Sharpe 3-Book Collection 2: Sharpe’s Havoc, Sharpe’s Eagle, Sharpe’s Gold. Bernard Cornwell

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СКАЧАТЬ that this girl was a rare beauty and so his voice was full of warmth as he enjoined God and the holy saints to look with kindness on these two souls. He felt guilty that they would behave as married people even though they were not married, but such things were common and in wartime a good priest knew when to close his eyes.

      Kate listened to the Latin that she did not understand and she looked past the priest at the altar where the gently shining silver cross was hung with a black diaphanous veil because Easter had not yet come, and she felt her heart beating and felt her lover’s hand strongly entwined in hers and she wanted to cry with happiness. Her future seemed golden, stretching sunlit and warm and flower-strewn ahead of her. It was not quite the wedding she had envisaged. She had thought to sail back to England, which she and her mother still considered home, there to walk up the aisle of a country church filled with her rubicund relatives and be showered with rose petals and wheat grains and afterwards go in a chaise and four to some beamed tavern for a dinner of beef, beer and good red wine, yet she could not have been happier, or maybe she could have been happier if only her mother had been in the church, but she consoled herself that they would be reconciled, she was sure of that, and suddenly Christopher squeezed her hand so hard that it hurt. ‘Say I do, my dearest,’ he ordered her.

      Kate blushed. ‘Oh, I do,’ she said, ‘I truly do.’

      Father Josefa smiled at her. The sun streamed through the church’s small high windows, there were flowers in her hair and Father Josefa raised his hand to bless James and Katherine with the sign of the cross and just then the church door creaked open to let in a wash of more sunlight and the stench of a manure heap just outside.

      Kate turned to see soldiers in the door. The men were outlined against the light so she could not see them properly, but she could see the guns on their shoulders and she supposed they were French and she gasped in fear, but Colonel Christopher seemed quite unworried as he tilted her face to his and kissed her on the lips. ‘We are married, my darling,’ he said softly.

      ‘James,’ she said.

      ‘My dear, dear Kate,’ the Colonel responded with a smile, ‘my dear, dear wife.’ Then he turned as harsh steps sounded in the small nave. They were slow steps, heavy steps, the nailed boots unfittingly loud on the ancient stones. An officer was walking towards the altar. He had left his men at the church door and came alone, his long sword clinking inside its metal scabbard as he walked closer. Then he stopped and stared into Kate’s pale face and Kate shuddered because the officer was a scarred, shabby, green-coated soldier with a tanned face harder than iron and a gaze that could only be described as impudent. ‘Are you Kate Savage?’ he asked, surprising her because he put the question in English and she had assumed the newcomer was French.

      Kate said nothing. Her husband was beside her and he would protect her from this horrid, frightening and insolent man.

      ‘Is that you, Sharpe?’ Colonel Christopher demanded. ‘By God, it is!’ He was oddly nervous and his voice was too high-pitched and he had a struggle to bring it under control. ‘What the devil are you doing here? I ordered you south of the river, damn you.’

      ‘Got cut off, sir,’ Sharpe said, not looking at Christopher, but still staring at Kate’s face which was framed by the narcissi in her hair. ‘I got cut off by Frogs, sir, a lot of Frogs, so I fought them off, sir, and came to look for Miss Savage.’

      ‘Who no longer exists,’ the Colonel said coldly, ‘but allow me to introduce you to my wife, Sharpe, Mrs James Christopher.’

      And Kate, hearing her new name, thought her heart would burst with happiness.

      Because she believed she was married.

      The newly united Colonel and Mrs Christopher rode back to the Quinta in the dusty gig, leaving Luis and the soldiers to trail after them. Hagman, still alive, was now in a handcart, though the jolting of the un-sprung vehicle seemed to give him more pain than the old stretcher. Lieutenant Vicente was also looking ill; indeed he was so pale that Sharpe feared the erstwhile lawyer had caught some disease in the last couple of days. ‘You should see the doctor when he comes to have another look at Hagman,’ Sharpe said. There was a doctor in the village who had already examined Hagman, pronounced him a dying man, but promised he would come to the Quinta that afternoon to look at the patient again. ‘You look as if you’ve got an upset belly,’ Sharpe said.

      ‘It is not an illness,’ Vicente said, ‘not something a doctor can cure.’

      ‘Then what is it?’

      ‘It is Miss Katherine,’ Vicente said forlornly.

      ‘Kate?’ Sharpe stared at Vicente. ‘You know her?’

      Vicente nodded. ‘Every young man in Porto knows Kate Savage. When she was sent to school in England we pined for her and when she sailed back it was as if the sun had come out.’

      ‘She’s pretty enough,’ Sharpe allowed, then looked again at Vicente as the full force of the lawyer’s words registered. ‘Oh, bloody hell,’ he said.

      ‘What?’ Vicente asked, offended.

      ‘I don’t need you to be in love,’ Sharpe said.

      ‘I am not in love,’ Vicente said, still offended, but it was obvious that he was besotted with Kate Christopher. In the last two or three years he had gazed at her from afar and he had dreamed of her when he was writing his poetry and had been distracted by her memory when he was studying his philosophy and he had woven fantasies about her as he delved through the dusty law books. She was the Beatrice to his Dante, the unapproachable English girl from the big house on the hill and now she was married to Colonel Christopher.

      And that, Sharpe thought, explained the silly bitch’s disappearance. She had eloped! But what Sharpe still did not understand was why she would need to conceal such a love from her mother who would surely approve of her choice? Christopher, so far as Sharpe could tell, was well born, affluent, properly educated and a gentleman: all the things, indeed, that Sharpe was not. Christopher was also very annoyed and, when Sharpe reached the Quinta, the Colonel faced him from the front steps and again demanded an explanation for the rifleman’s presence in Vila Real de Zedes.

      ‘I told you,’ Sharpe said, ‘we were cut off. We couldn’t cross the river.’

      ‘Sir,’ Christopher snapped, then waited for Sharpe to repeat the word, but Sharpe just stared past the Colonel into the Quinta’s hallway where he could see Kate unpacking clothes from the big leather valise.

      ‘I gave you orders,’ Christopher said.

      ‘We couldn’t cross the river,’ Sharpe said, ‘because there wasn’t a bridge. It broke. So we went to the ferry, but the damned Frogs had burned it, so now we’re going to Amarante, but we can’t use the main roads because the Frogs are swarming over them like lice, and I can’t go fast because I’ve got a wounded man and is there a room here where we can put him tonight?’

      Christopher said nothing for a moment. He was waiting for Sharpe to call him ‘sir’, but the rifleman stubbornly stayed silent. Christopher sighed and glanced across the valley to where a buzzard circled. ‘You expect to stay here tonight?’ he asked distantly.

      ‘We’ve marched since three this morning,’ Sharpe said. He was not sure they had left at three o’clock because he had no watch, but it sounded about right. ‘We’ll rest now,’ he said, ‘then march again before tomorrow’s dawn.’

      ‘The French,’ Christopher СКАЧАТЬ