'Cold, my dear? Not at all. She smiled at him, and her foot pushed up and down Sharpe's ankle.
The door from the kitchen banged open and orderlies seemed to run to the table, each man with a tray of dishes, and on each dish a single bowl. The plates were steaming hot and Dubreton clapped his hands at the table. 'Eat them quickly! They're so much better eaten fast from the oven!
Sharpe adjusted the plate and it scorched him. The bird was sitting on a slice of fried bread, golden beneath the dark brown glaze of the roasted skin.
‘Major! Eat!
Josefina's right foot pressed hard against Sharpe's and he peeled a strip of the bird's flesh away, tried it, and the meat seemed to dissolve in his mouth. It was impossible that anything could taste better than the soup, yet this was far better.
Dubreton smiled. 'Good? Yes?
'Quite magnificent!
Josefina looked at him. Most of the men at the table were looking at her and in the candlelight she was extraordinarily beautiful, her lips slightly parted, the smallest worry on her face. Her foot pressed almost to the point of hurting. 'Are you sure you like it, Major?
'I'm sure. He pressed back, turned to Dubreton. 'Partridge?
'Of course. Dubreton spoke between mouthfuls. 'Butter, salt and pepper inside the bird, two vine leaves on the outside with some pork fat. You see? Simple!
Sir Augustus, still smarting from the rebuke over turnips, cheered up. 'You should try fat bacon, Colonel! Much better than pork fat. My dear Mother always insisted on fat bacon.
Josefina's foot was now hooked round Sharpe's ankle, pulling his leg closer. An orderly served her other neighbour wine and she moved her chair, seemingly to give him room, and then her knee was touching Sharpe's.
'Fat bacon! Dubreton had sucked a bone clean and discarded it. 'My dear Sir Augustus! It fights the juice of the bird! And bacon burns! He smiled at Josefina. 'You must change his habits, Milady, and insist on nothing but pork fat.
She nodded, her mouth full, then dabbed at his lips. 'No herbs, Colonel?
'Beautiful lady. Dubreton smile. 'A young bird needs no herbs. An older bird? Yes, perhaps. A little thyme, parsley, perhaps a bay leaf.
She paused with a forkful of breast-meat an inch from her mouth. 'I shall always remember to have young birds, Colonel. Her knee rubbed Sharpe.
An orderly put more logs on the fire and somewhere in the village mens' voices sang together, while other orderlies moved round the table and gave everyone a second glass of wine, lighter red than the first, and when Sharpe moved to pick up the new glass Dubreton stopped him. 'Wait, Major! That's for your main dish. Stay with your, what do you call it, claret! Stay with your claret for the moment.
Josefina's other neighbour had shifted his chair closer so that his view was not impaired. Sir Augustus pushed half of his partridge away, uneaten, and stared unhappily across the table. Josefina was dazzling the Dragoon Captain, fingering the silver wire of his epaulette, and asking him how he cleaned it. Sharpe smiled to himself. She was superb. As untrustworthy as a cheap sword in battle, but the years had not palled her excitement or her mischief. He saw Ducos' eyes on him, the spectacles flashing on and off with candlelight as the Major chewed, and it seemed to Sharpe that Ducos smiled because he knew what was happening.
Harry Price was explaining cricket to one of the Frenchwomen, using a blend of English and outrageous French. 'He bowls la balle, oui? And he frappes it avec le baton! Comme ca! Price made a stroke with his knife that rang loud on the edge of a wineglass. His flushed face smiled an apology at the senior officers who turned to look.
A French major egged Price on. 'The same man? He throws and hits?
'Non, non, non! Price drank from the wineglass. 'Onze hommes, oui? Une homme bowls et une homme frappes. Dix catch. Une homme from autre side frappes comme le man bowls. Simple!
The French Major explained cricket to the rest of the table, making much of'une homme' and 'le frapping', and the laughter was unforced, the room warm, and the wine good. Christmas evening with the French? Sharpe leaned back in his chair and it seemed so strange, no, more than strange, unnatural that tomorrow these same men might be trying to kill each other. Price was offering to teach the French cricket in the morning, but Sharpe's instincts warned him of a different game.
Josefina's foot was still for the moment, hooked about his ankle while she listened to the Dragoon tell a long story about a ball in Paris. That would be to Josefina's liking. Paris would be heaven to her, a mythical city where a beautiful woman could walk for ever on soft carpets beneath crystal lights receiving the homage of dazzling uniforms. He thought to remove his foot, knowing he did not want her, but he could not summon the energy or desire to move. He looked at Farthingdale, unhappily defending his book against Ducos' surprising knowledge, and Sharpe supposed that he was flirting with Josefina because he disliked Sir Augustus so much. He did it, too, because he was weak. If Sir Augustus was not guarding her tonight Sharpe knew he would not resist the temptation. He shifted his foot a fraction and she tightened the pressure fiercely.
Dubreton leaned forward as the orderlies removed the remains of the partridges. 'You're looking warm, Lady Farthingdale. Would you like a window opened?
'No, Colonel. She smiled at him, her black hair curled about her face, her mastery of the men at the table absolute. There was something satisfying in having her attention, albeit hidden, though Sharpe guessed she might have extended it to any neighbour.
The kitchen doors opened again and this time a variety of dishes appeared, all hot, and orderlies put new plates before each diner. The smell was tantalizing. Dubreton clapped his hands. 'Lady Farthingdale! Sir Augustus! Ladies and gentlemen. You will have to forgive us. No goose this Christmas, no hog's head, not even a roasted swan. Alas! I tried for beef in our guests' honour, but nothing. You will have to put up with this humble dish. Major Sharpe? You will assist Lady Farthingdale? Sir Augustus? Allow me.
There were three kinds of meat on one set of plates, next to dishes of beans that seemed to be topped with breadcrumbs, and then there were bowls of crisp, brown, roasted potatoes. Sharpe had a passion for roasted potatoes and he worked out in his head how many bowls were on the table, how many potatoes in each, and how many guests had to share them. He offered some to Josefina. 'Milady?
'No thank you, Major. Her knee rubbed his. Sharpe was sure that Sir Augustus must see what was happening, Josefina was so close to him now that their elbows rubbed whenever they ate. There had been a time when he had murdered for this woman and back then he would never have believed that such a grand passion could fade into mere affection.
'You're sure?
'I'm sure. Sharpe helped himself to her share of the potatoes as well as his own. He would hide the excess under the beans.
Dubreton helped himself last, then looked to see that everyone had a full plate. 'This should cheer your English hearts. Your Lord Wellington's favourite dish, mutton! But mutton as Sharpe had never seen it, nothing like the yellow-brown, greasy meat that the Peer ate with such relish. Dubreton's thin face was full of pleasure. 'You roast the mutton, but only a little, and then you add the garlic sausage and the half roasted duck. Alas, it should be goose, but we have none. You cook them in the beans, then separate them. The beans were delicious, white and swollen, and there were tiny squares of crisp, roasted pork rind among them. Dubreton speared a single bean. 'You cook the beans in water and you must throw the water away, you know that?
The British shook their heads, looking puzzled, and Dubreton continued. 'The water of flageolots is stinking, horrid. You can tell a slattern because she does not throw it far enough from the house. However! He held the bean up, smiled. 'You can bottle the water, yes? Then you will have a substance that will take the most stubborn stains from linen. You see how much you have to learn from us? Now eat!
Dubreton had apologized for the main course, but the apology was needless for the food, once more, exceeded Sharpe's experience and the potatoes, to his secret delight, were so crisp that each threatened to explode like a small shell and skid across the white table-cloth. He drank the lighter wine and he understood why Dubreton had insisted that they save it for this course, and he felt wonderfully good, relaxed, and he laughed as Harry Price complained that beans always gave him flatulence and solemnly speared each one to release the hidden gas he insisted was within. The mention of gas prompted a question from Dubreton whether it was true
