wrote
interesting,
smiling slightly to himself at thought of what interpretation Hal might put upon that,
…and the conditions comfortable. I am quartered with several other English and German officers in the house of a Princess Louisa von Lowenstein, the widow of a minor Prussian noble, who possesses a fine estate near the town.
We have two English regiments quartered here: Sir Peter Hicks’s 35th, and half of the 52nd—I am told Colonel Ruysdale is in command, but have not yet met him, the 52nd having arrived only days ago. As the Hanoverians to whom I am attached and a number of Prussian troops are occupying all the suitable quarters in the town, Hicks’s men are encamped some way to the south; Ruysdale to the north.
French forces are reported to be within twenty miles, but we expect no immediate trouble. Still, so late in the year, the snow will come soon, and put an end to the fighting; they may try for a final thrust before the winter sets in. Sir Peter begs me send his regards.
He dipped his quill again, and changed tacks.
My grateful thanks to your good wife for the smallclothes, which are superior in quality to what is available here.
At this point, he was obliged to transfer the pen to his left hand in order to scratch ferociously at the inside of his left thigh. He was wearing a pair of the local German product under his breeches, and while they were well-laundered and not infested with vermin, they were made of coarse linen and appeared to have been starched with some substance derived from potatoes, which was irritating in the extreme.
Tell Mother I am still intact, and not starving,
he concluded, transferring the pen back to his right hand.
Quite the reverse, in fact; Princess von Lowenstein has an excellent cook.
Your Most Affec’t. Brother,
J.
Sealing this with a brisk stamp of his half-moon signet, he then took down one of the ledgers and a stack of reports, and began the mechanical work of recording deaths and desertions. There was an outbreak of bloody flux among the men; more than a score had been lost to it in the last two weeks.
The thought brought the gypsy woman’s last remarks to mind. Blood and bowels had both come into that, though he feared he had missed some of the refinements. Perhaps she had merely been trying to curse him with the flux?
He paused for a moment, twiddling the quill. It was rather uncommon for the flux to occur in the cold weather; it was more commonly a disease of hot summer, while winter was the season for consumption, catarrh, influenza, and fever.
He was not at all inclined to believe in curses, but did believe in poison. A whore would have ample opportunity to administer poison to her customers…but to what end? He turned to another folder of reports and shuffled through them, but saw no increase in the report of robbery or missing items—and the dead soldiers’ comrades would certainly have noted anything of the kind. A man’s belongings were sold by auction at his death, the money used to pay his debts and—if anything were left—to be sent to his family.
He put back the folder and shrugged, dismissing it. Illness and death trod closely in a soldier’s footsteps, regardless of season or gypsy curse. Still, it might be worth warning Private Bodger to be wary of what he ate, particularly in the company of light-frigates and other dubious women.
A gentle rain had begun to fall again outside, and the sound of it against the windowpanes combined with the soothing shuffle of paper and scratch of quill to induce a pleasant sense of mindless drowsiness. He was disturbed from this trancelike state by the sound of footsteps on the wooden stair.
Captain Stephan von Namtzen, Landgrave von Erdberg, poked his handsome blond head through the doorway, ducking automatically to avoid braining himself on the lintel. The gentleman following him had no such difficulty, being a foot or so shorter.
“Captain von Namtzen,” Grey said, standing politely.
interesting,
smiling slightly to himself at thought of what interpretation Hal might put upon that,
…and the conditions comfortable. I am quartered with several other English and German officers in the house of a Princess Louisa von Lowenstein, the widow of a minor Prussian noble, who possesses a fine estate near the town.
We have two English regiments quartered here: Sir Peter Hicks’s 35th, and half of the 52nd—I am told Colonel Ruysdale is in command, but have not yet met him, the 52nd having arrived only days ago. As the Hanoverians to whom I am attached and a number of Prussian troops are occupying all the suitable quarters in the town, Hicks’s men are encamped some way to the south; Ruysdale to the north.
French forces are reported to be within twenty miles, but we expect no immediate trouble. Still, so late in the year, the snow will come soon, and put an end to the fighting; they may try for a final thrust before the winter sets in. Sir Peter begs me send his regards.
He dipped his quill again, and changed tacks.
My grateful thanks to your good wife for the smallclothes, which are superior in quality to what is available here.
At this point, he was obliged to transfer the pen to his left hand in order to scratch ferociously at the inside of his left thigh. He was wearing a pair of the local German product under his breeches, and while they were well-laundered and not infested with vermin, they were made of coarse linen and appeared to have been starched with some substance derived from potatoes, which was irritating in the extreme.
Tell Mother I am still intact, and not starving,
he concluded, transferring the pen back to his right hand.
Quite the reverse, in fact; Princess von Lowenstein has an excellent cook.
Your Most Affec’t. Brother,
J.
Sealing this with a brisk stamp of his half-moon signet, he then took down one of the ledgers and a stack of reports, and began the mechanical work of recording deaths and desertions. There was an outbreak of bloody flux among the men; more than a score had been lost to it in the last two weeks.
The thought brought the gypsy woman’s last remarks to mind. Blood and bowels had both come into that, though he feared he had missed some of the refinements. Perhaps she had merely been trying to curse him with the flux?
He paused for a moment, twiddling the quill. It was rather uncommon for the flux to occur in the cold weather; it was more commonly a disease of hot summer, while winter was the season for consumption, catarrh, influenza, and fever.
He was not at all inclined to believe in curses, but did believe in poison. A whore would have ample opportunity to administer poison to her customers…but to what end? He turned to another folder of reports and shuffled through them, but saw no increase in the report of robbery or missing items—and the dead soldiers’ comrades would certainly have noted anything of the kind. A man’s belongings were sold by auction at his death, the money used to pay his debts and—if anything were left—to be sent to his family.
He put back the folder and shrugged, dismissing it. Illness and death trod closely in a soldier’s footsteps, regardless of season or gypsy curse. Still, it might be worth warning Private Bodger to be wary of what he ate, particularly in the company of light-frigates and other dubious women.
A gentle rain had begun to fall again outside, and the sound of it against the windowpanes combined with the soothing shuffle of paper and scratch of quill to induce a pleasant sense of mindless drowsiness. He was disturbed from this trancelike state by the sound of footsteps on the wooden stair.
Captain Stephan von Namtzen, Landgrave von Erdberg, poked his handsome blond head through the doorway, ducking automatically to avoid braining himself on the lintel. The gentleman following him had no such difficulty, being a foot or so shorter.
“Captain von Namtzen,” Grey said, standing politely.
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