The Death of Hope Andrew Wareham (book club reads TXT) 📖

O’Grady returned before dinner, droppedoff by the wagons bringing the food up from the cookhouses. The quality hadbeen maintained over the few days since they had arrived; the food was stilllukewarm, having to travel for an hour to reach the men, but it was far betterthan the unending diet of mutton stew that had been the previous staple.

“Looking at something they call ‘insulatedpots’, they are, sir, in the hope of keeping the kai hot. A change to eatactual slices of beef, sir!”

“And potatoes and greens, ‘Major. The medicalorderlies tell me they are seeing far less of dysentery than they were previously.”

“Damned good thing too, sir! Drains a man’sstrength, that does, so that a trifling wound can kill him. At least they aregetting one thing right – only taken a year of war to put the cookhouses inorder, sir!”

That was unanswerable.

“Ten more years and they might havediscovered 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 mightsay. He knows a major, no less, who is strapped for cash and would sell everywarehouse 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, paymentnext year when he has more cash in his private account. Less than a hundred heowes to a gentleman who is no gentleman at all and will not wait another weekfor payment.”

Richard did not wholly understand.

“The man he owes to is some sort of gangleader, sir. It seems that the French have some sort of underworld, so they callit, and the big bosses able to have any man killed off at a snap of theirfingers. I am told it is the same in New York, though I have never been thereto know. Whatever, sir, should our major not pay up within a very few days heis more than likely to be found with his throat cut.”

“But they would never get their moneythen!”

“Honour, they call it, sir. No man cheatsthem of their due and lives.”

“Nasty buggers, if you ask me, ‘Major. Ican 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, couldyou add twenty more, sir?”

Richard showed surprised – he had notimagined that O’Grady would want a cut.

“Not for me, sir. To my acquaintance as adeposit 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 hisway, one might say, and will not forget he owes us.”

It was no way to run a war. Richard found thecoins, tucked away in the bottom of a small document case, finest leather withhis initials, a gift from Primrose, she imagining that a colonel must needsuch. He had brought it with him, unable to leave it behind, and it had proveduseful for keeping his hairbrushes and razor and oddments.

“Eighty, it is, ‘Major. Useful to have arich 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’Gradywithdrew, 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 toshow unmoved and with a cast-iron gut – in no way upset by the prospect of anevening of bloodshed. The men watched him, he knew; embarrassing as it was, heprovided them with an inspiration – he was the hero they could try to measurethemselves against. Where he led, they were proud to follow.

It was a burden.

Worst of all was that he had to showunknowing – he was not to notice hero-worship, was to be unaware of the men whogrew their moustaches and combed their hair as he did, who copied his everymannerism 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 neveract without thought – was he to pop his head above the parapet to take quicklook at the lines, another fifty would do the same before the day was out. Washe ever to show angry at a man who committed some military offence, the poorfellow might find himself kicked half to death before evening – too great apunishment for a dirty rifle or unshaven face.

“Right, Paisley. Let’s be about it.”

Shoes exchanged for heavy boots; workinguniform with pouches; a Sam Browne belt, not part of the Bedfordshires’ workinguniform but very convenient for carrying oddments on a raid; sidearm in itsholster; trench knife in a loop on the other side, club next to it; flashlightclipped 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 theHighland regiments and with its badges changed.

“Shows up less at night, sir. Got anofficer’s hat on, makes you a target.”

Richard bowed to Paisley’s superior knowledge.

“Let us join Mr Draper, ready to commencethe evening’s entertainment, Paisley.”

He knew that his words would be heard andrepeated, that trench raids would be ‘entertainments’ for the remainder of the battalion’sexistence.

He marched down the trench, passing theother three raiding parties making ready to go out at the same time, exchanginga few words with the officers, noticing but not officially seeing who hadmanaged to find a tot of rum or whisky for their men.

Draper’s party did not smell of spiritswhen he reached them. He was not entirely surprised.

“Ready to go, Mr Draper?”

“Yes, sir. All in hand, sir. Twelve menwith trench-fighting weaponry, sir. Myself and my second lieutenant included inthat total, sir. Together with your four that makes a large party, sir.”

Richard glanced about saw that Orpingtonhad appeared, fully equipped, stood at his shoulder next to O’Grady.

“So