Jack Lark: Redcoat (A Jack Lark Short Story)

by Paul Fraser Collard

  Jack paused at the entrance to the barrack laundry. He flexed his shoulder, trying to force some life back into it. A night’s sleep had done little to improve the pain. The heat surged out of the open door, but it wasn’t the sweltering air that kept Jack outside. It was shame.

  With a sigh, he made himself move. The mess needed their clean shirts, and he could not stand around all day.

  ‘You again! Can’t you stay away?’

  Jack did his best to smile. Molly had spotted his arrival whilst she was busy stacking parcels wrapped neatly in thin brown paper on to the shelves behind the counter.

  ‘I’ve come to get our shirts.’ Jack’s boots were loud on the room’s floorboards. ‘Why don’t ours get wrapped up like that?’

  Molly laughed. ‘These are officers’ shirts, Jack. We can’t be stuffing them into a sack, now can we?’

  Jack was pleased that she had remembered his name. Maybe he had made some sort of impression after all. ‘That’s typical. Officers get all the best treatment.’

  ‘Of course they do. You’ll soon know all about that, I expect, being an officer’s servant and all.’

  ‘I’m not one yet.’ Jack felt some of his gloom shift. She had remembered more than just his name. ‘But I soon will be.’ He forced out the lie, unable to bear the thought of admitting his failure to Molly.

  Molly paused in her work, her eyes running over him in a swift appraisal before she flashed him a smile. ‘That’s good, that is. You want to make something of yourself.’

  Jack removed his shako and held it in front of him. ‘I do. I don’t want to be a redcoat all my days.’

  Molly stopped working and turned to lean on the counter. ‘I like that. A man needs ambition.’

  Jack did his best to keep his eyes on her face. Her apron and blouse gaped open as she leant forward, giving him a glimpse of the top of her chest. A different sort of ambition was pushing itself to the forefront of his thoughts.

  ‘An orderly would just be the start. Once I’ve shown I can do that, then I reckon getting to be a corporal should be easy enough. I’ll be known to all the officers, you see, and that’s all it takes.’ He spoke with genuine feeling as he revealed his plan. It felt good to be talking about it; to hear it said aloud made it appear more real.

  Then he looked at Molly and saw the way she was listening to him, and his voice tailed off. He realised he was speaking like a fool. Slater had snuffed out his ambition before he had been able to take even the first step. There was no grand plan, no hope of advancement. The words were empty, nothing more than the futile mutterings of a man without the ability to turn them into reality.

  Molly was watching him closely. She saw the change in his expression. ‘What’s wrong? That sounds like a good plan to me.’

  Jack looked down at his shako. ‘It might not be as easy as all that.’

  ‘Of course it is.’ Molly was certain. ‘You have to make your own luck. You can’t just sit back and wait for things to happen. You think I want to work in this place all my life?’

  ‘Don’t you?’ Jack wanted to encourage her to talk.

  ‘Of course I don’t! I want to make something of myself too, you know. It’s easier for you men. You can do what you like.’

  ‘Not always, we can’t.’ Jack ran his hand over his close-cropped hair as he considered the obstacles in his way.

  ‘Course you can. It’s not the same for me. The best I can hope for is to make a good match that will get me out of here.’ Molly sounded angry as she considered her fate.

  ‘Which is why you don’t want a redcoat.’ Jack was starting to understand her.

  ‘Oh, I know it makes me sound cruel.’ She laughed at herself. ‘You must think I’m a heartless witch.’

  ‘No, I don’t think that at all.’

  ‘You’re too kind.’

  ‘I’m not being kind. I get it. We are the same. We both want a different life.’

  ‘That’s it.’ Molly stopped leaning on the counter and clapped her hands. ‘You do get it.’ She glanced over her shoulder, checking for anyone listening. ‘Your chum was right. You’re not like the rest of them.’

  ‘No, I’m not.’ Jack felt Slater’s brutal denial slide towards the back of his mind and determination take its place. ‘I will make something of myself, I know I will. No matter what it takes.’

  ‘I like the sound of that.’ Molly looked down as if considering something. ‘Look, Jack. I’m not making any promises, but you can come back and see me again if you like.’

  ‘Truly?’ The last of Jack’s gloom retreated.

  ‘Yes, I’d like it. You show me that there is more to you, and I might say yes to stepping out with you. But you’ve got to prove you mean what you say. You hear me?’

  ‘Molly Jones! Will you stop your damn lollygagging and get back to work!’ A disembodied voice came from deep within the laundry.

  Molly gave Jack a rueful smile. ‘Your company’s shirts are just there.’ She pointed at a linen sack full of neatly folded shirts.

  ‘Thank you.’ Jack put his shako back on his head and went to pick up the sack. When he looked up again, Molly had gone. But her words stayed with him. It was down to him to make things happen, to make his own future. Going against Slater would be hard, but it had to be done if he wanted to progress. And now he had another ambition, one more earthly than the lure of promotion.

  Jack hefted the heavy sack on to his back and began the long trudge back to the barrack room, his thoughts full of returning to see Molly and telling her that he had found a way to secure the role as Captain Sloames’s orderly.

  Jack sat at a desk in the barracks library and smoothed the previous day’s Times flat. It had survived a day in the officers’ mess and so was no longer in pristine condition, but it was good enough for him. The library was a haven, one that he would have liked to enjoy more than the once a week he was currently allowed. He knew he was lucky to have that. The requirement for a library was laid down in Queen’s Regulations, but its stock and function depended on the benevolence of the regiment’s colonel. Jack was fortunate that his regiment was blessed with a colonel willing to encourage the learning of his soldiers. The library enjoyed a decent collection of books and newspapers, and the most able men were given leave to make use of the facility at certain times in the week.

  Jack’s reading ability was not up to studying many of the primers, textbooks, encyclopedias and historical titles that made up the bulk of the library’s books, but he did enjoy picking his way through the most recent newspaper he could find. He was a slow reader, but he was improving with time and becoming more proficient, even though he still had to refer to the dictionary that he kept by his side at least a dozen times an hour, whenever he struggled to understand some word or other.

  He had sat down at the desk furthest from the door and was tracing the words of the article he was trying to follow with his finger, not caring that its tip was turning black with ink in the process. He was attempting to decipher an account of a recent naval battle at a Black Sea port called Sinope. The Russian navy had ambushed the Ottoman fleet there, and if the account Jack was reading was accurate, it seemed the Russians had butchered the Ottoman sailors. He was finding the tale of Russian brutality utterly compelling and was concentrating so hard that he did not notice another redcoat slide on to the bench next to him.

  ‘I want a word with you, Lark.’

  Jack’s head snapped up. His mates always called him by his nickname, so the use of his proper name immediately caught his attention. He looked round to see the grey-bearded face of Tom Mander, Captain Sloames’s current orderly, staring back at him.

  ‘I hear you are after my job.’ Mander was scowling.

  Jack pushed the Times away. He was not surprised that Mander had heard. Gossip and tittle-tattle flowed through the battalion
at speed. The officers’ orderlies were often the first to hear it.

  ‘I asked for my name to be put forward.’ He saw no reason to lie. ‘I heard you were taking your pension.’

  Mander sighed. ‘I make one remark and all of a sudden the whole damn battalion knows my business.’

  ‘So it’s not true?’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  Mander looked around the room. It was early in the day, just after morning parade. Only six men in Jack’s company had been given permission to use the library. They had been told that they had been singled out for the honour as they possessed some degree of promise. Jack had been inordinately proud of the accolade, although in truth he was well aware that they were the only men in the company who were actually literate. The six of them tended to spread out, and it meant that there were no ears close enough to overhear the conversation.

  ‘Why do you want it, Lark? Why do you want to be Sloames’s orderly?’

  Jack looked hard at Mander, trying to understand the reason for the question. He sensed he was being assessed. ‘I want the step up.’

  ‘So you are thinking about what it would give you?’

  ‘Yes.’ Jack decided on honesty. Mander was a sly old cove who had been around long enough to smell bullshit.

  ‘Have you thought about what you would have to do? What being an orderly actually involves?’

  Jack sensed he was being scolded. ‘A little. You look after the officer. Fetch and clean his kit and help him out with things.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound like much. Why, anyone could do it.’ Mander shook his head. ‘It doesn’t sound like a step up neither. Just like a lot of damn hard work.’

  Jack did not know what to make of the remark. ‘It’s better than staying a redcoat.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Mander pulled the newspaper towards him. ‘You reading that?’ He stuck a gnarled finger on the article Jack had been picking his way through.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  Jack shrugged. ‘I find it interesting.’

  ‘Nothing more than that?’ Mander leant forward. He was squinting as he tried to read Jack’s expression.

  ‘I want to know about the world.’ Jack felt uncomfortable under the scrutiny. ‘I don’t know much about anything. I wish that wasn’t so.’

  Mander peered at Jack before nodding slowly. ‘That is a fine ambition. Do you know what Captain Sloames likes to read?’

  ‘No. I don’t know much about him at all, apart from what he looks like.’

  ‘Well, I can tell you that he likes to read about the world and its affairs. He is much like you in that regard.’ Mander pushed the newspaper away. ‘Do not worry about not knowing much.’ He shook his head and gave a short snort. ‘You are hardly alone. More than half the officers do not even bother with the newspaper. They show about as much interest in the wider world as I suspect your mates do.’ He offered Jack a thin smile. ‘Do you know what separates you from the officers, Lark?’

  ‘Where should I start?’ Jack chuckled at the question. The gulf between a redcoat and an officer was enormous, a great yawning chasm that could never be bridged.

  ‘Money.’ Mander answered with a single word. ‘That is all. You would be astonished at how little they differ from you.’

  Jack struggled with the notion. ‘I don’t reckon that is right.’

  Mander grinned at Jack’s doubt. ‘I can see you don’t believe me, but it is true, I assure you. For many of the officers – the younger ones especially – their commission is their only claim to being a proper gentleman. Take that away and they really are no different to you or me.’

  ‘To you maybe.’ Jack was warming to the old soldier. ‘You seem to know a lot about everything. More than me, for sure.’

  ‘That’s because I was lucky enough to have the benefit of an education. Until my father drank away what little money we had, that is. I don’t begrudge him that. I reckon I might have done the same in his shoes.’

  Jack heard the truth in the confession. Mander’s face bore the telltale signs of a drinker, the thick veins around a red and purple nose, the rings of crimson around the eyes. Jack had seen enough habitual drunks in his time to recognise one. ‘So you could have been an officer, then? If your old man hadn’t pissed away all his rhino?’

  ‘Maybe I could.’ Mander snorted at the notion. ‘I’d have been good at it too, I reckon.’ He looked at Jack and smiled. ‘Look here, Lark. Becoming an officer is just about buying the commission. Some of them – and I don’t include Captain Sloames in this; he is a true gentleman and no mistake – some of them are no different to me. Their families ain’t so grand. They get a bit of inheritance, or their family do well enough to put a little by, and boom, there you have it, another officer gets his commission.’

  ‘When you put it like that, it doesn’t sound rightly fair.’ Jack was struggling to keep up. He had never questioned an officer’s right to command. He had seen them as being up on a pedestal, one far above him. The idea that some of them were not so different to the men they commanded was astonishing.

  ‘Of course it’s not fair.’ Mander smiled at such a foolish comment. ‘Life is all about money. But just because you have it, well, that doesn’t mean you have to know about the world, or about anything much at all.’

  ‘So the officers are all as thick as shit?’ Jack offered the comment with a wry smile.

  ‘No, not all.’ Mander shook his head at the disparaging remark. ‘Sloames is not like that. He is a clever man but he still wants to learn more. He wants to make something of himself too.’

  Jack heard the pride in the reply. For the first time he sensed something of the bond that existed between the old soldier and his officer. ‘What’s he like?’

  Mander gave the question consideration. ‘He is one of the good ones. He has his moments, but then they all do, and he likes a tipple now and then, sometimes more than is good for him. But he doesn’t suffer fools and I cannot say I have ever found him to be unfair. He is a fine gentleman and I have been honoured to serve him.’

  Jack picked up on the turn of phrase. ‘So you are leaving?’

  Mander smiled. ‘Yes. I’ve done my time. I want to go home whilst I still can.’

  ‘Good for you.’ Jack heard the longing in Mander’s voice. He himself had never thought about returning home. He had been cast out of his mother’s gin palace. He would not be welcomed back.

  ‘So Sloames will need a new orderly.’ Mander watched for Jack’s reaction.

  Jack nodded. He was wondering if he had passed the old soldier’s test.

  ‘I have an idea.’ Mander had clearly come to a decision. ‘I want you to come with me. What time is your next duty?’

  ‘Eleven.’ Jack was allowed to spend two hours a week in the library. He still had plenty of time left.

  ‘I have to attend on Captain Sloames at ten. I can show you what being an orderly really involves. Then you can make your mind up if it would suit you before you ask for permission. I reckon you might find there is more to it than you think.’

  Jack nodded. ‘I’d like that.’ He pushed away the discomfort that Mander’s reference to getting permission had caused him. Somehow he would find a way to cross that bridge. Mander was offering him an opportunity to meet the officer he wanted to serve. To discover more about the man who might just hold the keys to his future.

  The Horse and Hounds coaching inn sat a few minutes’ walk from the gates of the barracks. It was a fine establishment of a quality far superior to the back-street gin palace where Jack had been brought up. The floor was of oak, the boards stained by a thousand spillages but still a cut above the sawdust spread liberally on the floor of the East End drinking den he had known so well. Ordinarily, common redcoats would not be allowed inside. They did their drinking in the canteen b
ack at the barracks. The Horse and Hounds was very much for officers only.

  ‘Are you ready for this, Lark?’ Mander paused at the door to the saloon bar.

  ‘Yes.’ Jack was surprised how nervous he felt. He had never actually spoken to Captain Sloames before. He was not even sure that the officer would recognise one of his own men.

  ‘You had better be. Keep your lip buttoned and do what I tell you. If you still want to be his orderly after this morning, then so help me I might even put in a good word for you.’

  Mander gave Jack no chance to reply but pushed open the swing door and slipped inside.

  The smell hit Jack the moment he put a foot inside the inn. It was not quite what he remembered, the air full of the more decadent odours of beer and wine rather than the rancid stink of spilt gin. Yet there was something in the scent of a drinking house in the morning that transported him back to his childhood. It was both unsettling and familiar. Underlying the haze of alcohol was the sickly-sweet smell of stale sweat and forgotten urine. He remembered what it was like to clean up a drinking room after a night’s debauchery. The Hounds might have been many leagues above the dour gin palace, but the stench was just the same.

  ‘Morning, Tom.’ A cheery voice greeted Mander the moment they walked in.

  ‘Morning, Sally.’ Mander’s reply was warm.

  Jack followed close behind. He felt strange, the oddness of the morning disconcerting him. It was as if he were entering a new world, but one that was somehow tethered to his past. The notion was unsettling

  ‘Hello, hello, who’s this then?’ The owner of the voice had spotted Jack’s presence.

  ‘His name is Lark.’ Mander made the cursory introduction.

  ‘You could have warned me I’d have to cope with company at this hour.’

  Tom laughed at the remark. He moved to the bar and finally gave Jack a view of the woman who had greeted them.

  He immediately saw that the barkeep was pretty, in an ample way. She had blond hair, which at that hour of the day was let down so that it spread across her shoulders. Her face was round and full, but it was smiling, and the blue eyes were sharp as they gave Jack the once-over.