friends, and this is no place for niceties.’
‘Bastard.’
‘So I can inform you all that the object of our quartermaster’s affections is none other than Master Sergeant Marie Angelline, of Fat Squirrel.’
There was a speculative pause at that, into which Brocky inserted, ‘Absolute nonsense,’ and was roundly disregarded.
Of course, Bear Sejant had needed a new master sergeant. The former incumbent had never returned, as Emily had more cause to be aware of than most. The surprise was that the new officer was a woman, one of the newcomers who had marched in on the last day of the spring. Emily had seen little of her so far, but had in mind a tall, athletic girl with golden-fair hair, always racing about the camp in her efforts to rebuild her shattered company. It was rumoured that Captain Pordevere was sweet on her, but such rumours were easy to spread about that man, and Emily put little credence in them.
‘Out of your reach,’ Mallen remarked at last. ‘Give up. Nothing doing.’
‘As if you’d know a thing about the business!’ Brocky snapped at him. ‘There’s no reason on earth why a well-brought-up lady such as Miss Angelline would not be flattered, I tell you—’
‘Thought it was “absolute nonsense”, Brocky.’ Despite the tattoos, Mallen’s mocking expression came through.
‘Oh, shut up.’
‘Instances, Salander,’ Mallen said again.
‘Oh, one hears of certain things. Bear Sejant being better than usually supplied. A bottle of port reaching the master sergeant’s tent, for one. The affections of a quartermaster, you see, being of a mercantile sort. Also a hint of Mr Brocky being witnessed combing his hair for the first time this decade. And you must agree that the beard there on display is definitively trimmed, as it never has been before.’
‘A man likes to keep well turned out,’ Brocky said weakly.
‘Well I think Mr Brocky is entitled to entertain his affections,’ Emily mused, ‘however unrealistic. Mr Scavian?’
Scavian, who had said little so far, looked up from his reverie. ‘Almost certainly. What is it we’re discussing? In truth I was miles away.’
‘Would that we all were,’ Brocky remarked. ‘These fools have conceived the idea that I am, in some way, infatuated with that Angelline woman. A more foolish idea I have never heard.’
‘Oh, but you are,’ Scavian said. ‘It’s well and widely known.’
Brocky eyed him narrowly. ‘What?’
‘The lady has a generous heart, old friend. When a collection of candies falls into her possession, she is remarkably free with them. But the question arises, where did she get such a treasure? And eyes inevitably point to the stores . . .’
‘Oh hellfire.’ Brocky scowled ferociously. ‘Are we playing cards or aren’t we?’
‘Amongst other games.’ Tubal gathered and redealt. ‘Mallen’s right, of course. I hate to break it to you, but you’re not quite her type.’
‘Am I not?’ Brocky glowered. ‘What type might that be, perchance, Mr Salander?’
‘Captain Pordevere has been romancing her these past four days,’ Tubal revealed. ‘He’s nowhere yet into the lady’s heart, but I’m afraid he’s her type if any man is: dashing.’
‘Daring,’ Scavian added.
‘Knighted,’ said Emily.
‘Handsome,’ Mallen put in.
‘Presentable.’
‘Of good family.’
‘Courageous.’
‘All right! All right! Bully for bloody Huill Pordevere.’ Brocky gathered up all the dignity within his reach. ‘Even if I had taken a shine to the woman – and there’d be nothing wrong with that because she’s a fine piece of female flesh, and no mistake – even if I had taken a shine to her, and I’m not for a moment at any rate admitting that it’s so . . . even if I had, then Captain Pordevere, who in any event is a posturing fool, has nothing on me and can do nothing that I can’t do.’
He folded his arms with an air of finality.
‘He can still buckle his belt past the endmost hole,’ said Scavian, after a pause.
‘“Piece of female flesh”?’ Emily couldn’t quite believe she had just heard the expression.
‘He can lead a company into battle,’ Tubal continued.
‘Get four hundred people killed in one day,’ Mallen said – and the mood guttered for a moment.
‘Shilling in the jar, Mallen. Rules of the Club,’ Tubal said firmly.
Mallen shook his head at the foolishness of the world, but made the required donation.
‘Are we quite finished?’ Brocky demanded of them all. ‘Is the topic well and truly exhausted? Honestly, a right knitting circle you all are. Gossip mongers, the lot of you.’ He went on to lose spectacularly at cards, which went no way towards improving his mood.
*
Two days later came the sequel to all that.
‘Marshwic, I