13th June, afternoon - Prisoners return

"Nicht viel. I did not unterstand much."

Freddie returned the smile, glad that his friend was glad.

"When they ... are well. Versorgt, I mean. Would you tell me? If you want. We can make tea."

Christian looked down at her, a small crease forming between his brows. He didn't know what to say. It had all sounded like nothing so much as a goodbye. And in a way, he supposed it was.

With a faint smile, he disentangled his arm and slipped it around her shoulders, pulling her close and planting a kiss on the top of her head.

"Sure, I can tell you. Lets get these things away safely and we can talk over t' preperations of tea.. though I'd rather we don't waste our own.. you know. It isn't like we's going to get any in return. We can jus' boil water fer them and ask... mebbe as t' officers if they can give off some?"

He walked alongside his friend, observing the newly arrived.

"You there! Help this one down and into the shade! Get her some water to drink! ... You! Stop this instant and sit down before you injure that leg further! Do you think I like setting your bones right so much that I need additional work?"

Aimes was raving while he tried to do his job as best as he could. Some people didn't really need to go to the waggon, and they needed to be sorted out before they could disturb things there. And those who needed to go there often were in no condition to go there on their own, and being stupid stubborn soldiers needed to be stopped before they tried to do just that. And then of course there were those who didn't even try that, and those were the people he probably would need to take care of first, and it was oh so easy to overlook them in the chaos ...

Freddie bit his lip, glanced surreptitiously at Captain Torrington, then at the women and the wounded.

"Denkst Du ... we should ask him? He ..."

He couldn't find the words and closed the sentence with an emphatic gesture instead. Freddie had already noticed that Captain Torrington did think nothing of buying another pound of tea or coffee when the old one was finished, and did think even less about it when he felt that somebody else needed a cup. Usually that meant another officer, although on occasion Freddie himself had been the recipient, but the young German had seen the troubled look the engineer had had when he had seen the women, and he suspected the other man might be willing to part with some tea for them, too.

Vickery had noticed that one of the Guardsmen seemed to be sporting a bandage around his head, and looked around for the surgeon. He wondered whether the surgeon had noticed him, or could even deal with another man with concussion.

He crossed to Aimes. "I hope you don't mind if I ask you to take a quick look at the man there," he said, indicating the man, and turned as Jenny Ross came up to them.

Having abandoned Christian to rejoin his fellow soldiers, Jenny approached Captain Vickery, looking a bit dazed and glassy eyed as she spoke to him. "Captain, I think I need the surgeon..."

Vickery turned, startled, and automatically put out a hand to support her, belatedly realising that, despite what she might be feeling, she was not actually falling, or fainting. "Ames!" he snapped out, urgently, wondering what on earth he was supposed to do in this sort of situation. And wasn't this Jenny Ross, who had been with Newbury recently?

"Are you all right, Miss Ross?" he asked, hoping not to distract the surgeon from the injured men for too long - she didn't appear to be injured in any way, but that didn't necessarily mean anything; he had seen men killed just from the wind of a passing cannon-ball, with not a mark on them to show that there was anything wrong

After this, Aimes vowed that he would have nothing more to do with the Rifles. It was vastly less aggravating to be with a proper Line regiment. He scowled and left the wounded redcoat whose arm he had been attempting to bandage. Thrice-damned greenjackets and their haughty sense of entitlement...

"What is it, sir?" The surgeon asked curtly, looking critically at the woman the Rifles officer was supporting. She did not appear to be wounded in any great way. So what was so urgent that he was being distracted from tending to men who were truly wounded?

Jenny swayed as the scene seemed to spin about her. She would not be sick in front of all these people, particularly not this ill tempered excuse for a surgeon. "No. Never mind, sir, if I can just have a sip of water?" But of course the captain was not carrying a canteen.

Vickery turned to the nearest Rifleman, who happened to be young Joe Cavender. "Let her have a bit of your water, Cavender," he said, and the lad's eyes widened before he pulled his canteen strap over his head and held the heavy oak calabash out to the woman.

Jenny accepted the canteen and crouched down to drink from it, no longer trusting herself to stand. She fumbled with the cork, or the two corks she was now seeing on two canteens. Damn. Her clumsy fingers would not seem to cooperate.

It seemed his services were not required here after all. Typical. Aimes harrumphed, albeit quietly, and turned about to head back to the redcoat he had been tending to before this stupid interruption.

Jenny gave up on the cork and let the canteen slip to the ground. She clutched her head and looked at the young lad entreatingly. She whispered to him, for anything louder now seemed to rattle her skull. "I need to find Lieutenant Woodmarsh of the guards, or his tent." Preferably his tent only. She should have made Christian stay with her.

Lieutenant Woodmarsh? Wasn't Jenny Ross with Rifleman Newbury?

Vickery couldn't help wishing that his sister were here; she would know how to deal with this a lot better than he did.

"Does anyone know where Mister Woodmarsh is to be found?" he asked, looking around as Cavender stooped for his calabash, scowling when he realised that he was going to have to refill it in the morning.

Damn useless men and officers. Clutching her head once again, Jenny rose to her feet and began walking in the general direction of the camp, stepping carefully as if she were treading on eggshells. She would find his tent herself, or die trying. Sleep and dark were what she needed.

Organizing some tea had indeed been simple enough. Torrington had only absentmindedly nodded when asked, so Freddie felt free to brew a kettle and dole out the contents to those prisoners who looked as if they might need some. When he saw the pretty young woman walking unsteadily towards him, he immediatly filled a cup (a pretty girl deserved a real cup, in his opinion, even if it was the chipped one he did no longer use for the Captain) and bounded towards her.

"A mug of tea, Fräulein?", he asked, trying to pronounce the words clearly and holding the cup up before her eyes to make his point clear.

Tea. Yes. No. Ordinarily she would have said yes to tea immediately, but not now. Now she needed sleep, immediately, before things got worse. And some water might help. Water water water.

"Water?"

[OOC: Sorry, haven't seen!]

Freddie instantly dashed back and appeared a few seconds later minus the cup, but with a canteen full of water instead. Blushing, he offered it to Jenny.

"Here, Fräulein. It is fresh."

She took it wordlessly and began to drink and drink and drink. That was better. Or it would be better soon. If she could lie down and sleep, everything would work itself out. Still holding the canteen in one hand, she reached out and grabbed the German fellow by the arm. She spoke clearly, quietly, painfully. "I need to find the Guards' camp, Lieutenant Woodmarsh of the Coldstream Guards."

"The Coldstream Guards?", Freddie repeated, just to make sure, pronouncing the name slowly. "Lieutenant Woodmarsh I do not know, but ..."

He trailed off when Torrington, having seen the young German talk to the young woman, came over. As soon as the engineer was there, he quickly explained:

"Das Fräulein looks for Lieutenant Woodmarsh of the Guards, Mylord."
-----

For an instant, Edward's eyes widened in surprise, but then he bowed and offered the woman his arm. If she was the friend, mistress or whatever of a fellow officer and duty or other ill fortune had kept him from seeking her among the returning himself, it was only proper that he assisted her to find him. The thought that he might have voluntarily stayed away didn't even cross Edward's mind.

"If you would allow me to escort you, miss?", he asked politely, yet without much emotion.

Well that was a surprise. Jenny never would have expected such kindness from an officer - or was she just jaded from her time with the French? But with the pounding in her head, there was only one answer to his question. "Yes, please," she whispered.

Edward offered his arm.

"Then let's go!"

He looked at her more closely, and didn't like what he saw - or rather, he liked it quite well, but not the state it was in. Hiding his concern behind a cool, detached voice, he asked:

"Have you been hurt? Would you wish to see a surgeon first?"

Surgeon. No, she'd seen the surgeon briefly and was not interested in a consultation with the wretched man. "No. Thank you. No. I have a sick-headache, that's all. I just need sleep." She covered her eyes with her free hand. Walking this way she nearly stumbled on the uneven ground. She saved herself by clutching his arm, but she was too tired and in too much pain to play artful games.

She really shouldn't be walking. Edward realised that the moment she stumbled and clung to his arm, and he instantly stopped and tightened his hold, ready to catch her if she should faint.

For a moment, a terrible suspicion flared up in him - memories of other ladies, coyly inviting him for walks and then artfully swooning, but a look at Jenny dispelled the thought quickly: Firstly, she clearly neither had known nor cared who he was, secondly she had barely paid him any attention since then, and lastly if she was acting now, she should have been an applauded actress on a London stage.

Which left him with the very real problem that she was in no state to walk around looking for that lieutenant - who better had a good excuse for not being here and taking care of her herself.

In clipped and slightly irritated accents, he said:

"You certainly should lay down, and as soon as possible. Can you manage just a bit longer? Or will you allow me to carry you? We have nearly reached the camp, and I'm sure some soldier there will be able to tell us where Lieutenant Woodmarsh is at the moment."

And even if they couldn't, she would be able to sit down in the shade there, and he could send somebody for help ... Perhaps for Mrs. Cotton, who surely would know better what to do than he did.