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all the while I sit here like a nun and work in the bloody laundry waiting for my hero to return.’
    It was the first time Jack had heard Molly swear. ‘What would you have me do, Molly?’
    ‘What is it to me what you do?’ Molly crossed her arms. ‘You’ll make your mind up with or without my two pennyworth.’
    ‘So be it.’ Jack stood up quickly. ‘I’ll see myself out.’
    His heavy boots were loud on the wooden floor as he made to leave. But Molly would not let him go without having the final word.
    ‘That’s it. You bugger off as soon as the going gets hard. Well, you listen to me, Jack Lark. I’m not some little milksop who’ll sit on her backside waiting for some cove who may or may not come back some day. So you think hard on what you are going to do. Because I won’t wait forever, you hear me? I won’t damn well wait forever.’
    Jack closed the door, shutting off the angry tirade.
    He had to decide what he was going to do. He did not want to lose Molly, but nor did he want to pass up the chance to prove himself as a soldier. Somehow he had to square the circle.

Jack had just begun unpacking Sloames’s travelling trunk when Major Hume’s orderly barged into the room. As he served one of the senior officers, Cox felt obliged to look down on the orderlies of the lower ranking officers, passing critical judgements on their lack of diligence and on what he judged to be their less than satisfactory ability to care for their officers.
    Cox looked over Jack’s shoulder at his attempts to lay out Sloames’s clothes. ‘You’re a clumsy bugger, Lark. You should’ve got the hang of this by now.’
    Cox shook out each item of clothing from the pile Jack had already started. He smoothed his palms over the fabric in an attempt to tease away the worst of the creases and then refolded the garments neatly.
    Jack smiled. ‘You can always do it for me, Coxy.’
    ‘You lazy sod. I’ll help you but I’ll not do your work for you.’ Cox pulled a soiled shirt from the trunk, his face showing his distaste at the muck streaked down its front. ‘So, how was London? Did Sloames let you off the leash?’
    ‘We were only there for two days. There wasn’t time.’ Jack tried to copy the movements of Cox’s deft hands which made the art of folding clothes look effortless. Cox had a sharp tongue and was never shy of criticising his fellow orderlies but he had gone out of his way to help Jack on too many occasions to count, teaching him the skills he had needed in order to adapt from soldier to orderly.
    ‘That’s what they all say. Martyrs, we are, Jack. Martyrs.’ Cox tutted in rebuke as Jack twisted another of Sloames’s shirts into a rumpled mess. ‘Take your time, those shirts are expensive. Have you heard the news?’
    Jack scowled in frustration at his own clumsiness. ‘No. What news?’
    ‘Well.’ Cox obviously relished revealing a juicy bit of gossip. ‘You know young Tom Black? He’s in your company.’
    ‘Of course I know him. He’s full of himself. A real barrack-room lawyer.’
    ‘He has got himself into trouble. Nothing good ever comes from being a gobshite.’
    Jack stopped folding the clothes and looked at his fellow orderly with interest. ‘What the hell happened?’
    Cox grinned. ‘Listen to you. You should learn to speak like an officer. A foul mouth will do you no good.’
    ‘Just tell me what happened, will you?’ Jack replied before correcting himself. ‘If you would be so kind.’
    ‘That’s better.’ Cox perched his skinny shanks on the edge of Sloames’s bed. ‘Manners cost nothing, young Jack. If you want to get on in this world of ours you are going to have to face facts and learn to speak with some decorum and not like you just barged in straight from the gutter.’
    Jack grinned at the lecture, enjoying Cox’s company despite his prissiness.
    ‘Now, then,’ said Cox. ‘Sunday night, Colour Sergeant Slater was assaulted. He was on his way back to the