"A bottle of arack, if you have it," he asked of the bartender before the bewildered stranger sent themselves off to peer at scrawled labels and stamps on boxes. Sharpe glanced back at Molly.

"A'course, don't even have my proper uniform. Let alone a dress uniform."

He had felt rather naked without his shinier buttons on. Not that he preferred the official dress uniform. God, no. But there was propriety and it had to be maintained.