to Helene Leroux for you? He laughed again, delighted by the effect of his words. 'You see? I can surprise you, Major Sharpe.
Helene Leroux. La Marquesa de Casares el Grande y Melida Sadaba, Sharpe's lover in Salamanca, whom he had last seen in Madrid before the British retreated to Portugal. Helene, a woman of dazzling beauty, a woman who spied for France, Sharpe's lover. 'You know Helene?
'I said so, didn't I. The spectacles flashed their circles of light. 'I always tell the truth, Sharpe, it so often surprises people.
'Give her my respects.
'Is that all! I shall tell her you gaped at the mention of her name, not that that surprises me. Half the officers in France fall at her feet. Yet she chose you. I wonder why, Major? You did kill her brother, so why did she like you?
'It was my scar, Ducos. Sharpe touched his face. 'You should get one.
'I stay clear of battles, Sharpe. The smile came and went. 'I hate violence, unless it is necessary, and most battles are just brawls where nobodies make fleeting names for themselves. You haven't asked me where she is.
'Would I get an answer?
'Of course. She has returned to France. I fear you won't see her for a long time, Major, not till the war is over, perhaps.
Sharpe thought of his wife, Teresa, and he thought of the guilt that he had felt when he had betrayed her, but he could not erase the blonde Frenchwoman, married to her ancient Spanish Marques, from his mind. He wanted to see her again, to see again a woman who matched a dream.
'Ducos! You're monopolizing Major Sharpe. Dubreton cut in between them.
'I thought Sharpe the most interesting of your guests. Ducos did not bother to say 'sir'.
Dubreton's dislike of the Major was obvious. 'You should talk to Sir Augustus, Ducos. He's written a book so he must be fascinating. Dubreton's scorn of Sir Augustus was equally evident.
Ducos did not move. 'Sir Augustus Farthingdale? A functionary only. Large parts of his book were drawn from Major Chamberlin's of the 24th. He sipped his punch and looked about the room. 'You have officers of the Fusiliers, one man from the South Essex, and one Rifleman, excluding yourself, Major Sharpe. Let me see now. One full Battalion? The Fusiliers. One Company of the 60th, and your own Company. You were hoping to make us think you had more men? Sharpe smiled. 'One Battalion of French infantry, one hundred and twenty Lancers, and one hundred and fifty Dragoons. And one functionary, Major. Yourself. We're well matched.
Dubreton laughed, Ducos scowled, and then the French Colonel took Sharpe's elbow and led him away from the small man. 'He is a functionary, but more dangerous than your Sir Augustus.
Sharpe looked back at Ducos. 'What is he?’
’What he wills. He's from Paris. He used to be one of Fouche's right hand men.’
’Fouche?
'How fortunate you are not to know the name. Dubreton took another glass of punch from a passing tray. 'A policeman, Sharpe, working behind the scenes. He is periodically disgraced and loses the Emperor's favour, but these men always come back. He jerked his head at Ducos. 'Another fanatic, spying on his own side. For him today is not Christmas Day, it is the 5th of Nivose, year 20, and it does not matter to him that the Emperor abolished the Revolutionary Calendar. He burns with the passion.’Why did you bring him?
'What choice do I have? He decides where he will go, who he speaks to.
Sharpe turned to look at Ducos. The small Major smiled at Sharpe, revealing teeth stained red by the punch.
Dubreton ordered more wine for Sharpe. 'You leave tomorrow?
'You must ask Sir Augustus. He's in command.
'Really? Dubreton smiled, then turned as a door opened. 'Ah! The ladies!
New introductions were made all round, introductions that seemed to last five minutes, and hand after hand was kissed, elaborate courtesies made, and then, with equal elaboration, Dubreton seated his guests. He himself had reserved a chair in the centre of the table, facing the door, and he steered Sir Augustus to a place beside him with exquisite grace. Ducos immediately took the chair on Farthingdale's other side, and Sir Augustus looked in alarm for Josefina. Dubreton saw the look. 'Now, now, Sir Augustus! We have talking to do, much talking, and your beautiful wife is ever with you, whereas we only have the pleasure of your company for such short time. He gestured with his hand to Josefina. 'Can I persuade you to sit opposite your husband, Lady Farthingdale? I trust there is no draught from the door. It is well curtained, but perhaps Major Sharpe would consent to sit beside you to protect you from the winter?
It had been neatly done. The French had Farthingdale where they wanted him. They planned to negotiate and were giving him no place to turn. Dubreton sat next to his own wife, rubbing salt into Sir Augustus' wound, and Sharpe saw Sir Augustus looking painfully at Josefina. He wanted her close, he hated to see her away from him, and it seemed pathetic to Sharpe that a man should be so bereft because his whore was seven feet away.
Madame Dubreton smiled at Sharpe. 'We meet under happier circumstances, Major.
'Indeed we do, Ma'am.
'The last time I saw Major Sharpe, she addressed the table at large and conveniently forgot the meetings they had had in the Convent since her rescue, 'he was bespattered with blood, holding a very large sword, and was extremely frightening. She smiled at him.
'I apologize for that, Ma'am.
'Please don't. In retrospect it was a wonderful sight.
'It was your remembrance of Alexander Pope that made it possible, Ma'am.
She smiled. The tiredness had gone, her face seemed to be smoother, and she and Dubreton radiated a happiness in each other. 'I always said poetry would be useful one day. Alexandre never believed me.
Dubreton laughed, shrugged off the embarrassment of his name, and then conversation died away as a soup was served. Sharpe tasted it. It was a soup so delicious that he feared the second mouthful could not possibly live up to the promise of the first, yet it did, and seemed better, and he took more and then saw Dubreton was watching him with amusement. 'Good?
'Magnificent.
'Chestnuts. It's very simple, Major. Some vegetable stock, crushed chestnuts, butter and parsley. Cooking is so simple! The most difficult thing is to peel the chestnuts, but we have so many prisoners. Voila!
'Is that all there is in it?
A French Dragoon Captain insisted there was cream in the soup, and a German Lancer protested that cooking was never simple because he had never managed to cook anything other than a boiled egg and even then it came out hard as a Cuirasseur's breastplate, and a Fusilier Captain insisted he had seen men boil eggs by whirling them round and round in a cloth sling, taking forever, and Harold Price insisted on giving the recipe for a 'tommy', the British Army pancake, which consisted of nothing but flour and water, but still took Price two minutes to describe. Sir Augustus, feeling left out, said how astonished he was that the Portuguese ate only the leaves of the turnip and Josefina, feeling her country slighted, delicately insulted him by suggesting that only a heathen would eat any other part of a turnip, and then the soup was gone and Sharpe looked wistfully into the empty bowl.
A foot touched his, pressed, and he looked to Josefina on his left. She was speaking to a French Dragoon on her other side, a man who was leaning far forward to eat his soup so he could take glimpses into the neckline of her Empire dress. It had not been what she was wearing when Sharpe had rescued her and he stole a glance at Sir Augustus and realized that he must have brought the dress in his baggage. No wonder he hated any other man sitting next to her. The foot still pressed on his and then she turned to him, gave that hint of a wink. 'Enjoy it?
'Delicious.
An orderly poured him more wine, and Sharpe saw where the man's fingernails were torn and stained by loading powder and pulling back flints.
Sir Augustus leaned forward. 'My dear?
'Augustus?
'Are you not cold? The draught? May I have your shawl fetched?
