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*****

The Lieutenant was growing more and more thoughtful and worried as we got closer to the bungalow. I asked him if he wanted me to perform a recce, and the fact that he was both listening and gave the offer thought was some kind of indication of his mood. He eventually waved it off, noting that it wouldn't do him any good, in any event.

I did make one suggestion, and that was to change into another uniform. Initially, he responded with an absent nod, and then stood bolt-upright in the growler's seat, sniffing at himself. The fact that he chittered sharply indicated he had detected what I had sensed, from roughly the same distance that I think his father would have.

Let it not be said that the Lieutenant is an indecisive or indolent fur. He had me settle up with the driver while he bounded into the bungalow to make his toilette. I took the precaution of gathering his clothes while he was washing and depositing them with Schweink, out of sight and smell.

The boar was quite understanding. "Young officers will rack up laundry bills like damnit when they're romancing the ladies. We had one bright young chap back in the old Thirty-Ninth who was juggling three lovelies all at the same time. Well, you know what happens when you do that. Got careless, of course, and starting leaving theatre programmes and other little mementoes in his pockets. The laundress was ever-efficient, and made a show of publicly returning the forgotten articles to him. Pity, of course, that one of the bits on the side was with him at the time, and she was wondering why he had a playbill for a sparkling bit of theatre - you know the type I mean - when he was supposed to have been tied up on duties. Well! There was no end of that mother and father of a row, and he got ganged up on by the others. Three on one is no odds, as our Marshal would say. Moral of the story is that a good soldier-servant should always go through his officer's pockets whenever he can."

A piece of alleged wisdom that I was sure many batmen followed in the Army, but this was no time for moral debates. I headed back to set the table, and was just in time to see off Bagoum, who was about to extract both bowls of salad from the icebox with an expectant air.

Chitterleigh returned from his ablutions, and I assisted him with the finishing touches on his tunic. For that matter, I thought it prudent to check on mine. From what Meadow and Mrs. Truemane had told me, I had every expectation Lord Twelveoaks was an estimable booby of a peer.

I was surprised and not surprised when he did show up. For one thing, he did not have a servant with him; frankly, I was expecting an entire suite. For another thing, whereas the Lieutenant was tall, slender and reddish-brown, Lord Twelveoaks was small, grey and squat, with prominent teeth and a squint.

The thing that did not surprise me was that he was dressed in a very expensive and heavy velvet cloak (in the middle of summer?) trimmed with feral fur. He might as well have worn a wooden advertising board announcing his status, which at least would have hidden his stomach.

The matching velvet cap was thrust into my paws, with a softly snarled order not to drop it or wipe my nose with it. Chitterleigh, for his part, attempted to greet his father deferentially, an effort that seemed to be wasted, based on the harsh chitter from the older squirrel.

Shortly after they seated themselves, I bought the bottle of wine to the table, where it was snatched out of my paws. I was thereupon ordered to make myself scarce, and not to come out unless requested.

Fortunately, I had some reading material (aside from Meadow's note) which I had deposited in the kitchen earlier in the day. I also arranged the table so that I could seat myself at the far end of the kitchen, away from the door.

Sure enough, not ten minutes later, the kitchen door was opened with a bang, and a suspicious pair of beady eyes squinted at me. I got to my hooves.

"Yes, my Lord?"

Foiled, the peer banged the door shut again, hard enough to rattle the dishes. I returned to my scroll.

It did start to concern me when it became dark outside, and I had still not been called on to serve the meal. Under the circumstances, it didn't seem like a good idea to make even a polite enquiry. There wasn't any indication of how the conversation was going, as no voices were raised.

I had just lit the lamp in the kitchen when the door opened sharply again, and His Lordship made another appearance, asking for his hat, that is, if I hadn't flogged it to another batman. (I wondered how much I could have gotten for it at a Bazar; probably not much, I suspect. Small size.)

I waited until the front door banged shut behind Lord Twelveoaks before I ventured out into the main room. The room itself was pitch-dark, except where some moonlight was coming in through the windows. Chitterleigh was seated at the table, his wine evidently untouched. He was clasping and reclasping his paws every few seconds, his jaw working.

The impasse was broken when he drew back his chair, and stalked silently into his bedroom, closing the door firmly.

Bagoum got his salads after all, though he looked as worried as I did, wondering how he came by this windfall. It was a rare time I'd not seen him cram something into his gob promptly.

"Eeee, lad, tha officer all right?"

"I don't know, Bagoum. He was awfully quiet. Long conversation with his father."

The ram made a face. "It's a right bugger, lad, when yer old man puts yer off his feed."

Not the word I would have used, but it did carry the sentiment.

Thinking it over, later, on my cot I decided that it might be best if I did some market shopping early the next day. Not for food, but for information.

I made a fortunate guess, as I saw a familiar blue-and-white uniform at a fruit stall. Saying nothing, I stood and inspected the cherries on sale. Meadow made eye contact, broke it, checked if anyone was within ear-shot, and whispered quietly to me.

"Bad night for him?"

"Don't know what happened. He was upset, and went to bed without a word. Do you?"

Meadow said nothing, and made a purchase of blackberries. When that was done, she spoke to the fruitier.

"Could you wrap those and deliver them to Mrs. Truemane? I think she's going to have guests in an hour." Meadow gave the merchant an address, and then walked away.

At the appointed time, I was at the doorstep. It opened quickly and silently, and I stepped through. Meadow led me by the paw to a sitting room, where Mrs. Truemane was busy with some sewing, snipping off the threads with something that might have been a standard-issue short sword a few generations ago. She looked up at me, and scowled.

"I told you that Twelveoaks was an ass, didn't I? And that he was as thick as thieves with poor Eudora's father?"

Seeing my puzzled look, which required no ear-trumpet, she continued, after slashing at a thread.

"'Family sacrifice,' my withers! 'Setting an example,' my right hoof! You know what that chittering idiot is going to do, don't you? He's going to find a bride for your officer. A Lowfolk bride! What in Fuma's sacred fur has Faerie come to when he have to go outside - to Lowfolk! - to find a bride!"

I saw her ear trumpet nearby, and gave it to her.

"I don't understand, ma'am."

"Damnit, boy, it's what I told you yesterday, are you as deaf as I am? It's this plan of his. 'Improve the breed.' 'Wake up tired blood.' Matter a damn that there's a perfectly healthy, bright and interested young elf on offer. No, no, no, we have to find some lout from outside."

She looked up at me. "Meadow, here, tells me you've never been outside of Faerie?"

"No, ma'am."

"Lucky. I've been there, and there's nothing in it for elves." The sewing was thrust aside with a snort. "Poor Eudora. Your officer must have told his father about her, because last night, Eudora came here, to me, in tears, saying her father had banned her from seeing him, talking to him, or writing to him."

"That's fast work, ma'am."

"Would they were so diligent in their government work, boy. Ten thousand thunder-struck trees, they're a load of barbarians, that lot." She picked up a small glass bottle filled with an amber liquid, poured a generous glass, and downed it in one shot. "Bezi-bazouks," she snarled, slamming the glass back on the table.

"And I imagine my officer got the same orders."

"I don't doubt it, and he's dependent on that branch-born lout for his livelihood. No allowance, no Army commission."

"May I sit down, ma'am?"

Meadow produced two chairs, and watched while I thought.

"Ma'am, did Miss Eichelgruber say precisely what she had promised to do?"

At the same time she poured herself another glass of spirits, she handed me a piece of parchment. It was written promise, made in a clearly feminine paw, from Miss Eichelgruber, promising that she would not meet Sir Jasper Chitterleigh, see Sir Jasper Chitterleigh, speak to Sir Jasper Chitterleigh, or write to Sir Jasper Chitterleigh, until she was told it was socially acceptable to by her father. I could see where the parchment was tear-stained.

Sir Jasper was as speedy a worker as his father, only in a much better cause, I thought.

I read the letter over again a few more times.

"Hmm."

Miss Truemane's eyes narrowed at me, and she tilted her head enquiringly.

"You know what's strange? She wasn't made to promise, in so many words, not to send any kind of messages to the Lieutenant. It's not literally said here."

A very slow smile crossed the old mare's face. "Go on, boy."

I read the letter out, slowly. "This obviously covers Miss Eichelgruber being in a position where she can signal to him, or make some other silent sign, let alone speak. But her father overlooked something. Or, maybe, Miss Eichelgruber realized a loophole. There's nothing stopping her from giving an oral message to a servant, having that servant give the message to another servant, and then over to the Lieutenant."

Miss Truemane poured herself a third glass of spirits, not that it seemed to affect her too much, and chuckled nastily. "And?"

I thought for a minute, tapping Miss Eichelgruber's letter against my paw. "This was written out for government bureaucrats. So: most likely, this was made in a few copies, and my officer will be made, on his word of honour as an officer and an elf, to make the same promises. The ones Miss Eichelgruber herself wrote. So my officer and Miss Eichelgruber will be playing by the same rules, and bound by the same kind of promises."

Meadow took the letter from my paw, and read it over herself, and slowly began to grin like the old mare, who for her part leaned back in her chair and adjusted her shawl.

"And your plan?"

I sat straight up in my chair. "I intend, ma'am, to perform my duties to my officer as a batman, including keeping regular hours at the market to supply his table."

"What else?"

I looked straight ahead. "If I have free time and a pass, ma'am, to have a social life typical for a fur of my station."

A fourth glass of spirits was poured, and raised.

"I knew your grandsire, boy."

"Oh, how did you know him?"

"I said, I knew your grandsire. Pay attention."

Her laugh was as sudden as my jaw drop. "You've got his touch, boy. No, not that kind of touch. Well, we've got ways...never mind. Another time, maybe. What I mean is, you've got the old Army way of thinking. Figure out what you want, and how to do it, without getting chucked in the guard-house for it. Yes, your grandsire was a champion barracks-lawyer in his day. Knew the King's Regulations inside and out, and woe onto any greenhorn officer who tried anything on him. They didn't make him a sergeant-major in the Elfhame Rangers for nothing, you know. It's good to see the line run true."

The glass was set aside for the moment, and two smaller glasses were poured, one for each of Meadow and myself. The toast was: consternation to idiots who interfere with young elves in love.

Meadow and I touched glasses, to the great whickering approval of Mrs. Truemane.