28th June, Officers' Breakfast

"Oh?" Vickery said, quirking an eyebrow. "I wonder what the local populace would make of los Ingleses and their strange ways. It could be rather interesting - and it would be like no ball ever held in England, I am certain of that."

Cotton's expression cleared ."Oh. He drew a picture." Why he would put a white flag in it was beyond Cotton - the few times he had ever seen his own officer sketching anything, it was usually a faithful representation of whatever was in front of him at the time, from scenes of life in camp to the rivers and hills they had patrolled through.

"Drew?" That puzzled Freddie. "From draw? Like draw a sword?" He gesticulated to make his question clear. "No, he put it away! He did not show it." A faint blush crept ino his cheeks and he bend down to give the boots a final sweep. "I saw only when I gave him coffee ..."

Cotton nodded, then shook his head. "Um. Same word, but means two diff'rent things - I dunno why. It just does." He grinned. "Captain Vick'ry draws pictures too, though I only seen 'em a couple of times. I mean, I've seed 'em plenty of times, when I'm servin' his dinner or whatever, but he's showed 'em to me pertickler only a coupla times." And one of those times had been to show Cotton a sketch of himself cooking dinner, too, the first time he had ever done so for the Captain.

Freddie grinned very proudly.

"Mylord drew a picture all for me alone! Here! Look, you are in it, too!"

He pulled a folded piece of paper from the pocket of his coat, flipped it open and handed it to Cotton. It was a faithful sketch of Freddie, happily grinning, while he was stirring something in a large kettle. Next to him, Pye, obviously talking happily, was feeding Peggy, while on the other side Cotton himself was sitting, smiling indulgently and cleaning his rifle.

Cotton blinked at the sheet of paper that was thrust under his nose, and had to put the iron serving spoon down so that he could take it and look at it properly.

"Do I really look like that?" he said, glancing down at himself. He hadn't thought the patch on his right knee was as noticeable as all that, for one thing. "He can draw pretty good - dunno who's best, him or the Captain."

Freddie had never before seen one of Captain Vickery's sketches, but loyalty prompted him to state very firmly:

"Mylord is a real Künstler! Like the men drawing people for a penny in the street!"

Jumping to his feet, he tucked the boots under his elbow, dusted off his hand and looked inquiringly at the food.

"Can I help you carry things?"

"It could be quite interesting indeed. And I don't have to be afraid of having to dance.
I will have to spent half the time apologizing to all the officers for today's...events!"

He laughed. He was joking off course. Well, he hoped he was joking.

"I have a feeling that those who are not dancing themselves and are therefore unavailable to be apologized to will consider it a big step towards your rehabilitation in their eyes if you would stand up with all the ladies who expect them to ask them", Edward remarked drily.

Fraser needed a few seconds before he got the clou, but when he got it he laughed warmly. He enjoyed the company and the conversation very much. It was so different from his own troop, and Fraser had felt a little bit uncomfortable at first, but this was the first time, since arriving in Portugal, he really felt 'at home' in the army.

Edward angled for the coffee pot and held it up invitingly. "Might I refill your cups, gentlemen, before it gets cold?"

Which was the polite way to say 'I want my second cup' ...

Vickery smiled and raised an eyebrow questioning at Fraser before holding his cup out. Really, it ought to be him doing the offering, of course. His mother would probably have a fit if she ever learned that he had allowed one of his guests to be put in the position of offering coffee.

Which only meant that she would not learn of it. Not from him, at any rate.

"I do not know how likely it is that we shall have a chance to organise a rout in the near future," he said, sitting back once his cup was full.

Maggie peeked around the side of the tent and saw with alarm that the officers were reduced to pouring their own coffee. She could not very well go out there and serve it herself, not with Vickery hosting visitors, and Gabe was busy filling up the plates.

"Freddie!" she whispered, interrupting the lad's battle with a pair of dirty boots. "Freddie, they're pouring coffee." Maggie was not a batman of course, but surely such things should not be allowed.

Freddie nearly dropped the boots when he heard that, ruining his careful work.

"What?"

He dashed to look around the tent, too, angling himself to peek at the scene from under Maggie's elbow.

"Oh mein Gott! They shouldn't... I should ..."

He looked completely panicked, nearly rushed out, then remembered the boots, looked around himself frantically, then thrust them at Maggie with a pleading look in his eyes.

"I'll do it, if you'll dish their scran out," Cotton said to Maggie, looking up to catch a glimpse of Rottlaender's panicked face.

Really, though - it wasn't as though the three of them made the army of servants that officers had when they were at home. This sort of thing was going to happen, unless he or Rottlaender were standing there the whole time.

He got to his feet, trying to work out what to do with the plate and spoon he was holding.

Freddie descended like a small whirlwind, muttering every apology in the English tongue that he knew, and quite a few German ones as well. Before Torrington could reply or do anything useful with the coffee, his batman was stanfding in front of him with an expression as if he had been caught with his hand in the paychest and huge, pleading eyes, holding his hand out for the coffeepot.

Edward supposed he was lucky that it wasn't simply snatched away from him. With a sigh, he handed the pot over. He really needed to have a talk with Rottlaender. If he just had any idea what to say that would neither hurt nor discourage the lad, but simply turn him down a little ...

Vickery couldn't help chuckling at Rottlaender's intervention. He had had no idea that the youngster would be quite so enthusiastic about the role of batman when he had offered the lad's services to Torrington.

"I can think of one or two ladies who would doubtless enjoy the gaieties of a ball," he said musingly, holding out his own cup to be filled once Torrington had been served. "Although they would probably be quite footsore by the end of the evening. There just are not enough ladies to go around."

Edward nipped his coffee.

"Indeed ... We would have to invite some locals as well, so it might be most practical to do that when we are cantoned in winter quarters. Perhaps it would also be possible to devise some means of entertainment besides dancing and playing cards. A concert or another kind of performance. This way the damage to feet and purse could be limited."

Vickery blew the steam off his coffee, and thought for a moment. "We could try amateur theatricals?" he suggested. "Something like The Rivals, or perhaps She Stoops to Conquer. Although, on closer consideration, I don't know that we have enough people who could take part." It was an interesting problem, in the abstract anyway.

"I seem to recall that there are abridged versions of several plays for home theatricals ... although I think we might find enough people to participate. Well, that is if we not insist on too many rehearsals."

Mischief in his eyes, Edward made a note in his book.

"I seem to recall that She stoops to Conquer not only has a fine selection of male roles, but also features a number of excentrics that would probably suit very well. Captain Fraser, would you be interested to participate?"

Oh dear. The last time Fraser had seen a theater from the inside had been in '06, in Malta, and it had been a, though rather intresting, long boring Ancient Greek drama.

Though, he had seen She Stoops to Conquer...In India. He tried to remember the play which had been done by some officers of a Sepoy battalion, but all he remembered was that it had been fun to watch...and a bottle of good whiskey later that night.

"I have to confess my theater skills have not been put to the task ever, yet...though, there's a first time for everything, eh?" he said, not sure why he was accepting at all - Maybe it was a good change to improve his standing with the officers of the Division?

"I have not taken part in amateur theatricals since I was a schoolboy," Vickery said, adding wryly, "unless you happen to count a disastrous attempt at Romeo and Juliet when I was a mere Ensign of the tender age of eighteen."

He grinned, the smile giving a boyish look to his face. "Of course, the whole idea of amateur theatricals is not to compete with the professional actors but to have a diversion from the minutiae of everyday life."

"I think for the spectators, the point is to see the disastrous parts in these attempts ..."

Edward commented drily.

"I believe we would need actors for five male and three female parts. Three are already present. So, who else would perhaps like to participate? Captain Hunter, certainly? And perhaps Captain Padstowe?"

"If Captain Padstowe's duties do not permit him time, perhaps Captain Blackwood may like to be included?" Vickery suggested, trying not to recall one particular 'disaster' of the 45th's production of Romeo and Juliet.

Edward pulled out his notebook and wrote the names down.

"I can't see why we shouldn't ask both ... and wasn't there some announcement that you might get a new lieutenant, Vickery? Or should we allow all junior officers to enjoy our antics from the safe distance of the stalls?"

Edward himself had no qualms about including all officers who whished to join in, but he would at least give the others a polite way of choosing the players only among their own level of seniority.