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?'

'Only dirty people wash,' came the curt reply from the disgruntled Sergeant. 'I don't need to look like a dandified gent. It only gives the frogs something to aim at.'

'So does the smell,' Betsy said, with her hands on her hip. 'They could smell you from 'ere to Paris!'

Damien continued to laugh. He had met Joe on his first day when he had joined the army. Joe had just taken the King's shilling after hearing a rousing speech concerning the riches and glory one could gather serving one's country. However, he quickly found that he had been duped by the recruiting agent, but by then, it was too late. Damien, on the other hand, fresh from Harrow, had had his commission bought for him by a distant uncle on his father's side. Over the intervening years, the unlikely pair had become good friends, and in the heat of battle, they were always to be found fighting side-by-side. And when there was peace, the Lieutenant preferred the company of his sergeant to that of his fellow officers.

When Damien had finished his supper, he looked, once more, at the discarded letter and picked it up gingerly. 'Damn it,' he said, out loud, 'why can't they leave me alone.'

'You're too good at your job, that's your problem,' Marlow added, as he picked up his pipe and began to fill it with tobacco from a leather pouch he always kept about his person. 'If you were a lazy bugger, like the Major, no one would give you a second thought.'

Damien grunted and then sighed. He picked up a knife, that was resting on the table, and broke the seal. 'Damn it,' he said loudly, as he read the short missive, 'I'm going to have to go to headquarters.'

'Tonight?' Marlow said, looking at him puzzled, 'what would they want with you this time of night?'

'I don't know, but he says it's urgent,' Damien said, as he rose from the table.

'Bollocks, it's urgent,' Marlow said crossly, 'top brass wouldn't know urgent if it were to bite them on the bum.'

'I've already told you, Joe, I don't want to hear language like that in my kitchen,' Betsy said, this time waving a bread knife in the air towards his general direction.

'It's my kitchen too, I'll have you know,' Joe said, looking up at her.

'Well,' she replied, looking at him sharply and still waving the knife at him, 'you can do the cooking and the clearing up.' And with that proclamation, she flounced out of the kitchen.

Joe watched her leave with admiration in his eyes. 'She may be a bit of a nag, but it's worth putting up with her sharp tongue. I like a woman who knows her own mind. And Betsy, believe me, knows hers.' He sighed and then looked at Damien, 'anyway, who wants to see you at this late hour.'

'Colonel Mitford,' he said, shaking his head, 'and I can't for the life of me think why he wants to see me.'

✽✽✽

It was after midnight when Damien eventually made it to headquarters. It may have been late, but there were still people milling about the place. He quickly found the Colonel's door and knocked on it loudly.

'Come in,' he heard from the other side of the door.

Damien walked cautiously into his office and stood in front of the Colonel's desk. Colonel Mitford immediately stopped writing and stood up. 'Thank you for coming so quickly, Lieutenant Laws,' he said, as he held out his hand.

'I came as quickly as I could,' he replied, as he shook the Colonel's hand. This had not been true. After he had taken his time eating supper, he returned to his room to rid himself of the dust he had acquired after the long day's ride. He knew that when one presented themselves to "top brass," as Marlow liked to call them, one had to dress appropriately. He had found his spare uniform and had slowly put it on, not caring that his jacket was a little creased and worn. After he had half-heartedly cleaned his boots, and put them back on, he had been ready to go.

'Would you like a drink?' Mitford said as he walked across the room towards a table that had a large ornate decanter resting on it.

'Yes, please,' Damien said, trying to hide the puzzled tone in his voice.

Mitford poured two large glasses and handed one to Damien. 'Please, come and sit down,' he said, motioning to a chair by the fire.

Damien sat down and took a sip of the drink and was surprised that it was a glass of the very best cognac. After a long silence, Damien said, 'I take it you have not invited me here just to drink your excellent cognac?'

Mitford laughed, and said, 'no, I'm afraid not. I'll get straight to the point, it is late, and I know that you have had a long, tiring day. Do you know the existence of a gentleman's club run by a Major Ellington?'

Damien nodded. 'Of course, most of the officers in my regiment go there regularly.'

'I know that this is an impertinent question, but have you ever been there?' he asked cautiously.

'Not my scene,' Damien said, shaking his head. 'I've never had much luck at the tables.'

'Did you ever meet Ellington in Spain?' Mitford asked seriously.

'Once or twice, but not often. We did not socialise in the same circles. If I remember correctly, he was in the 7th Hussars, and they look down on everyone else.'

'And what did you make of him when you did meet him?' Mitford said solemnly.

'Do you want the honest answer, sir? Damien asked, looking directly at Mitford, trying to read his expression.

'I would appreciate your candour, Laws,' Mitford answered, his facial expression not giving his thoughts away.

'He's a loose screw,' Damien said, looking for Mitford's reaction.

Damien could see that Mitford was keeping all his cards close to his chest and was not giving any clues about what he thought of the man. 'Did you like him?' Mitford eventually asked.

'Not really, sir,' Damien said, 'honestly if you want my opinion, I thought he was an arrogant bastard. He treated everyone around him with contempt, but everyone still loved him. He has a gift for manipulating people.'

'Do you think that he would recognise you if he ever saw you again?' Mitford asked, leaning back in his chair.

'Me?' Damien said laughing, 'I doubt that very much. He never gave me the time of day. I was never in his league.'

'Good,' Mitford replied, with a smile, 'I thought that was the case.'

Colonel Mitford then stood up and went over to his desk. He picked up what Damien could see was an enamel miniature and then returned to his seat by the fire. Mitford looked at the miniature and took a deep breath. 'I would like you to do something for me,' he said, as he fingered its delicate gilt frame. 'It's not official business, and I don't want anyone else to know about it.'

Damien nodded. 'You can trust me, sir. You have my word. I won't tell a soul.'

'Thank you, Laws,' Mitford replied earnestly, 'I know I can trust that you will be discrete.' Mitford then took a deep breath and handed the miniature to Damien. He just stared at the small portrait of a young woman, who was smiling sweetly back at him. It was not the most expertly painted picture he had ever seen, but there was no mistaking the beauty of the woman it portrayed. 'Apparently,' Mitford then said, 'it's a good likeness of the girl.'

'She's beautiful,' Damien said, examining it closely. 'Who is she, and what has she got to do with that rogue Ellington?'

'Her name is Miss Cassandra Stanford,' Mitford replied, 'and when she was seventeen, Ellington forced her into prostitution.'

'I always knew he was a bastard, sir,' Damien said, still looking at the miniature.

'Her sister, rightly so, is very concerned for her safety and has asked for my help to get her out of that place. Unfortunately, I cannot do it, because Ellington is a powerful and influential man, who knows who I am. I need someone, who I can trust, to go in and get her out of there, without Ellington's knowledge.' Mitford said, leaning forward and looking at Damien, 'and you are that person.'

'But, why me?' Damien asked, wanting to know why he had been hand-picked over all the other officers stationed in Brussels.

'You're a good officer; one of the best,' Mitford said honestly. 'And tell me, what have you been doing for the last couple of days?'

Damien looked at Mitford, and smiled wryly, 'you tell me because I think you know very well what I've been doing.'

Mitford nodded, 'I will,' he said decisively. 'You have been on a pointless scouting mission for Major Hurst. And, if I have been correctly informed, he sent you to look for a suitable site that he can entertain, discreetly and in style, another man's wife.'

Damien nodded, and looked at Mitford with suspicion, 'you probably know even more about it than I do, sir.'

'I am very well informed,' he said, as he poured them another glass of cognac. 'Nothing happens in Brussels without me finding out about it eventually.'

'Now, Major Hurst, in my opinion, is a terrible officer. He has never been respected by the men in your regiment, and has, at times, shown himself to be a man completely void of integrity. He joined your regiment two years after you, but because of his family money and connections, he has risen quickly through the ranks and has been earmarked to be the next commander of the 33rd.' Mitford then sighed, 'and there lies the problem. Promotion in this army, unlike the French, is not based on how good you are, it is determined on how much money your family can throw at you, and, of course, how many influential people you can call friends.'

'If the army were run on a fair system, that rewarded good leadership, you would be the Major, and he would have been court-marshalled and thrown out years ago.'

Damien just sat quietly, listening to Mitford speak. Everything he said had been true. Over his years as an officer, Major Hurst had made a series of catastrophic errors, mainly in the heat of battle, that had culminated in the death of many good men under his command. Yet, however incompetent he was, he still managed to extricate himself from any blame. It did not matter what he did, Hurst's father was a good friend of the commander of the 33rd. Therefore, he did what he liked without any repercussions on his chosen career. To the consternation of many, it was apparent that he was being groomed to ultimately take control of the regiment when the present commander retired.

'The problem that you have,' Mitford said, after a brief silence, 'is that Hurst is jealous of you.

'I don't know why?' Damien replied quietly, 'he's the one with the rank.'

'Yes, he has the position,' Mitford said thoughtfully, 'but he does not have the respect of the men. To command effectively, your men must be able to rely on your judgment. They are, after all, putting their lives into your hands.' Mitford then looked at Damien, with a serious look on his face, 'you, on the other hand, may not have rank, but you have the men's respect. What you must understand is that in the heat of battle, the troops of the 33rd are more likely to follow your orders, than any he gives. That is why he is jealous of you, and that is why he keeps on sending you on pointless errands.'

'You are probably right,' Damien said, shrugging his shoulders, 'but I cannot see what you or anyone else can do about it.'

Mitford stood up and walked over to his desk and picked up a piece of paper. 'On that matter, you are wrong,' he said as he walked back over to Damien and handed him the piece of paper. As he returned to his seat, he said, 'there is something I can do to help you.'

Damien read, and then reread the letter. It was an official letter, confirming his promotion to Captain. 'Thank you, sir,' he said, still a little shocked and confused at the news. He had been a lieutenant for over eight years and had little hope of ever proceeding past that rank. 'But,' he said cautiously, not wanting to sound ungrateful, 'I will still be under Hurst's command.'

'As of today, Captain Laws,' he said, looking at his watch, 'you are under my command. I need good officers. The coming battle, which I believe will start very soon, is going to be the most difficult we have ever fought. Wellington has never encountered Napoleon on the field of battle, and the conflict between them promises to be the ultimate test between two of history's greatest generals.'

'Thank you, sir,' Damien said, at last, 'I am very grateful.' He then looked down at the miniature he was still holding, 'I suppose your first command is to rescue her.'

Mitford shook his head. 'No,' he said gravely, 'I have given you the Captaincy, regardless of whether or not you choose to do this for me. You will not be doing this as Captain Laws, under the sovereignty of His Majesty, but as Mr Laws, under your own authority. You must understand, that however much I despise Ellington, and what he stands for, I cannot, at this stage, be seen to interfere with his organisation. He has powerful friends in high places, who could make this already difficult war, impossible to win. If you are caught, you will be on your own, and I'm afraid I will not be able to help you.'

Damien nodded and then smiled. 'I will do it,' he said, still looking at the miniature, 'but I will need help.'

'Assemble a small team of men that you consider trustworthy,' he said earnestly, 'but please make certain that they do not discuss the matter with anyone. Secrecy is of the utmost importance. Ellington is a dangerous man and could ruin you in an instant. You will also need to do it in the next few days. We must get her out before any fighting begins. My guess is that Ellington will scarper as soon as war is declared, and he'll take her with him.'

Mitford stood up and held out his hand to Damien. 'Well, Captain Laws, I wish you every success. Please send word when you have her, I would very much like to put her sister's mind at rest.'

'Yes, sir,' Damien said as he stood up to shake the Colonel's hand.