Third Day on the March

It started to rain during the night - rain on the canvas shelter woke Edrington, who turned over and went back to sleep. It would be far worse for those whose only shelter was a blanket, or the shade of a tree. The drums beat for the start of the day in grey wetness, and the camping ground rapidly turned to mud as thousands of men moved purposefully - or not - to gather belongings and pack, to prepare their horses or their officers' mounts, to get into their place for the march. Rain. Not a good start to a day's march, but just something to be coped with.

Edrington dressed in the dry, though water ran under the canvas walls of the tent, turning the grass to slime. With a rain cloak and waterproof covering for his hat he went out to take Bryony from the groom.

Soggy, was how Cotton felt. It had started raining overnight, and he'd cocooned himself tighter in his his blanket and hoped it wouldn't soak through before morning.

In the morning, there was tea, at least, though it was a miracle they'd managed to relight the fire. It was always good to start with something hot - though it was more lukewarm than hot.

And the road was turning to mud. Cotton was glad that the Rifles were the vanguard of the column, and they didn't have to struggle through mud churned up by cavalry and artillery.

The Rifles formed up in silence, each man slinging his gun, butt uppermost, on his shoulder, in a futile attempt to keep the barrel and pan dry. It was going to be a long day, and his heel had not improved.

Unlike her friend Gabe, Maggie was in the baggage train at the very back of the column and did indeed have to contend with the mud, and deep hoof marks, and awkward wagon ruts, and the droppings of many horses, donkeys and mules on the road. She tried to steer her own donkey towards the edge of the road where it met the grass. The grass was slippery, but the footing was more even.

"Beautiful day, isn't it?" Jenny Ross cried merrily.

"What are you so cheerful about?" Maggie asked with a frown.

Jenny just laughed and kept walking.

Amongst the rank and file of the 33rd it had been noted that Sergeant Hakeswill seemed to be in an uncommonly good mood.

"Some poor bastard's going to get it," Sergeant Tom Garrard had observed earlier that morning.

Which meant that the men marched under a cloud of uneasy aniticpation, wondering which of them was going to end up being the poor bastard.

But Hakeswill seemed not to notice, because he was, for once in an extremely good mood. He was still happy with his work in doing that sneaky little git Padstowe. Word had spread about the attack, and though it seemed the man had lived (Hakeswill mentally made a note to kick harder next time) he was in a bad way, knew nothing of who had attacked him and would not be fit enough to rejoin for some considerable time. Every officer was of course shocked and outraged, many theories circulating as to it being some drunken ruffians on their last night before marching, which was a perfect time to strike.

He had not been able to get rid of the watch. The money had been hoarded away easy enough, but the watch was inscribed on the back 'J. M. Padstowe'. It was an unmistakably English name, and no fence in Lisbon had been willing to touch it - but in this atmosphere of wild speculation, it was possible that the watch might be used to his advantage.

"Keep movin', you sons of 'ores!" he screeched at the men. "I'll 'ave 'is name took for punishment any man I sees draggin' 'is feet!"

And Sergeant Hakeswill smiled and cackled to himself; because his visit to the 60th's baggage last night had not been solely to upset Maggie Evans, and at any time during their next stop or two, he should see the fruits or his labour come to light.

When they stopped, Maggie happened to run across Jedediah Palmer, and she lightly scolded him, showing him the mud on the feet of her stockings. "My feet fair froze all night, because of you!"

"It weren't me, Maggie, honest," he insisted, grinning all the same. "But next time, you just come to me and I'll know how to keep you warm." She overturned his tea for that but bore him no ill-will. And perhaps it had been his brother Zebulon. They did have similar voices. Men were forever boys, it seemed.

Cotton grinned at Maggie. She'd got right back into the way of things on the march, and she could give as good as she got in the way of banter. He was lucky to have her, he knew.

"Don't you go lettin' any of them keep you warm, lass," he said, smiling. "I might get jealous."

She gave him an angelic smile (he was as bad as the rest of them!) and replied "If they offer me some dry stockings, I don't know how I shall resist."

Cotton grinned. "You'm fair to break me heart, lass," he said. "But I can't stand here chattin' all day; Captain Vick'ry wants his boat cloak out 'cause of the rain."

He crossed to the officer's mule and opened the bag on top. There was the garment in question... but there was something else there, too. He pulled it out and his heart turned to ice.

A pocket watch. An officer's pocket watch, and not Vickery's; he always had his with him. He turned it over to find something engraved on the back.

"Maggie!" he called, quietly.

"Eh?" She walked over to his side and looked at the watch in his hand, still smiling.

"Maggie, this ain't Mister Vickery's. I never seen it before," Cotton said, and showed her the back of it. "What does that say - and for the love of God, keep your voice down; I don't want anyone to hear."

She gazed first at the watch and then back up at him, her eyes becoming very blue and wide. She looked back down and read the elegant inscription. "It says 'J. M. Padstowe.' Gabe, where'd you get it?"

"It was shoved in here," he said, pointing at Vickery's bag. He thought for a moment.

"I can't take it with me to show the Captain, someone'll see. Best if I leave it here, and tell him. Ain't nobody else but me going to touch his stuff, after all."

He shrugged. "Dunno how it got in there, like, I never seen it afore."

"Could the captain have put it in there himself?" she asked doubfully. "Maybe he found it somewhere?"



[OOC - This is my bookmark. Save my place!!! Don't go posting crazy without me - I'm not done here. Off to work now. (hmph) Bye! ]

"Dunno. Don't think so. Captain Padstowe came to see him, for sure, but he wouldn't have given him his watch, not when he's got his own." He shook his head, a frown creasing his forehead. "I got to tell him, Maggie. Mebbe he'll know who put it there, and what to do."

"So this Padstowe's a captain then?" Maggie now looked grave. "I don't like it, Gabe. Will you get in trouble if you tell Captain Vickery? He might think you stole it! Can't you just slip it back into Captain Padstowe's baggage like it somehow got slipped in here in the first place? Or maybe you can give it to his batman."

"He ain't here, Maggie. He's one of them exploring officers or some such, goes off scouting on his own. And I really don't know how that got into Mister Vick'ry's stuff."

He looked at her. "I don't like it, lass. I don't like it at all."

"Me neither. So what will you do with it now? We're probably going to get marching again in a minute. Will you have a chance to talk to Captain Vickery about it?"



[ooc - off to work again!]

"I'll put it back with his stuff. Like I said, ain't anybody else would dare touch his things, and I won't get caught with it that way. And... and I'll have to try to talk with the Captain about it."

(OOC - I won't post anything till you get back; Cotton's still holding it right this second. OK?)

"But - if you didn't put it there, and the Captain didn't put it there, that would mean someone did dare touch his things, and they might again, if they decide to come back for it." After she had said this, her hand suddenly flew to her mouth. "Gabe! He must have done it last night! I heard a man's voice when I came to get my shawl in the night - when you said you'd heard me cry out, and I told you one of the lads was playing a joke. But I didn't know who it was. Maybe it was whoever put the watch there!"

Which meant only one thing. Someone had tried to do for him, just as they had promised.

For you is next, the Sergeant had said, the few words containing such awful menace. And now he was done, unless he could tell Captain Vickery what had happened.

And he had to do that now.

"I know, Maggie, lass, I know," he said. "I just need to tell the Captain and he'll be able to sort it out. Right? So I'll just put this back here and we'll go and find him."

Maggie considered a moment. "Why don't you let me take it? Only until you can show Captain Vickery. Just in case the man comes back to reclaim what he's hidden. I'll keep it safe in my pocket."

"Are you sure? 'Cause if'n someone catches you with it, you'll be in trouble too."

Though he was touched by her offer, and it did make sense. Sort of.

"Less trouble than you, probably! But no one will catch me. Who ever bothers with little old me?" she asked with a smile.

"You'd be surprised," Cotton said darkly. "But I have to run, whatever. Mister Vick'ry wants his boatcloak, and we'm just about to move again."

He sighed. "Go on, then, lass. Just don't get caught!"

She gave him a fleeting smile and tucked the watch into her apron pocket as they both hurried off.