A Time for Honour

Chapter 12

It was very late in the evening when he eventually arrived back at his lodgings. As well as being cold, tired and hungry, he was, not for the first time that day, furious with the chain of command in his regiment.

Lieutenant Damien Laws, had warned his commanding officer of the futility of the expedition, but his advice had, once more, been ignored. The Major, who had sent him on this wild goose chase, had once been an ensign under his command. As the young man, with the backing of his family wealth, received promotion after promotion, Damien had remained at his current rank. The young, inexperienced Major, two years his junior, never missed an opportunity to put Damien in his place. But sending him on a scouting mission to locate a suitable picnic site to take one of his paramours, had been outside of enough.

'I'm famished,' he said to his sergeant, as he walked over to the table, 'what's Betsy got in the pot. I'd eat anything.'

The sergeant, who was partially dressed in his uniform, walked over lazily to Lieutenant Laws, 'How did it go?' he asked, already knowing what the answer to his question would be.

'Bloody awful, Marlow,' was the reply, 'a waste of two days. The man's a bloody idiot.'

'He's always been an arrogant little bastard,' Sergeant Marlow replied, 'and he's had it in for you since he made captain.'

'Joe,' a woman said angrily, 'I'll not have you using language like that in my kitchen.' A plump woman, with a ruddy complexion, had just come into the kitchen, brandishing a wooden ladle. She stopped in her tracks, when she saw the Lieutenant, and said, 'I'm very sorry, sir. I did not see you there. Would you like some stew? I made it fresh this afternoon with a couple of rabbits the boys managed to trap.'

'Yes please, Betsy,' he said, using his most charming smile, 'everyone in the 33rd knows there is nothing better than your rabbit stew.'

Betsy took a wooden bowl from the old-fashioned dresser, and, using the ladle she had been holding, dished out a generous portion of the steaming hot stew. 'Here you go, dearie,' she said, with a smile, as she gently put the bowl in front of him, 'eat it up while it's still nice and 'ot, and 'elp yourself to some bread.'

Damien then tore a large chunk of bread from a loaf that was in the middle of the table. 'Got any ale, Joe,' he asked after he had eaten a few mouthfuls of Betsy's stew, 'I'm parched.'

Sergeant Marlow slowly got out of his seat and fetched the jug of ale from the dresser. He then poured himself and Lieutenant Laws a large glass of the warm liquid. 'If I were you,' he said, as he put the full glass next to the Lieutenant's bowl, 'I wouldn't get too comfortable. A letter arrived for you earlier this evening. I'll go and get it.'

Sergeant Marlow walked towards the dresser and reached for the letter, that he had put on the top shelf for safe keeping. 'Here it is,' he said, as he brought it over to Damien, 'looks important.'

Damien took it from Marlow and glanced at his name, written on the front, with a neat copperplate hand. He then tossed it down contemptuously onto the table and continued to eat his supper.

'Aren't you going to open it,' the curious Sergeant eventually said, 'it looks like it's from top brass. Some young buck, dressed as a Hussar, delivered it this afternoon. I've never seen the like. All brass buttons and gold braid,' he said with disgust. 'You wouldn't catch me dressed up like that.'

'But it wouldn't 'urt to change your shirt every now and again. You stink to high heaven,' Betsy said, as she busied herself by the sink.

Damien laughed. 'Joe's never been one for washing, have you, Joe?'