Chapter Text
Day One
The morning bustle was already in full swing by the time Lieutenant Anthony Havers made his way to the mess hall. He’d been up for hours walking the grounds then shrugging into and out of his formal uniform before finally settling on the standard service uniform. Wouldn’t do for anyone to think he was brown nosing, after all.
The normal boisterous din of the mess reached Havers before he even pushed open the door. It never ceased to amaze him how so few men could make so much noise simply by breaking their fast but the clang of dishes and conversation, punctuated by the rise and fall of good-natured ribbing common among young men was a mainstay of Button House.
Havers found himself the centre of attention the moment he stepped inside. It was a clear sign that despite the usual hubbub, there was an undercurrent of anxiety running through the men as much as through Havers himself. He found it both reassuring and unsettling. It would have been easier to pretend to himself that he wasn’t nervous if he could see that everyone else was perfectly at ease but at the same time, there was a comfort in seeing himself reflected in the eyes of those around him.
“Here he is!” Corporal Peters shouted. “The Lieutenant will know what’s what. Let’s have it then, sir. What’s the news on the new captain?”
All eyes were on Havers as he pointedly took his time fixing himself a cup of tea. He sipped it slowly as he surveyed the men staring at him for answers. He wished he had something to tell them, since it would mean he knew anything himself. He fancied himself a man who could handle anything if only he knew what it was. This damnable uncertainty was a real bore.
He shrugged.
“You know as much as I, Peters,” he said to the crowd. “Captain Richards arrives at midday from a training post in Plymouth. I’m afraid that’s all there is to know for now. We shall just have to be jolly patient until then.”
“He’s holding out on us!” Someone exclaimed and the assembled crowd cheered their agreement. Havers grinned.
“Come on, now, chaps,” he said, laughing and throwing a bread roll in the direction the comment had come from. “When have I ever held out on you? Captain Richards will arrive when he arrives and we shall all find out together just what manner of man he is. Now, if there is anyone here who has time to sit and daydream about our new superior officer, they may come to me and I will find them something suitably compelling to take their mind off it.”
*
A few hours later, Havers was struggling with a stubborn nail on the air raid shelter located a short distance from the house. He’d quickly grown restless and unable to concentrate on his usual morning reports and correspondence and had found himself itching for occupation. He’d noticed the stiff hinges during the last raid and had made his way across the grounds, whistling, with the toolbox swinging from his hand.
The required repairs had been more extensive than he’d realised. Within half an hour he’d been obliged to shrug off his jacket in deference to both the unseasonable heat and his exertions, leaving him in shirt and braces. He would need to nip back to the house shortly to prepare for The Captain’s arrival but for now he had time.
“Excuse me,” came a voice from behind him in stiff, formal tones and catching him off guard. “I say, Groundsman? Is this Button House?”
“Yes, quite,” he said cheerfully, turning to regard the stranger. “Though I’m not the grounds …” He trailed off as an icy feeling of dread swept over him at the sight of the new arrival.
His gaze travelled over the glint of his boots, the sharp pleat of his trousers, the correctness of his collar. The military correctness. There was no doubt about it even before Havers’s gaze landed on the captain's insignia on the man’s solid shoulders. Of course. Of course it was Captain Richards arriving to find him out of uniform, dishevelled, and scratching about in the dirt with, he suspected, a streak of rust across his cheek.
He immediately straightened and saluted sharply, scrambling to claw back any dignity that might be going.
“Lieutenant Havers, sir,” he said as precisely as he could. “Welcome to Button House, Captain.”
Captain Richards surveyed him with clinical detachment and pursed his lips.
“Very good, Lieutenant,” he said. “At ease.”
“Thank you, sir,” Havers said, relaxing his stance. “Forgive my surprise, sir. We weren’t expecting you until midday.”
“Yes,” The Captain said absently, looking at him with interest. “I say, do you often grub about in the dirt like that? Not terribly becoming of an officer.”
Havers felt his spine stiffen as he straightened.
“Of course not, sir. As I said, we weren’t expecting you for another two hours and the shelter needed attention.”
He knew he should soften his tone but he was feeling the sharp prick of disappointment in his chest. He hadn’t realised until now just how much he’d been hoping for a different kind of superior officer. Captain Appleby had been a fine Captain in the eyes of the military but with the temper of a cornered badger who believed in a firm, military hand. Life under his command had been a frosty affair best endured with a stiff upper lip and a prayer for a transfer. It seemed Captain Richards was cut from the same cloth.
“Very well,” The Captain said dismissively. “I suppose we can’t have the doors blowing off the shelter mid-raid, can we? Very industrious of you.”
“Thank you, sir,” Havers said, quite sure it wasn’t a compliment but unsure how else to respond.
“Might you escort me to the house, then, Lieutenant? I should like to get settled before I greet the rest of the company.” The Captain asked after a moment. He gave an odd little bounce on his toes.
“Oh, certainly, sir,” Havers said immediately. “They are so looking forward to meeting you.” He reached for his jacket and shrugged back into it as quickly as he could. He was still damp from his efforts so the material sat heavy and restricting on his heated skin. He resisted the urge to fidget as he began to lead The Captain up to the house.
“Are they now,” The Captain murmured to himself as he fell into step beside him. “How long have you been at Button House yourself, then, Lieutenant?”
“Six months, sir,” Havers answered. “My second post as Lieutenant.”
“Is that so,” The Captain said. “And how do you find it? Are you satisfied with your post?”
Now, how was he to answer that, Havers wondered. Had he enjoyed his time here at Button House so far? He wouldn’t go so far as to say that. It was an idyllic location, no doubt about it, and the men were a fair compensation but … despite his faith in Headquarters, he wasn’t always sure this was the most appropriate location for him. He wanted to make a difference and there were days when signing reports felt about as much use in this war as his sister knitting blankets for the wounded. Helpful, certainly. Appreciated, no doubt. But truly, meaningfully impactful?
“It has been … educational,” he said eventually, as diplomatically as he could. He thought he saw a twitch of The Captain’s moustache at that, as though his lips had quirked for a moment in amusement. Had he been rumbled?
But he said only, “I see.”
*
Havers’s head hung heavy on his shoulders by the time the evening meal finally rolled around. It had been a long day. He had taken The Captain to his quarters, introduced him to the men, and given him a short tour of the house and grounds. The Captain had wasted no time getting acquainted with their business here. He’d had Havers go over every report from the last month, checking his work thoroughly. It had felt like a performance review, with The Captain querying every decision and minor detail.
When he’d finally dismissed him for the evening, Havers had been deeply unsure whether The Captain approved of him or not. He’d rarely heard complaints about his work even from Appleby but there was something altogether disconcerting about the new captain’s sharp eye and pursed lips.
“So that’s the new CO,” Second Lieutenant Stevens said as he settled down across from Havers at one of the long tables in the mess. “Bit sour-faced, don’t you think? Have we got another Appleby on our hands?”
Havers shook his head.
“If only I knew, Stevens,” he responded wearily. “The man’s a closed book. At least you knew where you stood with Appleby, even if it was in the shitter most of the time. Captain Richards makes me feel like I’m back at school trying to please the headmaster only I don’t know if I’m meant to be doing sums or straightening my tie.”
But that wasn’t quite right. Captain Richards was certainly an inscrutable man with high standards but Havers couldn’t forget about that twitch of his moustache. If there was a sense of humour hiding beneath all that pomp, there was a chance he might just be a man worth knowing.
Stevens snorted in amusement, startling him out of his daydream.
“I suddenly feel blessed to be only a second lieutenant,” he said, clapping Havers on the shoulder cheerfully. “I might tell Headquarters to hold off my promotion for a bit. Sounds like you can keep him all to yourself.”
“Ah give over,” Havers said, giving him a shove. “You? A first lieutenant? Headquarters has better taste than that.”
“Oi!” Stevens exclaimed but he was grinning.