1821 - The Battle for Palembang

2: A Redcoat's Dreams of Home (London, January 1820)

January, 1820 – London

About One Year Ago.

It was a cold January night when he felt it. A feeling he had long concealed under his words, long under his chest, so deep until then James Simpson, twenty-three years of age and by any means a young man, could no longer feel it. He had forgot how it even felt; too many a times his feelings had led him to distress, disappointment, and drink. Love. But there lied the magic: he needed not to remember how it felt, for all he needed to know was whether he was in it or not. And that night, he was.

The snow fell lightly over the banks of the Thames.

"I've never seen a night so pretty." She had said. "Oh the lights, the falling snow, the hum of song low in the air..."

The way her teeth met when she grinned, the slight shift in her straight nose. How her eyes shone in her smiles. The shimmering stars could not even compare to it, nor the calm waters of the Thames. London, usually aired with soot and filth, felt clean and clear that night. They sat upon a paved slope, where they could see the Thames and the bridges of London in their glory, no matter how dirty it was.

She leaned upon his shoulder that cool evening. Slowly, she put her arms around his. The warmth of her embrace, he remembered; perhaps something he could never forget. Neither could he the deep and honest smile not only upon his face, but too, the depths of his heart.

It was as if pain as a concept did not and never did exist.

He looked at her, whose eyes were half-opened, so comfortable next to him; like a lazy cat, though a really pretty one at that. "Vera, my love is yours." Her eyes were jet black, like a Spaniard's. Her nose straight and beautiful, paired with a strong chin she got from her father, but full soft lips she got from her mother. Though her hair was covered in a hood to hide her ears from the cold, some strands fell outside of it.

She looked at him, then, and gave him that look he could never forget. That innocent, clueless, cute look whenever she was shy or embarrassed, but mostly because he had said those words. She kissed him then and there.

"I love you too, James. Nothing in the world, ever, James...." She said, and smiled, then kissed him again. Their arms were constantly locked into each other as they walked her home. The pavement was filled with snow. He knew that, coming from here, there was no more meaningless balls and parties, no more meaningless love-making, no more being a worthless, unmarried man. Only a career in a respectable trade to look forward to and a friend, companion, and lover he could always rely on.

Before she went into her home, she looked at him, and held both of his hands. She gave him a quick kiss on the lips and hugged him, tightly. "Good night, James. I'll see you very soon." Said her, smiling. He smiled back. He let her go.

Never would he know that that night was the last time he would have her in his arms.

#

That same week, James and Vera had promised to meet at a play of which one of James' old friends from the regiment, a Mr Thomas Hull, had come to organise.

Quartermaster and Lieutenant Thomas Hull had fought all over the world for King and Country, and over the 25 years battling Indian, Frenchman, Spaniard, even American rebels at some point, he retired with the savings he had earned from wages and war trophies. Having risen from the ranks, Mr. Hull had turned out an excellent merchant of materiel and theatre owner of which many of the famous Shakespearean companies had come to ply their trade.

The Midsummer Night's Dream was to play that evening, starting at a quarter past seven. Attending such events required Mr Simpson to dress up accordingly, and with pride. He had donned his old lieutenant's colours–white trousers and a scarlet jacket, over a white waistcoat. He had switched his top hat for a cocked hat, his canvas for laces. Over it, he wore a great coat to fend off the winter winds.