An Awkward Conversation, 10th June

"I hope that I might return the sentiment, captain," Padstowe said, leading Bethany over. "Last I heard you were suspected to have gone to meet our Maker."

His eyes searched Vickery's torso minutely, having seen the stiff way in which the captain had got up.

"How do you do, John?" he asked softly, unconsciously using Vickery's first name.

"I... have been worse," Vickery replied. "Although it was not as bad as that, I can understand why that would have been the report. I must admit that I have no memory of the skirmish itself or of getting away from it - I have been told that such lapses in memory are not uncommon after a blow to the head."

He smiled apologetically. "That is no excuse for forgetting my manners. I do beg your pardon. Let Cotton take your horse, and please, have a seat. Would you take some tea?"

"Tea would be welcome, I must admit," Padstowe said, gently handing Bethany's reins to Cotton and giving her a reassuring pat as the Rifleman led her away. His shoulder made him give an involuntary grimace as he lowered himself to the ground next to Vickery, but he thought no further of his own discomfort with his attention focussed on the other captain.

"Was it just your head, or did you suffer elsewhere?"

Vickery eased himself back down as well, grateful not to have to stand on ceremony with Padstowe.

"I got a nasty gash in the side - I must have deflected the fellow's blow somewhat or I believe I should certainly have been cut nearly in two. I have been competently sewn up - I must admit to feeling rather like a sampler. I shall certainly have a scar there to remind me to keep my wits about me in future."

He looked across at the older man. "How are you doing? I understand you were in a bad way for a while, in Lisbon."

Cotton came back at that point, with two steaming tin mugs which he offered to the officers before going off again to give Padstowe's horse a rub-down.

From the safe distance where her donkey was grazing alongside Vickery's mare, Maggie watched her husband and the captain's visitor. When Cotton led the redcoat officer's horse over to the shady spot, she whispered, "Is that Captain Padstowe with the captain?"

Cotton nodded, before stooping to unbuckle the mare's girth strap and get the saddle off her. "It is, why?" he said, as Brandy whickered before blowing in his ear. "Stop that, you!"

Maggie was quite mortified to remember the last time - in fact the first time - that she and Captain Padstowe had met. She took comfort by telling herself that he had probably put it completely from his mind. But just in case he hadn't... "I don't want him to see me is all."

"Oh?" Cotton had the strap unbuckled and paused in removing the saddle. "How come? He seemed all right to me."

Her look was shifty, evasive. "Oh he's all right. I'm gonna go an' see Martha. I mean - " Of course Martha was still with the French. She cast about in her mind quickly. "I want to find McIntyre. I've got some scraps for that dog of his."

"What's eatin' you, Maggie?" Cotton asked, concerned. He put the saddle down and grasped her arm, frowning a little in consternation as he looked at her. "He... Listen to me, do. He said he knows it weren't me as did it, an' he'd've spoken for me if he could. He wouldn't go sayin' that if it weren't true - he'm a proper gentleman, y'know."

She cringed and inhaled sharply, looking up at him with startled eyes as he took her arm.

He shook his head and went to slip his arm around her shoulders, but dropped his arm and stepped back instead, stung by her reaction to him. "I'm sorry, I never meant to startle you. I jus'... I'm sorry."

She took a deep breath, then another, and another, her arms folded tightly up to her chest. When she had caught her breath, she reached tentatively for his hand, if he was willing to take it, and then pressed herself against his protective form. "I'm sorry, Gabe, I'm sorry." She knew that it must pain him every time his innocent actions drew such horrified reactions from her, his wife. "It's Captain Padstowe."

He swallowed and put his arms around her, holding her tightly to him. "Yes, I know it's Captain Padstowe. But what is it about him that's got you all worked up, sweeting? I told you he don't blame me - nor you - for what happened to him." Or his watch, he added, mentally, though unable to bring himself to say the words aloud.

Gabe must have forgotten what she had told him about Oporto, and that evening when she and Martha had blundered into Captain Padstowe's lodgings by mistake. "He knows all about..." Her voice trailed off and then dropped to a whisper. "He knows about Sergeant Hakeswill. I wish I hadn't a' told him."

Her face was burning and she knew it must be about as red as Gabe's collar. She tried to tell herself that Captain Padstowe had forgotten, that naturally an officer would take no notice of a common woman's troubles, that he had more important things on his mind and would not have remembered that trivial conversation, and would not remember that she was in any way connected with Cotton or Vickery or the rifles at all - but it was useless. Her mind insisted on believing that he was probably talking about her right now.

"I need to go away before he sees me," she whispered miserably.

"About...?" Cotton frowned, puzzled for a moment, then his expression cleared. "About Hakeswill and you? Why're you worried what he might think about that?" He held her closer. "I don't understand, Maggie. Why would he think any less of you 'cause someone jumped you the way he was jumped hisself?"

He found himself stroking her hair, trying to soothe her, and looked up into the face of one of the horses who had moved around to investigate them.

"Get away out of it, you," he said to the animal, pressing Maggie a little closer to him.

Her mouth dropped open in horror. "Don't say that. Don't say that!" she exclaimed, pulling herself away from Cotton. "He mighta tried to kill Captain Padstowe, but it's not the same. I wish he'd killed me." She moved to the other side of her donkey so that the animal was between them, and she fumbled angrily through the saddlebag. "There. Take them cakes to your captain, the ones I made for him yesterday, and leave me be." She held a cloth-wrapped bundle out to him with a frown.

"God damn it, woman!" Cotton said as Maggie pulled away from him. "I can't do or say nothin' without puttin' me foot in it. Will you bloody well tell me what it is with Captain Padstowe afore I... afore I go an' ask him?"

He blinked as she thrust a bundle into his chest, grabbing reflexively at it before it could tumble into the dirt.

He sighed. "Look, I'm sorry I said what I done, all right? Only please stop jumpin' all over me when I get it wrong. 'Cause I'm damn lucky if I get it right, the way things are right now." He dropped his hands to his side. "I'm sorry, I really am."

"Leave me alone!" she shouted. "Just leave it the bloody hell alone!" She turned and ran from him.



[Continued here]

Damn. Damn it all.

He shoved the cloth package irritably into one of Captain Vickery's saddlebags, where it would be secure enough, and dug out a brush to begin brushing Captain Padstowe's Bethany down, feeling that the methodical work of cleaning the horse was the only thing that would restore his usual even temper.

"Can't open me bloody mouth without puttin' me foot in it, can I?" he muttered, brushing the horse's flank in long sweeping strokes. "Bugger it all."

Vickery looked up, startled by an angry yell in a familiar female voice. Mrs Cotton did not sound at all happy, and the officer wondered what on earth had upset her enough to make her shout like that.

"I beg your pardon, Captain," he said, turning back to Padstowe. "You were telling me about your own injuries, in Lisbon, I believe." Or at least, Vickery had just asked about them, although Padstowe had not begun to reply.

Padstowe seemed not to have heard. His attention, like Vickery's, had been caught by the screeching female voice; but his eyes had stayed rivetted on the figure in skirts that had hurried away from where Cotton was now brushing down Bethany with some vigour.

"Was that Maggie Evans?" he asked, frowning. What was it that could have upset her so?

"Yes, it was. Well. She's Maggie Cotton, now - she married my man in Oporto, two days after we took the place."

What had happened between the two of them that had so put her out of sorts, though?

"Do you know her, then, Captain?"

"More a passing acquaintance," Padstowe said, turning his gaze back to his fellow captain. "She came into my billet by mistake whilst looking for yours in Oporto. She..."

Here Padstowe hesitated, wondering if he should impart the full details of Maggie's ordeal. How much did Vickery know already?

"She was quite distraught. She had been beaten and abused most cruelly."

"Yes, I know something of it. She managed to catch the column up a couple of days after we had left Coimbra. I don't like to think what she went through to do so." He sighed. "I had thought that Cotton was a good match for her. I hope they will be able to overcome their differences."

It could not be easy for either of them, but they were strong people and seemed to be good for each other.

"Cotton is devoted to her, you know. He was quite distracted when he found she was not with the column after leaving Coimbra. He had no idea what had happened, of course. I believe that if he had, he would have remained behind himself to be with her."