Free Beat the Drums Slowly by Adrian Goldsworthy Page B

regiment. Jenny had flirted with him, taking presents and, in time – Williams feared the time may have been brief – taking him as a lover. It seemed more than likely that he was the father of her baby – or if not Redman then his friend Hatch, who had often joined their parties. Williams was sure that Dobson had discovered this, and hurriedly arranged his daughter’s marriage to prevent her public humiliation. He was almost certain that Redman had died on the veteran’s bayonet in the confusion at Roliça. So much had happened in those few days that his shock had ebbed away, and Dobson had saved Williams’ and his friends’ lives soon afterwards. Murderer or not, Williams had found that he still trusted the old soldier. Dobson responded with an almost paternal interest in the young officer’s success. He was always respectful, and never overfamiliar in public. His daughter did not share these inhibitions.
    ‘You need a new coat,’ she announced. ‘No matter how much we scrub we can’t get the stains from your sleeves.’ Traces remained from where the black dye of the original cuffs had run in wet weather. Jenny grinned at him, and gave a sly wink. ‘Can’t expect to impress her if you look so shabby.’
    Williams hoped that the poor light concealed his embarrassment. His close friends knew of his admiration for Miss MacAndrews. He hoped that it remained a secret to everyone else, and he feared to make her the subject of gossip. Mrs Rawson was obviously shocked. ‘I … I do not know what you mean,’ he began.
    ‘Suit yourself,’ said Jenny saucily. Williams noticed that neither Mrs Rawson, nor Sally Dobson, nor even the Dobsons’ youngest girl appeared to dispute Jenny’s claim. He feared that his feelings were too obvious. Dobson himself looked mildly amused, but said nothing and continued to puff on his pipe. Williams decided to change the subject.
    ‘And how are you, Mrs Hanks?’
    ‘Fat,’ replied Jenny. ‘Fat and ugly. I can’t wait for the little bugger to pop out!’ Mrs Rawson hissed at her language, even though living as a soldier’s wife must have hardened her somewhat.
    ‘It’ll come in God’s good time, Mrs Hanks,’ she said, ‘and not a moment before. Just hope it goes well and all are healthy.’ She and her husband had not been blessed with any children as yet, and she viewed birth with sacred awe.
    ‘Mrs Calloway has promised to help when the time comes.’ Sally Dobson had considerably more faith in the wife of one of the sergeants than the battalion’s surgeon and his assistants.
    ‘I don’t want that old trout mauling me!’ Jenny’s anger was sudden and sharp, and Williams suspected than an oft-rehearsed argument was about to resume, so changed the subject again.
    ‘Well, you will be reassured to know that the families are to stay here with the baggage when we advance. At least you can make yourselves comfortable and know that there will be a roof over your head.’ Williams was pleased to pass on the good news. Then he noticed that the Spanish woman was busy picking lice out of her children’s hair. It reminded him of the shock of seeing rows of people sitting one behind the other in Lisbon, each engaged in the same task. On one bridge he had seen the women perched in a row on one parapet and the men on the other, all singing happily as they worked. The sight then as now was enough to make him feel that his own skin was crawling with vermin. He had caught a few lice in his jacket in recent days, but hoped his uniform was not yet badly infested. Bidding them good evening, he left to complete his rounds.
    It was not quite so cold as it had been, but even so he wished that he had worn his greatcoat. He nodded to the shadowy figure of another officer, walking along the far side of the street and no doubt going about the same task.
    ‘Good evening to you, Williams.’ It was Ensign Hatch, and as usual his voice was more than a little slurred from drink.
    Redman had