‘Right, you two lobsters, what have you got for us today?’ Another girl walked in, wiping her hands on her white apron. She was smaller than both the redcoats and she bustled purposefully over to her place behind the counter. Her hair was clipped neatly into place, but a few strands had escaped their prison and whispered across her face.
‘Why, good morning, Molly.’ Pike greeted the girl with a beaming smile. ‘Can I just say how lovely you are looking this morning?’
‘No, you can keep your blarney to yourself, thank you very much.’ Molly was having none of it. The girls in the laundry were well used to dealing with the redcoats. She pulled a sheet of paper from a stack at one end of the counter and took a pencil from behind her ear. ‘Company?’
‘Number four, the fittest and the best.’ Pike gave the answer quickly. ‘Did you do something different with your hair this morning, Molly? Why, it’s looking really quite special.’ The charm was laid on thick. Pike meant nothing by it. He knew he was far too old for a wisp of a girl like Molly, but that didn’t stop him trying.
‘How many shirts?’
‘Thirty-eight. It’s those clips, I reckon. Quite the arrangement you got going on there. Must take you an age to get it ready.’
‘That’s Captain Sloames’s company, isn’t it?’
‘That’s the one, my love.’ Pike leant casually on the counter. ‘What time do you finish today, Molly?’
‘They’ll be ready tomorrow.’
Molly was concentrating on the form. Jack watched her closely. He liked the way the tip of her tongue slipped out between her lips as she formed her letters. She wrote slowly and carefully, and it gave him plenty of time to study her. He reckoned she was the prettiest girl he had ever come across. He knew so little about her, yet Pike had been right to tease him. Molly was exactly the reason Jack had been so keen to take the mess’s stinking shirts to the sweltering hellhole that was the barrack’s laundry.
‘Are you going to stop your staring and put those shirts down?’
Jack started as he realised that Molly had finished writing out her form and had seen him mooning at her. He lurched into motion and dumped the shirts on the counter, his boot kicking loudly against one of the dozens of empty soap containers that were dotted around the room.
‘Steady on, soldier, you’ll do yourself a mischief if you’re not careful,’ laughed Molly.
‘Sorry.’ Jack mumbled his apology as he emptied his arms.
‘Don’t leave them there.’ Molly shook her head. ‘Put them in one of those for me.’ She pointed to a basket of linen sacks at the opposite end of the counter. ‘You too.’ She jabbed a finger in Pike’s direction. She might only have been a young girl, but she knew how to give orders.
Pike caught Jack’s eye as they did as she told them. ‘Go on, Jack.’ He hissed the words, trying to keep them just between them. He failed.
‘Go on, Jack, what?’ Molly had come to stand behind them, ready to attach the form to the linen sack. She laughed as she saw Jack glare at Pike. ‘So your name is Jack. I had wondered, you know. You’ve been in here often enough.’
‘Y-yes.’ Jack stuttered. ‘Yes, I’m Jack.’ He forced the words out more clearly this time.
‘Nice to meet you, Jack. Now get out the way, why don’t you.’
Jack slipped to one side so that Molly could get to the sack, which was now full. Pike glared at him, urging him on.
‘I was wondering, Molly . . . Perhaps we could step out one day. You know, go for a walk or something.’ Jack flushed. He was finding it harder to speak to Molly than he had to Colour Sergeant Slater.
‘Aye, there you go. Same old line.’ Molly straightened up, wiping one hand across her forehead to smooth the errant hairs back into place.
‘So what about it?’ Jack tried not to give up too easily, yet he sensed he was doomed to failure.
‘No.’ The answer was firm. Molly bustled away. ‘Make sure you leave the door open on the way out.’
‘Come on, Molly.’ Pike leapt to Jack’s aid. ‘He’s a good fellow. He won’t mess you around.’
Molly paused at the doorway. She shook her head in exasperation. ‘A no is a no. You know how many men ask me that same question every day?’
‘Jack ain’t like the rest of us, Molly.’ Pike was nothing if not persistent. ‘You should give him a chance.’
‘Should I indeed?’ Molly made a play of studying Jack. ‘He looks no different to me. And he ain’t got no stripes that I can see.’
‘Stripes? No, he hasn’t got any of those. But he’s going to be Captain Sloames’s orderly.’
‘My eye, an orderly! What do I want with a servant?’
‘It’s not a servant.’ Jack found his voice. ‘And anyway, that’s just the start.’
‘Oh, hark at you.’ Molly glanced anxiously into the main washroom. ‘Look, I’ve got work to do even if you don’t.’ She flashed Jack a fleeting smile. ‘I’m sure you are a fine fellow, Jack. It’s not you. I get asked to step out a dozen times a day. I’m not daft. I have an idea what you boys are after.’
‘I’m not—’
‘Hush yourself.’ She cut him off. ‘I’ve got one chance to get it right and I ain’t about to waste it. If I say yes too many times, I’ll get a reputation.’ She pouted at the notion. ‘I learnt that the hard way. And when I do say yes, I’d like it to be with a sergeant, or at least a corporal. So it’s not you, Jack. I’m sure you’re lovely and all that, but if I’m ever to get out of this place, then I have to wait. Now,’ she brushed down her apron, ‘I reckon you boys need some fresh air. You both look well broiled. Your shirts will be ready tomorrow. Come back then.’
She disappeared without another word, leaving the two red-faced redcoats staring wistfully into space.
‘Stand still when I am talking to you. You are a slovenly soldier, Lark. Can you not see your damn button is not polished?’
The table erupted with laughter. Jack looked around and beamed at the reaction. He loved entertaining his messmates, and his impression of Sergeant Attwood was almost perfect. He pulled his cross belts closer and began applying another layer of the pipe clay that gave them their smart white appearance. The rest of the men at the table were doing the same, the task a regular on their list of weekly chores.
‘You horrible little worm, Trussler.’ Jack glared at his fellow redcoat, his eyes bulging as he mimicked Attwood’s fearsome stare. ‘Take his name, Corporal Downs.’
Trussler cackled with delight at being singled out. ‘My eye, Mud. You are bloody good.’
‘Too good, I reckon.’ Thatcher had laughed with the rest, but his face quickly returned to its usual sour expression. ‘You’ll land yourself right in the shit one day with all this piss-taking, you mark my words.’
‘I’m not about to try it on in front of Attwood, you daft bugger.’ Jack shook his head at the doomsayer’s prediction. ‘It’s just for a laugh. No harm in that.’
‘You should try it on with that Molly,’ Pike teased him. ‘Maybe she’d say yes if you can at least mimic a bloody sergeant.’
‘I’d go for her if she’d let me.’ Trussler spoke wistfully. ‘She’s a fine filly.’
‘Aye, she could take me for a ride any day of the week.’ Thatcher did not even attempt to hide the longing in his voice.
‘Shut your dirty mouth.’ Jack flicked out with his cloth, slapping it against Thatcher’s arm. ‘She ain’t that sort of girl.’
Thatcher reacted by whooping with delight. ‘Look at that! I think Mud here has the hots for that young wench.’
Jack tried to hide the blush that surged up his cheeks. It was impossible in the presence of men who knew him so well, and the table erupted for a second time as the redcoats pounced on his embarrassment with relish.
‘Look at that! The poor bugger is blushing lik
e a shy virgin on her wedding night!’ Trussler was laughing hard.
‘I don’t think our Mud is thinking of lasting that long!’ Pike could not resist joining in. ‘I reckon he’d take her as soon as look at her!’
Jack took the mockery with good grace. He concentrated on his cross belts and let the uproar subside.
‘I found out how you go about it.’ Pike spoke in the silence that followed the last of the ribald suggestions sent Jack’s way.
‘What?’ Jack thought his friend was still talking about Molly. ‘I know all about that!’
‘No, you dozy clot. How to apply to be Sloames’s orderly.’
‘How?’ Jack was all ears.
‘You’re not going to like it.’
‘I don’t have to like it. I just have to do it.’
‘You might change your mind when you hear.’
‘Just bloody tell me.’ The more Jack had thought about it, the more he wanted the new role. He was tired of being an ordinary redcoat. He wanted to achieve more.
‘You have to get permission.’
‘Fine. I’ll get it. Who from? Captain Sloames?’
‘Don’t be daft. You can’t just wander up to a bloody officer and have a chat with him, now can you.’ Pike shook his head at such a daft notion. The men in the company rarely saw their commander. Other than at the handful of formal parades, they were left almost entirely to the care of their sergeants. Like all of the regiment’s officers, Captain Sloames lived a life far removed from the soldiers he commanded.
‘So who do I ask?’ Jack injected some snap into his voice.
‘Slater. You need his permission. He has to put your name forward.’
‘Shit.’ Jack considered the notion. It did not sit well in his mind.
‘I told you you wouldn’t like it.’
Jack was thinking hard. He tried to imagine going out of his way to find Slater so that he could make the request. It would be like popping down to see the devil to ask for absolution.
‘I’ll do it.’ The words were out before his determination had time to harden. But he felt better for saying them. It made them real.
‘You will? You want this that bad?’ Pike stopped what he was doing and looked at Jack, his concern obvious.
Jack nodded. He wanted the role as orderly more than he would have thought possible. His ambition had been well and truly sparked. He had to try for it, no matter the risk.
‘What’s that, Lark? Leave the company?’ He did his best to mimic Slater’s hushed tone. ‘I rather think you might be mistaken in that opinion.’
A nervous laugh rippled round the table. Jack shivered, a chill sliding slowly through his body. He had summoned the presence of Slater. It was no easy thing for his messmates to laugh at, even in jest.
But if Jack wanted to become an orderly, he would have to face the man himself.
‘You what?’
‘I’d like to see Colour Sergeant Slater.’
‘Are you corned, or just plain fucking daft?’ Sergeant Attwood stood in the doorway to the small sitting room that he and Slater had claimed as their private retreat. Jack could smell the sour taint of gin on his breath, and he contemplated making a rapid retreat. A quart or two of the raw spirit would do little to soften Slater’s temper, and Jack’s request to see him suddenly seemed incredibly foolish. Yet he was keen to try to become Captain Sloames’s orderly, and that ambition was worth risking a verbal battering from the harsh colour sergeant.
‘I’d like to see Colour Sergeant Slater.’ He could not bring himself to say please, so he repeated his demand with as much determination as he could muster.
‘Fuck off now and I’ll forget you came.’ Attwood sneered and began to turn away, clearly considering the matter closed.
‘I’d like to see Colour Sergeant Slater.’ Jack stuck to his script even though his heart was pounding fit to burst.
‘Then you are a fucking fool.’ Attwood’s face twisted into a smile as he swung back to face Jack, as if he were pleased that Jack had remained oblivious to his well-intentioned advice. ‘So be it then, Lark. Don’t say I didn’t give you fair warning. Now, don’t you fucking move.’ He turned and disappeared back into the parlour, shutting the door in Jack’s face.
Left alone, Jack considered slipping away and avoiding what could only be a difficult conversation. Yet he forced himself to stand tall and wait for Slater to arrive. He felt brave, bold even. It was a good feeling, and it acted as a balm to his nervousness. He was trying to better himself and take the first step up the ladder that could one day see him with stripes of his own on his arm.
Slater kept him waiting.
As the minutes ticked by, so Jack’s determination waned. More than once, he was tempted to walk away. He tried to imagine explaining to Pike and the rest of the men in the mess that he had backed down from this confrontation. He attempted to conjure up the words that would not make him appear to be a yellow-bellied fool. But they just wouldn’t come. Try as he might, he could not find a way that would shed positive light on what could only be viewed as a failure. Only by facing Slater could he hope to achieve his ambition. So despite his growing misgivings, he stayed where he was, forcing himself to ignore his racing heart and quivering belly.
‘My, oh my. If it isn’t young Mr Lark.’ At last Slater threw back the panelled door and loomed large in the doorway, twitching the thick moustache that stuck out past the end of his bulbous, thread-veined nose as his contemplated the unexpected presence of one of the men under his command. ‘What do you want?’
‘I’d like a moment of your time, Colour Sergeant.’
Slater’s eyes narrowed as he contemplated the request. They never left Jack. ‘Very well, you have it.’
Jack sucked in a deep lungful of air. ‘I understand Captain Sloames will shortly need a new orderly. I’d like my name to be put forward.’
Slater threw his head back and barked out a burst of derisive laughter. ‘Is that it?’
‘Yes, Colour Sergeant.’ Jack tried to contain the optimism that was building fast. He would never have believed it would be so easy.
‘No.’ The denial was delivered almost immediately. Jack’s burgeoning hopes were dashed.
‘That’s not fair.’ He blurted the words without thought. Once out, he could not ignore them. ‘You can’t just say no.’
‘Is that so?’ Slater’s face did not so much as twitch.
Jack could not hold back. ‘It’s not right. If there is an opening with Mr Sloames, then by rights I should be allowed to go for it.’
‘Are you telling me what to do, Lark?’
Jack saw the first hint of a reaction deep in Slater’s eyes. ‘No, Colour Sergeant. I just want my name to be put forward.’ He could not stop now.
‘What if I don’t consider you to be suitable?’
Jack forced his spine straighter. Slater’s physical presence was daunting. In his shirtsleeves, his muscular frame looked even more impressive, and Jack could not believe he was daring to confront him. But he had to, no matter the risk. He could not stumble and fall flat on his face at the first hurdle.
‘I don’t mean to be disrespectful, Colour Sergeant.’ He swallowed hard and ploughed ahead, doing his best not to be intimidated, ‘but I think you are wrong. I think I could do the job if I was given the chance.’
Slater’s eyes were changing. Jack saw it. The warning signs were barely there, but he had known Slater for nearly four years and he recognised them. His gut churned, a spasm of fear that pushed deep down into his backside.
‘I think you are forgetting yourself, Lark. Just the other day, you considered Sergeant Attwood to have been incorrect in his assessment of your uniform. Now here you are, as bold as brass, telling me that you think that I too am wrong in my opinion.’
‘But Colour
Sergeant, all—’
Slater lifted his right hand, shutting Jack down. ‘Listen to me now.’ He did not raise his voice, but there was real venom in his words. ‘You come here, disturbing my rest, all so you can make some fool-arsed request.’ The hand shot out, palm forward, and thumped into Jack’s shoulder with teeth-juddering force. ‘Then you tell me that I don’t know shit. That my opinion is worth nothing.’ Every other word was punctuated by another blow, each one rocking Jack back on his heels. ‘I think you forget who you are, Lark. I think you are getting ideas well above your station.’
The steady stream of blows was forcing Jack away from the doorway until his back was pressed up against the wall of the corridor opposite. He had nowhere left to go, but that didn’t stop Slater. ‘You’re a mewling turd, Lark, nothing but a fucking mewling turd. If you ever dare speak to me like this again, then so help me I will break your fucking neck.’
Jack’s head banged against the wall as the open-handed punches kept coming at him. His shoulder was turning numb under the onslaught and he had to grit his teeth to hold back a cry of pain. He had seen this change approaching, yet he had stayed when he should have run. Slater’s calm appearance had been cast aside, revealing the brute that existed just below the surface. Jack had seen it before, but he had forgotten how dreadful it was to witness.
The blows stopped. Slater’s facade slipped back into place, the granite calm slammed shut over the violent emotion that had been released. His eyes never left Jack’s. ‘Learn from this, Lark. Do not force me to explain things to you again.’ He held Jack’s gaze with his own for a moment longer before turning away, stepping back into his parlour and slamming the door shut.
Jack stayed where he was. Only when he was sure that Slater had gone did he gingerly begin to knead some life back into his shoulder, wincing as his fingers dug into the bruised flesh. It had been a painful demonstration of Slater’s power, yet Jack knew that the blows stood little comparison to what a real beating would be like. He had come to the devil’s lair in the hope of getting permission to pursue his ambition. Instead he had received nothing more than a warning and a near-broken shoulder.
Jack Lark: Redcoat (A Jack Lark Short Story) Page 3