Third Day on the March

Cotton didn't get a chance to speak to the Captain then. No sooner had he got back and handed the cloak over, than he was ordered to fall in and the Company turned to march off.

If Maggie was found with it, he would... he didn't know what he'd do. He couldn't let her take any punishment, though. It wasn't her who'd been set up.

He knew who'd done it and he had not a single shred of proof. And worse, the man was a Sergeant and he simply couldn't accuse a Sergeant of something like that.

Maggie was leaning over to adjust the straps on one of her boxes when she heard a woman's voice behind her.

"Margaret Evans! Are you wearing my green shawl under your gansey?" It was Annie Lawson.

"No. I'm not."

"Yes you are, I can see the edge of it sticking out."

"Annie, this is my shawl."

"No it's not! That's mine! I've been looking for my green shawl everywhere."

"Well this isn't it."

"Tis so! I remember now, you borrowed it off me when Balstrode died - didn't have a man to keep you warm, eh? And you never gave it back."

Maggie bristled. "Don't talk that way, Annie."

"And now you've got yourself a new rifleman, and you think you've got a new rifle green shawl of your own," Annie sneered.

Men were starting to stare, a few redcoats and even a couple of officers. "That's enough, Annie."

"But I recognize my own property. This is mine!" Annie seized the edge of the shawl and pulled. Maggie twisted it out of her grip but then Annie seized hold of Maggie herself. In the scuffle, she felt a sickening horror as she saw the gleaming gold watch knocked out of her pocket and tossed high, glinting even in the gray drizzle of rain. Annie saw it too. They both seemed frozen for a moment, and then they both dove for it. But Annie got there first.

"Well what's this, Maggie? Where'd you get a trinket like this? Did you 'borrow' this from someone too?"

This was Waldegrave's first experience of true campaigning abroad, and three days in, in the rain, he was beginning to regret the money he had spent on his transfer. The shouting women, as hard as their men, attracted only scorn, but when two of them started fighting over some object, almost under the feet of his horse, he pulled up and said, with as much authority as breeding and rank could impose: "What is the meaning of this? Get out of my way!"

Maggie opened her mouth to answer the question, but immediately realized that it would be a mistake. Best let him pass and then she could deal with Annie. She did not release her grip on Annie's arm, but she did pull her out of the officer's way with a demure, "So sorry, lieutenant."

One of the women moved out of his way, dragging the other with her. It was none of his concern - these were not his company's women - but there was impertinence behind the outward show of deference and he paid more attention than the women warranted. The second woman had something in her hand, probably something they had found, or stolen. In fact, as she resisted the younger woman's grip, he could see the glint of gold.

"What have you got there, woman?" he said, pointing at her with his crop.

Annie held up the watch. "She had this in her pocket, sir. I reckon she stole it, like she stole my shawl."

"Annie!" Maggie exclaimed, aghast. "That's not true. Not true at all."

"Whose watch is it, then? Give it to me!" Waldegrave held out his hand towards the woman called Annie without taking his eyes off the other one.

Maggie opened her mouth to protest, but again she thought the better of it. She simply watched in agony as Annie handed over the watch. How could this have happened, right after she'd promised to keep it safe? What would happen now? What would she tell Cotton?

Waldegrave took the watch. This did not legitimately belong to either of these women, he was certain. He raised it to his ear. Stopped. But even if it were broken it would be worth more than these women ... He turned it over and read J. M. Padstowe engraved on the back. Padstowe. Not an officer of the 62nd, but it was definitely an officer's watch.

"Where did you get this from?" he asked the younger woman.

She took a deep breath. "I found it, sir. Found it on the ground just a few minutes ago. Someone must have dropped it, I thought"

In which case, why was she still here, squabbling over it with the other woman. In her pocket, she had said. Waldegrave looked at it, and at her. The watch was undamaged - well, it might have stopped, but it had not been lying on the ground for this woman to find.

"So - you were going to keep it, were you? Far more likely that you stole it - from one of the officers. From their baggage. Is that it?"

"No. No, no," she answered, shaking her head. "I was going to show it to... an officer I know, and see if he could find out who it belongs to. That's why I wanted Annie here to give it back to me," she added, shooting the other woman a dirty look.

"You know an officer?" he said with contempt. "Well, we shall take it to the Provost's men. They will no doubt find the owner more quickly than your 'officer' could. What is your name and who is your protector?" She would of course be punished for the theft, which would be left to the Regiment she was - albeit unofficially - attached to.

The Provost's men? No, no, all she needed was to get the watch back! This would never do. "I'm Margaret Evans, sir," she answered in the sweetest accent she could muster. "But... my protector, sir?"

"Your 'husband', or whatever you call him. Or are you anybody's? I need to know which regiment to hand you over to," he explained, irritated. He was going to make sure she was punished, just for delaying him in this way.

"Which regiment to hand me over to?" she repeated, wide-eyed. She decided to play naive. "You mean who to hand the watch to? I was going to give it to my lord Colonel Edrington." Was that a mistake? She didn't want to bring Cotton into this at all. But then Annie spoke up.

"Oh, she's courtin' a rifleman in the 60th, sir. Name of Gabriel Cotton."

Waldegrave was surprised at the mention of his Colonel, but these camp-followers would know which name would sound important enough. But the other woman was quick to add her piece. "Well," he said, smiling with satisfaction. "If your man is in the 60th, then you are attached to our regiment, and we shall deal with you. And with your man, if he allows a common thief to get at officers' baggage." Padstowe? One of the other regiments, presumably. Well, they would see that the 62nd kept discipline, even among these disgraceful women. "Come along," he said to Evans and, as the other woman slid from her grasp, "and you. You were a witness, and will be needed."

Cotton hoped he'd be able to talk to Captain Vickery soon; he really needed to be the first one to tell him there was trouble brewing.

He couldn't believe someone had planted Captain Padstowe's watch where it was going to get him in trouble. And after everything the Kentish officer had done for him, or tried to do.

He was so distracted by the whole situation he didn't realise at first that the order had been given for them to halt.

Oh hell. This was all wrong. But what could she do?

The other woman balked, and Waldegrave bit his lip in annoyance. If one ran, he could only catch her by abandoning the other. He could not hold both of them. The image of a Lieutenant dismounting and manhandling two unwilling women through the baggage train and along the column was ...

Those two were his regiment - not perhaps his company, but the 62nd. "Private," he called. "Take these women to ..." He did not wish to trouble the Earl of Edrington with this when he was still unclear about just what he was dealing with - theft, or merely a profitable sideline in stolen goods, or possibly prostitution. It would not be the first time. Her man was in the 60th was he?

Lieutenant Waldegrave had nothing against riflemen in theory - send them out to take the edge off any attack, that seemed to be the idea. But the individuals who made up the two Rifle companies that were attached to the 62nd seemed to be not quite the thing. One had gibbered at him, last night - only the youngster's speed had stopped Waldegrave from dealing with the matter. Others barked in harsh voices. And the officer from the 95th was totally unworthy of his rank - in fact, he devalued it. A chance to take the riflemen on and show their faults was more than tempting. "Take them to Captain Vickery," he said in a stronger voice. "And hold them there until I come." The Private's question made him very angry, and some of it crept into his voice. "I am Lieutenant Waldegrave, idiot. And see that you remember that!"

The Rifles were in danger of out-marching the rest of the Division, which wasn't quite how it was supposed to work. Vickery glanced back along the column and saw how far ahead they were.

"Rifles, halt!" he called, and the greenjackets immediately stopped where they were, remaining facing forward. There was no chatter among them, they were disciplined enough for that, although that might simply be due to the weather.

He glanced back along the road, and was surprised to see a redcoat approaching, with a woman in tow, and somewhere behind them, a mounted officer.

Private Scott of the 62nd was not an unkind man, so he had not wanted to use force against the woman. She had not in fact put up much of a fight, being eager to tell her side of the story to him or anyone else who would listen. Not that he was listening, actually, it was not his business, and - if she was to be believed - not hers either. What use she would be to Captain Vickery he could not say, but the Lieutenant had told him to do it, and by reputation, he was a spiteful and vindictive man, kept in check only by superiors with slightly more sense. Give him a valid charge, though, and he would see it through. Better that charge was laid against the women, or the Rifles, Scott thought.

He saw the officer and prodded at the woman to move in front of him. "Captain Vickery?" he said, and since he was in no doubt about the identification continued. "Private Scott, sir, bringing this woman to you, in accordance with the orders of Lieutenant Waldegrave."

Well, Cotton had wanted to speak to Captain Vickery about the watch anyway. Maybe he had already told him. Or maybe he would be able to tell him now and clear everything up. Although she had wanted to keep Cotton out of the mess she had created, she was a little relieved at the prospect of talking to Vickery. He would understand. He was a good man. He would make it right.

She met his eye and swallowed, doubt suddenly entering her mind.

What the...? Vickery shook his head, slightly confused, and dismounted.

"Thank you, Private." He glanced at the woman, and frowned.

"Maggie Evans, isn't it? With Rifleman Cotton?" He didn't wait for an answer, but turned back to his waiting men.

"Cotton! Fall out and come here!"

The Rifleman came over, his normally cheerful face looking apprehensive and somewhat grey. "Sir?" He saw Maggie. "They found it, then, lass?"

"Maybe one of you could tell me what this is all about," Vickery interrupted, only to be interrupted himself by the arrival of the mounted officer.

Gabe! Why had he said a thing like that? That made him look guilty! It made her look guilty too.

"Don't worry, Gabe," she said, trying to tell him with her eyes that she was sorry, so sorry.