An Awkward Conversation, 10th June

To Padstowe this was not wholly welcome news. He was not aware of how much the Frenchman had known or understood of who he was or what his intentions were, but the captain was fairly convinced that a Frenchman aware of the presence of Exploring Officers in the area might prove inconvenient - if indeed the lad had been set loose to return to his regiment.

"I must ask Sergeant Fischer about him," he said, chewing on his cake. It was plain, but tasty. He looked forward to finding something more filling at headquarters, though. He would not dwell on the subject of the Rifles' French captive, though. "Have you heard any thing further of our advance."

Having received precious little in terms of return communications from the army in his fortnight away, Padstowe was naturally anxious for news.

"I believe we are to be on the march soon. As I understand it, the General expects us to chase the French into Spain if at all possible." Of course, he was a very junior officer and thus not in the confidence of generals - not that Vickery was aware General Wellesley took anyone into his confidence, anyway.

"Hopefully this time in the right direction," Padstowe commented. As far as he could see there was no reason for them not to advance again; the debacle of a week or so ago had halted them long enough - though equally Padstowe knew that armies were not only held back on occasion by physical obstactles. Sir Arthur may be Commander-in-Chief, but even he answered to a higher authority.

Pity, Padstowe thought.

"I hope so. Heading in the wrong direction does nothing for the men's morale, after all." Or his own, but there was no need to mention that. "Have you heard whether the Light Division is to come back out, or not?"

Padstowe shook his head.

"Not so far as I know. I haven't heard much news over the past fortnight."

"No, I suppose it would be hard to keep up with current developments while out away from the Army," Vickery conceded.

"Though I would imagine that Sir Arthur would get them here if he possibly could," Padstowe reasoned. "He'll never be short of men unless he must be. I believe they'll be back soon; they've had enough time to recover, God willing."

"They had it pretty rough over the winter, I understand," Vickery said. "Let's hope they've had time to get back up to strength, anyway."

A silence fell between the two as the conversation lapsed, each chewing on the cake they had been given. Padstowe was thinking, returning in his mind to the subject of his injury and Vickery's brush with death. He opened his mouth to speak.

"John, I..." He faltered though, shaking his head. "No. Forgive me, it is nothing."

"What?" Vickery shifted a little, careful of his side. He smiled. "Please don't feel the need to stand on ceremony with me, Jon. If you want to ask something, of course you may do so."

Padstowe hesitated, regarding his friend carefully beforehe spoke again. Had he known Vickery long enough to ask? How much could he presume on their acquaintance?

"Only this business just now has made me think; possibly of things I should have thought about long before now, especially as you were rumoured to have... Do you have someone to let your family know, save your colonel, should... should things go bad?"

A sudden picture of his sister came before his mind's eye at the question, and it brought a lump into his throat as he imagined the flow of letters homewards suddenly stopping for no apparent reason, and Emma not finding out for months, perhaps years, that he had been tumbled into a grave scratched out in the thin Portuguese soil.

He shook his head. "I do not... Do you...? Would you?"

Padstowe nodded.

"I was hoping to offer my services - and, I admit, hoping to ask for yours. My arrangement beforehand was with a very dear friend of mine but, since it was I that fulfilled my obligation to him, I no longer have anyone to act for me. Not that I anticipate any immediate concern - I have not written home for months - but I believe I owe it to them that they should know."

"I would be honoured to do so - although, I must confess, I would prefer not to have to fulfil that obligation. But you honour me in making the request, anyway." He sobered; Padstowe's mention of his friend had reminded him of a conversation from the previous Christmas... a conversation he still wasn't entirely happy in recalling.

Padstowe saw the change in Vickery's expression and immediately felt guilt for being its source.

"I thank you, and the honour is indeed mine, sir. I am sorry if I have upset you; I know it is never pleasant to talk of such matters. 'A necessary evil' of our trade, as my friend named it."

"Oh, no, it wasn't that, Jon," he said, and sighed. "I have no idea how to say this, at all. It is probably going to sound... crass, however I say it. I... Do you believe in ghosts, at all?"

Padstowe looked confused, caught off guard by such a change in their topic of conversation.

"I... cannot say I have ever given it much thought," he replied honestly. There was always the nagging anxiety in the back of his mind as to what would happen to him were his life to be cut short; but he was well practiced at ignoring it, for he felt such thoughts had the potential to drive a man to insanity.

"No, it was your mentioning your friend that brought it to mind. I think, perhaps, that I should not have said anything - I have no wish to upset you in any way."

No, he should not have mentioned it - learning that a particular friend had visited as a ghost was not the sort of thing any man should have to face.

"No, not at all. In fact I find myself curious at your having raised the subject. Is it something you believe in?"

"I never used to. But the strangest thing happened at Christmas..." He sighed. "You must prepare yourself, I fear this may not be the most pleasant surprise, and perhaps I should not have brought it up."

"Was it some very dreadful apparition?" Padstowe asked, growing more intrigued with Vickery's reluctance. "Come, John, you can tell me."

"Oh, goodness, no." He took a breath. "I... Your friend, was he called Jemet, by any chance?"

"Yes. Yes, Captain Henry Jemet." Padstowe frowned. He could not remember mentioning Harry to Vickery. "Did Sharpe tell you about him?"

"No, I... As I said, this is probably going to be somewhat of a shock." He sat back. "I was in the Officers' Mess, in Lisbon, on Christmas Eve. I was not expecting anyone to join me, of course, but someone did. We... got talking. He seemed a very nice sort of officer, very friendly, dutiful."

Padstowe nodded, not seeing where this was going, and waited for Vickery to continue.