9th July, evening; Free'n'easy

It was glorious. He was off-duty, away from the regiment's bivouac (and thus the officers), and he was stripping off his clothes as he ran. Freedom, for him, came in the form of the river. It was not much of a river, to be sure. But it was a moving body of water and he was dead keen for a swim. And, if he was honest, a wash. It had been days since his last and in the Coldstream, regular washing was the rule. Even for drummers.

His trousers were the last to be shed and in the process of wriggling out of them, the lad knocked himself tumbling. Not that he minded. The dirt and dust would very shortly be gone. He flung the trousers blindly toward the spot where he'd left his shoes and flailed his way back to his feet. Then, with a whoop, he ran headlong into the muddy-brown water.

Behind him, discarded and perhaps dangerously forgotten, were his clothes, lying where they'd fallen. It was like a trail of breadcrumbs to anyone who might have an interest in following him.

The kettle swung from Janet's hand as she picked her way among the trees which scrabbled for purchase in the rocky soil. It was oppressively hot, even in the shade, and her dress was beginning to stick uncomfortably in places. She had half a mind to -- the kettle banged against her leg as she paused to glance bemusedly at the crossbelt lying at her feet. Stooping, she picked it up and only then noticed the coat lying a short distance away. She smirked and retrieved that as well, following the trail of discarded clothing toward the river.

It wasn't far and before long she was standing before a small pile of shoes and kit, nestled somewhat haphazardly amidst the rocks at the water's edge. Their owner, a boy, his scrawny, bare limbs flailing was splashing about in the current a short distance up stream. Setting down the crossbelts, Janet tucked the rest of her burden under one arm and watched in silent amusement.

The water was cold - moreso than he'd expected - and he let out a startled hoot once he'd surfaced after his ungraceful headlong dive. It was a refreshing sort of cold though and he was glad for it.

"Huzzay the bloody river!" The lad crowed, scrubbing a fistful of sand into his hair so the short brown strands stuck up in every direction. Then he peered at his reflection in the water and laughed. What a fine sight! If only he could get away with that around the company!

A bright, crowing laugh escaped Janet and any pretense of discretion was instantly abandoned. If only all her errands were this entertaining.

The unexpected loud bark of laughter caused the lad to spin sharply around, though he made the novice mistake of attempting to retreat deeper into the river as he did so. His feet tangled in some thick weeds in the river bed and with a startled yelp, he fell backward into the water and out of sight.

Janet's laughter began to trail off. The boy could swim, couldn't he?

The seconds seemed to drag past without any sign of the lad, other than some lingering ripples where he had gone underwater. There was a brief flicker of movement a couple of yards away but it was only a frog.

Shit. Grabbing one of the crossbelts, Janet hitched up her skirt and splashed into the water, making for the spot where the lad had disappeared. Her dress dragged like an anchor as she struggled into the deeper water, thrashing her arms below the surface in hopes of striking something human.

The lad chose that moment to strike, flinging himself out of the water and at the woman with a cackling cheer.

With a startled oath, Janet lurched backwards, flopping back into the water just as the lad had done. "Oh, you're bloody dead, you are!"

All he could do in response to that was laugh, though he made an admirable attempt to splash his way to a safe distance from her. Just in case.

Janet was sorely tempted to go after him, but her waterlogged clothing put her at a distinct disadvantage. Besides, she had something better in mind. Recovering her footing, she flailed backwards, hoisting up her skirts to an indecent length just as soon as the water was shallow enough and splashing purposefully towards the small pile of clothing on the riverbank.

It took a moment to realise he was not being pursued. The woman had instead turned back for the riverbank, her skirts hitched well up. "Hey!" He blurted out, a crooked grin on his face. This was much more interesting than trying to elude capture and a dunking. It wasn't every day that camp followers showed him any good sights!

Ignoring the cry, Janet splashed out of the shallows and stooped to the ground, letting her skirt fall as she did so. Then she turned round, a triumphant smirk on her face and the bundle of clothing in her arms. "You were sayin', love...?"

"Show us some leg again!" The lad called, before realising what she was doing. "Oi!"

Janet's smile took on a distinctly vulpine quality and taking a quick step forward she flung the armload into the current.

That wasn't what he'd meant! Damn! He tried to hurry forward but the river prevented him gaining any speed. Not that there was any hope of catching his clothes before they hit the water

"Cow!" The lad cried, just before stumbling over something in the river bed and sinking to his nose in the muddy brown water.

Janet let out a raucous whoop of laughter. "Better swim for it, love. You'll never catch 'em like that."

His shoes, she noticed, were still there on the river bank. Good, solid, hobnailed boots. Scooping one up, she tested its weight and grinned.

Swim for them. Damn it, he was trying! His ability to swim was basic at best, however. The best he could manage was an awkward, graceless paddle but it was better than nothing. He did manage to get a hold of his jacket, which would have been the most expensive article to replace.

His shirt, trousers, and stockings, on the other hand, drifted further away on the current.

"Aw, you can do better'n that, can't you? Kick for it. Go on," she mimicked, "Show us a bit o' leg."

Despite knowing better, the lad paused in the increasingly desperate pursuit of his floating clothes to turn toward the riverbank. "Which leg'd that be, then?" He asked with a smirk. "I got three!"

Now it was Janet's turn to smirk. "Oh, aye?"

"Aye!" The lad shot back, one hand dashing out of sight under the water, as if he was about to prove his statement. There was a pause, however, and then his face turned a dark shade of red. "Well, most of the time I do!"

"Hope you ain't so shy 'round the regiment," Janet retorted with a hoot of laughter, "'Cause your trousers'll be half way to the sea by now." The boy's face was priceless -- she could almost pity him. Almost.

He wasn't shy, as such. Only slightly more sensible. The officers were an unbearably strict lot. But his trousers... the lad uttered a number of choice words and turned to slosh hard after his swiftly-disappearing clothes. Scheming harpy! She'd distracted him far too easily!