a work of fan-fiction by The Mardy Bum, 21st November, 2006
PROLOGUE
He stood
on the stone ledge, the cold breeze nipping at the skin of his naked
body, looking down into the dusty streets of the little Spanish
village. The evening air whipped around him, a bell in the distance
announcing half past midnight. He leaned over slightly to judge how far
he was from the ground, and swallowed and leaned back quickly,
plastering his back to the cold stone wall.
He clutched his uniform at a
judicious height against his body, his mind whirling. Buggerin’ hell – that were close!
He listened carefully, hearing
the polite voices and well-wishes inside the room from which he’d
just escaped, wetting dry lips and then regretting it as the cold wind
flew over them mercilessly. He started to shiver, waiting for the sound
of the polite voices to stop.
It did, and he blew out a long
sigh, hearing the door inside close too. He was about to turn and edge
back in through the window. He froze as a man’s voice, gently
admonishing and politely inquiring, approached the inside of the
window. Sharpe shuffled slightly further to his left. A hand reached
out and grasped the inside of the window firmly, pulling it closed. The
sound of the catch on the inside only served to crush any ideas he
might have had of opening it again. He closed his eyes, thinking.
Aw shite. Now what? How can things get any worse?
“Sir? Is that you,
sir?” came a distinctive Irish lilt, floating up through the
darkness at him. Sharpe swore under his breath, then looked down
carefully. As he suspected, Patrick Michael Harper of Donegal was
standing on the opposite side of the dark dirt-track, arms akimbo,
staring up at him with an affably bemused expression. Sharpe huffed and
rolled his eyes.
He lifted a hand to wave him away silently. Harper
grinned at him, indicating his uniform. Sharpe grabbed at it, holding
it against him securely, scowling at him.
“And just how in the world did you come to be up there?”
Harper called, more softly this time. Sharpe leaned back against the
stone wall, his head falling back against the freezing brick work.
How indeed.
ONE
Barely a week earlier, Sharpe was
looking out over the hillside, leaning on his sword and wiping the
sweat from his eyes with his sleeve. He took in the men wandering
around, rifling through uniforms and items strewn all over the ground.
He made a quick count of the red and blue coats, and then put his hand
up to take the whistle from his crossbelt.
He blew three long notes and
watched as the redcoats looked around, grinning. They thrust hands,
muskets and shakoes in the air, shouting in triumph.
Another battle over,
Sharpe thought wearily, and then turned at the sound of muskets still
firing. It couldn’t have been many, but the sound carried over
the field admirably. He followed the sound to his left, walking to the
hillside and looking down.
A small group of redcoats was surrounded by a horde
of French on horseback. They looked to be without an officer, the seven
men back-to-back in a rough circle, firing their muskets seemingly at
will to try and keep the mounted enemy away.
Except for two of them. Sharpe
watched as they fired and reloaded faster than anyone he’d seen.
The dark-haired one was chivvying his partner to fire as he reloaded,
and then reload as he himself fired. And he was aiming.
Sharpe turned and looked back at
the redcoats congratulating themselves on winning.
“Oi!” he bawled back
at them. They started to turn. “South Essex! Rifles! Down there!
We’re not done yet!” he ordered angrily. They jumped to and
snatched up bayoneted muskets and rifles, roaring and flooding past him
and down the hillside.
He grabbed at a green jacketed arm as it passed him.
He pulled on it to find Taylor on the other end. “You,” he
said quickly.
“Sir,” Taylor replied immediately.
“Find out who them two are
int middle, and get ‘em out. Bring ‘em to me,” he
said.
“Yes sir!” he nodded, and Sharpe released his arm. He ran
down the hill to join the red and green men currently harrying and
bringing down the French cavalrymen.
It was a short stand by
anyone’s count. The French realised they were hopelessly
outnumbered, and simply turned tail and made a smart getaway. The red
and green jackets jeered and shouted after them, and as Sharpe stalked
down the hill, he found a breathless Taylor calling him.
He turned and found him walking
toward him, accompanied by the two redcoats. Sharpe eyed them both
dangerously. They stopped and the slightly taller one looked at him
cautiously, straightening and nudging his partner to do likewise.
Sharpe looked him over slowly.
“Do you know who I am?” he asked
curiously. The men shared a look.
“Don’t know,
sir,” the taller one replied, still eyeing his red sash. Sharpe
looked over the slightly shorter, fairer man, then looked back at the
first one again.
“Name? Rank?” he snapped.
“Private Green, sir,”
he said immediately. Sharpe thought for a long second.
“And you?” he asked the other one.
“Private Gordon,
sir,” he said, a little less smartly. Sharpe nodded.
“Did you give the order for
firing in ranks, Green?” Sharpe asked, sliding his sword back
into his scabbard. He unbuttoned the middle shiny buttons on his tunic
and put a hand inside, bringing out a small notebook with a scruffy
stub of a pencil shoved inside. He looked up at Green as he pulled the
string off the notebook thoughtfully, grabbing the pencil before it
could fall to the grass.
“No, sir,” he said stiffly. “I
don’t give orders sir, I just –“
“Did you have you and your
friend here fire in order, Green?” he asked, his face not exactly
a smile, but definitely more pleasant than the scowl it had been in
before.
“Yes sir,” he admitted.
“And that were you, trying
to aim that musket? You know muskets are pretty much useless beyond
fifty yards?” he mused.
“Thirty, sir,” Green sniffed, then bit
his lip. “Sorry, sir.”
“How many shots can you
fire a minute, Private?” he asked curiously.
“Two, sir,” he said
boldly. “Three. Well… just then… four, sir,”
he added carefully. Sharpe considered him for a long, silent moment,
his eyes boring into the young man.
“Where’s your ramrod,
Private?” he asked quietly. Green looked down at his weapon
quickly.
“Lost, sir. Sorry, sir,” he said wretchedly.
“It’s in some Frog, sir,” he added, annoyed. Sharpe
flicked his gaze at Gordon.
“And yours?” he asked. Private Gordon
lifted his musket and turned it slightly. There was the ramrod, stuck
firmly in its hold. Sharpe sniffed, lifting his hand with the pencil in
it to rub his eye slowly with his free fingers. He let his hand drop,
sniffed to himself, and then looked back at the pair of them.
“Take this,” he said, writing something carefully on the
paper in the notebook, “to Colonel Lawford.”
Private Green swallowed.
“I’ll get a ramrod from supplies, sir,” he said
quickly. Sharpe snorted with amusement.
“You will not,”
he smiled, tearing the page from the book and handing it to him.
“You’ll get a new jacket and a proper weapon from supplies.
Get back here in an hour and find Sergeant Harper. He’ll give you
your stripe,” he said.
Green took the paper and looked at it. He could only
read a few words but his heart leapt as he read the name at the bottom.
“Begging your pardon, Major
Sharpe sir,” Green said hurriedly, as Sharpe pushed the notebook
back in his tunic, “What stripe?”
“Chosen Man,” Sharpe
said. “Dismissed, the pair of you,” he said. Gordon clapped
him on the elbow and turned, walking away. Green looked back at the
paper, then up at Sharpe again.
“Me?” he asked, his
voice an excited squeak. He cleared his throat. “Me, sir?”
“Aye, you. Go on, be quick before I change me mind, Rifleman,” Sharpe said. Green closed his mouth and a huge grin spread across his face.
“Yes sir!” he barked,
saluting and turning, looking round to get his bearings. Sharpe smiled,
wiped his face, and then turned to find the group of green jackets
already finding wood to burn. They had tea to brew, after all.
*
“Ah! And here he is: Major
Sharpe,” Lawford called out. “Or as we like to call him,
Smoke,” he grinned. The girl on his arm matched his pace as they
walked over the encampment grass, smiling to herself. She held a
parasol over her open shoulder idly, twirling it slightly in the sun.
Sharpe looked up from the tub of
water outside his tent, looking up. “Sir?” he asked, unsure
if he was the punch line or the butt of the Colonel’s joke this
time.
Lawford eyed Sharpe’s state of half-dress, gesturing for him to
dry his face off. Sharpe turned to the bowl, rinsed his face of the
last of the shaving lather, and hastily picked up a towel, pressing it
to his face quickly. He flicked it to sit over his shoulder, looking
back at Lawford.
“Major Sharpe, may I present Miss Constance
Peel?” he said grandly. Sharpe looked at the girl and his breath
stopped.
She was stunning, an absolute statue of beauty and elegance. Her
refined features were cheerful and open, and yet the curiosity burning
in her hazel eyes made her look alive and self-possessed in a way that
so many other pretty young ladies lacked. Her long, brown hair was
twisted into a cascading wave of ringlets and curls, sending it down
around her neck and over her shoulders. Her delicate skin was flawless,
her eyes searching his as if looking for something.
He remembered to breathe and
swallowed quickly, realising how she must be amused at this
scruffy-looking officer, stripped to the waist and standing staring at
her openly. He cleared his throat hastily.
“Miss,” he said, then
cleared his throat again, wetting dry lips. She smiled slowly.
“Major,” she said
warmly. Her hands fingered the parasol handle, twirling it slowly.
“Mister Lawford tells me you’re to dine with us this
evening,” she said politely.
“I am?” he prompted, trying to keep up. “That is, I can, miss,” he added quickly.
“Good. And why do they call
you Smoke, Major?” she asked curiously, her crafty gaze stealing
over him, then back up to his face.
“I’m sure I don’t –“
“Because there’s no
Smoke without Fire,” Lawford interrupted, “and here he
comes now.”
Sergeant Patrick Harper rounded the side of the tent
jauntily, singing to himself. He stopped and looked at the three of
them.
“Mary, Mother of God!” he whispered as he saw
Constance’s face. She looked over at him, surprised. Sharpe cast
him a glance that would have forged new frizzen plates from pig iron.
Harper swallowed quickly, realising she was now looking at him.
“Oh, er – begging your pardon, ma’am,” he said,
snatching off his shako and inclining his head quickly. She looked
confused for a long moment, then looked back at Sharpe.
“Well, Major, we shall see
you at dinner. I hope,” she added with a crafty smile, before
Lawford nodded to him and turned her to leave. She stopped and looked
back at Harper. “Good day, Sergeant,” she said cheerfully,
and smiled before letting Lawford walk her back away from the tents.
Harper closed his mouth and
shuffled over to Sharpe, who was still staring after her.
“God save Ireland,”
Harper whispered, “if she’s not the most beautiful thing
put on this Earth!” It was silent for a long moment, then he
looked at Sharpe. He was still staring, with a far away look on his
face. He slapped the back of his hand into his shoulder.
“Sir,” he said pointedly.
“Eh? Oh, er…
yeah,” he said absently. Harper grinned.
“Thinking of the lady, are you sir?” he said maliciously.
“Trying not to,”
Sharpe admitted, turned back to his bowl of water. “She’ll
be the Colonel’s bit of skirt, no doubt,” he added sourly.
“If that’s true,
sir,” Harper mused, watching Sharpe pick up one end of the tub
and pour the water over the grass, “why was it you she was giving the eye?”
“Harper, shut it,” he
said irritably. “Has that new lad found you yet?”
“Hours ago, sir,” he
said cheerfully, watching him up-end the tub to empty it properly.
“Jesus, but he’s a crack shot, sir. Says he’s never
fired a rifle before, but Dan reckons he’s lying, so he
does,” he said.
“Do you think he’ll be alright wi’
us?” Sharpe asked, turning to look at the Irishman.
“He’s just a small
fish, so he is,” Harper grinned, “but you’ve just
tipped him back in the open sea.”
TWO
“And that’s how we
came to win today, my dear,” Lawford said genially, snapping his
fingers at the man servant. He stepped forward and refilled
Constance’s wine glass smoothly. Lawford lifted his glass,
watching her. “Were it not for myself and Major Sharpe here, half
of Spain would be under French military rule.”
“Then it seems Spain has
much to be thankful for,” she said, nodding to Lawford and
looking at Sharpe. Her gaze was piercing, and he caught it like a slap
across the nose. He wondered if his eyes were really watering, or if it
was just her beauty and the wine. “Don’t you think?”
she asked him.
He realised she was speaking and kicked himself.
“Not my place to say, miss,” he managed, wondering why his
mind had gone blank.
“Don’t you feel proud of your victory
today, Major?” she asked politely.
“I’m just glad
I’m not dead,” he sniffed. “Miss,” he added
quickly, politely. She giggled for a moment, and he felt the noise
through his fingers pressed to the table cloth, held there so he
wouldn’t crush his wine glass in nervous excitement.
“Mr Lawford did say you had
a sense of humour, Mr Sharpe,” she grinned. She opened her mouth
to say more, but a Lieutenant burst into the tent. Lawford stood
quickly.
“I say, man!” he said, annoyed, but the Lieutenant saluted
and pulled out an envelope.
“From Lord Wellington, sir,” he blurted.
Lawford huffed, then nodded, taking the envelope. He looked at it but
didn’t open it. He looked at Constance and Sharpe.
“My apologies, Miss Peel,
Major,” he said, nodding, “I fear this is for my eyes
alone. Please excuse me, I shall return,” he said, walking
stiffly to the tent flaps and out. The Lieutenant followed him out and
Constance sighed delicately, leaning back in her chair and relaxing
noticeably. Sharpe couldn’t help but watch her.
“I thought he’d never
leave,” she said to herself, then looked at Sharpe. She looked at
him for a long moment, then turned slightly toward him and regarded him
with a crafty smile. Even from four feet away, he suddenly felt heat in
his face. And certain other places too. “The Colonel tells me you
two are friends, Major Sharpe,” she said quietly.
“That we are, miss,” he said.
“And just how far does this
friendship go?” she asked carefully. He felt his face screw up in
confusion.
“Miss?” he asked, unsure. She smiled, regarding him and
thinking, it seemed.
“That Sergeant of yours… I hear
he’s married,” she said conversationally.
“He is, miss,” he replied, his head still swimming. Is it me, or is this conversation all over the place?
“And you, Major?” she asked lightly.
“Me?” he asked, not sure what the question was.
“Are you married,
Major?” she asked. He gazed at her, watching her smile in
amusement at his inability to think.
She’s doing it on purpose…. Shit,
he realised suddenly. He wet dry lips and reached for his wine.
“No, miss, not any more,” he said. He took a sip of the
wine, watching the glass, not her.
“Oh. I sense a story behind
that,” she said charmingly, but as he looked back at her, he
realised with a heavy heart that she was simply doing what girls did
best; getting any information she wanted from a man who’d lost
his head. He let himself smile, even as he relaxed slowly. He leaned
back in his chair, looking back at her for a long moment.
Yeah, alright, she’s a stunner. But what does she want? He watched her regard him, and he felt prepared to wait for her to speak first. If I play me cards right, I should be able to find out. He grinned suddenly, and she put her elbow on the table, letting her chin into it and watching him.
“What?” she asked
coyly. He sniffed, looking at the linen tablecloth.
“Just wondering what yer
doing way out here, miss,” he said. She continued to watch him.
“My brother was in the ranks,” she said faintly.
“The ranks? I don’t
think so, miss,” he offered apologetically. He looked up at her
but she looked away. He found that odd.
“He was a
Lieutenant,” she said reluctantly. “He’s not
now,” she added quietly.
“I’m sorry,
miss,” he said truthfully. She looked up at him, and for the
first time, he realised it was a genuine look. Now he’d seen
something real, he knew that anything else would easily be
distinguished as a lie.
“So am I,” she replied, her face
suddenly fragile-looking. She held his gaze and was about to say more,
but Lawford ducked back into the tent suddenly.
“Well, well, well,”
he breathed, annoyed. “I am most sorry, my dear, for leaving you
with no-one but the Major for company,” he began, “but
–“
“On the contrary, the Major and I seem to have
more in common than I first thought,” she said brightly, her good
mood seemingly restored. Lawford looked at Sharpe gingerly.
“Really?” he asked
dubiously. “Well I’m afraid we have to talk war business,
Miss Peel. I do so hate to break up the evening, but can’t be
helped, you see,” he said, positively wringing his hands in
reluctance to see her booted out into the cool, autumn evening.
“No, no, I’m sure you
have important things to discuss with the good Major,” she said,
putting her hands on the table to get to her feet. Sharpe stood
quickly, inclining his head respectfully. She smiled at him. “You
men get on with fighting the war, I have to find a soft place to sleep,
if I can,” she said, smiling impishly at Sharpe. He caught
himself staring and swallowed, noticing Lawford’s testy glance
his way.
“Goodnight, Miss,” he said formally. She smiled at him and
then turned to Lawford.
“Goodnight, Mr Lawford,” she said,
lifting her skirts and making for the tent flaps.
“Guard!” Lawford
called out, and the Private outside ducked into the tent. “See
Miss Peel to her tent, if you please,” he said.
“Yes sir,” the
Private chirped, nodding to Constance and lifting the canvas for her to
exit the tent. The tent flaps dropped and Lawford looked at Sharpe.
“Now then, Richard,
we’re ordered to the village of Fuerza Mayor. It’s only
three days’ march from here, shouldn’t be too hard on the
men.”
“No, sir,” he said, looking pre-occupied.
“How’s the new man
doing? The one you pilfered from my ranks,” he said pleasantly,
turning and crossing to his desk, finding a rolled up map and bringing
it back to the small dining table.
“Very well, sir. I’d
say he’s a natural wi’ rifles,” he replied, but
Lawford noticed the thumb rubbing his fingers, the slight wince to his
eyes.
“Well, Richard? Out with it,” he sighed, lying the map on
the table.
“Sir?”
“What’s troubling
you?” he asked. “Miss Peel, by any chance?”
“Aye. What’s she
doing here?” he asked, confused. Lawford sighed.
“Look, she arrived this
morning, saying she was picking up items from her brother’s
ranks. Well he was in the 54th, but she wasn’t to know
they’d already moved on without us. She’s leaving tomorrow
to catch them up and collect her brother’s things. Then
she’s going back to England.” He watched Sharpe’s
face, but it didn’t clear. “What now?” he sighed
resignedly.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But
summat’s not right.”
“Like what?” Lawford
demanded testily. “The fact that she’s attached herself to
me for the two days that she’s spending here, and not some
filthy, unwashed Major?”
Sharpe looked at him slowly, his
green eyes whirling with a thousand thoughts and suspicions. Lawford
huffed.
“Look, sorry about that, old man. But you know what I mean
– just give me a chance with her, alright? It’s not often
that I get a handsome girl like that fall into my lap. As it
were,” he added hastily. Sharpe smiled, and Lawford suddenly
realised he hadn’t been listening anyway.
“It’s no business
o’ mine, I’m sure,” he said easily.
“Just… go careful, Bill. Summat’s not right
wi’ that lass,” he added thoughtfully. Lawford met his eyes
for a long moment.
“If you say so,” he said, nodding.
“Anyway, here look, there’s the village we need to get to.
And here’s -. Oh, look at that,” he said, surprised. Sharpe
leaned over the map, reading it.
“What?” he asked, when Lawford smiled slowly.
“Well, it’s right on
Miss Peel’s way to the 54th,” he smiled. “We can
accompany her for three-quarters of her journey after all.”
Sharpe looked at him, then forced
his face into an easy smile. “Well then,” he said,
“I’ll get back to the lads and tell ‘em to get sorted
fer tomorrow’s march,” he said. “Dawn start, is it,
sir?” he asked.
“Yes, Richard. Thank you,” he said with
a smile. Sharpe nodded, turning back to his seat and leaning over,
collecting his shako from the opposite side.
“Goodnight, sir,” he said, nodding.
“Goodnight,” Lawford
replied, but he already sounded very much pre-occupied.
*
“Eeeee, look at that, will
you?” Hagman wheezed, nodding slightly to his right. Harris and
Robinson looked over, noticing Colonel Lawford edging his horse out in
front of the marching South Essex and Rifles. Following his horse was a
vision in cream and white. Constance Peel was riding side-saddle, her
cream parasol up to keep off the strong sun. Robinson whistled quietly.
“Now I could definitely
look at that all day,” he breathed, grinning. Harris tutted.
“Believe me, a refined lady
like that wouldn’t look twice at this bunch of scruffy would-be
convicts,” he grinned. “She’s obviously here under
Colonel Lawford’s protection,” he added haughtily.
“So why was she eyeing
Mister Sharpe like an eight-guinea ball-gown?” Green said
suddenly. The others looked at him.
“When did you see that?” Robinson hissed quietly.
“’Ey, it pays to keep
your eyes open,” Green admitted, “yer never know when there
might be something worth blagging.”
“And ah… which
assizes volunteered you for this detail?” Harper asked loudly
from behind them.
“Them bastards up at Lancaster Castle,”
he grumbled. “Said I was a thief.”
“Thief? You?” Moore asked sarcastically, from his left.
“Aye, a thief – and
me just trying to eat,” he moaned. Harper laughed.
“Even thieves have to eat,
isn’t that right, Green?” he chuckled.
“Of course – some
more’n others,” he pointed out, and Brown cleared his
throat.
“I had two mates o’ mine done at Lancaster Castle, for
nicking bread,” he said glumly.
“Sure and that’s no
way to go, now is it?” Harper commiserated. “Well, at least
we got Mister Green out, so we did.”
“Aye, Private Green in
green,” Hagman grinned. “Just another misunderstood Scouse,
am I right?” he teased.
“’Ey, get off it,” he said,
pushing at Hagman’s shoulder. The Cheshire-man chuckled and
winked at Harper.
“Oi!” came a loud voice from their left
suddenly, immediately identifiable as Sharpe’s. “Pick yer
bloody feet up! This int a Sunday afternoon stroll!”
“Blimey,” Brown
tutted. “You’d fink he’d let us keep pace with the
Essex lads.”
“You heard the man, Rifles, speed it
up,” Harper snapped, and they straightened and sped up just a
little.
*
Harper picked up the tea urn,
swishing it round before setting it back down on the tripod over the
small fire.
“So anyway, I says, if you wants a good kickin’, I’m
more’n happy to oblige,” Green said cheerfully, and Brown
laughed.
“And did you?” he asked.
“O’ course –
what kind of man do you think I am?” he chuckled. Harper shook
his head sadly.
“A Scouse git with no-one to keep him in line,
so you are,” he said, and the rest of the Chosen Men laughed.
Green tutted.
“Now that’s not fair,” he whined,
but Robinson tossed a ramrod at him. It bounced harmlessly off his knee
and he picked it up, looking at it. “I never thought I’d be
here, wi’ you lot,” he said proudly. “I mean, when
you’re in the South Essex, you think you’re either going to
die or… well, die,” he shrugged. Harper grinned.
“Well, now you can die at
long-range,” he said happily, and Green smiled.
“Yeah. Nice of him to put me here,” he said quietly.
“Who?”
“The Major,” he said,
as if it was obvious. “We hear he’s a right snappy
bastard,” he said conspiratorially. “What’s he really
like?”
“What am I really like?” Sharpe echoed,
thinking. Constance watched him, her face lit up by the flicker of the
fire between them.
“He’s a ruffian and a cad,”
Lawford said deliberately, and she looked at the Colonel slowly.
“Oh I know that,” she said airily.
“Do you,” Sharpe said
pointedly. He looked at his hands, clasped tightly, and sniffed,
letting them fall to the table slowly. She looked back at him.
“You hear things when you
travel with soldiers, Major,” she said neatly.
I’ll just bet. Is that what yer doing here? Hearing things? For who?
“You shouldn’t believe solders’ tales, miss,”
he said politely. “They’re worse than newspapers.”
“You don’t trust
newspapers?” she prompted. He took a sip of the red wine, looking
at the glass in his fingers to keep from staring at her.
“Make better use as
firelighters,” he said shortly. She giggled, raising a hand to
her mouth.
“Really,” she stressed. “I read all about you in the
Times, Major. Talavera?” she added slyly.
“See? They lie,” he
pointed out. “They probably said we went in, fought a couple of
French blokes, picked up a standard we found lying about and went home
fer afternoon tea. Am I right?” he asked. She considered his face
through the red glow of the fire, hesitating.
“More or less,” she
admitted, but her voice was quieter now, more serious. He huffed,
displaying just what he thought of that summary. She looked at the wine glass in her hands, and it was silent for a long moment.
“So you’re following
the 54th, Miss Peel?” Lawford said suddenly. She turned and
looked at him, sat a few feet to her right.
“I am, sir,” she said
cheerfully. Sharpe watched her, and Lawford’s reaction, as they
talked about the 54th and where they were headed. He leaned back
slowly, thinking.
“Isn’t that right, Sharpe?”
Lawford said suddenly. Sharpe looked at him.
“Sir?” he asked,
realising he’d missed the conversation while lost in her beauty.
Lawford looked annoyed.
“I said, it’s growing late and we all
have to be up early tomorrow,” he said pointedly. Sharpe let his
eyes slide back over to Constance’s, who met them with a curious
stare.
“We do,” he agreed. Lawford stood, as did Sharpe. Constance
got to her feet slowly.
“Goodnight, gentlemen,” she said,
amused. “Thank you for a most illuminating evening.” She
picked up her skirts and turned, walking away slowly. Sharpe looked at
Lawford.
“There, you see?” Lawford said quietly. “Do you still
think there’s something dreadfully secretive about Miss
Peel?”
“Yes,” he said bluntly. “But right
now I’d rather sleep.”
“See that you do,”
Lawford said darkly, then nodded to him and turned away, walking to his
tent. Sharpe sat down again slowly, thinking for a long minute. Then he
upended his glass and finished the last mouthful of wine, wiping a hand
over his face. He heard the manservant arrive and turned to watch him
tamp out the fire and collect the glasses and stools. Sharpe stood,
nodded a thanks, and walked over the grass slowly.
He undid the buttons on his tunic
slowly as he walked, trying not to think about Constance and the sound
of her laugh. He opened his tunic and stretched, rubbing his face. He
rounded the tents and spotted his, heaving a tired sigh and heading for
it. He stopped and listened to the sound of the Chosen Men, laughing
and talking, just round the next few tents, and then smiled to himself,
ducking into his tent. He pulled the tunic off over his shoulders and
then stopped suddenly.
“Miss?” he asked, finding Constance
stood, watching him. He looked around his small tent quickly. Nothing
had moved, no candle had been lit. She was simply standing, watching
him in the silent darkness.
“Major,” she said quietly, walking up to him slowly.
“Now, look here miss, I think -“
“Major, I want to ask you a
question,” she said, her eyes dark. He stared at her; he
couldn’t help it. He noticed the smile was gone from her face,
the cheer non-existent. Instead she looked unsure, her eyes leaving his
to dart round his shoulder, always watching the tent flaps nervously.
“Well?” he asked
slowly, shrugging his tunic back on cautiously. She looked up at him,
then away quickly, to her hands fiddling with the lace on her dress
awkwardly.
“Do you think… Do you think we’ll
be safe?” she asked, her voice timid.
“Safe? From who?” he asked, confused.
“Before we reach the
54th,” she said, her voice quieter still. “I…
I’m rather fearful… I’m just trying to reach the
54th, and safety,” she whispered. He realised she was shaking
slightly, and she lifted her head to look at him clearly. “Will
we?”
He took in her face, reading the fear and anxiety all too well. He was
aware that time was passing, but couldn’t think of anything
useful to say. She watched him for a long moment, then swallowed and
looked at her hands, still fiddling with the lace edging on her blouse.
“I just want to be
safe,” she whispered, but it caused a tear to break over her
face. She put her hand out and grabbed his arm, squeezing hard.
“I never wanted this, any of this,” she whimpered.
“Please believe me.”
The pressure of her fingers on his arm worried him. 54th my arse, he thought suspiciously. He put his hands to her elbows reassuringly.
“Look, Miss Peel,
we’ve only two days to go, and we’ll find ‘em,”
he said gruffly. She looked up at him quickly.
“Them?”
“The 54th,” he said simply. You remember them – yer cover story?
“Oh Major,” she said
wretchedly, and pulled on him. She let go of his arm, sliding her arms
around him and squeezing herself against him tightly. He just cleared
his throat, pausing for a long, long moment before putting his arms
round her awkwardly and looking over her head. “I know Colonel
Lawford commands here, but I feel so much safer with you.”
Aye, I bet. And don’t think I haven’t seen tears before, neither.
He smelt her perfume and swallowed quickly. “We’ll get you
to the 54th safely, Miss Peel,” he said confidently.
“There’s nowt between here and them as can get in our
way,” he added reassuringly.
She looked up at him. “Constance,” she said quietly.
“Well, I try,” he
said, confused. She smiled suddenly, her eyes bright again.
“That’s my name, Major.” She watched him. He just looked back at her, not knowing what to say.
“Do you want me to…
Well, shall I…” he began, his face unsure.
“Yes,” she interrupted, her voice a whisper.
“… get you back to
yer tent, Miss Constance?” he finished. She stared at him.
“My tent,” she repeated flatly.
“Yes, miss,” he said.
“You can’t stay here, it’s… well, it’s
not int King’s Regulations, is it?” he pointed out. Her
face started to turn angry, he noticed. “And… can’t
have the men gossiping, miss,” he added pointedly. She searched
his eyes for a long moment, and he had time to wonder just what she was
looking for. Then she cleared her throat, smiling slightly.
“Are you always such a
gentleman? Or just when you don’t care for the sport?” she
asked sourly. He felt his eyes narrow.
“I don’t care for
games int middle of the night,” he said clearly. She looked up at
him again slowly, her shoulders sagging just a little.
“Then I shall take care not
to play them any more,” she said softly. She stared at him but he
relaxed his arms round her, lifting his chin slightly. “Oh, dear
me… You aren’t a cad at all, are you?” she said
ruefully. “It seems most of this camp has you wrong, Major
Sharpe,” she added, some of her old cheer resurfacing, although
she sounded just the slightest bit unsettled.
“Richard,” he managed, wetting dry lips.
“Richard,” she
repeated happily. She continued to stare at him, then let her hands
slide down his open tunic slowly. He felt immeasurably glad she
hadn’t slid them over his shirt. “Well then,” she
said, pushing herself away from him slowly.
He let her go, looking at his
feet and sliding a hand over his mouth slowly, swallowing. He looked at
her, feeling her eyes in his direction, but noticed she was actually
giving the tent flaps a fretful look.
“Would you…”
she began, then her voice gave slightly. She cleared her throat and
straightened herself consciously. “Would you be kind enough to
walk me back to my tent, Richard?”
“Of course, miss,” he
said automatically, and she put her hands to her face, wiping away the
stray tears and rearranging her fringe professionally. She looked at
him and offered a small smile. He sniffed, then put his elbow out. She
took it, wrapping her arms round it gratefully, and he led her out of
the tent.
They walked back to her tent in silence, but he noticed she held on
tightly to his arm, jumping at slight noises on the night air. They
stopped in front of her tent, and she let go of his arm reluctantly.
“Thank you for your
kindness, Richard,” she said quietly, and he nodded.
“Your servant, miss,” he allowed.
“Constance,” she
said, leaning forward and kissing him. After a minute or two of this
she grabbed a handful of buttons on his open tunic and yanked him
closer. He had to put a hand to her elbow to stop himself from falling
over her.
“Ah, Miss Peel, I – Ah!”
Sharpe heard the shout and pulled
himself away from her, looking up to find Lawford staring at them in
horror. He took a step back, then fixed Sharpe with a glare from Hell.
Sharpe cleared his throat, realising what had just happened and the
fact that he had no idea where the last few minutes had gone. Constance
pulled her shawl tighter over her shoulders, raising her chin and
looking over at Lawford down her nose.
“Major, you are supposed to
be resting!” Lawford snapped accusingly.
“As are you,
Colonel,” Constance said cheerfully. “Goodnight,
gentlemen,” she said, not looking at either of them as she ducked
into her own tent quickly. Sharpe stood back one, lost. Lawford marched
over and grabbed his elbow, yanking him away hurriedly. He waited until
they were within reach of Sharpe’s own tent.
“Oh the nerve of you, man!” Lawford hissed angrily.
“Hey, look, she –“
“Richard, I saw you two!
Don’t try and blame this on her! You – you – you had
your hands on her!” he spat.
Heads appeared round the tent next to them, grinning and listening.
“Look, Bill, she were in me
tent, and I told her she shouldn’t –“
“In your tent!” he
repeated, slapping his hand to his temple. “And I thought you
were supposed to be at least trying to be a gentleman!” he cried.
“I was! I told her to leave, I took her back, I swear!”
“Oh yes, and as soon as you
got her back to her tent you just couldn’t resist, could
you?” he scoffed.
“She had hold o’ me!” Sharpe protested.
“Oh I’m sure! A refined, upright lady like Miss Peel would go for you,
wouldn’t she?” he demanded angrily. “You! A dirty,
uncouth little ranker without a decent tailor or a shirt!” he
spat. “Look, Richard, just get to bed and get up early tomorrow.
Don’t think I’m not watching you!”
“Bill –“
“It’s Colonel Lawford
to you!” he cried, turning and storming off across the grass.
Sharpe huffed, watching him go, then flicked him a vindictive two
fingers before turning toward his tent.
He suddenly noticed the heads
vanishing from their vantage-point round the tent next to him.
“Oi!” he called angrily, but all he heard were chuckles and
fast feet in the grass. He huffed, rubbing his hands over his face,
walking up to his tent flaps and ducking inside.
It was then that he wondered why he could taste honey.
THREE
They moved out early the next
day, Lawford ordering Sharpe to take the Chosen Men ahead slightly.
“He wants you away from
him, so he does,” Harper said cheerfully. “And why would
that be?” he asked, prompting winks and muffled chuckles from the
Green Jackets stretching out behind them.
“Don’t ask,”
Sharpe muttered. He marched on, wondering just what it was that
Constance had really wanted to ask him.
“Ooh,” Harper said,
casting a look behind him at Hagman, who was walking with his rifle
across his shoulders and a cheeky grin on his face. “And ah,
would it have anything to do with the young miss, sir?” he asked.
“Funny, is it?”
Sharpe asked, turning and pinning Harper with a stare that could have
been broken up and served in strong alcohol. Harper cleared his throat,
his face dropping. “As funny as my boot up yer arse,
Harper?” he demanded. Harper shook his head slowly.
“Didn’t think so.”
Harper waited until Sharpe was
looking forwards again, and then cast a look over his shoulder at
Hagman. He winked. Hagman grinned and turned to look at Harris, who
turned and nodded to Moore, who passed it on to Taylor, and then Brown,
and then Robinson. Robinson turned a cheeky grin on Green, who just
looked back at him, lost. Robinson shook his head dismissively. They
marched on.
*
“Ow! Major!” she cried accusingly.
“Sorry miss, but it’d be easier if you held still, like.”
“But you’re hurting me!”
“Do you want me to stop then?”
“Of course not.”
“Well… How’s that, miss?”
“Much better, thank you.
Just… slow down, would you, Major?”
“Are you sure, miss?
It’ll be over quicker if you let me –“
“No. I have no desire to
have you rush and make a mess. It would be better if you took it slowly
and just… got it over with.”
“Of course, miss,” he
breathed, unimpressed. “Come on, come on… Nearly there,
miss, soon have –. Look, miss, I’m sorry, but could you
move that way a bit? I can’t see where I’m putting me
– there!”
“Thank God for that, I thought I’d be
here all day –“
“Wait… Oh bloody hell, what a mess.”
“Language, Major! I told you not to pull it out so fast.”
“I know, but I couldn’t help it... Bugger!”
“Now what?”
“Now I can’t see for the –“
“What? I thought you said it was out, Major?”
“Will you hold still, miss!
I can’t see if you keep shifting!”
“Well it’s hard not to,” she huffed.
“Look, just –“
“Don’t put your hand there.”
“Sorry, miss. It’s the only way –“
“For you, maybe. Girls don’t like it,” she stressed.
“Hold still… Right,
it dunt look too bad from this angle.”
“That stings!”
“It will do, miss,
there’s nowt I can do about that. Nearly…
there…”
“Dear God... Who would have thought that such
a small thing could be so much trouble?”
“It’s not that small,” he pointed out.
“That’s because
man-inches are twice the size of girl-inches,” she replied tartly.
“Got it!”
“All out?”
“All out,” Sharpe
said, letting go of her hand and looking up at her. She pulled her
finger back and looked at it. “If you’d take a
soldier’s advice, miss?” he said gingerly. She just sat on
the small stool, sucking her throbbing finger slowly. He let his head
drop deliberately, scratching the back of it while he looked at his
feet.
“What?” she asked, her mouth still round her finger. He got
up from his crouch in front of her, standing and brushing his hands off
on the sides of his trousers carelessly. He put his hand out with the
tweezers in it. She looked up at him, taking them off him with her free
hand.
“Wear yer gloves when yer riding. Then when yer moving tree
branches out of yer face you wouldn’t get splinters,” he
pointed out. “Yer lucky the Colonel let us stop for a
half-hour.”
“Thank you,” she said quietly, her
finger still in her mouth. She sighed, pulling it out and shaking it
slightly. She looked around. “Look, Major, I’m sorry about
– well, last night,” she said, lowering her voice. He stood
over her, watching her with absolute incredulity on his face, and she
sighed. She stood abruptly, nearly knocking into him. He stood back one
to create at least the illusion of a discreet space. She looked at him,
but he just put his hands on his hips, watching her cautiously.
“Well we’ll be with
the 54th tomorrow, miss, and then it’ll all be over,” he
allowed. He noticed her eyes widen slightly.
“Why do you say that,
Major?” she asked quickly. He continued to stare at her, and she
bit her lip sheepishly.
“Look, Miss Constance… You do whatever
it is yer really doing out here, and then go back to England,
alright?” he said wearily. “You’ll be safe until we
hand you over to the 54th.” He turned to go but she grabbed his
arm suddenly. He paused but didn’t turn to look at her.
“Major – Richard
– I…” She hesitated, and then he did turn to look at
her slowly.
“What?” he asked clearly. She looked at
him for a long moment, opening her mouth. Then she just closed it and
released his arm.
“I wanted to say thank you,” she said.
“And… I’m sorry if I’ve upset things between
you and Colonel Lawford,” she added quietly.
“I can sort him out,” he allowed dismissively. She smiled.
“I don’t
doubt,” she said, then shrugged. “I meant what I said,
Richard,” she added more seriously. “I feel much safer with
you here.”
“That’s me job, miss,” he said non-commitedly.
“No, Richard, it’s
your attitude,” she said, and leaned toward him. He made no
effort to move, until she put a hand to his face and kissed him. He
couldn’t stop himself from pulling her against him.
“Sir! You’ll be
wanting to know, Colonel Lawford’s just had a runner, sir, and
–“ Harper rounded the side of the equipment wagon and
stopped dead in his tracks. He whipped his shako off his head and
waited for them to jump in surprise and make all kinds of excuses.
Instead, the pair didn’t
seem to have noticed him at all. Harper scratched his head, at first
amused, and then quite unnerved by the sight of his commanding officer
applying himself with an industriousness that would shock a sailor.
He looked around quickly,
thinking. Then he cleared his throat, put his shako back firmly on his
head, and put his hands behind his back.
“Major Sharpe, sir!”
he called out, his parade-ground voice carrying perfectly.
Sharpe sprang back a few inches,
looking at Constance and seeming very surprised to her eyes. But it
didn’t seem to have been the interruption that had surprised him.
He slid his arms away from her, tugging his jacket straight quickly.
She leaned on him still, then pushed at him quickly to stand upright.
Sharpe swallowed, putting a hand to her elbow to support her, then
looked over at Harper with trepidation.
“Sergeant?” he
snapped. Harper smiled the smile of the innocent, convincingly as
always.
“I thought you’d like to know, sir, that the Colonel has
just had a rider to tell him we’re within a day of the 54th,
sir,” he said cheerfully. “Oh, miss, good afternoon
there,” he said quickly, as if only just realising she were
there. He took down his shako again, fingering the cap and smiling
benignly, nodding to her. She stared at him for a long moment, then
smiled slightly.
“Sergeant,” she said faintly, then
cleared her throat and stood a little straighter. “Sergeant, you
have the eyes of a hawk,” she observed.
“Me, miss? Oh no,
miss,” he said, shaking his head helpfully. “Too many
battles in too much musket-smoke, miss. Terrible clouding of the eyes
at times. ‘Tis a worry, miss,” he added.
“I see,” she said,
smiling gratefully. Sharpe did not smile.
“You, get back to the Men,
get ‘em ready fer the off,” he snapped. Harper nodded,
snapping his heels and planting his shako back on his head jauntily,
turning and sauntering off. “And you,” Sharpe said, looking
back at Constance. She waited.
“Yes?” she dared, watching his green
eyes steal over her face slowly.
“Be nice to Colonel
Lawford. Might keep me out of the sh– trouble a little
longer,” he said quietly. She smiled, before lifting a hand and
running it down the side of his face gently.
“Your eyes say you should
be cruel,” she said quietly, “and yet you’re
not.”
“And your eyes say you should be honest,” he countered. Her
smile dropped, but not her hand.
“Richard!” she admonished. His eyes narrowed.
“Perhaps later you can
explain to me what game it is we’re playing now, miss,” he
said quietly.
“Perhaps,” she conceded.
FOUR
“I had a
girl, yeah,” Green admitted quietly. “But she
wouldn’t speak to me after I was caught, like.”
“Her parents didn’t
like her knocking around with a petty thief, I suppose,” Harper
put in, rubbing the cloth over the volley gun in his lap.
“Nah – they just
didn’t like the fact that I was stupid enough to get
caught,” he sniffed.
“Then you shouldn’t have stolen whatever
it was you stole,” Sharpe put in mildly. Harper looked at him
surreptitiously, noticing the far-away look in his blank gaze. He
looked back at the volley gun.
“I had no choice, sir,” Green replied
gloomily. “We was starving.”
“Everybody were
starving,” Robinson said quietly from the other side of the fire.
He looked at his tin cup and then got up, walking over to the fire and
picking up the tea urn. He refilled his cup, then looked at Green,
wandering over and refilling his too. He turned back and looked at
Sharpe. “Tea, sir?”
“Eh? Oh, no, yer
alright,” he said, draining the cup. He stood, wiping hands over
his face and stretching, before walking past Harper, handing the cup to
him as he went. Harper watched him go.
“’Night then, sir,” he said pointedly.
“Yeah,” Sharpe
replied, disappearing round the tents. Harris looked up from his book.
“And what’s he up to,
Sarge?” he asked quietly. Harper looked at him, then sighed.
“God only knows, Harris.
And he isn’t telling,” he added thoughtfully. He looked at
Green. “You have a sharp eye, Green,” he said cheerfully.
Green looked back at him.
“I have two, Sarge,” he allowed cautiously. Harper grinned.
“How about you make good
use of them?” he said pleasantly. “Find out what the young
miss wants with the Major, and there’ll be a bonus in your tea
rations, so there will,” he added. Green laughed.
“I can tell you what the
young miss wants with the Major right now, don’t need to go
spying on her,” he scoffed. Harper leaned forward and pinned him
with a sobering look.
“Oh, but you do, Green,” he said
clearly. “There’s something going on with her that even the
Major doesn’t know about. I’m not about to let some
head-turning wench get him into trouble, and no mistake.”
Green opened his mouth but looked
around, noticing how every Green Jacket had sat up slowly, watching.
“You… You lot are kinda protective, aren’t
you?” he asked nervously.
“That we are, Green. On
account of so many higher-ranking officers having tried to break us up
and piss us off between the various battles we’ve won for them.
So you be a good boy now, and run along. Find out what this
girl’s up to, and then you come straight back here and tell me,
understand?” Harper asked quietly. Green swallowed, set his rifle
down and got up. He stopped for a second, turned, and picked up his
rifle, detaching the bayonet sword and pushing it into his belt. Then
he put the rifle down, nodded at Harper, and scurried off.
“That was a bit harsh,
wasn’t it?” Harris asked quietly. Harper turned and looked
at him.
“You want us separated from Colonel Lawford, and the South
Essex?” he asked pointedly. “Cos that’s what
she’s trying to do, so it is.”
“How’s that?”
Hagman asked, confused. “Last I saw she were sweet on Mister
Sharpe.”
“Exactly. But only when she thinks Mister
Lawford’s around to see it,” he said wisely. Hagman met his
gaze, then ‘ah’ed and nodded slowly. Harris sighed.
“I don’t know, these women are so much trouble.”
*
Sharpe closed his telescope and
pouted, thinking. Harper walked up and stood next to him. They stood
watching the redcoats, splayed out across the flats about a half mile
away from them, apparently oblivious of their audience. Something in
the region of two hundred men were decamping, setting up tents and
arranging the site as the sky started to dim and the air started to nip
with the evening’s chill.
“That’ll be the 54th
then, sir?” Harper asked. Sharpe huffed. “So Miss Peel will
be transferring to their camp, then?” he added innocently. Sharpe
straightened, letting the telescope fall to his side. He grunted
something unintelligible and turned away, walking back to the group of
Chosen Men currently sitting around the hillside with their feet up,
their rifles down and their backs flat on the grass. He was
contemplating sitting down when they heard someone scrambling up the
side of the steep hill toward them. Sharpe walked over and looked down.
A redcoat was scrabbling his way
up the incline, puffing and cursing. He reached the top and found
Sharpe’s boots. He looked up gratefully, then pulled himself over
the top and stood quickly, brushing off his uniform hastily. He saluted.
“Major Sharpe, sir,” he breathed. Sharpe sniffed.
“News?” he asked
shortly. The redcoat stuffed his hand in his pocket and brought out a
small piece of paper.
“Colonel Lawford requests you find a road to
the village for us, sir. The 54th are to follow, sir,” he
gabbled. He offered Sharpe the piece of paper. He took it, unfolding it
and reading it slowly.
‘Change
of plans. We’re to join the 54th and make our way to Fuerza Mayor
together. Remember: hands are for pockets, Richard.’
He snorted mirthlessly, then
looked at the redcoat. “Received, Private. Dismissed,” he
said curtly. The redcoat saluted and turned to the hill again,
slithering down it on his side. Hagman wandered to the edge and watched
him.
“Why dunt he just take the path?” he wondered out loud.
Green got up and looked over.
“He’s a right sconehead,” he said.
“I knows him from the South Essex. Always goes fer the most
direct route, that one.”
“He would have saved hisself a lot of trouble by –“
“Alright lads, on yer
feet,” Sharpe ordered, folding the piece of paper and stuffing it
inside his tunic. “We’re to find a road to get to the
village. Let’s go,” he snapped.
The Green Jackets wearily got to
their feet, not daring to moan about the cold night that was just a few
hours away, or the lack of a tea-break, or in fact say anything to the
Major. His face was enough warning that he should not be pestered. They
followed Harper as he walked off toward the other side of the hill,
looking down and waving at them to spread out and reconnoitre. He
turned back to find Sharpe still thinking.
“Sir?” he asked.
Sharpe looked at him. “Any particular direction, sir?” he
asked.
“Left,” he said absently, then walked on to follow them.
*
“Well, here we are, my
dear,” Lawford said warmly, stopping his horse. “Fuerza Mayor,
in the brick,” he chuckled. She smiled demurely and he felt his
heart sing. He turned in his seat, looking out over the ranks
stretching backwards in a perfect column.
“Lieutenant, get the men safely barracked,” he barked.
“Sir,” Lieutenant
George Withwood replied smartly, turning and relaying orders to
Sergeants along the sides. Men started to separate and divide in
perfect order, and Lawford smiled contentedly at the display.
“And when you’ve done
that, Withwood, you might join the senior staff and Miss Peel for an
early supper,” he said cheerfully.
“Yes sir, thank you,
sir,” Withwood smiled, knowing who would be at that dinner.
Lawford turned in his saddle to look at Constance.
“That is, if you’d
deign to join us this evening, Miss Peel?” he said suavely. She
smiled and nodded. He straightened in the saddle, then urged his horse
onto the main road that appeared to run through the village.
“Well then, let’s find somewhere to freshen up, shall
we?” he said.
“Harper, where’s
Green?” Sharpe demanded. Harper looked up from the wooden table
of the inn, standing quickly. Sharpe had walked into the crowded
tavern, looked around and caught sight of the taller Irishman with
little trouble.
“Oh, er, couldn’t say
for sure, sir. He’ll be with the others, so he will,” he
reasoned. Sharpe just fixed him with a searching stare.
“Something you wanted him for, sir?” he asked innocently.
Sharpe just huffed, then turned and walked out again. Harper sat down
slowly, looking at Brown and Moore.
“He’s onto
you,” Moore said quietly, grinning. Harper scoffed at him.
“Sure and he’s not,
Moore. I’ve been running rings around officers for more years
than you’ve been in this poxy army,” he said indignantly.
Sharpe walked outside of the
tavern, slowly and stopping. He thought about it for a long moment.
Do
I really care that Green’s been following Constance around? And
since when was she ‘Constance’ and not ‘Miss
Peel’? He shook his head wearily, ran a hand through his
hair, and turned in the direction of the house where he’d been
bunked. He walked quietly through the night streets, reaching the house
and looking up at it. It certainly looked old, and oddly beautiful, if
he were being honest.
He pushed the door open and
walked in, going for the staircase. As he climbed to the top and
rounded the small landing, he caught sight of Constance stood outside
his door. He let his shoulders sag, knowing that if he walked over and
talked to her, he’d be lucky to get into his room alone.
“You seem lost,
miss,” he ventured. She turned and saw him, smiling. He noticed
her hands were pressed together tightly, her smile nervous.
“Yes, I rather think I am,
Richard,” she said gamely. “You, ah… you’re
not in the same building as William?” she said conversationally.
“As you can see,” he replied neutrally.
“Yes, that I can
see,” she said. Her eyes darted about and she looked up and down
the landing quickly. “You must be wondering what I’m doing
here,” she said, swallowing.
“I can imagine,” he said in measured tones. She nodded.
“Yes, I know what it must
look like, a girl like me hovering around your door, especially at this
hour,” she said, her voice thin. He stole a quick glance around
the landing, then walked a few paces closer. She was still a good ten
feet away, but her nervousness was all too evident.
“Miss Constance, is there something wrong?” he asked. I’ll be buggered if I’m going to stand here all night until she moves. I want me bed.
“Er, well… I,
ah… You didn’t come to the officers’ dinner,”
she said suddenly.
“No, I didn’t,” he admitted.
“Why? I was so hoping to
talk to you. And a Lieutenant Withwood was also there, he seemed
disappointed you were absent.”
“I were staying clear of
Colonel Lawford,” he said neutrally. She nodded.
“Oh, I see, yes,” she
said, her hands wringing apparently by themselves.
“Miss, are we going to be
stood here all night?” he asked wearily. “Only it’s
getting late, and you really should be back at your –“
“Oh, yes, yes, of
course,” she said. She turned and walked a few paces toward the
opposite end of the landing, and then turned and walked back toward
him. He watched her for a few moments, then sighed and folded his arms.
“Miss?” he said
wearily. She stopped and looked up at him, her eyes bright. “Are
you not used to being alone in strange villages?”
“That’s it, Richard,
exactly,” she said quickly. “I don’t know anyone
here, well, apart from you, of course, and I feel this place is
–“
“Miss, I’ll take you
back to your building, and then I’ll come back here to bed. Just
so we’re clear,” he said slowly. She swallowed, watching
him.
“I suppose that’s
fair,” she said quietly. He rolled his eyes and let his arms
drop, and she walked over to him. He backed out of her way, letting her
walk down the staircase first. But she stopped, reaching out and
putting her hand to his elbow, pulling on the material in her fingers.
He walked down with her, taking her hand from his jacket and looping it
round his elbow instead. She edged closer to him, pulling on his elbow
gratefully, and they walked down the stairs.
THIS WAY to ladies, ledges and light companies...
