New to the District

"Not if we leave the door open or perhaps relocate to a more open place. I can claim some acquaintance with your brother, after all. I would be honoured, should you do so."

He handed her the sketchbook and the pencil he kept always at hand. He was a bit flattered, though it was hardly the first time that he was sitting for a drawing, and not at all put out either by her proposal or her blush. Rather, he was curious how she would go on about it and what she would choose to include in the sketch.

"Is the tip of the pencil to your liking? I have a penknife, should you find it too blunt."

"Oh, no, it is fine, thank you," she said and quickly found a clean page. "My brother is a much better artist than I am," she said, beginning to sketch lightly, glancing up every now and then at the man before her. "I find hands very hard," she added a few moments later, frowning at the paper and trying to correct the drawing a little.

It was another few moments before she passed the sketch-book back to him. "I hope... I hope it is not too bad," she said, feeling a little nervous although the pencilled sketch was as faithful as she could make it. She wished she had not decided to draw him holding a telescope, but did not really know what other instruments an Engineer would use. She had included a bridge in the background, although the only bridge she really knew was the one near home, an old hump-backed thing that could only carry one wagon or carriage at a time. It looked a little strange and out-of-place in her sketch, but she had wanted to somehow reference his particular branch of the Army.

He had not moved while she had sketched, not tried to engage her in conversation, although he had confessed that the area he felt hardest were the eyes. When she had finished, he took the sketch-book and studied the drawing, taking his time to answer. It certainly was different from his own style, and some parts could perhaps have been done better, but considering the short time it had taken, it was a quite a good sketch, in his opinion. He smiled at the telescope. Had she guessed that he usually carried one?

"No. It certainly isn't bad. I can hardly comment on my own likeness, but I would guess that anyone knowing me would instantly recognize the subject. May I keep it?"

"Of course you may," Emma replied. It was in the man's own sketch-book, after all. "I am glad you like it. I do not really know much about the Engineers and what you do, so I hope it is all right?"

He looked at it for another moment before closing the book and putting it away carefully.

"It is perfectly appropriate. We do all kinds of things, but just before I came to the Peninsula, I have been building bridges in Scottland, and now I am employed on a survey, so the two attributes were very well chosen."

Of course a telescope was only needed to observe what to survey, and not for the actual measurements, but Edward found it a better description of his work than a theodolite would have been. It wasn't exact science, at least not always. It was more putting together different observations and sources, trying to work out what could be accepted as confirmed and what holes needed to be filled.

He looked quizzicaly at her: "Was it a shot in the dark, then?"

She frowned, confused. "Adding a telescope and bridge into the picture? I confess that it was, a little. It is easier to sketch something one can see, after all. I think that even were I to draw my brother, I would hesitate to add anything of his career unless I could see it."

"It was a good one", he acknowledged.

"I think I know what you mean. It's one thing to draw a scene as it presents itself, arranging only those objects that nature and fate have decided to include, and quite another to assemble those objects yourself into a meaningful whole. I guess that's where real art starts."

"There is also the issue of knowing what something looks like, when one has never actually seen it," Emma replied, picking up her coffee cup. "I don't know that I could include anything heroic, as I have only seen that subject matter reproduced in paintings." She gave a small shrug. "It probably is not a suitable subject for a woman to draw anyway."

Edward studied the contents of his plate, then picked up another piece of toast.

"To draw a battle, or some daring rescue, you mean?"

He thoughtfully crumpled his toast. He had never consciously thought about it. Instinctively he would have agreed, but intellectually he couldn't really find a reason for it.

"I wouldn't dare to answer that. I must confess that I can see no reason why you should be allowed to read, talk or sing about such things, but not draw them, but .... I guess I would not feel comfortable seeing a woman paint the horrible side of the heroic. The blood and the tears. It is perhaps more that one can't wish that a woman has seen enough to allow her to imagine those details."

As carefully chosen as those words were, they didn't quite express what he wanted to say, and he was anxious whether she would feel embarrassed or offended by them. Perhaps he should revert to the more distanced polite conversation society dictated, but his conscience had revolted against simply agreeing.

"You are... very different in your opinions, sir," she replied, smiling. "I think most men would say that soldiers and their battles are not a fit subject for a woman to discuss, never mind draw, and I should return to my pianoforte or my sewing." She looked away, and then looked back at Torrington. "I have never really thought that a battle could look as it is depicted on canvas, anyway. It seems to me as though most subjects are rather less grand and are far more prosaic than artists would have us believe."

Edward raised an eyebrow.

"Don't give me too much credit, Miss Vickery. I think I would feel uncomfortable as well, should you suddenly begin to discuss the proceedings on a battlefield, although I hope I would not express it in quite such a patronizing manner. But look at the things discussed by quite worthy females in the parks. 'Oh, isn't that Captain Featherkeel? He's quite rich now, after he captured the Splendour last month.' 'Have you met Mr. Longbottom? His father is very ill again, so he might soon become Lord Fiddlestick.' 'Oh, Captain Mountebanks, how splendid you look in your new uniform. I hope you'll come home covered in medals.' All quite acceptable, but none of those things are going to happen without somebody dying, and probably not the easy way either."

He broke off and took a breath. Much calmer he continued: "You're right, of course. Yet ... one needs dreams, I suppose."

Emma had to put her hands to her mouth in an attempt to hide her laughter. "And meanwhile Captain Mountebanks' mother and sister are at home in an agony of suspense, wondering whether their son and brother will return home with an arm or leg missing, if he comes back at all. And Lady Spendthrift who is hoping to marry off her daughter to him doesn't much care what happens while he is away, so long as he still looks just as splendid in his uniform as he ever did."

She sobered a little. "We may not know exactly what happens in a battle, but left alone, we are apt to imagine the worst. Though I know that there are some ladies who accompany their husbands to the war."

Edward nodded.

"Some officers bring their wives along. I imagine that it can't be easy for them, and some go back to Lisbon soon, but others seem to adapt quite well."

He tilted his head a bit.

"If you could, would you consider it? Even knowing that you would have to stand back most of the times and watch your brother or husband go into danger without being able to help?"

The question was asked without implications, simply out of curiosity how this woman would consider such a life.

Emma was thoughtful. She had never really considered the question before, or only in a joking, light-hearted sort of manner - her mother would not allow her otherwise.

"I think... I think that I should rather be closer to the one I loved than remaining in comfort at home. Of course, campaigning must have its discomforts and disadvantages but the soldiers have women accompanying them with far fewer comforts than the officers' ladies. Though, I suppose that there must be times when even the officers' ladies have to... to rough it." She gave a rueful smile. "If men like yourself, sir, and my brother, can give up the comforts of luxury and the lifestyle to which we are accustomed, I suppose a woman can, to be with the one she loves. It would have to be real love, though."

She could not imagine her mother following her father to war; the Viscountess was far too fond of the lifestyle to which her husband's rank entitled her.

Edward smiled, a little sadly. She would make an excellent wife to some lucky fellow. He hoped it would be somebody she loved, and somebody who loved her in return. Her chances for a marriage based on that were not much better than his own.

"I don't doubt that a woman can do this. But ... it sometimes is a comfort, too, to know that your loved ones are save in England, looking after your life there for you. Giving you something to fight for and to return home to after this war is over."

"It is a trial to be separated from the one you love, though," Emma replied. "At least you have the near certainty of there being a home and loved one to return to. We cannot be so sure that our loved ones will return, however and it is a sad trial."

How had they got to talking on such a mournful topic, she wondered. It did not suit her overmuch, and she could not suppose that Captain Torrington would usually choose to speak on such a topic either.

Edward bowed his head. There was nothing he could say against this. She was right.

After a moment, he set down his coffee cup.

"I guess I should apologize. Certainly this conversation is not quite what society expects either. So should we continue with a well sanctioned topic like the remarkable finesse of the weather outside, would you prefer to return to your novel, or might I interest you in another subject?"

He looked at his nails, then continued almost humbly:

"Or would you do me the favour of allowing me to draw you?"

"I am sorry that I have discomfited you, sir," she replied, with a smile. "It was not my intention at all, I assure you."

She looked down, suddenly shy at his request. "Of course you may draw me, if you wish. I should be honoured to sit for you." She smoothed the skirts of her gown a little and wondered at her daring in permitting a man not of her family to do something so intimate.

"Thank you!"

He took out his sketch-book again and leafed through it until he found an empty page.

"I promise you can tear up the sketches if you find you don't like them."

His hand started to rapidly throw lines on the paper without him even looking down more than once or twice. He quickly made a few rough sketches, some full portraits, some focussing only on her face or her hands. Finally he decided on showing her from the waist up, sitting in front of the window. He flipped open a new page and started to lay down the lines in earnest now, focussing on the proud lines of her neck, the confident set of her shoulders, her upright posture. He carefully filled in the details of her face, trying to capture her beauty as well as the wit in her eyes, but also the caring side.

"I'm sorry. I should have asked sooner. But I hope your parents and your other brother are quite well?"

She gave a quick smile and nodded. "Yes, I thank you, quite well. My mother has been talking of going to Bath, though it would be more for the society and the change of air than for her health - or my father's. Robert will go up to Town though; he has business interests he must needs see to."

She watched him as he sketched. He was obviously practising various aspects for he turned the page over after a few minutes and began what would obviously be the actual drawing. "I hope your parents and sisters are well, too, sir?" she asked after a brief pause.

There was that charming smile again, and he tried to capture it before it was gone.

"They are all well, thank you. Mother and Bella are in Walham Court, and I would suspect that even my father is there by now. That is, unless you tell me that there is some important political debate in progress that might require his presence."

She smiled again at the thought that she would know anything about politics. "I am sure I don't know, sir. My mother and I merely go to Town for the Season. We leave that sort of thing to my father - although he really shows very little interest in it. I believe he is more usually to be found in his club than in the House, when we are in Town."

She tried to recall if she knew where Walham Court was, and drew a blank. "I must beg your pardon, but where is your family seat - which part of Gloucestershire, I mean?"

"Just a few miles north of Gloucester itself, on the banks of the Severn. From some rooms on the upper floor you can even see the river."

Edward's voice was warm. He loved the Place. Hadn't he gone to the Peninsula, he would have tried to spend some time there while his parents were in residence.

"Have you ever been in this part of the country?"

Emma shook her head regretfully. "No, sir, never so far north. I have been to Bath and to Tunbridge Wells - and London, of course. It sounds a very beautiful part of the country, though."

"It is. On one side are the Malvern Hills, then the Severn and beyond it the Cottswolds in the east and the peaks of Wales to the south."

He smiled in remamberance.

"It has many fine rides to offer, walks, sports, beautiful views. My mother even swears that the waters there are better than any others, especially those at Great Malvern."

He studied her for a moment. He had captured her outlines to the best of his abilities. Then he focussed on the drawing again and started to shade out the forms on the paper, giving the drawing dimension.