a work of fan-fiction by The Mardy Bum, 1st October, 2006
ONE
“A little more to the left,
sir!” Harper shouted. Sharpe leaned out carefully, stretching as
if his life depended on it, but it was still out of reach. “Come
on, sir, you’re not trying!” Harper shouted, frustrated.
“This int as easy at it
looks, you know,” Sharpe shot back, annoyed. “Why
aren’t you up here getting it back?” he demanded, even as
he shifted his grip on the tree branch and leaned perilously far from
anything resembling safety. Harper looked at his feet, then back up the
tree to where the Major was shifting gingerly down the tree branch,
twenty feet from the ground.
“Cos you’re much quicker on your feet,
sir,” he admitted. Oh yes, me up a tree, that’ll be the day, Harper grinned to himself. There was a cracking sound. “Sir!” he shouted.
“Nearly – nearly
– come here, yer bugger!” Sharpe hissed, his fingers
brushing the heavy silk ever so slightly. He made a desperate lunge for
it and missed.
“Er, sir? I think you should get back a –“
“Damn it, man!”
Sharpe shouted at him, not tearing his eyes from the target. He inched
his left hand further out along the branch. “I were nearly
there!”
“Sir! I really think you should leave –“
Sharpe lunged for the silk, had a
good hold, and grinned. “There! Got you, yer little –“
There was an almighty ripping
sound, the noise of a four-inch-thick branch tearing itself from the
trunk. Sharpe made a desperate grab for another branch with his right
hand, now enclosing the silk he’d risked his life for. His hand
closed on the branch securely. At the same moment the branch supporting
his feet began to distance itself from the trunk. Sharpe found himself
dangling by his hands, one of them slipping on the silk, the branch
under his feet peeling away. It crashed down, Harper jumping back out
of its way hurriedly.
Sharpe muttered something unkind under his breath
and then looked around for any other branch that might be of use.
“Bloody hell! Look at
that!” Rifleman Brown shouted, and the rest of the Chosen Men
came running. Harris slid to a stop in the dirt, hastily buttoning his
shirt from his morning wash.
“Now… sir? I think it’d be a good idea not to move,”
he called up. Moore and Hagman appeared. They just stood and stared up
at Sharpe, hanging from the tree by his hands, the slight breeze
blowing the large, silken colours of the South Essex Regiment around
him.
“Oh yes, well done!” Sharpe shouted sarcastically.
“Any other bright ideas?” he demanded. He looked to his
right, saw a branch not too far from the trunk, and realised he
didn’t really have a choice. He took his right hand from the
branch, and he heard Hagman mutter something. He shoved the corner of
the colours in his mouth, then put his hand back to the branch. He
shifted down it two-handed.
“Oh well done, sir,” Harper said
nervously. Sharpe growled something but the colours obscured
everything, something which made Harper quite glad. There was a loud
creaking sound and Sharpe stopped abruptly. “Oh shite,”
Harper moaned. Sharpe sighed, long and loudly through his nose.
I should have known. The rest of me week’s been like this, why should today be any different?
The creaking got louder, and
Sharpe was unsurprised to feel the branch he had hold of leaning down
slightly. He cursed, spat out the silk, and watched it twirl gracefully
between his feet to make its way toward the ground. He looked up. The
branch gave a great wrenching sound and gave way.
Sharpe did not twirl gracefully to the ground.
He plummeted like a mis-timed
joke, overtaking the silk colours easily. Before he had a chance to
even acknowledge his hands were empty, he felt something smack into him
with untold force. His side and shoulder took the brunt of the slam
into the hard Spanish dirt. The force bounced him onto his back, the
dust fluttering up around him.
The first thing he noticed was that the breath was
pushed from him as if someone had squeezed him with an elephant. The
next thing he noticed was the pain. He realised he couldn’t see,
but that mystery was soon cleared up. Something was dragged off his
head, and he realised it was the large regimental colours of the South
Essex being removed.
“Oh shite, sir, oh Mary Mother of God!”
Harper cried as he dragged the silk away from him. “Can you move,
sir?” he asked, finding him spread-eagled on his back, staring up
at the sky. Sharpe just coughed raggedly, desperately sucking in air.
“He’s winded,”
Harris called out over Harper’s shoulder. “Let me
see.”
Harper got up from his knee and Harris pushed his
way to Sharpe’s side, who was still trying to breathe. Harris
looked him up and down.
“Well, can’t see any blood, and there
are no bones hanging out,” he said confidently. He peered at
Sharpe’s face, which suddenly seemed pale. “Sir?” he
said cheerfully. “Sir? Can you hear me?”
“O’ course I
–“ he stopped, coughing abruptly –
“yeah,” he snapped, still sounding short of breath.
“Good,” he beamed.
“Right then, sir, I’m just going to check you haven’t
broken anything. Tell me if something hurts, alright sir?” he
asked. Sharpe appeared to ignore him, still sucking in air like it
would be deducted from his pay if not used. Harris bent over him,
squeezing his knees, then his elbows. Sharpe didn’t respond, just
breathed. Harris looked at him, shaking his head.
“Well?” Harper
demanded from behind him. Moore and Hagman looked at each other as
Robinson and Taylor came running.
“What’s going
on?” Taylor cried, looking around. Hagman sighed.
“The Major was getting the
colours back,” he said sadly, shaking his head and turning away.
Taylor rushed up and banged into the back of Harper. He had to step
forward to steady himself. It pushed into Harris, who automatically put
a hand out to stop himself falling forwards. His hand landed on
Sharpe’s chest heavily, taking Harris’ weight.
The resulting bellow made every
man fair jump out of his skin. Taylor sprang back, rattled by the
bestial shout of pain. He looked up at Harper as the big Irishman
turned and reached down for him. He caught his jacket up in his ham
fist and dragged the rifleman to his feet.
“You! Run! And pray he
doesn’t get up!” he shouted in his face. Taylor turned and
scrambled off, running as fast as his legs would carry him. Harper
turned and looked at Hagman. “Dan, fetch the surgeon,” he
said. “Doesn’t sound like he should be moving by
himself,” he said darkly. Hagman nodded curtly and grabbed
Moore’s jacket by the shoulder, pulling him after him. Harper
turned and peered over Harris’ shoulder, down at Sharpe’s
face.
His
eyes were closed, his face the colour of pipeclay, running with sweat.
Harper cursed as he noticed his shoulders quivering slightly. Still
Sharpe said nothing, but just lay there, breathing falteringly.
“Well?” Harper asked.
Harris watched him, then turned and looked at Harper.
“Looks like his
ribs,” he said quietly. “Hopefully, just bruised a bit, but
didn't sound like it. If one of them is broken, or maybe two, it means
at least a few weeks of pain with him not being able to move.
He’s not going to like that,” he admitted. Harper huffed,
then nodded.
“Sir?” he called out. Sharpe opened one
eye to look up, not necessarily at anyone. “Ribs, is it
sir?” he asked with false cheer.
“Bastard,” he breathed.
“Oh, he’s alright, so
he is,” Harper said flatly, then blew out a sigh and shook his
head. He turned and walked back a few steps, looking at the silk all
bundled up in a heap. He shook his head again, then turned to find
Harris getting to his feet. Harris walked up to him, pulling his elbow
and walking further away.
“I hope it’s just his ribs,
Harps,” he said quietly. Harper let his fear show on his face.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.
“Well, he took a hard lump
to the head, too. And that’s never a good thing.”
Harper and Harris knelt and
peered over Sharpe, studying him and tutting wretchedly. Sharpe seemed
oblivious to any activity.
After what seemed like an eternity, Hagman and Moore
returned with the camp surgeon, who was angrily stalking across the
grass like he had much better things to do. Hagman and Moore had to
hurry to keep up with the spritely old man.
He stopped and looked the two
men, kneeling over the stricken one. He spied Harper’s sleeve and
cleared his throat.
“You are the Sergeant Major?” he asked
imperiously. Harper got to his feet quickly.
“That I am, sir. He took a fall from that –“
“Yes, yes, move,” he
commanded, waving his hands at him. Harper and Harris backed away. The
surgeon knelt and then leaned over Sharpe’s face. “Well?
Who are you, son?” he called.
“Not deaf,” Sharpe
managed, sounding very much out of breath. “Sharpe,” he
added. The doctor nodded, then turned and pressed and prodded nearly
everything, working his way up from Sharpe’s ankles. He reached
his chest and deliberately missed it out, skipping to his shoulders. He
squeezed on his right shoulder and Sharpe jerked in pain. The surgeon
nodded wisely, then felt his neck carefully.
“Right then,” he said
abruptly, leaning back and nodding. “Not too much damage, by the
looks of it. Just a bang on the shoulder and some ribs, I rather
fancy,” he said. He looked at Sharpe. “Now this will
hurt,” he said seriously. Sharpe cast him a look that would have
made a rabid dog think twice. The surgeon slowly put his hands to his
chest and patted them round slowly. He reached the sides and patted
harder. Sharpe whimpered and grunted something uncharitable, wheezing
in air as best he could. The doctor got to his feet, then tipped a
finger at Harper. “Not broken, but nearly,” he said
quietly. “We need to carry him back to his tent. He’s not
moving off his back for the next two weeks,” he said. Harper
nodded.
He
turned to Hagman and Moore, instructed them to find something on which
to carry the Major, and then stood talking to the surgeon for a long
time.
*
“And Mrs Fuller, she say
all the children run like animals, nobody to school them, their fathers
in the South Essex, their mothers wash for the regiment,” Ramona
said disapprovingly. “I say this to Harper, he does nothing. I
say, ‘you want your little Patrick grow up like this?’, he
say ‘I busy’,” she went on.
Sharpe stared at the ceiling of
his tent, wondering idly if he should get the seams re-waxed. Autumn’s drawing on, and that means rain.
“I think I talk to him,
make him say something to the other men, make them take charge of their
children,” Ramona said, then looked at Sharpe. “You think
so?” she asked.
“Yeah, before it rains,” he said absently. She nodded.
“Yes, before the rain
come,” she said wisely, then looked back at him. “Ok, I
make you tired. You sleep, I do some washing,” she said, leaning
over and moving the pillow up for him. “Be a good boy,
don’t move,” she said, then got up and walked to the tent
flaps. She stopped, smiling. “You know, you are good listener,” she said, then ducked out of the tent.
Sharpe desperately wanted to sigh
with boredom, but he didn’t dare breathe in that deeply. It hurt
to breathe as it was, and that was his best shallow draws that
didn’t tax his screaming bones too much. He’d worked out
that if he didn’t breathe deeply enough to feel the bandage
tighten over him, then it didn’t hurt so much. It was hard; he
kept losing concentration and breathing automatically, and then the
stabbing pains would make him gasp, and that would only exacerbate the
whole thing.
I’ll kill that Irish –
“Oh sir, here you are,
right as rain,” Harper said, ducking into the tent.
“We’ve got you some tea, sir, with something a little extra
in it,” he added.
“Great,” he ground out. Harper walked
over, sitting on Ramona’s stool. He leaned over.
“You’re going to
have to sit, sir,” he said apologetically. Sharpe wondered if it
was all worth it just for a cup of tea. “Come on, we had the
surgeon put a wee drop of something in it to dull the pain a bit,
sir,” he said cheerfully. He put his free hand under
Sharpe’s arm and braced him, helping him to ouch and whimper his
way to a slight sitting position. Harper waited while he let his head
fall back to the pillow, clearly trying not to scream with agony.
“Here we go then,” he said, reaching out and helping him
take a sip of the tea slowly. He swallowed it and then let his head
fall back again, his jaw muscles working on the inside of his cheek. He
was quiet a few moments.
“S’alright,” he admitted
eventually, and Harper smiled proudly, knowing that was the highest
praise the Major could manage. He sniffed gingerly.
“Jeez sir, I know it must
hurt like Hell. I saw you fall, sir, and sweet Jesus, but I
didn’t know what to do. You just fell so fast,” he said
wretchedly, then leaned forward and helped him take another few sips.
He waited while Sharpe relaxed against the headboard again.
“Why was it up there?” he bit out.
“Well, sir, a couple of the Essex lads –“
“And you,” he shot at him.
“Well, yes, and me, sir. We
were telling tall stories, sir, about flags and climbing and
–“
“You got pissed, and challenged each other to
chuck a flag up in some bastard tree?” he demanded, sounding
short of breath. Harper couldn’t meet his eyes.
“Aye, sir.”
“And you stood there and
watched me climb up there and get it?” he demanded.
“Aye, sir.”
“When really I should have
had you all up to the Colonel fer arsing about?” Sharpe snapped.
Harper watched his feet intently.
“That you should, sir, that
you should,” he said quietly. Sharpe pursed his lips in a way
that spoke volumes of invectives, then looked back at the ceiling. It
was quiet for a long moment.
“Well at least I’m not dead,” he
huffed. Harper grinned.
“And you’ve got two weeks on your back,
sir,” he said. “You know how soldiers dream about getting
two weeks flat on their back,” he said.
“It’s no fun on yer
own,” Sharpe muttered sourly, then looked at him. “Come on,
give us the tea and bugger off,” he said. Harper leaned over and
Sharpe took the cup off him. He drained it slowly before handing it
back.
TWO
“Ah, there you are
Colonel,” the man said, entering Lieutenant Colonel
Lawford’s tent and beaming at him. Lawford looked up, appraised
the man’s uniform, and stood to attention behind his desk.
“Sir,” he said
respectfully. The man waved his riding gloves at him, walking in
further and taking a seat opposite him.
“Take a seat, man,”
he said cheerfully. He was about fifty, with light caramel hair that
was trying to grey in streaks over his ears. He was the same height as
Lawford, but sounded much larger. “Colonel Jeremy Bane,” he
said stretching a hand across the desk as Lawford sat. He jumped up
again to shake hands, then sat.
“Colonel,” he said,
in as friendly a manner as he could manage, given that he had never
heard of him. “Is there something we can do for you, here?”
he asked politely.
“Matter of fact, there is,” he boomed.
“I’m here to take half your strength, sir. Here,” he
said, leaning to the side of the chair and feeling in his breeches
pocket for a piece of paper. He handed it to Lawford. “Sorry to
do this to you, old boy, but Wellington has signed it. I just need to
borrow half your men for a little Frog-pasting, and I’ll bring
them right back,” he said cheerfully. Lawford read the orders,
noticed them signed by Wellington and counter-signed by someone called
Nairn, and looked up at Colonel Bane.
“No trouble, sir,” he
said quickly. “Of course you’ll take what you need. If you
don’t mind me asking, sir, why only half?” he asked.
“Well, can’t have the
buggers running back this way and you being unable to stop them,
what?” he chuckled. Lawford ‘oh’ed and sat back.
“Someone tells me that that Major is here too – the one who
refuses to wear red, blast his eyes,” he laughed, apparently
delighted. “Must say I’ve been wanting to meet him for a
long time. I have a Captain Mackenzie with me who speaks very highly of
him, very highly indeed,” he said. “Hope to bring him along
with us on this jaunt, as a matter of fact,” he said.
“Ah,” Lawford said
tactfully. He handed the orders back to Bane slowly. “He’s
on the sick register just now, sir,” he said.
“Sick? My word –
Mackenzie made him out to be made of sterner stuff,” he admitted,
surprised.
“Oh, stern stuff’s right sir. He fell over twenty feet and
narrowly escaped breaking his ribs,” he said apologetically.
“Good Lord! How did he come
to fall twenty feet? Out here?” he asked, shocked.
“He was in a tree,” Lawford admitted quietly.
“Well, I’ll be! What
was he doing in a tree?” he chuckled.
“Retrieving the
King’s property, sir,” he said quietly. “I’m
sure there’s still time to meet him before you go. However,
he’s been bed-ridden this past week and still –“
“Well, this is excellent
news!” Bane crowed, beaming for England. “Simply splendid
– couldn’t have worked it out better myself! I have a
simple task for him,” he said happily, standing. Lawford sprang
to his feet. “Oh, you’d better come too, seeing as
he’s under your command. You’ll need to know his
duties,” he said, turning to go.
“But sir, he’s not
fit to be going anywhere, or in fact attracting duties of any
kind,” he protested, as he followed him from his tent.
“Nonsense, man! You think
me heartless? Of course I’m not about to order him on march or
make him do anything dreadfully demanding. I’m not a callous man,
after all,” he beamed. They ducked out of the tent and stopped.
“So, where is the lucky blighter?” he asked. Lawford turned
to his right, spreading a hand for the ranking officer.
“This way, sir,” he said worriedly.
They walked across camp and
stopped outside a very innocuous-looking tent. They heard the sound of
a woman’s voice, singing quietly, and Lawford turned to Bane.
“Ah, sir, perhaps –“
“Injured, is he? The cheeky
scoundrel,” Bane interrupted him cheerfully, moving him aside and
ducking inside the tent without hesitation.
Ramona, sat on her stool next to
Sharpe’s bed, gasped and grabbed her sewing to her, surprised.
“Who are you?” she
demanded quietly. Bane looked down at her, over then at the bed.
Major Richard Sharpe –
fearless private of the King’s 33rd Regiment of Foot, Ensign in
India after battle distinction, daring Lieutenant of the newly formed
95th Rifles, the brave taker of the French Eagle at Talavera, fearsome
Captain with the South Essex, the favourite of British royalty, London
tea-houses, ladies’ parlours and news-stands throughout England
– was sprawled, completely asleep, half on his front, half on his
side. A small pillow was propped under his left hip to keep him in a
comfortable position. His arms were up under his pillow, the bright
white bandage showing up well against the slightly striped tan and
white of his scarred, naked back. Bane eyed him warily, then looked
back at Ramona.
“Well at least they’re regulation shorts
he’s got on,” he said with a disapproving yet polite cough.
Ramona tore her piercing gaze from the Colonel and got up hastily,
pulling the sheets up and over the lower half of Major Sharpe. She
looked back at Bane with the imperiousness of Spanish Queens.
“And who are you, my dear?” Bane asked her politely, his
eyes telling her he thought he already knew.
“I his friend,” she
said angrily, putting her hands on her hips. “No-one else look
after him, I make sure he eat,” she said, daring him to challenge
her. He grinned.
“I see.” He spied the ring on her finger
and looked at Lawford, surprised.
“I didn’t know Major
Sharpe was married, Colonel?” he fished. “And to such
charming young lady,” he said politely.
“I not his wife!” Ramona cried angrily. Sharpe stirred slightly, then opened an eye. “I marry his best friend!”
“Oh dear, the Major
wouldn’t have you, was that it?” Bane asked politely.
“Who the bloody hell are
you?” Sharpe said suddenly from his bed. The three of them turned
and looked at him. He looked distinctly bleary, but seemed to be
focusing on Lawford. “Leave her be, she’s only here while
Pat’s cleaning kit,” he added grumpily. Bane looked back at
Ramona.
“Oh well then, I am most sorry to have upset you,
Mrs…?” he asked, putting a hand out. She let a hand slide
off her hip and held it out for him.
“Harper,” she said,
still a little angry, as the Colonel kissed her hand. He let go of her
slowly.
“Mrs Harper. So good of you to take care of your friend,”
he said cheerfully. “And, in your opinion, is he ready for
duty?” he asked.
“Look mate, I don’t know who you think
you are, but no bugger’s s’posed to be in here. Clear
off,” Sharpe said testily. Bane laughed.
“Oh, dear me, Colonel,
listen to him!” he chuckled. “What a mouth! Mackenzie was
right about his language, what?” he said, apparently amused.
Lawford just stared. Sharpe paused, then returned his head to the
pillow, withdrawing a hand and rubbing an eye.
“Do I know you?” he
asked, wondering why else Lawford would have let the man in. He shoved
the supporting pillow off the bed wearily. Something told him his rest
was over. He turned slowly, painfully, and sank to his back gratefully.
Suddenly the bruise that covered his entire right shoulder, a study in
purples and burgundies, was visible. Bane whistled appreciatively at
the injury.
“Er, Colonel Jeremy Bane, sir, at your
service,” he said. Sharpe looked at him quickly, surprised. Bane
advanced on his bed holding his hand out to shake, but then let his arm
drop, eyeing Sharpe’s shoulder and bandages. “Oh, I see,
er… rather awkward for you just now, I suppose,” he said
generously. “Still, can’t have you lying around here,
sleeping all day, when I have something for you to be getting on with,
man,” he beamed. Sharpe swallowed.
“I apologise for being
rude, sir,” he said quickly. “I didn’t know you
–“
“Nonsense, man, don’t give it a second
thought,” he said, then looked at Ramona. “I say, my dear,
run along, would you? Army stuff, you see,” he said. She looked
at Sharpe.
“You need something, you call for me,” she nodded at him,
then lifted her skirts and her chin, glaring at Bane once before
whisking out of the tent. Bane sat on the vacant stool by the bed,
looking at Sharpe with a huge grin.
“I say, old man, nice
girl!” he enthused. “Is she really your friend’s
wife?” he asked slyly.
“She’s the wife of a six-foot-summat
Irishman, who also happens to be my Sergeant Major, sir,” Sharpe
said amiably enough, but the message was clear. Bane’s smile
dampened slightly.
“I see. Well anyway, I’ll get straight
to it, Major,” he said. Sharpe waited. “You see, I’m
here to take half of Colonel Lawford’s men. Need to secure a
village, steal some food, kill some Frogs, that sort of thing,”
he said dismissively, waving it off with his right hand.
“I’ve got this Captain called Mackenzie, said it was your
letter to Horse Guards that helped him get his gazette ratified,”
he said.
“Mackenzie? He’s here, sir?” he asked, surprised.
“That he is, sir, not too
far away. He’s a damned decent fellow, even if he is one of those
Bible-thumpers from the wrong side of the wall. Now, don’t get me
wrong, he’s a wonderful man for a fight – not afraid to get
in there and show the lads how it’s done. But he’s foreign,
for all that. Anyway,” he said abruptly, slapping his own knee
and looking back at Sharpe, “he told me all about you, said you
were a decent chap and one that could be trusted. So I’m trusting
you with a highly important task.” He sat back slightly, studying
the wounded man. Sharpe just waited. “Yes, I want you to do
something so incredibly important to me, that I’m leaving you
Captain Mackenzie to help,” he said proudly.
“As long as I don’t
have to leave me bed, sir,” Sharpe said grudgingly.
“What? No! It’s
simple, Major! But believe me, I can’t leave this to just anyone!
This is highly delicate, needs someone with proper army discipline,
real stern stuff!” he crowed. Sharpe swallowed.
“I’m not a spy,
sir,” he said quickly. Bane laughed, clapping his hand against
his own knee a few times.
“Oh Mister Sharpe, you are a card,” he
laughed. “No, no, you’re entrusted with the most valuable
thing that my 53rd has ever transported from one battlefield to the
next,” he said, then lowered his voice. “The fate of our
combined force marching on the next village may well depend on you
taking good care of them and protecting them from all evils,” he
said quietly. He leaned toward Sharpe slowly. “Do you understand
me, Sharpe? No harm must come to either of them, or the 53rd could be
split asunder!” he hissed.
Sharpe considered the man’s
face. A little light-headed on whatever Ramona had slipped in the tea
he may have been, but he wasn’t completely convinced.
“What are they, Colonel?” he asked carefully.
“Something you can put
right here in your tent, and watch. For four or five days, Major, can
you do that?” he asked boisterously, leaning away from him again.
Sharpe looked over at Lawford, stood safely behind Bane, who nodded
frantically. Sharpe was still unsure of the depth of his involvement.
“Yes sir,” he said quietly.
“Good show! Jolly good
show!” Bane cried, then turned round and nodded at Lawford.
“See? I knew he was a good man, despite what the ladies at Horse
Guards might say,” he said off-hand.
“What? –Sir,” Sharpe asked immediately.
“Oh, just a lady’s
fanciful gossip, young man,” he said, then waved it off. He stood
abruptly. “Well, Sharpe, I shall fetch them right away.”
Lawford and Sharpe watched him
leave the tent quickly. Lawford looked at Sharpe.
“Sorry Richard, he outranks
me,” he said miserably. “And anyway, I have no idea what
this crazy task actually is,” he said.
“Then we’ll find out,
I expect,” he said. He shifted down the bed slightly, grimacing
in pain before he stretched out on his back. “Bloody cheek,
though. I’m supposed to be resting,” he sighed.
The tent flaps twitched again and
the two men looked over. Captain Mackenzie ducked in through them, then
removed his shako, grinning. “Och, there y’are, sir, just
like they said.”
“Mackenzie,” Sharpe said, smiling, and
Mackenzie walked over, reaching out and shaking his hand. Sharpe hissed
and the tall Scotsman let go quickly.
“Oh, apologies sir, forgot yir a wee bit laid-up,” he said.
“Yeah well.” He
looked up at him. “So what’s this all about?” he
asked.
“Och, you’ll nae be believing what the man wants ya tae
dae,” he said, shaking his head. “When he told me, I had to
make sure I was with ye, sir. Couldn’t leave you with ‘em,
not when yir not full-well, sir,” he said, tutting.
“What?” Sharpe dared.
The tent flaps flew aside and in
flew two little girls, their long blonde hair bouncing around them,
their pretty dresses swirling around.
“Mister Mackenzie!”
they cried excitedly, banging into his kilt and hugging onto him.
“Now, now, girls,” he
said, sounding nervous, “what wuid yer father sae?”
“Oh God,” Sharpe
moaned, letting all his muscles go lax suddenly, staring up at the
ceiling.
“Who’s that?” the slightly taller girl said
curiously. She walked to the bed. “Who are you?” she
demanded imperiously. He turned his head and looked at her.
“Who are you?” he shot back, riled at her tone. She put her hands on her hips instantly, huffing and looking down her nose at him.
“I am Miss Veronica Bane, sir. And you are?” she demanded.
“Sick and tired,” he
admitted wearily. She stared at him, then turned abruptly.
“Mister Mackenzie? Take
this man’s name. I want him punished,” she said haughtily.
She stopped abruptly as someone burst out laughing. Colonel Bane
appeared through the tent flaps and she looked at him.
“My, my, aren’t we
angry today, hmm?” he asked, walking over to her. “Now you
must take special care of Major Sharpe here for me while I’m
away. He’s sick, you see, and needs you two little angels to look
after him,” he said suavely. Veronica looked over at the other,
smaller girl, who walked over and stood next to her sister.
“What do you think,
Emily?” Veronica asked her quietly. Emily looked at Sharpe, then
folded her arms and stared at him. Sharpe looked back at her. She
walked closer, looking him over as if she was buying him. She bit her
lip.
“Are you going to die?” she asked him carefully.
“Not soon, love,” he hoped, and she studied his face.
“I am not your love,”
she said clearly. “You need a shave. Who are you?” she
asked politely. He couldn’t help but smile.
“Major Richard Sharpe, of
the South Essex, mi’lady,” he said politely. “Forgive
me for not getting up, I’m on the sick list and am not allowed to
leave me bed, mi’lady,” he said clearly.
“Ah. Then you are excused,” she said.
“Mi’lady’s too
kind,” he said generously. She smiled at him, a sudden, warm
smile.
“I like him, can we keep him?” she said over her shoulder
to her older sister, then looked back at him. “Oh! What’s
that?” she gasped, reaching over and pushing at the old scar over
his left shoulder. He hissed as the slight twist he had given had
pulled on his ribs. She withdrew her hand quickly. “Oh I’m
most sorry, please forgive me,” she said quickly, then ran back
to her sister, clutching at her hand.
“Oh rubbish,”
Veronica said loudly, “he’s just faking it because he
doesn’t want to do any work,” she said. She stomped up to
his side to look him over, but her face paled slightly as she looked at
the old wounds over his chest. She walked backwards slowly, then bumped
into the legs of her father.
“Well? Can you look after this wounded
soldier? We shouldn’t be more than a few days,” Bane said,
patting their shoulders. They turned and looked up at him.
“We can try,” Emily,
the younger one, said. “But if he dies, remember he was bad
before we got him,” she said, worried. He chuckled.
“Of course. Now, I’m
leaving Mister Mackenzie here too, so you’ll have plenty to be
getting on with,” he said. “Now we have to be rounding up
soldiers and leaving, so you two stay here, my darlings, and I’ll
be back in a few days. Ok?” he asked brightly. They jumped up and
down and Sharpe watched them hug and kiss goodbye.
Mackenzie sidled over to his bed,
then sat on the stool. He ran a hand through his thick black hair, then
looked at Sharpe.
“The five year old is Emily, sir. The seven
year old is Veronica. Proper wee princesses, by the way. We’ve
got our hands full, I’d sae.”
THREE
“Well sir, we’re all moving out in an hour,” Harper said uneasily.
“What?” Sharpe
demanded abruptly. “Who’s moving out?”
“Me and the Chosen Men,
sir. Seems Colonel Bane wants only the best – or so he told
Mister Lawford, sir,” he said.
“That bastard! Well
who’s going to make me tea?” he demanded, reaching over to
push the sheets back. He hissed and grunted at the pain as we swung his
legs over the side of the bed.
“Oh sir, you shouldn’t be moving, you
know that,” Harper said urgently, crossing to him and laying a
huge heavy hand on his shoulder. Sharpe was trapped and he knew it.
“Well you get to
Lawford’s tent and tell him I’m keeping you here,” he
snapped. The tent flaps opened and Mackenzie walked in, a large tin cup
in his hands. It was steaming. He was followed by the two girls,
holding hands and watching everything with wide eyes.
“There y’are, sir,
the best cup o’ tea ye’ll ever taste in yir life,” he
said, crossing to the bed. Harper let go of Sharpe’s shoulder,
stepping back out of the way. Sharpe looked up at the Scotsman.
“Oh aye?” he asked
petulantly. Harper watched him take the tea and peer at it doubtfully.
He noticed it was a good, rich colour. He sniffed, glancing at Harper
before sipping it. His face changed, losing all of its doubt, and for
just a second, for the barest of moments, Sharpe appeared genuinely
pleased. Harper sighed, shaking his head sadly.
“I’ll be on me way
then, sir,” he said quietly, turning away. Sharpe looked over at
him.
“’Ey!” he called out quickly. Harper turned back to
look at him. “Watch out fer the lads,” he said quietly.
“And make sure you don’t get any musket-balls in yer.
I’m not looking after Ramona forever,” he said. Harper
nodded slowly.
“That I will, sir, that I will,” he said
warmly, turning and walking out. Sharpe looked back at the tea and
drank half the cup.
“Bugger me, that’s good, is that,”
he said, relieved, then looked at Mackenzie as he cleared his throat
nervously. “What?” he asked innocently. Mackenzie gestured
to the two girls with his head. Sharpe cleared his own throat slowly,
then just sipped the tea. “If I’d known you could make tea
like this, I’d have kept you with the South Essex,” Sharpe
smiled, having drained the cup. The girls wandered over and sat on his
trunk, bouncing on the springy lid delightedly. Mackenzie grinned at
him.
“Actually, I’m no a tea-maker, Major,” he said
delicately. “You’ll be thanking the young miss fae
that,” he grinned. Sharpe looked at him.
“Which one?” he asked fearfully.
“Emily, sir,”
Mackenzie said, and Sharpe looked over, realised what they were doing,
and his face dropped.
“’Ey! Get off o’ that right
now!” he called out angrily. “There’s kit and weapons
in there!”
The girls jumped up and off quickly, Emily looking
at him guiltily. But Veronica put her hands on her hips.
“How dare you raise your
voice at me!” she said imperiously. Mackenzie looked at him
knowingly. Sharpe’s lips thinned.
“Yer dad left me in charge
o’ you two, that’s how!” Sharpe shot back. “Now
sit on summat as made fer it, and stop arsing about,” he snapped.
Veronica huffed, leading her sister over to the edge of his bed. He
watched them, incredulous, as they climbed up and got comfortable.
“Did I say there?” he demanded, handing the cup back to
Mackenzie.
“Well do you have any chairs in here, Captain?” she shot
back coolly.
“Major,” he said slowly.
Veronica simply tossed her long hair over her shoulder and lifted her
nose. Emily looked at him and shrugged apologetically. He sighed,
scrubbing his hands over his face.
“And where are your
clothes? Aren’t you getting dressed today?” Veronica added.
He looked at her.
“You two are going with Captain Mackenzie
here, while I get dressed. Then we’re going to sit in the
Colonel’s big tent and –“ he paused as inspiration
came to him – “and yer going to read to me,” he
finished.
“Ok,” Veronica said simply, scooting off the side of the
bed, helping Emily down too. “Come on then. Mister
Mackenzie?” she said, turning to find the tall Scotsman waiting
for orders. “We need to find a good book,” she said,
leading Emily off by the hand. Mackenzie looked at Sharpe, shook his
head, and followed them out.
*
“I will not read,”
Veronica said clearly, folding her arms and sitting on the chair in
Colonel Lawford’s tent, glaring at Sharpe. He didn’t look
up from the table, having installed himself in Lawford’s chair.
“Fine,” he muttered, reading the map as best he could. Bloody table’s not high enough, he grumbled, lifting the map higher in his hands, trying to keep his back straight.
“You’re not listening to me!” she protested.
“Yeah I am,” he
replied automatically. “Just read.”
“This isn’t even Byron!” she huffed. I can’t read Byron, but that smelly man doesn’t know that, she added to herself.
“Well we can’t go
hunting fer books, and yer dad didn’t leave you any, so
–“
“Don’t you blame my father!” she
replied sharply. He hissed and let the map down slowly, resting his
elbows on the table to take the strain from his ribs and back.
“Look young lady, I’m
only looking after you while yer dad’s not here. He’ll be
back in four days. You can sit there and read fer four days, or you can
get locked in that trunk you were bouncing on earlier. It’s your
choice,” he snapped, staring at her. Emily looked up from her
sewing, watching her sister warily.
“You monster!”
she shouted, then slapped her hands over her face, beginning to cry
loudly. Sharpe appeared stunned. He soon collected himself.
“Now look here!” he
shouted. “Don’t you think I’ll just let you do
whatever you want just cos you can cry, young lady!” he bawled.
“If you think I’m such a monster, why don’t you
bugger off and find Mackenzie, I’m sure he’d let you win an argument!”
Veronica stopped abruptly. She
looked up, her face composed and dry. Sharpe looked at her and smiled
maliciously, vindicated. She slid off the chair and kicked at it,
causing it fall over. Sharpe dropped the map and put his hands to the
chair arms, pushing himself up slowly. It hurt. Veronica kicked at the
trunk by the chair, then began hammering at it with her foot. Sharpe
growled, half out of pain, half out of sheer annoyance.
“’Ey! If you
don’t stop that you’ll not be able to sit fer a
week!” he roared. She stopped abruptly, looking at him and
realising he had got up.
“Why? Will it hurt my legs?” she asked,
backing away from him as he walked slowly around the table toward her.
Emily watched, wide-eyed.
“No! Cos I’m going to give yer arse such
a tanning it’ll feel like –“
“Major!” Mackenzie
called, hurrying in through the tent flaps. Veronica winked at Emily
quickly and then burst into tears.
“Mister Mackenzie!”
she bawled, rushing into him and grabbing at his legs.
“He’s so horrid! I don’t want to stay with
him!” she sobbed, and Mackenzie huffed at Sharpe as he bent to
pick her up.
“Suits me, yer little –“ Sharpe began.
“Major, perhaps I should
take the young miss for a wee walk, eh?” the Scotsman said
loudly, and Sharpe shut his mouth abruptly. He wiped his face with his
left hand slowly.
“Aye, go on then,” he said wearily.
Mackenzie hefted the little girl to his waist and nodded, turning and
walking out. Sharpe sighed, then hissed and put his hand to his ribs,
his face evidently regretting trying to use too much air.
He looked at his feet, shaking
his head slightly, then hissed with the pain again. He looked up and
caught Emily staring at him. “Well,” he said quietly,
“thank God yer not causing a fuss like yer sister,” he
said, then turned and walked back to the chair. He sank into it slowly.
She looked at her embroidery in her hands, then back at him.
“She’s only just
started doing that,” she said conversationally. He looked at her,
and she bit her lip suddenly. He wondered if his face looked as pained
as he suspected.
“Oh aye?” he asked, wondering why this
little girl was staring at him so fixedly.
“Yes. Mother died. Veronica
cried a lot,” she said darkly. Sharpe looked down.
“Sorry,” he felt compelled to say. Emily looked at him.
“Where’s your
wife?” she asked suddenly, her face bright with innocence and
hope. “Daddy says behind every good officer, there’s a
marvellous wife. Is she here? Is she beautiful?” she asked shyly.
Sharpe sighed, then put his hand to the shirt over his ribs, leaning
back.
“She were
beautiful. She’s not here now,” he admitted, looking at the
ceiling. Emily got up and walked over slowly. She stood by his chair,
and he looked at her. She put her hands on the wooden arm, looking sad.
“You mean… she
died?” she asked quietly. He studied her face, then nodded.
“Oh. But that’s ok, she’s probably up in Heaven
talking to my mother now,” she said happily, looking up at the
tent ceiling briefly. Sharpe smiled despite himself.
“Aye, you’re probably
right,” he allowed. “Her English were good fer a Spanish
girl, an’ all,” he said, looking away from the small
girl’s naive face.
“Mrs Sharpe was Spanish? How exciting! Was she very beautiful?” she asked. He grinned.
“Aye, very beautiful,” he said quietly.
“What about your father?
Was he upset when she died?” she asked. “My grandfather was
very sad, for a long time.” Sharpe lifted a hand to scratch at
the back of his head, wondering just what to say.
“Well… I don’t
know. My father… died before I were born,” he said
nervously.
“Was,” she said suddenly.
“What?” he asked. She
walked around the front of him and put her hands to the chair arm,
using it to pull herself up him. He grabbed her before she could fall,
and he found she had installed herself on his lap most comfortably. He
realised he was trapped. Severe embarrassment, caused by a little
person at such close quarters, started to make itself evident.
“’Before I was
born’,” she said. He thought about it.
“Eh?” he asked, confused.
“You said
‘were’. That’s not right. It should be
‘was’,” she said. He smiled.
“I thought you were five,” he said.
“Nearly six,” she
pouted. “But I’ve already had one year of schooling in how
to speak, Mister Sharpe.” She leaned on him. “You must be
very sad,” she said quietly.
“Why?” he asked.
“You don’t have your wife, or your father.” She paused as a thought struck her. “Where’s your mother?” she asked fearfully.
“Talking to yours, most
like,” he admitted. She turned and looked up at him, horrified.
“Oh you poor
man!” she said, flinging her arms round his neck and grabbing him
in a strangle-hold. He grunted with the pain and put his hands to her
arms, taking her hands away. “You’ve lost everyone?”
“Yeah.”
She studied his face, and he
marvelled at how sympathetic a small child could suddenly become. He
took in her small, sad face, her blond hair that reminded him so much
of Antonia’s. Is this how she looks now? Where is she? If I see her some day, will she hate me? he thought, lost in the little girl’s eyes.
“That’s
awful,” she whispered suddenly, dragging him back to the real
world. “Why… Why is everything so unfair?” she asked
timidly. “I didn’t want Mother to leave us. Daddy told me
to say goodbye, but I wouldn’t. I didn’t want to.”
Sharpe felt acutely
uncomfortable, caused in part by having a small child sitting on him as
if they were close friends, and partly by the sadness on her small
face. Her face, the very fact that she may or may not look like his
daughter, scratched mercilessly at raw nerves. He looked away abruptly,
swallowing and pushing away so many unwanted feelings. He looked back
at her slowly, clearing his throat.
“Sometimes…
sometimes you have to say goodbye to people you don’t want to.
Sometimes you have to watch bad things happen to good people, people
you love. It’s not fair, but it’s how life is.” He
watched her digest this, and realised it all sounded very miserable.
“But we still have our friends, eh. I’m still here,
an’ I don’t have tantrums every five minutes like yer
sister,” he said, putting his hand on her shoulder and squeezing
gently, offering her a small, apologetic smile. She leaned away from
him slightly so she could look up and study his face.
“Really?” she asked doubtfully. He grinned.
“Well, so long as I get me
tea on time, anyway,” he admitted, and she smiled.
“May I… May I call
you Richard?” she asked shyly, her face a little red.
“Yeah, alright,” he
shrugged, then regretted the movement. She leaned on him again, looking
round the tent. It was quiet for some moments.
“Will you read to
me?” she asked. “Father does sometimes. But he’s so
loud!” she said, looking up at him. “You’re
quiet.”
“Well just don’t tell any of the
soldiers that, I’ll never scare ‘em again,” he tutted.
“No, don’t read to
me,” she said quietly. “If you get up you’ll hurt
again, and that’s not fair.” She thought for a second.
“Tell me about Mrs Sharpe. What was she like?” she asked
wistfully. Sharpe sighed, blowing out air through his teeth slowly.
“Well,” he said,
looking down at her, “she were a fierce woman –“
“Was,” she corrected. “She was a fierce woman, Richard,” she smiled, patting the shirt on his chest.
“Are you telling it
then?” he asked. She grinned, then laid her head against him.
“Anyway, she was a very scary person, was Teresa. She were in
charge of lots of dangerous Spanish men, and they were trying
to…”
FOUR
Sharpe opened an eye, looking
over his pillow lazily. He reached up and scratched his head, and was
happy to find it didn’t hurt his side as much as he’d
expected.
Something moved in the darkness.
He froze. He knew there to be nothing in his tent that would make that
sound. Then he remembered the two girls, sleeping silently on the two
camp beds not far from his cot. He closed his eye again.
Something rustled. And then he heard it.
There was a sharp snapping noise. No child’s heavy enough to do that.
He grabbed the sheets and wrenched them back, leaping out of bed and
banging heavily into someone. He grabbed at them in the pitch. They
simply grabbed him by the arms and pushed him backwards roughly. He
landed on his back, grunting at the sudden pain stabbing through him.
The tent flaps swished and flew about.
“Mackenzie!” he roared, as loud as he could with the air still painful in his lungs. “Mac!”
He heard someone whimpering and
then heard movement. “Girls! Get over here right now!” he
shouted. He heard rustling and movement. He put his hand out and
grabbed at the side of the cot, pulling himself up until he was sat.
“Emily! Veronica!”
His eyes slowly became more used to the darkness and
he felt two little hands searching for his arm. He grabbed hold of the
hands and squeezed. “Who’s that?” he said, only able
to see the blond hair.
“It’s me, Emily,” she said fearfully.
“Where’s
Veronica?” he asked, peering round in the gloom, but he could see
the tent was empty. He swallowed, then stood. Emily grabbed at his
fingers desperately. He let go of her fingers to head for the tent
flaps. He stuck his head out, finding Mackenzie lying on the ground,
his shako on the floor next to his bleeding head.
“Richard! Richard!
Don’t leave me!” Emily wailed, running after him. She
grabbed onto his legs, crying suddenly. He looked around.
Shit! No Harper, no Harris, Mackenzie’s out fer it, and one girl’s missing. He turned and found the girl still clinging to him, making it impossible for him to move freely.
“Look Emily, get -. Move
over -. Oh bugger,” he snapped impatiently, realising she would
never release her dogged hold on the only thing she considered safe. A
hundred ideas went through his head, but then he realised he’d
have to bow to the inevitable. He scooped her up reluctantly, and she
hugged onto him as if her life depended on it.
“Where’s my sister?” she sobbed.
“I don’t know –
yet. We’ll find her, Emily,” he said urgently. He carried
her out of the tent, looking around for horses or signs of
someone’s escape. “Veronica! Veronica!” he bawled. He
was suddenly aware of the rustle of other tents, other soldiers who had
heard his shouting.
He looked around, realising how silly it must look,
the tall Major carrying a little girl while dressed in nothing but
regulation pyjama trousers. He looked at the Scotsman on the ground,
then looked at Emily, still crying. “Look, love, calm
down,” he said, as gently as he could under the circumstances. He
peeled her off slowly and looked at her. “Don’t
look,” he said. She grabbed onto him fearfully, and he got closer
to the Captain, crouching slowly. He put his hand to the man’s
neck and breathed a sigh of relief. He turned and commandeered the
first soldier who got too close. “You, fetch the surgeon –
he’s alright. Just needs cleaning,” he snapped
dismissively. The man nodded and ran off.
Sharpe stood slowly, his ribs
objecting to the load. He turned and looked at the other soldiers of
the South Essex, watching, wide-eyed.
“Right you lot, any of you
as heard or saw anything, you stand where you are, or so help me
I’ll have every one of you buggers doing drills fer the next
twelve hours,” he snapped. Men shuffled their feet.
“Someone heard or saw summat, and yer going to tell me what it
was.”
Two men sidled forwards slowly. He looked at them as Emily stopped
crying and sniffed. He gestured with his head at Mackenzie. “You
two help the surgeon wi’ him. When yer done, come and find
me,” he said. “What are yer names?”
“Jones,” the short one said.
“Marwick,” the taller, brown-haired one admitted.
“Right then, Privates Jones
and Marwick, you come and find me when yer done. Understand?” he
asked.
“Yes, sir,” they replied smartly.
“Good lads,” he said
dubiously, then turned and carried Emily back inside the tent.
“Right,” he said, looking round and finding candles.
“Look, love, you’ll have to get down,” he said
carefully.
“But my sister!” she cried.
“I know, but hanging onto
me like last week’s tea rations int going to help us right
now,” he pointed out shortly. She looked at him.
“But it makes me feel better.”
He paused, surprised.
“Yeah, well. Come on,” he said awkwardly, shifting her and
then lifting her down to the bed carefully. It hurt, and he let it show
on his face. She watched him.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. He
looked at her as he turned to the candles and lit them slowly.
“Why?” he asked. “What did you do?”
“You’re still hurt,
and I acted like a baby,” she said quietly. He looked at her.
“Well yer only five,”
he said. She stuck her bottom lip out.
“Nearly six! And we have to grow up one day, Richard,” she said imperiously, and he smiled.
“Enjoy it while you
can,” he said wisely, turning to find his uniform. He pulled over
the cavalry trousers but stopped abruptly as his ribs screamed in
protest. He hissed and put his hand to the bandage over them, closing
his eyes suddenly.
“Do you need help?” she asked, and he looked at her.
“Not from you, I
don’t,” he said indignantly. “Look, get yerself
dressed, will you?” he added, more accommodating. She swallowed.
“I… My sister always
helps me,” she said. He looked at her, thought for a second, then
walked to the tent flaps again.
“Jones?” he called. The private jumped to attention.
“Yes, sir,” he said immediately.
“Do you know Ramona
Harper?” he asked. Jones nodded. “Good. Go find her tent,
tell her we need her help. On the double, private,” he added.
“Yes sir,” he said,
turning and tearing off across the dark camp. Sharpe turned and ducked
back inside, finding Emily still sat on his bed. She didn’t look
so confident now. He walked over slowly, sitting on the bed and letting
himself relax his shoulders.
“Where is she?” she asked timidly. He looked at her.
“I don’t know. Do you
know who’d want to take her away?” he asked. She sighed.
“The maid. She
doesn’t like her. The man who looks after Daddy’s horse. He
doesn’t like her either. Oh, and the lady who does the washing.
She doesn’t like her –“
“Emily…” He
paused, rubbing his forehead. He straightened, trying to alleviate the
pull on his ribs. She bit her lip, then slid off the bed quickly.
“You should lie down. Daddy
hurt his ribs once when he fell off a horse. He had to lie still for a
week,” she said, walking round and pulling the sheets back. He
looked at her.
“He were bruised to buggery as well, was he?” he muttered.
“The stable man shot
him,” she said off-hand. He looked at her.
“What?”
“The horse. He had a broken
leg. I think the stablehand didn’t like the horse. He looked very
unhappy when he had to shoot it. He said it hadn’t done
it’s job,” she said, then gestured with her hand, waving
him toward the bed. He looked at her, then shook his head and used his
hands to lift his legs onto the bed. He let himself lie back and
breathed out a sigh of relief. “See? Much better,” she
nodded happily. She walked round and sat on the bed next to his elbow.
“What are we waiting for?” she asked.
“The surgeon to see to Mac, and fer Ramona.”
“Who’s Ramona?” she asked.
“Me friend’s wife.
You’ll like her,” he said with a smile. She nodded.
“I hope I like her as much as I like you.”
“Oh, ah… well, I
hope so too,” he managed, a little embarrassed. She looked up as
the tent flaps swished open.
“Richard! What happen?” Ramona asked,
shocked. “Who is this?”
“Ramona, this is Emily
Bane,” he said, making no attempt to get up. “She’s
the daughter of Colonel Bane, him as just left wi’ half the South
Essex and Harper,” he added.
“I know who he is. He say
some very rude things,” she sniffed, then walked over.
“Can you help her get
dressed and sorted?” he asked. “I’ve got to get up
and find out what’s going on. We’ve got a missing
girl,” he said.
Ramona looked at Emily. “Ok then, we
go,” she said cheerfully, putting a hand out to her. She shrank
back against Sharpe, leaning on him.
“Emily, come on, it’s
only Ramona,” he said quietly. Emily turned and looked at him.
“Do you trust her?” she whispered, and he grinned.
“Have done with my life lass, many times.”
“Ok then,” she said,
then turned and looked at Ramona. “I’m only trusting you
because Richard trusts you,” she said clearly, and Ramona grinned.
“Really?” she said
slyly. “Well, come on, we find you clothes and breakfast,”
she said. Emily slid off the bed and took Ramona’s hand, and they
walked to the tent flaps. Ramona stopped and looked at him. “I
come back, Richard, help you to dress,” she said. He looked at
her.
“Er, no, yer alright, I can –“
“He’s hurt, Miss
Ramona, he can’t do it by himself,” Emily said loudly.
Sharpe shot her an exasperated look.
“Look you, just go,”
he said to her, then looked at Ramona. “Watch her, and
don’t take her anywhere wi’owt me,” he said, then
stopped abruptly. “Except fer right now. Go on,” he said.
Ramona smiled slyly.
“Why?” she asked impishly. He huffed.
“Cos I’m getting
outta bed! Go on,” he said dismissively. She laughed suddenly and
he looked at her, hoping the tips of his ears weren't really going as
red as he suspected.
“Who you think care and dress you and your
wounds when you so badly injured?” she laughed. “Not Father
Curtis, not your frail girl – off praying – and certainly
not my husband! Me, Richard, me! You men are all same shape when your trousers are off,” she laughed. He gawped at her, then collected himself.
“That’s as may be,
but I don’t think the wife of me best friend should stand there
watching me dress. Go on, go,” he said, hoping he sounded
Majorly. She smiled to herself and tugged on Emily’s hand.
“Come on then,” she said, leading her out.
FIVE
“Right, what do you know
about this Bane, and what could help us?” Sharpe asked Mackenzie
quietly. They sat at the small table in Sharpe’s tent, Emily
curled up asleep in Sharpe’s bed warmly. Mackenzie, the bandage
round his head making his black, tufty hair spike out the top, leaned
back in the camp chair.
“I know Bane hasnae any
friends, sir,” he said quietly. “He’s with
Wellington, wants to march over the length o’ Spain and kick
every French bast- every French soldier off of it,” he said,
glancing at Emily suddenly.
“So?”
“So he didnae made himself
any friends at Horse Guards. He’s even used some of his own money
to help him,” he said. “But a lot o’ officers didnae
like him siding wi’ Wellington. They started nasty stories about
his wife, God rest her soul,” he added.
“Like?” Sharpe asked impatiently.
“Well, I didnae meet the
lady before she died, but her staff liked her an awful lot,” he
said. “Seems she didnae have such a grand family before she
married Bane – I think she had a poor upbringing,” he
shrugged.
“So them wives at Horse Guards decided she weren’t worth
letting in,” Sharpe mused to himself. “How did she
die?” he asked.
Mackenzie looked at the sleeping girl, then leaned
toward Sharpe, lowering his voice. “Fever, they said. I asked the
servants. Fever.”
“Nowt suspicious there,” Sharpe said, frustrated.
“But straight after she
died, accidents started happening round the house,” he added
quietly.
“Like?”
“Well, a painting
that’s been securely fixed fer generations suddenly dropped off
the wall, just when Bane was walking nearby,” he said.
“Then later, on the march, there was his horse. Threw him, and
fae no good reason, in my opinion.”
“You were there?”
“Aye, I was there, and
watched the stablehand put him down,” he said, shaking his head.
“Emily said the stablehand
were angry wi’ the horse – said it hadn’t done
it’s job,” Sharpe mused. “Was he in on it?”
“Quite possibly,”
Mackenzie drawled. “Look, you’d need to talk to the wee
girl, sir, I don’t really know all of it.”
“Aye, I know,” he
said, but looked over at Emily slowly. “I just…
don’t want her to be upset. Over her mother, like,” he
added. Mackenzie smiled slowly.
“She’s a wee angel,
there’s no denying that,” he said. Sharpe looked at him.
“I just don’t want
her screaming the place down again,” he said gruffly, standing
slowly. Mackenzie watched him, grinning, and got to his feet too.
“Get them two squaddies, tell ‘em to meet me in Colonel
Lawford’s tent. I want to talk to them about what they saw.”
“Yes, sir,” he said, turning to go.
“Mac,” he said
suddenly. The Captain turned and looked at him. Sharpe hesitated, then
looked at Emily. “You’d best take her and keep a close eye
on her. I don’t want her waking up and finding everyone’s
left her,” he said uneasily. Mackenzie nodded.
“Aye, yir right,
sir,” he said, walking over to the bed. He pulled back the covers
and lifted her slowly, nodding to Sharpe before crossing the tent and
walking out.
Sharpe turned and picked up the green tunic he
hadn’t worn in over a week and slid it on slowly. His ribs still
hurt like blazes, and he wondered suddenly if they’d ever stop.
It seemed he couldn’t remember a time when turning round or
bending or even leaning didn’t hurt. He wiped his hands over his
face, not bothering to button his tunic, and walked out of the tent.
*
“Well, damn it all, man! He
entrusted his family to you and you go and lose one of them?”
Lawford demanded angrily.
“I didn’t lose –“
“Well she’s not here, is she?” Lawford interrupted.
“Sir, there are men on
their way here as saw summat. I’ve sent Captain Mackenzie off to
question the picquets too. Someone else saw summat, and they’re
going to tell me, and then we’re going to find the girl before
the Colonel comes back,” he snapped.
Lawford leaned back in his chair,
looking him over. He nodded finally, dropping his letter-opener back to
the desk. He looked up slowly. “Well you might have shaved, man.
And had time to clean some kit,” he said reproachfully, but his
anger was spent. Sharpe didn’t answer and Lawford could well
imagine the words going through the Major’s head. “Make
sure you do before Bane gets back here. You’re a mess,
Richard,” he said quietly.
“I’m on the sick
list, sir,” he pointed out. Lawford pinned him with a stare.
“That doesn’t give
you the right to walk around with facial hair like a
gypsy’s,” he snapped, having noted with jealously that
Sharpe’s beard had grown out around his mouth and down his chin
rakishly. The whiskers that now ran down the sides of his jaw to meet
up at his chin only served to make him look devilishly attractive.
Lawford huffed. “Get it seen to.”
“Yes, sir,” he said automatically. My arse,
he added, noticing Lawford’s envious look with some satisfaction.
He resisted the temptation to smile. Instead he cleared his throat.
“Sir?” Mackenzie
called from the tent flaps. They turned. “I’ve Privates
Jones and Marwick, sir,” he said. Sharpe walked to one side of
the desk as Lawford stood.
“Good, good, bring them in,” Lawford
said, waving. Mackenzie pushed the two men in and they walked in
slowly, up to Lawford’s desk. They stood to attention. Sharpe
looked at Lawford, but he spread a hand out in an ‘after you’ gesture.
“Thank you, sir,”
Sharpe said, then walked closer to the two men. “Names?” he
snapped.
The two men straightened and lifted their chins. The shorter one spoke
first.
“Private Ardwyad Jones, sir,” he said curtly.
“Private ‘Arry
Marwick, sir,” the taller one admitted. Sharpe studied them.
“You two were somewhere
near me tent last night. Did you see what happened to Captain
Mackenzie?” he asked clearly. They were silent.
“Jones,” he snapped.
“No, sir, I didn’t
see a thing, sir,” he said slowly, an almost sing-song lilt to
his voice. “All black, you see.”
Sharpe eyed him, then looked at Marwick. “And you, marrik?” he stressed. The private cleared his throat.
“I didn’t see
nuffink, sir,” he said immediately. Lawford looked at Sharpe and
shrugged helplessly. Sharpe walked round to Marwick’s side and
stared at him. After nearly a minute, Marwick started to sweat.
“I’m not angry cos
yer lying,” Sharpe said quietly, “but cos yer helping
someone cover up what happened to a little girl right inside an army
camp.”
“But sir, I really didn’t –“
“You’ll speak when yer spoken to!”
Sharpe roared in his face. Marwick jumped and squeezed his eyes shut.
Sharpe took a step backwards, then looked over at Jones. “You
have summat to tell me, Jones?” he asked dangerously.
“Permission to –“
“Tell me!”
“I didn’t see
anything, sir,” he said, licking wet lips. “We was having a
cup of tea, you see, and the fire, well, it’s awful cold at night
now, and we –“
“I don’t want a weather report,”
Sharpe snapped, walking closer to Marwick again. “You,” he
said quietly, and the private opened his eyes again. “Tell me
what you saw. Who did you see thumping Captain Mackenzie? Who did you
see leaving me tent?” he demanded.
“N- no-one! I swear,
sir!” he cried. Sharpe lifted his foot and booted him in the shin
as hard as he could. Marwick cried out and bent over in pain, reaching
for his shin. Lawford opened his mouth but Sharpe grabbed the
private’s neck in his hand and slammed the side of his face into
the surface of the desk. He pushed it down angrily.
“Sharpe! I say!” Lawford protested.
“Who?” Sharpe demanded of the soldier. He whimpered something and motioned to the other man.
“Jones,” Marwick rasped, “tell him!”
Sharpe looked at Jones quickly. “What?”
“We didn’t know he
was going to hurt the little girl, sir!” he cried fearfully.
“We just says, family, is it? And he said yes, sir!” he
continued. “We thought we was helping, sir!” he added
desperately.
“Helping? Helping?” Sharpe demanded. He
shifted his grip to Marwick’s collar on his stiff jacket and
hauled him upright again. “You helped someone find my tent?
Because he said he were family o’ the two girls?” he
shouted.
“Yes sir!” they chorused.
“You have one minute to
tell me all you know,” Sharpe said malevolently.
“Tall man, he was, sir!
Smelled of horses, you see. Spoke as a London boy, as I remember.
Didn’t see his face clearly, sir, but think he had a moustache,
sir,” Jones said quickly.
“He was London alright,
sir,” Marwick said suddenly. “He had a big ‘orse, a
big black one wiv one shoe missing, sir,” he put in. Sharpe
stared at him, incredulous.
“You didn’t see his face but you know his horse had lost a shoe?” he said, then looked at Lawford.
“Dear Lord! He’s
stolen my Charger!” Lawford cried. He looked at Marwick. “A
tall black horse, you say? Any white on his nose?” he added
hopefully.
“Not a mark, nor his feet, sir,” the soldier said.
“Hell’s teeth,
Richard! He’s taken my Charger!” he snapped. “Well at
least we can hang him for horse theft,” he said vindictively.
Sharpe ignored him.
“Right then. You two are coming with me. About
face!” he shouted. Both privates turned and snapped to attention.
“Out!” Sharpe commanded. They quickly jogged to the tent
flaps and waited outside. Sharpe turned to Lawford, who was still
shaking his head and muttering to himself. “Right then, sir.
I’ll get a search party together and we’ll start tracking
the horse,” he said, nodding before turning for the tent flaps
himself.
“Richard,” Lawford called out. He stopped and looked back
at him. “If at all possible… try and bring me back the
horse?”
“See what I can do, sir,” he said,
stepping outside. He found the two privates standing to attention
outside. “Know much about horses, do you Jones?” he snapped.
“I know which way you sits
on them, sir,” he admitted. He looked at Marwick.
“And you?”
“I knows a best way to
roast ‘em, sir,” he said with feeling. Sharpe sighed.
“Well then, you two have
just joined our search party. Get to my tent and find Mackenzie. Tell
him I’m on my way, and to be ready to leave fer tracking.
He’ll direct you,” he said.
“Yes, sir!” they
chorused, and turned and ran across the camp. Sharpe wiped his hands
over his face, encountered the slight beard, and huffed. He walked off,
following them.
On to biscuits, bayonets and Bakers!
