charitylovehopefaith | The Fourth

The Fourth - [ written/action ]

Written:

[David is of the opinion that she won't find a maid, not one as she knows it. Granted, Faith is steadily accepting this as a fact. Not that she has any proper understanding of why. Surely there is some sort of arrangement of compensation that could be worked out even in this strange place.

Besides, how else ought she to phrase her request? She hardly knows what he means by phrasing it in a more friendly fashion. What could be less friendly than asking someone to assist with cooking and cleaning without offering any compensation?

Still, for now, she refrains from her usual advertisment.]

May the eighth,

As some of you may have already learned, my brother is newly arrived in Luceti. [If she knew how to keep this private from David, she would make a sharp remark about treating him with the respect an officer in the King's Navy deserved. But he wouldn't approve, so, as he might see, she does not venture that far.

She might also, if she knew he couldn't see it, attempt to find him lodgings. The idea of David living alone isn't one she relishes. He's too much the sailor, too used to crowded ships and busy inns.]

His coming increases my need for fabric, particularly for wool. Especially worsted wool. I am afraid I do not know how to spin, though I should be happy to learn if the tools are available and the prepared wool is not. I believe, with a little work, I can learn, also, to dye, should only the raw wool be available. Which leads me to the question: I know there is farmland. I've heard it spoken of. Are there sheep? If there are, I should like to inquire after obtaining some wool when they are shaved.

I have had moderate success in finding what I need in the shops, but I am aware their stock may not always hold.

I shall be quite grateful to any assistance in answering my questions. Thank you kindly.

Faith Long.

[After a moment, a quick post-script appears:]

P.S.: Major Sharpe, [Best be formal when addressing him so publicly]
If you would be so kind as to call on me this afternoon, I have a parcel for you.

Action:

[For the most part, Faith keeps her routine. She goes to the Item Shop with her basket, looking for things that belong to her or might belong to her recently arrived brother.

She has tea in the late afternoon at Celsius Tear.

Her meals, she takes in her home (after preparing them in the Community House 4, first floor common kitchen).

During the middle of the afternoon, though, she can be found just outside Community House 4, sitting on a stool brought out, plain, thick cloth spread out around her to protect what she's working on. The light, after all, is better outside than in.

In her hands is fabric, needle, and thread, as she stitches the sleeve of a nearly finished dress, one that she feels will suit her quite nicely as the weather warms. Under her chair, as promised to the soldier earlier, is a package wrapped in brown paper.]

(Original image from here.)

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My word. [Faith positively beams the statement. She watches him with wide eyes.]

However did you manage such a feat? I imagine it must have been quite difficult.

It's...a bit of a tale. Lengthy, perhaps. But if you have the time, Miss Faith...?

[A little more boldness won't hurt, Faith decides quickly.]

For you, Richard, I've always the time, and I should be delighted to hear it.

[She rises, beaming.] Do come inside. We'll sit, have a little tea, and you can tell me all about it.

[ if she can be bold, then so can he. sharpe offers a crooked arm. ]

That suits me perfectly.

[Faith takes a moment to fold up her sewing and cover it with the canvas around her chair that protected it so far from the grass and dirt. With that in one hand, she uses the other to take his arm.]

Oh, Christ. It'd been a good long while since he'd been so blessedly near a fine and courtable female creature such as Faith. It wasn't as though he didn't now live with three women, but none captivated him the way she did. In fact, most of them were more familial than anything else. And one was nigh-hated. So Sharpe kept his arm stable and steady as he led her up to her own building's step.

"I suppose the story starts with a bridge..."

"A bridge?"

Faith was an eager listener to stories, especially ones that were mostly true and that military men told. She held his arm as they went, separating only inside her door. Because she had a kettle to put on to brew the promised tea.

"...An old Roman bridge. But if you ask me, they all look old and Roman. This one was at Valdelcasa, on the River Tagus." Sharpe wasn't an educated man, but he'd never hesitated on subjects of geography. He spoke these words with the confidence of a man whose walked their attendant miles. "An' Wellington," though, Sharpe recalled, he wasn't Wellington back then, "Wellington wanted it...scuppered. It weren't used much, but would've brought the French directly on our line's rear were they ever to find it. A soft job. It was only ever meant to be a soft job.

So that's where it began, Faith," he leaned unceremoniously against a wall once they were inside. "Me and my men were attached to a newly raised regiment, to keep an eye on the poor babes as they tried to blow a bridge. The locals called it El Puente de los Malditos."

Back then, he'd barely known the words or their meaning. Later, however, Teresa had taught him better.

A fitting beginning to a tale, she felt. It set an atmosphere very well. If there was one thing all military men seemed to share, it was their ability to recount their exploits or those of others for the benefit of a civilian.

As she put the kettle on and sat, motioning him to sit near her, she smiled sadly. "I fear it was not so soft a task. Not if it was the sort of thing to make a story."

"A green regiment with an even greener man leading'em. We was helping the engineers lay their charges when he caught sight of a few French cavalry. Sent his men over the bridge, lost many of them as well as his colours, and when our rifles were ordered in to help...? He panicked. Had the bridge blown behind us. Among the officers lost was a man named Lennox, who'd I'd seen fight in India. A good man. The eagle were his dying wish..."

"Oh my," Faith murmured, turning her attention more on him while listening for the kettle with only a part of her mind. Cut off and with losses so early into the matter, she can process the basics of the situation easily enough. "What did you do then?"

Hundreds had died, all for Simmerson's pride and the inexperience of his officers. Only Lennox and Leroy had been fit to lead, and Lennox had died. The eagle he wanted would mitigate the regiment's shame, should the feat be accomplished. Not a single golden eagle had been captured yet. And as much as Sharpe had wanted to grant Lennox his last desire, he could also taste the stability that would come with capturing the bird himself.

"I couldn't tell him no, could I? Nor could I tell him yes. Not with so many watching; not if I wanted half a chance of being on the field to do it. Simmerson tried to pin what happened on the Rifles, but a small inquiry proved us blameless. And Wellington -- sorry, ma'am, he were Wellesley at the time; still is, I suppose -- he saw fit to gazette me a Captain. But in exchange, he wanted my word that me and the lads wouldn't...chase daydreams and dying wishes."

"I'm glad the inquiry decided justly." She'd heard of that going wrong too many times, of too many men who became utter scapegoats. Faith smiled a little more, rising briefly to pour the water from the whistling tea into cups, strainers with leaves already waiting.

A bit of amusement coloured her voice as she asked, "And did you give him your word, Richard?"

"I assured him that not a man amongst the lot had heard me make any such promise."

Faith returns with the tea, offering him his before sitting down beside with while holding hers. She can't help but chuckle, her smile a little playful.

"An honest statement."

"I would never do this man the disservice of lying to him, Miss Faith. For I owe him..." A pause. He plucked the cup from her hands and waited for the delightfully bitter sent to hit his nostrils. "I owe him a great deal."

"Of course," she agreed. But owing someone and respecting them did not mean following their instructions to the letter, especially as, in this case, that would make for a very poor story.

"Of course," he repeated -- a fond smile on his face for her and perhaps, just a little, for the Duke. Sharpe would never be able to adequately explain the symbiotic relationship existent between the pair of them. Sharpe needed an influential patron and Wellington, from time to time, needed a thug. But the dependence ran deeper than this. Respect, debt, and gratitude tangled it all up.

"I was gazetted Captain. Do you know what that means, lass?"

"I... I suppose I don't," Faith admits, sheepishly. "I assumed it was simply promotion. Like... the promotions that appear in the Naval Gazette." Of course, that is quite obviously not what it means, as he asked, and she feels more than a little foolish saying it.

"Well -- ye see -- Captain Lennox perished at the bridge, aye? So the position was open. I, being the senior-most Lieutenant at the time, was gazetted into the rank so as to keep the whole thing workin' smoothly. Only the thing with being gazetted anything is that it needs must be confirmed by Horse Guards, eventually."

"Oh! I see, yes. Rather like the navy, in that regard. A captain can make a promotion in the line of duty, but if it's for an officer, it has to be confirmed by the Admiralty." She hadn't been idle all her life while her brother and father talked military and politics. "Did they confirm it?"

"...It was denied." His voice was cool. It still stung, now, though he'd clearly found some other way restore his promotion. "A full two years later, lass, I made the mistake of checking on the paperwork in London."

"O--oh. I'm... so sorry to hear that, Richard." And she meant it. It wasn't something she knew how to reply to, really, so she had to hope that would suffice.

"No matter. I sorted it in the end, didn't I? And for the purposes of our tale, the gazette did just fine."

Faith chuckles and nods. "Of course. Please, do continue."

The Fourth - [ written/action ]

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why haven't i forcefully prosed at you yet whoops

Bound to happen!

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