He heard the footsteps on the roof and he did not turn round for he did not wish to be disturbed. He looked to his right, pointedly away from the footsteps, and watched the work-party coming down the steep path between the thorns with the packs tied to their rifles.
‘Richard?’
He turned back, scrambling to his feet. ‘Josefina.’
She smiled at him, a little nervous, and her face was swathed by the silver-fur of her dark green cloak hood. ‘Can I join you?’
‘Yes, do. Aren’t you cold?’
‘A bit.’ She smiled at him. ‘Happy Christmas, Richard.’
‘And to you.’ He knew the Riflemen on the huge, wide roof would be looking at them. ‘Why don’t you sit.’
They sat two feet apart and Josefina drew the thick, furred cloak about her. ‘Is that tea?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can I have some?’
‘And live, you mean?’
‘I’ll live.’ She held a hand out of her cloak and took the tin mug from him. She sipped, made a face. ‘I thought you might come back last night.’
He laughed. ‘I was busy.’ He had been to see the hostages to find three Lieutenants paying court to them. Sharpe had not stayed long, only long enough to hear assurances that they had not been harmed, and to assure them that they would be returned to their husbands. All of them, curiously, had been concerned about the fate of the men who had held them hostage, and Sharpe had taken a list of names of those men who had been kind to the women. He had promised he would try and save them from execution. He grinned at Josefina and took the tea back. ‘Would I have been welcome?’
‘Richard!’ She laughed, her nervousness gone because Sharpe’s voice indicated approval of her. ‘Do you remember when we met?’
‘Your horse had lost a shoe.’
‘And you were all grumpy and disagreeable.’ She held a hand out for the tea. ‘You were very earnest, Richard.’
‘I’m sure I still am.’
She made a face at him, blew on the tea, and sipped at the cup. ‘I remember telling you that you’d become a Colonel and be horrid to your men. It’s coming true.’
‘Am I horrid to them?’
‘The Lieutenants are frightened of you. Except for Mr Price, but then he knows you.’
‘And no doubt wanted to know you?’
She smiled happily. ‘He tried. He’s like a puppy. Who’s the frightening Captain with one eye?’
‘He’s an English Lord, he’s terribly rich, and he’s very very generous.’
‘Is he?’ She looked at him, interest quickening in her voice, and then she saw he was teasing. She laughed.
‘And you’re Lady Farthingdale.’
She made a shrugging motion beneath her cloak as if to indicate that it was a strange world. She sipped the tea, then offered it to Sharpe. ‘Was he worried about me?’
‘Very.’
‘Truly?’
‘Truly.’
She stared at him with interest. ‘Was he truly very worried?’
‘He was truly very worried.’
She smiled happily. ‘How nice.’
‘He thought you were being raped daily.’
‘Not once! That strange “Colonel” Hakeswill made sure of that.’
‘He did?’
She nodded. ‘I told him that I’d come here to pray for my mother, which was sort of true.’ She laughed. ‘Not really, but it worked for Hakeswill. No one could touch me. He used to come and talk to me about his mother. Endless talks! So I kept telling him that mothers were the most wonderful things in the world, and how lucky his mother was to have a good son like him, and he couldn’t hear enough!’ Sharpe smiled. He knew of Hakeswill’s devotion to his mother, and he knew that Josefina could not have stumbled on a better protection than to appeal to that devotion.
‘Why did you come here?’
‘Well, my mother is ill.’
‘I didn’t think you liked her.’
‘I don’t. She doesn’t approve of me, but she is ill.’ She took the tea from Sharpe, finished it, and put the tin mug on the parapet. She looked at the Rifleman and grinned. ‘The truth is I wanted to go away for a day.’
‘By yourself?’
‘No.’ She drew the word out reprovingly, suggesting he knew her better than that. ‘With a delicious Captain. But Augustus insisted another one came along as well, so it would all have been very difficult.’
Sharpe grinned. Her eyelashes were impossibly long, her mouth indecently full. It was a face that promised every comfort. ‘I can understand why he worries about you.’
She laughed at that, then shrugged. ‘He’s in love with me.’ She made the word ‘love’ ironic.
‘And you with him?’
‘Richard!’ She reproved him again. ‘He’s very kind, and he’s very, very rich.’
‘Very, very, very rich.’
‘Even richer.’ She smiled. ‘Anything I want! Anything! He tries to be strict with me, but I won’t let him. I locked the door on him for two nights and I haven’t had any trouble since.’
Sharpe twisted round and was thankful that no one seemed to need his presence. The sentries crouched or paced the roof, the sound of knives and canteens came from the breakfasts in the cloisters, and there was still no sign of the Fusiliers. He looked back at her and she smiled. ‘I really am glad to see you, Richard.’
‘You’d have been glad of any rescuer.’
‘No. I’m glad to see you. You always make me tell the truth.’
He smiled. ‘You don’t need me to do that.’
‘You need friends.’ She smiled quickly. ‘You really know me, don’t you, and you don’t disapprove of me.’
‘Should I?’
‘They usually do.’ She was staring at the hillside. ‘They all say differently, and they all make wonderful speeches, but I know what they think. I’m popular, Richard,just as long as I keep this.’ She pointed to her face.
‘And the rest of it.’
‘Yes.’ She smiled at him. ‘It still works.’
He smiled back. ‘Is that why you married Sir Augustus?’ ‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘That was his idea. He wanted me to be his wife so I could go everywhere with him.’ She laughed, as if Sir Augustus had been stupid. ‘He wanted me to go north to Braganza, and we sailed to Cadiz, and he couldn’t have me going to dinners as his whore, could he?’
‘Why not? Lots of men do.’
‘Not to those dinners, Richard. Very pompous.’ She made a face.
‘So you married him so you could go to pompous dinners?’
‘Marry him!’ She looked at Sharpe as though he were mad. ‘I’m not married to him, Richard! You think I’d marry him?’
‘You’re not ... ?’
She laughed at him, her voice attracting the attention of the sentries. She lowered it. ‘He just wants me to say that I’m married to him. Do you know what he pays me for that?’ Sharpe shook his head and she laughed again. ‘A lot, Richard. A lot.’
‘How much?’
She ticked the things off on her fingers. ‘I’ve got an estate near Caldas da Rainha; three hundred acres and a big house. A carriage and four horses. A necklace that would buy half of Spain, and four thousand dollars in a London bank.’ She shrugged. ‘Wouldn’t you say yes to an offer like that?’
‘I don’t think anyone would ask me.’ He looked at her incredulously. ‘You’re not Lady Farthingdale?’
‘Of course not!’ She smiled at him. ‘Richard! You should know me better than that! Anyway, Duarte’s still alive. I can’t marry anyone else while I’m still married to him.’
‘So he suggested that you call yourself his wife? Is that it?’
She shrugged. ‘Something like that. He wasn’t very serious, but I asked him what he’d pay for it, and once he told me I went along.’ She smiled to herself. ‘I mean he was already paying me so that no one but him got in the saddle, so why not pretend to be married? It’s as good as marriage, isn’t it?’
‘I’m sure your priest would agree,’ Sharpe observed ironically.
‘Whoever he is.’
‘And no one suspects?’
‘They don’t say anything, at least not to Augustus. He told everyone he’d married me, why shouldn’t they believe him?’
‘And he doesn’t think anyone’s suspicious?’
‘Richard, I told you.’ She sounded almost exasperated. ‘He’s in love with me, he really is. He can’t get enough of me. He thinks I was created by the moon goddess, at least that’s what he said one night.’ Sharpe laughed, and she smiled. ‘He really does. He thinks I’m perfect. He’s always saying that. And he wants to own me, every part of me, every hour, everything.’ She shrugged. ‘He pays.’
‘And he doesn’t know about anyone else?’
‘The past, you mean? He’s heard. I told him it was all rumour, that I had entertained officers, but why shouldn’t I? A respectable married woman in Lisbon, perhaps a widow, I was allowed to take tea with an officer or two.’
‘He believes that?’
‘Of course! That’s what he wants to believe.’
‘How long will it last?’
‘I don’t know.’ She made a face at the hillside. ‘He’s nice. He’s like a cat. He’s very clean and very delicate and very jealous. I miss, well, you know.’
Sharpe laughed. ‘Josefina!’ It was an incredible story, but no more so than dozens he had heard of the shifts men and women resorted to in Cupid’s service. She watched him laugh.
‘I’m happy, Richard.’
‘And rich.’
‘Very.’ She smiled. ‘So you’re not to tell him I told you all this, understand? You’re not to tell him!’
‘I won’t say you told me.’
‘You’d better not. Another two months and I’ll have enough to buy some property in Lisbon. So I’ve told you nothing!’
He knuckled his forehead. ‘Yes, Ma’am.‘
‘Lady Farthingdale.’
‘Yes, Milady.’
She laughed. ‘I’m getting to like being called that.’ She clutched the cloak tighter at her throat. ‘So tell me about you.’
He grinned, shook his head, and was trying to think of something non-committal to say when there was a bellow from across the roof. ‘Sir! Major Sharpe, sir!’
He turned, getting to his feet. ‘What?’
‘Those horsemen, sir. Saw them again. They’ve gone now.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘What were they?’
‘Dunno, sir, except ...’
‘Except what?’ Sharpe shouted.
‘Can’t be sure, sir, but I thought they could be bloody French. Only three of them, sir, but they did look Frenchie.’
Sharpe understood the man’s doubt. French Cavalry rarely moved except in large formations and it sounded strange that just three enemy cavalry could be in this high valley. ‘Sir?’ The man called again.
‘Yes?’
‘Could be the deserters, sir. They’ve got Frenchie uniforms.’
‘Keep looking!’ The man was probably right. Three French cavalrymen from Pot-au-Feu’s band were merely scouting the valley to the east and south. Pot-au-Feu surely was leaving. Sharpe turned to Josefina. ‘Time to go. Work to do.’ He held out his hand and helped her up. She looked at him with a hint of worry.
‘Richard?’
‘Yes.’ He presumed she was worried about the possibility of French troops in the high valley.
‘Are you glad to see me?’
‘Josefina.’ He smiled. ‘Yes, of course.’
They walked along the flat space between the parapet and the tiles, Riflemen making way for them and giving Josefina admiring looks. Sharpe stopped beneath the spread flag and stared westward into the shadows of the pass where the mist was shredding itself into decaying wisps. There was a slight movement among the grey rocks far down, a movement scarcely visible, but enough to prompt a shout from another sentry.
‘Sir!’
‘I’ve seen them, thank you!’
The Fusiliers were in sight. Sharpe looked from them up to the beaded, frail flag and he wondered why the instinct persisted that he might yet have to fight for it. He pushed the thought away, handed Josefina to the head of the ramp, and raised his voice so that the Riflemen could hear him. ‘Your husband will be here within the hour, Milady.’
‘Thank you, Major Sharpe.’ She bowed slightly towards him then, in a superb gesture, waved an arm around the whole Convent, a gesture that embraced all the watching Riflemen. She raised her voice. ‘And thank you to all of you. Thank you!’
They all looked pleased, bashful and pleased, and Sharpe nudged a Sergeant beside him. ‘Three cheers for her Ladyship?’
‘Oh yes, sir, of course, sir.’ The Sergeant beamed at the men. ‘Three cheers for her Ladyship! Hip, hip, hip!’
‘Hooray!’ They bellowed it twice more, startling the cat on the roof tiles, and Josefina acknowledged it graciously. She nodded to them all, finishing with Sharpe and he could have sworn that she gave him a wink as her head inclined.
He went back to the flag, grinning. It was a morning of surprises. A Christmas tree for Christmas day, Josefina for Sir Augustus Farthingdale, and in the east three horsemen to trouble Christmas morning. The shadows in the pass resolved themselves into a skirmish line that climbed towards the Gateway of God, the Companies in column behind it. Sharpe looked up at the flag and his instinct still told him that trouble was in the windless air, that this Christmas held other surprises yet to come.
Chapter 11
Lieutenant Colonel Kinney sent his Fusiliers in open order for the last few yards of the scramble uphill. There was still a possibility that Pot-au-Feu might open fire with his captured Spanish guns, though the prisoners taken in the night swore that two of the cannon were in the watchtower while the third remaining in the deserters’ hands was mounted on the east wall of the Castle and unable to bear on the pass. Kinney nevertheless took no chances.
Sharpe experienced a sudden regret because he was no longer the senior officer in the Gateway of God. Kinney now outranked him, Sir Augustus Farthingdale too, and Sharpe presumed that the single Major of the Fusiliers was also his superior. Kinney slid from his horse at the Convent gate and held a hand out to Sharpe, ignoring the salute. ‘Well done, Major, well done!’
Kinney was generous in his praise, embarrassingly so, effusive about the difficulties of a night march, a silent approach, and an assault on a building that incurred no serious casualties among the attackers. Sharpe introduced Frederickson, Cross and Price, and Kinney spread his praise liberally among them all. Sir Augustus Farthingdale was less forthcoming. He dismounted stiffly, helped by his servant, and twitched the silk scarf that was tucked into the high collar of his cavalry cloak. Beneath the cloak he slapped a riding crop against his boots. ‘Sharpe!’
‘Sir.’
‘So you were successful!’
‘Happily yes, sir.’
Farthingdale grunted, sounding far from happy. His aquiline nose was red from the cold, the mouth more peevish than usual. The crop still slapped against the leather. ‘Well done, Sharpe. Well done.’ He managed to make the praise sound grudging. ‘Lady Farthingdale well, is she?’
‘Perfectly, sir. I’m sure she’ll be relieved to see you.’
‘Yes.’ Farthingdale fidgeted, his eyes looking without interest at the Castle and the village. ‘So what are you waiting for, Sharpe? Take me to her.’
‘Of course, sir. I’m sorry, sir. Lieutenant Price?’ Sharpe nominated Price as Sir Augustus’ guide to his ‘bride’. Sir Augustus turned at the Convent steps, removed the bicorne hat from his sleek silver hair, and nodded at Kinney. ‘Carry on, Kinney!’
‘Does the man think I’m planning to go to sleep?’ The comment was made loud enough for Sharpe to hear. Kinney had obviously had a difficult time with Sir Augustus during the long night march and now the Welshman kicked at a stone, sending it skitte
ring against the Convent wall. ‘God damn it, Sharpe, but she must be a remarkable woman to bring Sir Augustus all this way?’
Sharpe smiled. ‘She’s a beauty, sir.’
Kinney looked east where his Battalion were forming up well out of canister range from Castle or watchtower. ‘What do we do now, eh?’ The question was not aimed at Sharpe. ‘Let’s clear the beggars out of the village, then look at the Castle.’
‘The watchtower, sir?’
Kinney turned towards it. The two guns in the watchtower, if they existed, could fire into the flank of any attack made on the fallen east wall of the Castle. If there was to be a fight at the Castle, then the watchtower would have to be taken first. Kinney scratched his cheek. ‘You think the buggers will fight?’
‘They haven’t run away, sir.’
Pot-au-Feu must know that his escapades were over. His hostages were gone, the Convent was taken, and now a Battalion of British infantry was in his valley. The sensible thing, Sharpe thought, was for the deserters to run again, to flee eastwards or northwards, but they had stayed. Pot-au-Feu’s troops were visible on the Castle ramparts and in the earthworks at the foot of the watchtower. Kinney shook his head. ‘Why have they stayed, Sharpe?’
‘Must think he can beat us, sir.’
‘Then the man must be disabused.’ Kinney dwelt lovingly on the last word. ‘I don’t fancy any of my men dying today, Major. It would be a terrible tragedy on Christmas Day.’ He sniffed. ‘I’ll roust the village with bayonets, then I’ll have a chat with our man at the Castle to see if he wants to surrender. If he wants to do it the hard way ...’ He looked at the watchtower. ‘I’d be grateful, in that case, for the loan of a Rifle Company, Major.’
It was kind of Kinney to wrap an order in such politeness. ‘Of course, sir.’
‘Let’s hope it won’t come to that. By then young Gilliland should have arrived.’ The Rocket Troop was an hour behind the I 13th, delayed by a loosened wheel-rim. Kinney smiled. ‘Two of those fireworks up their backsides might persuade them to throw themselves on our tender mercies.’ Kinney called for his horse, grunted as he pulled his considerable weight into the saddle, then grinned down on Sharpe. ‘They probably haven’t run, Sharpe, because they’re all blind drunk. Well then! To work! To work!’ He gathered his reins, then stopped, staring over Sharpe’s head. ‘My word! My word!’
Sharpe 3-Book Collection 5: Sharpe's Company, Sharpe's Sword, Sharpe's Enemy Page 70