Sharpe's Havoc Part 38

"General Cradock ordered me to stay with him, sir," Sharpe said, and took the General's order from his pouch and laid it on the table.

Wellesley did not even glance at the paper. "What the devil was Cradock doing?" he snapped. "Christopher's not even a properly commissioned officer, he's a d.a.m.ned Foreign Office flunkey!" These last words were spat at the pale young man, who, rather than respond, made an airily dismissive gesture with the delicate fingers of his right hand. He caught Sharpe's eye then and turned the gesture into a small wave of welcome and Sharpe realized, with a start of recognition, that it was Lord Pumphrey whom he had last met in Copenhagen. His lordship, Sharpe knew, was mysteriously prominent in the Foreign Office, but Pumphrey offered no explanation of his presence in Oporto as Wellesley s.n.a.t.c.hed up General Cradock's order, read it and then threw the paper down. "So what did Christopher order you to do?" he asked Sharpe.

"To stay at a place called Vila Real de Zedes, sir."

"And do what there, pray?"

"Be killed, sir."

"Be killed?" Sir Arthur asked in a dangerous tone. He knew Sharpe was being impudent and, though the rifleman had once saved his life, Sir Arthur was quite ready to slap him down.

"He brought a French force to the village, sir. They attacked us."

"Not very effectively, it seems," Wellesley said sarcastically.

"Not very, no, sir," Sharpe agreed, "but there were twelve hundred of them, sir, and only sixty of us." He said no more and there was silence in the big room as men worked out the odds. Twenty to one. Another peal of thunder racked the sky and a shard of lightning flickered to the west.

"Twelve hundred, Richard?" Hogan asked in a voice which suggested Sharpe might like to amend the figure downward.

"There were probably more, sir," Sharpe said stoically. "The 31st Leger attacked us, but they were backed up by at least one regiment of dragoons and an howitzer. Only the one, though, sir, and we saw them off." He stopped and no one spoke again, and Sharpe remembered he had not paid tribute to his ally and so turned back to Wellesley. "I had Lieutenant Vicente with me, sir, of the 18th Portuguese, and his thirty-odd lads helped us a lot, but I'm sorry to report he lost a couple of men and I lost a couple too. And one of my men deserted, sir. I'm sorry about that."

There was another silence, a much longer one, in which the officers stared at Sharpe and Sharpe tried to count the candles on the big table, and then Lord Pumphrey broke the silence. "You tell us, Lieutenant, that Mister Christopher brought these troops to attack you?"

"Yes, sir."

Pumphrey smiled. "Did he bring them? Or was he brought by them?"

"He brought them," Sharpe said vigorously. "And then he had the b.l.o.o.d.y nerve to come up the hill and tell me the war was over and we ought to walk down and let the French take care of us."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Pumphrey said with exaggerated civility.

There was another silence, then Colonel Waters cleared his throat. "You will recall, sir," he said softly, "that it was Lieutenant Sharpe who provided us with our navy this morning." In other words, he was saying to Sir Arthur Wellesley, show some d.a.m.ned grat.i.tude.

But Sir Arthur was in no mood to show grat.i.tude. He just stared at Sharpe, and then Hogan remembered the letter that he had rescued from the House Beautiful and he took it from his pocket. "It's for you, Lieutenant," he said, holding the paper toward Sharpe, "but it wasn't sealed and so I took the liberty of reading it."

Sharpe unfolded the paper. "He is going with the French," Sharpe read, "and forcing me to accompany him and I do not want to." It was signed Kate and had plainly been written in a tearing hurry.

"The 'him,' I a.s.sume," Hogan asked, "is Christopher?"

"Yes, sir."

"So the reason that Miss Savage absented herself in March," Hogan went on, "was Colonel Christopher?"

"Yes, sir."

"She is sweet on him?"

"She's married to him," Sharpe said and was puzzled because Lord Pumphrey looked startled.

"A few weeks earlier"-Hogan was talking to Wellesley now-"Colonel Christopher was courting Miss Savage's mother."

"Does any of this ridiculous talk of romance help us determine what Christopher is doing?" Sir Arthur asked with considerable asperity.

"It's amusing, if nothing else," Pumphrey said. He stood up, flicked a speck of dust from a cuff, and smiled at Sharpe. "Did you really say Christopher married this girl?"

"He did, sir."

"Then he is a bad boy," Lord Pumphrey said happily, "because he's already married." His lordship plainly enjoyed that revelation. "He married Pearce Courtnell's daughter ten years ago in the happy belief that she was worth eight thousand a year, then discovered she was hardly worth sixpence. It is not, I hear, a contented marriage, and might I observe, Sir Arthur, that Lieutenant Sharpe's news answers our questions about Colonel Christopher's true allegiance?"

"It does?" Wellesley asked, puzzled.

"Christopher cannot hope to survive a bigamous marriage if he intends to make his future in Britain or in a free Portugal," Lord Pumphrey observed, "but in France? Or in a Portugal ruled by France? (

The French won't care how many wives he left in London."

"But you said he wants to return."

"I tendered a surmise that he would wish to do so," Pumphrey corrected the General. "He has, after all, been playing both sides of the table and if he thinks we're winning then he will doubtless want to return and equally doubtless he will then deny ever marrying Miss Savage."

"She might have another opinion," Wellesley observed dryly.

"If she's alive to utter it, which I doubt," Pumphrey said. "No, sir, he cannot be trusted and dare I say that my masters in London would be immensely grateful if you were to remove him from their employment?"

"That's what you want?"

"It is not what I want," Pumphrey contradicted Wellesley and, for a man of such delicate and frail appearance, he did it with considerable force. "It is what London would want."

"You can be certain of that?" Wellesley asked, plainly disliking Pumphrey's insinuations.

"He has knowledge that would embarra.s.s us," Pumphrey admitted, "including the Foreign Office codes."

Wellesley gave his great horse neigh of a laugh. "He's probably given those to the French already."

"I doubt it, sir," Pumphrey said, examining his fingernails with a slight frown, "a man usually holds his best cards till last. And in the end Christopher will want to bargain, either with us or with the French, and I must say that His Majesty's government does not wish either eventuality."

"Then I leave his fate to you, my lord," Wellesley said with obvious distaste, "and as it doubtless means filthy work then I'd better lend you the services of Captain Hogan and Lieutenant Sharpe. As for me? I'm going to bed." He nodded curtly and left the room, followed by his aides clutching sheaves of paper.

Lord Pumphrey took a decanter of vinho verde from the table and crossed to his armchair where he sat with an exaggerated sigh. "Sir Arthur makes me go weak at the knees," he said and pretended to be unaware of the shocked reaction on both Sharpe and Hogan's faces. "Did you really save his life in India, Richard?"

Sharpe said nothing and Hogan answered for him. "That's why he treats Sharpe so badly," the Irishman said. "Nosey can't stand being beholden, and especially can't stand being beholden to a misbegotten rogue like Sharpe."

Pumphrey shivered. "Do you know what we in the Foreign Office dislike doing most of all? Going to foreign places. They are so uncomfortable. But here I am and I suppose we must attend to our duties."

Sharpe had crossed to one of the tall windows where he was staring out into the wet darkness. "What are my duties?" he asked.

Lord Pumphrey poured himself a liberal gla.s.s of wine. "Not to put too fine a point on it, Richard," he said, "your duty is to find Mister Christopher and then... " He did not finish the sentence, but instead drew a finger across his throat, a gesture Sharpe saw mirrored in the dark window.

"Who is Christopher, anyway?" Sharpe wanted to know.