11 June, A new arrival

By the time Edward Lord Torrington, captain in His Majesty's Corps of Royal engineers, reached the Rifles' camp he heartily wished his branch of the service had chosen another uniform. Admittedly, the blue coat with black facings and white breeches looked very smart, but obviously it looked rather like a French uniform. In nearly every village he had ridden through people had stared at him; twice even the young lieutenant in command of the supply train Edward had travelled with had needed to intervene.
Perhaps it was understandable: By the way the roads looked, people here probably never had seen an engineer before. He just hoped that the future would hold some more interesting assignments than laying streets across Portugal and Spain.

Edward sighed, gave his cuffs a quick tug to settle them neatly, adjusted his bicorn hat and rode into the camp. He was rather tired and not at all sure what to expect, but he knew that it would never do for an officer to look uncertain. He sat up straighter, forcing the protesting muscles of his back into a somewhat arrogant pose, and tried to project a confidence he didn't feel. Unused to a field camp, he wasn't quite sure where to head to, so he settled for simply riding to what looked the centre. There he stopped the big black Andalusian he had bought, and looked around, hoping that some friendly soldier or officer might ask what he wanted.

Cotton had pretty much finished his morning duties. The Captain was much better than he had dared hope for; the redcoat from the 33rd had been a great help, although Cotton couldn't help a slight flare of jealousy at the thought that someone else had had to do his job for him.

And there was an Engineer officer on a black horse riding into camp, looking slightly lost. Approaching a strange officer was never good, really, but he stepped toward the man anyway, and saluted.

"You all right there, sir?" he asked.

Edward looked down at the rifleman who had approached him and felt relieved that his first contact with his new family came in the shape of a rather neat and helpful individual. He relaxed a bit, acknowledging the man's salute.

"Captain Torrington of the Royal Engineers. I'm to report to the commanding officer of this camp. Where may I find him?"

"Commanding...?" Cotton began. "Oh. You mean Captain Vickery, the officer commanding this comp'ny." He grinned. "I'm his batman, sir, I'll take you to him if you like." He slung his rifle on his shoulder. "Sorry, sir. I'm Rifleman Cotton, of the 60th Rifles, sir."

"Well, then I'm certainly glad that it was you who spotted me, Rifleman. If you would lead the way, please." Edward suddenly felt rather stupid sitting on his horse like a guardsman on parade. The rifleman had to crank his head to talk to him, which certainly was uncomfortable. He dismounted gracefully and went to his horses head. The black looked weary and Edward patted his nose.

"Where may I leave him? I believe he's still a rather raw recruit and would only be embarrassed to meet the captain."

"I'll look after him for you, sir," Cotton said, trying not to laugh at the thought of a horse as an Army recruit. "Any of the Riflemen'd be able to tell you where the Captain is." He wondered if the Engineer officer knew about the way the various Companies of the 60th were divided up. If he didn't, Captain Vickery would tell him - it wasn't really Cotton's place to explain things like that.

"What's his name, sir? Your horse, I mean."

The last thing George had remembered of the events of May 31st was running for the main British line after passing on the order to fall back. Then he'd heard the drum of horse hooves, felt his foot catch in a hole, and then everything had gone to black.

He'd woken to a field littered with dead bodies – even the scavenging camp followers who usually descended on a battlefield were gone. Somehow, they'd left him untouched, even though he felt as if the entire French cavalry had ridden over him. Despite this, he'd been able to start walking back to where the company had ground their rucksacks.

Of course, everything had vanished, including the dapple gray horse he'd ridden. He cursed long and hard. Frog's probably riding him now, and I haven't the money to replace the beast, he thought.

So it had been a long walk back to the British camp, which of course had moved. He'd lost his hat to a farmer's son, but gained in return a cart ride for the final leg of his trip.

He'd limped into camp, feet protesting against having to walk even further in his fashionable, but now worn out boots.

“Never buy cheap boots again,” he grumbled. “Bloody cut rate work. And the next time someone throws a commission in the pot, I'll bloody leave it.”

His luck continued to run bad, as the first person he encountered was a captain of engineers, looking very much like a proper officer and not a dirty, dusty ragbag like himself. Next to him stood a private, also of the rifles. He sighed. They'd understand. They'd better.

He approached the pair, stopping to salute the mounted man. “Morning, sir. Rifleman. Would either of you care to point me in the direction of the Second? The Froggies got me a bit lost.”

"Trueno. I believe it means Thunder", Edward answered, then suddenly felt emberrased again. Certainly this man had some duties and he just held him up grandly showing off his Spanish, poor as it was.

He drew himself up stiffly again and said rather formally: "Please see to it."

Before he could add anything else a new voice joined the conversation. Edward turned and saw another man had come up to them. For a moment he wasn't sure whether the other was a trooper or an officer, but then he spotted the officer's sash and gold braiding and touched his head. He couldn't immediatly discern the man's rank, but as he would have been polite anyway, he decided that it really didn't matter that much.

"I've only just arrived myself, Sir." He stepped back and waved at the rifleman beside him. "Rifleman Cotton here, however, is rather more conversant with the layout of the camp and can certainly point you in the right direction."

"Reckon the Frogs've got everyone lost, sir," Cotton replied, offering the new arrival a salute. The Second? Did he mean the Second of Foot, or the Second Guards? The Second of Foot were... He wasn't sure if they were with another Division or still at home in England.

"The Second Guards, sir?" he said, though he'd never seen a Guards officer so... dusty. "They'm over that way, sir - you'll see the Colours easily enough, an' that'll show you where the Colonel is." He shrugged. "Me, I'm takin' Captain Torrington here to the Rifles."

As he heard Cotton's word, Edward for a moment thought his chin might fall down. If this was indeed a guardsman, he was certainly a different sight than the shining soldiers in London.
Managing to settle his features once again into their customary non-committal expression, Edward once again touched his head.
"I was just about to present myself to Captain Vickery and should be going, but I hope I will have the pleasure of meeting you again soon."

George saw the Rifleman's brief look of confusion, followed by a hesistant response to his question. “Ah, yes,” George quickly added, “It is the second regiment of guards I'm looking for. Thank you, Rifleman Cotton. And yes, I know I look like I've been dragged through a hedge backwards. Devil of a time keeping things looking good when you're sleeping in old chicken coops and trying to dodge the French.”

He gave them a wry smile. “Sir, a pleasure making your acquaintance.” He paused, realizing there was something familiar about the man. “Sir, have we met before? Almack's, about three months ago, if I'm correct. I'm George Wickham, and we played a few hands of whist with the Countess of Jersey.” Now there was a woman, though he'd not be so rude as to say something like that in public.

Edward squinted his eyes together, startled. He had certainly been at Almack's playing whist with the Countess of Jersey; he mostly remembered the countess's bad head for cards, but there had been an officer of the Guards at the table who had played rather shrewdly.

He studied the man's face and tried to peel away the layers of dust and grime. Suddenly he could see the likeness, even though the man had had a different look in his eyes back then.

He bowed slightly. "I seem to recall that we won the rubber we were partnered. It is certainly a pleasure to meet you again," - Edward slightly paused, realizing that he still didn't know the other man's rank, as he hadn't mentioned it, and opted once again for caution - "Sir. Perhaps we might induce some other officers to join us for a hand here sometimes, so that we might repeat this enjoyable event."

For a moment he fell silent again, contemplating whether he was about to commit a solecism, but then decided that this was a social acquaintance and that his own social rank certainly would justify an invitation. "I'm not yet settled in, but perhaps you would give me the honour of dining with me tomorrow?" By then he would hopefully have found a batman and his baggage. A wry smile just touched the corners of his mouth. "I cannot promise much by the way of food, but I will engage to provide a bottle of wine and a pack of cards, if you have a mind to play some piquet."

“Indeed we did,” George said. Of course, he could be wrong about how well they had played, but whitewashing the truth in such a situation never hurt. “I'll add you played that last rubber most brilliantly.” He noted that Captain Torrington had left a bit of an opening for him to helpfully supply his rank. At the moment, though, George saw no reason to let on he was a lowly lieutenant. It would be out soon enough, and then it would be up to the good captain whether he wished to continue their association.

“I am certain that we could find at least two other people who would like to play,” he said, sidestepping the query about his rank. "It would be a break from plotting how to beat the Frenchies and all that."

He was pleasantly surprised when the man invited him to dinner the following night. From what he remembered, of the man's standing and family, renewing his acquaintance with the captain was definitely a good idea. It never hurt to add to one's roster of social contacts, especially when one had all of ten quid to one's name.

“I would be honoured to be your guest at dinner tomorrow night, sir. The food, is not all that important - almost anything would be better than what I've had over the past few days. At the moment though, I'm afraid I look a right vagabond. I need to clean up and go in search of a hat to replace the one I lost.”

"Then I won't further detain you, sir." Edward touched his hat formally. "I shall look forward to seeing you tomorrow." Although his tone was neutral, he actually meant it. It was nice to see someone here whom one did already know socially, brief as the acquaintance had been.

He gave an abbreviated bow and turned back to his neglected guide, hoping the rifleman had not been called away by other duties. He felt vastly relieved when he spotted the man still standing by his horse, but naturally it would never do to show such feelings. So he put on the most officer-like mien he could and said coolly:

"I believe we should continue our way to Captain Vickery."

Cotton had been content to be ignored by the officers while they spoke together; it was none of his business what they discussed, after all. He had merely stroked the mare's nose and murmured to her in a low voice until they were both wanted.

The officer's voice was a little cooler than Cotton was used to as he called them over, but the Rifleman just assumed that was more to do with the officer in question than anything that he himself had done.

"Sir. He'm this way, sir, if you'll come with me?"

Edward nodded, closing the gap to the rifleman.

"Please lead the way, Cotton!"

Cotton grinned and tightened his grip a little on the horse's reins.

"He'm only over here, sir," he said, indicating where the Captain's tent was, with the Captain himself sitting outside, reading a book.

"Captain Torrington to see you, sir," he said cheerily. Vickery looked up, closed the book and stood to receive his visitor.

Edward nodded his thanks to Cotton and straightened to attention, silently hoping that the captain wouldn't take it amiss that he had stopped to talk to Wickham. As close as the tent was, the other officer had probably seen it.

Unsure whether camp etiquette demanded that he should have cut that conversation short, he tried once again for a more soldier-like behaviour.
Giving a formal salute, he took his orders out of his breast pocket and offered them to the captain, his face carefully blank lest he betrayed his surprise that the man couldn't be much older than himself.

"Captain Torrington of the Corps of Royal Engineers, Sir, reporting for duty."