Richard nodded and returned to his own little den where he called for O’Grady and outlined the problem.
“And are you having a hundred or more of gold sovereigns about ye, sir?”
“Yes. My father pressed them upon me, one of the last things he did before we parted in London. He said he knew nothing of soldiering and the Army and less of France; he did know human beings, he said, and was prepared to bet that a purse of gold coins would come in handy, one way or another.”
“What’s the time now, sir?”
“Ten thirty.”
“Time for me to make my way to Brigade and back again, sir, with an hour or two to spare before we must be busy tonight, being as I shall be at your shoulder, naturally enough. I have an acquaintance there who can achieve a deal of things, when spoken to face to face. If it is possible, he will know. If not, well I shall not argue with him. It is the sort of thing that if he cannot do, most likely none at all can.”
Richard nodded, not entirely happily. Offering Scotch for favours was just the Army way of doing things. Paying out cash smacked of criminality… Winter was coming in and the men must be kept warm, whatever the price must be.
O’Grady returned before dinner, dropped off by the wagons bringing the food up from the cookhouses. The quality had been maintained over the few days since they had arrived; the food was still lukewarm, having to travel for an hour to reach the men, but it was far better than the unending diet of mutton stew that had been the previous staple.
“Looking at something they call ‘insulated pots’, they are, sir, in the hope of keeping the kai hot. A change to eat actual slices of beef, sir!”
“And potatoes and greens, ‘Major. The medical orderlies tell me they are seeing far less of dysentery than they were previously.”
“Damned good thing too, sir! Drains a man’s strength, that does, so that a trifling wound can kill him. At least they are getting one thing right – only taken a year of war to put the cookhouses in order, sir!”
That was unanswerable.
“Ten more years and they might have discovered how to fight the war as well. Anything regarding the blankets?”
“Ten sovereigns in my fellow’s hand, sir – that’s his squeeze and less than it might have been for friendship, you might say. He knows a major, no less, who is strapped for cash and would sell every warehouse in Calais for fifty yellow-boys in hand. Foolish man playing cards, so he says, and up to his neck in debt. The most of it can be delayed, payment next year when he has more cash in his private account. Less than a hundred he owes to a gentleman who is no gentleman at all and will not wait another week for payment.”
Richard did not wholly understand.
“The man he owes to is some sort of gang leader, sir. It seems that the French have some sort of underworld, so they call it, and the big bosses able to have any man killed off at a snap of their fingers. I am told it is the same in New York, though I have never been there to know. Whatever, sir, should our major not pay up within a very few days he is more than likely to be found with his throat cut.”
“But they would never get their money then!”
“Honour, they call it, sir. No man cheats them of their due and lives.”
“Nasty buggers, if you ask me, ‘Major. I can see that he wants his cash in a hurry. I have it to hand.”
“I shall send it off in the morning, sir. Sixty sovereigns – which is a vast sum of money, sir! If at all possible, could you add twenty more, sir?”
Richard showed surprised – he had not imagined that O’Grady would want a cut.
“Not for me, sir. To my acquaintance as a deposit against future needs, you might say. He is an enterprising sort, sir, and might well come across other oddments of value to us. He is honest in his way, one might say, and will not forget he owes us.”
It was no way to run a war. Richard found the coins, tucked away in the bottom of a small document case, finest leather with his initials, a gift from Primrose, she imagining that a colonel must need such. He had brought it with him, unable to leave it behind, and it had proved useful for keeping his hairbrushes and razor and oddments.
“Eighty, it is, ‘Major. Useful to have a rich father, I must say!”
“Not that you have need of such a one, sir. You would have made the top, as they say, with or without him.”
Paisley brought Richard’s meal in and O’Grady withdrew, leaving him to chew his way through a tough and unnamed cut of beef, clearing his plate because that was demanded of him before an action. He had to show unmoved and with a cast-iron gut – in no way upset by the prospect of an evening of bloodshed. The men watched him, he knew; embarrassing as it was, he provided them with an inspiration – he was the hero they could try to measure themselves against. Where he led, they were proud to follow.
It was a burden.
Worst of all was that he had to show unknowing – he was not to notice hero-worship, was to be unaware of the men who grew their moustaches and combed their hair as he did, who copied his every mannerism from respect and admiration, junior officers and other ranks alike. Not all of them, by a long way; sufficient to be an irritation. He could never act without thought – was he to pop his head above the parapet to take quick look at the lines, another fifty would do the same before the day was out. Was he ever to show angry at a man who committed some military offence, the poor fellow might find himself kicked half to death before evening – too great a punishment for a dirty rifle or unshaven face.
“Right, Paisley. Let’s be about it.”
Shoes exchanged for heavy boots; working uniform with pouches; a Sam Browne belt, not part of the Bedfordshires’ working uniform but very convenient for carrying oddments on a raid; sidearm in its holster; trench knife in a loop on the other side, club next to it; flashlight clipped to the crossbelt over his chest; reloads for the pistol into his pouches; peaked cap exchanged for a sort of woollen Glengarry pinched from one of the Highland regiments and with its badges changed.
“Shows up less at night, sir. Got an officer’s hat on, makes you a target.”
Richard bowed to Paisley’s superior knowledge.
“Let us join Mr Draper, ready to commence the evening’s entertainment, Paisley.”
He knew that his words would be heard and repeated, that trench raids would be ‘entertainments’ for the remainder of the battalion’s existence.
He marched down the trench, passing the other three raiding parties making ready to go out at the same time, exchanging a few words with the officers, noticing but not officially seeing who had managed to find a tot of rum or whisky for their men.
Draper’s party did not smell of spirits when he reached them. He was not entirely surprised.
“Ready to go, Mr Draper?”
“Yes, sir. All in hand, sir. Twelve men with trench-fighting weaponry, sir. Myself and my second lieutenant included in that total, sir. Together with your four that makes a large party, sir.”
Richard glanced about saw that Orpington had appeared, fully equipped, stood at his shoulder next to O’Grady.
“So it does, Draper. Who has a Lewis?”
“None, sir. Thought it better to keep them safe in the trench, sir. Don’t want to risk losing a gun, sir.”
“Get one, now. With three pans of reloads. Give it to a corporal.”
“No corporals with us, sir. Better to keep the valuable men back, I thought.”
“Get one, now. Send a runner to the other three parties to delay start time by thirty minutes.”
It took nearly ten minutes to identify a corporal who was big enough to carry the seventeen pounds weight of the gun and to ready him to go out with three men carrying a pan apiece and to stay at his shoulder.