But the treacherous part ended when Lord Pumphrey came to the house Sharpe had rented in San Fernando. He came after dark, carrying the same bag he had taken to the cathedral crypt, and it seemed to Sharpe that His Lordship was even more nervous than when he had gone down the steps to where Father Montseny had waited in the dark. Pumphrey edged into the room and his eyes widened slightly when he saw Sharpe sitting by the hearth. “I thought you might be here,” he said. He forced a smile for Caterina, then looked around the room. It was small, sparsely furnished with a dark table and high-backed chairs. The walls were lime washed and hung with portraits of bishops and with an old crucifix. The light came from a small fire and from a flickering lantern hanging under one of the black beams that crossed the ceiling. “This isn’t the comfort you like, Caterina,” Pumphrey said lightly.
“It’s heaven compared to the home where I grew up.”
“There is that, of course,” Lord Pumphrey said. “I forget you grew up in a garrison town.” He gave a worried glance at Sharpe. “She tells me she can geld hogs, Sharpe.”
“You should see what she can do to men,” Sharpe said.
“But you’d be much more comfortable back in the city,” Pumphrey said to Caterina, ignoring Sharpe’s sour words. “You have nothing to fear now from Father Montseny.”
“I don’t?”
“He was injured when the scaffolding fell in the cathedral. I hear he won’t ever walk again, not ever.” Pumphrey looked again at Sharpe, waiting for a reaction. He got none so he smiled at Caterina, put the bag on the table, drew a handkerchief from his sleeve, dusted a chair, and sat. “So your reason for leaving the city, my dear, no longer applies. Cadiz is safe.”
“What about my reasons for staying here?” Caterina asked.
Pumphrey’s eyes rested briefly on Sharpe. “Those reasons are your affair, my dear. But do come back to Cadiz.”
“Are you Henry’s procurer?” Sharpe asked scornfully.
“His Excellency,” Pumphrey said with assumed dignity, “is in some ways relieved that Senorita Blazquez is gone. He feels, I think, that an unfortunate chapter in his life is now over. It can be forgotten. No, I merely wish Caterina to return so I can enjoy her company. We are friends, are we not?” He appealed to Caterina.
“We’re friends, Pumps,” she said warmly.
“Then as a friend I have to tell you that the letters no longer have value.” He smiled at her. “They ceased to have value the moment Montseny was crippled. I only learned of that unfortunate outcome this morning. No one else, I assure you, will try to publish them.”
“So why did you bring the money, my lord?” Sharpe asked.
“Because I had withdrawn it before I heard the sad news about Father Montseny, and because it is safer with me than left in my house, and because His Excellency is willing to pay a smaller sum for the return of the letters.”
“A smaller sum,” Sharpe repeated tonelessly.
“Out of the kindness of his heart,” Lord Pumphrey said.
“How small?” Sharpe asked.
“One hundred guineas,” Pumphrey proposed. “It is really very generous of His Excellency.”
Sharpe stood and Lord Pumphrey’s hand twitched toward the pocket of his coat. Sharpe laughed. “You’ve brought a pistol! You really think you can fight me?” Lord Pumphrey’s hand went very still and Sharpe walked behind him. “His Excellency doesn’t know a damn bloody thing about these letters, my lord. You didn’t tell him. You want them for yourself.”
“Don’t be absurd, Sharpe.”
“Because they’d be valuable, wouldn’t they? A small lever to hold over the Wellesley family forever? What does Henry’s oldest brother do?”
“The Earl of Mornington,” Pumphrey said very stiffly, “is foreign secretary.”
“Of course he is,” Sharpe said, “and a useful man to have indebted to you. Is that why you want the letters, my lord? Or do you plan to sell them to His Excellency?”
“You have a fertile imagination, Captain Sharpe.”
“No. I’ve got Caterina, and Caterina has the letters, and you’ve got money. Money’s easy for you, my lord. What did you call it? Subventions to the guerrilleros and bribes for the deputies? But the gold is for Caterina now, which is a hell of a better cause than filling the purses of a pack of bloody lawyers. And there’s one other thing, my lord.”
“Yes?” Lord Pumphrey asked.
Sharpe laid a hand on Pumphrey’s shoulder, making His Lordship shiver. Sharpe bent down to whisper hoarsely in His Lordship’s ear. “If you don’t pay her, then I’ll do to you what you ordered done to Astrid.”
“Sharpe!”
“Throat cut,” Sharpe said. “It’s harder than gelding hogs, but just about as messy.” He drew a few inches of his sword, letting the blade scrape against the scabbard’s throat. He felt a quiver in Lord Pumphrey’s shoulder. “I ought to do it to you, my lord, for Astrid’s sake, but Caterina doesn’t want me to. So, are you paying her the money?”
Pumphrey stayed very still. “You won’t cut my throat,” he said with surprising calm.
“I won’t?”
“People know I’m here, Sharpe. I had to ask two provosts where you were billeted. You think they’ll forget me?”
“I take risks, my lord.”
“Which is why you are valuable, Sharpe, but you are not a fool. Kill one of His Majesty’s diplomats and you will die yourself. Besides, as you say, Caterina won’t let you kill me.”
Caterina said nothing. Instead she just shook her head slightly, though whether that was a denial of Lord Pumphrey’s confident assertion or a sign that she did not want him killed, Sharpe could not tell.
“Caterina wants money,” Sharpe said.
“A motive I entirely comprehend,” Pumphrey said, and pushed his bag into the center of the table. “You have the letters?”
Caterina gave the six letters to Sharpe, who showed them to His Lordship, then carried them to the fire.
“No!” Pumphrey said.
“Yes,” Sharpe said, and threw them on the burning driftwood. The letters flared up, sudden and bright, filling the room with a flickering glow that lit Lord Pumphrey’s pale face. “Why did you kill Astrid?” Sharpe asked.
“To preserve Britain’s secrets,” Pumphrey said harshly, “which is my job.” He stood abruptly, and there was a sudden air of authority in his frail figure. “You and I are alike, Captain Sharpe, we know that in war, as in life, there is only one rule. To win. I am sorry about Astrid.”
“No, you’re not,” Sharpe said.
Pumphrey paused. “You’re right. I’m not.” He smiled suddenly. “You play the game very well, Captain Sharpe, I congratulate you.” He blew a kiss to Caterina, then left without another word.
“I do like Pumps,” Caterina said when his lordship had gone, “so I’m glad you didn’t kill him.”
“I should have done.”
“No,” she said firmly. “He’s like you, a rogue, and rogues should be loyal to each other.” She was putting guineas into piles, playing with the coins, and the light from the lamp hanging from the beam reflected from the gold to shine yellow on her skin.
“You’ll go back to Cadiz now?” Sharpe asked.
She nodded. “Probably,” she said, and spun a coin.
“Find a man?”
“A rich man,” she said, watching the spinning coin. “What else can I do? But before I find him I would like to see a battle.”
“No!” Sharpe said. “It’s no place for a woman.”
“Maybe,” she shrugged, then smiled. “So how much do you want, Richard?”
“Whatever you want to give me.”
