he'd done, though not remember a whole lot. "N' then.. one day t' rifles had their presentation n'...." He grinned and very carefully laid the sketch onto his left, making sure it would not fly away, that there was no chance to dirty it and that he could reach his knapsack to find what could be used as a press and protetor.

"There's nothing wrong with that." Cotton himself had apparently been 'persuaded' to enlist by a Sergeant getting him drunk and slipping a shilling into his pocket.

"It is a common enough story in the Army, that men find they have enlisted, and yet have no memory of doing so." It also gave the lie to the 'fact' that soldiers had volunteered.

"An' sir...that's t' only reason why I ran at that time. I didn't think they wos' right in keepin' me sir.... Regretted it afterwards." There was one thing and one thing only that had persuaded him not to attempt running ever since that time, even if the sergeant of a rather peculiar reputation had been in the same regiment and he knew him well, even if he had loathed it sometime. The flogging had beaten much of his want for that. Perhaps it would have done so to anyone. Either discourage them, or encourage them to run but never to get caught again. He was just uneasy.

"S'.. why I'd like t' say again.. that me actions, sir, have nothing ter do with runnin'. Not like that time. An' I know I wos' wrong then..." Well, he disagreed on being wrong, but agreed that getting caught was a bad thing. Now, he allowed that perhaps in the long run the enlisting was not all for the worst. Regular food, friends, company, even the little brat Davy and his sister, it all added up to make it, a fairly good thing.

"All right. It's a good life in the Rifles, as you will find out - if you haven't already, of course." He smiled. "Right then, Zachary, I wouldn't want to keep you from whatever else you might want to be doing, so unless there is anything else you are desperate to know, I will let you get on with your own business. And I will send Cotton to talk with you - it seems to me as though you two need to have a proper chat."

"I know t' life in t' rifles is good, hard, but good." Pye answered with a nod then bowed his head a little, which resembled a humble servant though.. since he did not really know how to do it right, it just looked a bit comical.

"I'll be 'ere till is' time i can go wash up." And not feel like there were eyes on him, watching him, making sure he did not run. He might have just been paranoid, but sometimes..

"Thank yer for sparing time o' yours ter come and talk with me sir. S' been real pleasant, n' an honour like." He smiled brightly. "Thank you."