JК
Sharpes Eagle :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 194 из 203”
It was a locket and inside, a girl’s picture. She was blonde, like Gibbons, but her lips were full where his were thin. Her eyes, despite the smallness of the miniature, seemed to look out of the gold case with amusement and life. Harper leaned over. “What does it say, sir?”
Sharpe read the words inscribed inside the open lid.
“God keep you. Love, Jane.”
Harper whistled very softly. “She’s a pretty one, sir. Must be his sister.”
Sharpe took the locket and pushed it into his cartridge pouch and then glanced once more at the dead man with the blood glistening on his thin face. Did she know what kind of man her brother was?
“Come on, Sergeant.”
They walked over the grass, stamping through the flames, until they saw the solitary yellow colour of the South Essex. Lieutenant Knowles saw them first, shouted, and suddenly the Light Company were round them, slapping their backs, speaking words they could not hear and pushing them towards the group of horsemen by the colour. Sharpe looked past a beaming Forrest to see Lawford. “Sir?”
Lawford laughed at Sharpe’s surprise. “I understand you have the honour to command my Light Company?”
“Yours?”
Lawford raised his eyebrows. He was exquisite with silver lace. “Do you disapprove, Captain Sharpe?”
Sharpe grinned and shook his head. “Sir Henry?”
Lawford shrugged his elegant shoulders. “Shall we just say that Sir Henry suddenly felt a burning desire to return to the good Burghers of Paglesham.”
Sharpe wanted to laugh. He had kept the promise to Lennox, but he knew the real reason he had hacked his way to the French Eagle was to save his own career, and had it all been unnecessary? Denny’s death, the killing of so many others, just so he would not go to the West Indies? The trophy was low at his side, hidden in the press of men, but he dragged it clear so that the gilded statuette suddenly flashed in the light. He handed it up to Lawford. “The Battalion’s missing colour, sir. It was the best Sergeant Harper and I could do.”
Lawford stared at the two men, at the tiredness beneath the powder stains, at the lines on their faces grooved with blood from scalp wounds, and at the black patches where bayonets had sprung blood into their green jackets. He took the Eagle, disbelieving, knowing it was the one thing that would restore the Battalion’s pride, and hoisted it high into the air.
It was a locket and inside, a girl’s picture. She was blonde, like Gibbons, but her lips were full where his were thin. Her eyes, despite the smallness of the miniature, seemed to look out of the gold case with amusement and life. Harper leaned over. “What does it say, sir?”
Sharpe read the words inscribed inside the open lid.
“God keep you. Love, Jane.”
Harper whistled very softly. “She’s a pretty one, sir. Must be his sister.”
Sharpe took the locket and pushed it into his cartridge pouch and then glanced once more at the dead man with the blood glistening on his thin face. Did she know what kind of man her brother was?
“Come on, Sergeant.”
They walked over the grass, stamping through the flames, until they saw the solitary yellow colour of the South Essex. Lieutenant Knowles saw them first, shouted, and suddenly the Light Company were round them, slapping their backs, speaking words they could not hear and pushing them towards the group of horsemen by the colour. Sharpe looked past a beaming Forrest to see Lawford. “Sir?”
Lawford laughed at Sharpe’s surprise. “I understand you have the honour to command my Light Company?”
“Yours?”
Lawford raised his eyebrows. He was exquisite with silver lace. “Do you disapprove, Captain Sharpe?”
Sharpe grinned and shook his head. “Sir Henry?”
Lawford shrugged his elegant shoulders. “Shall we just say that Sir Henry suddenly felt a burning desire to return to the good Burghers of Paglesham.”
Sharpe wanted to laugh. He had kept the promise to Lennox, but he knew the real reason he had hacked his way to the French Eagle was to save his own career, and had it all been unnecessary? Denny’s death, the killing of so many others, just so he would not go to the West Indies? The trophy was low at his side, hidden in the press of men, but he dragged it clear so that the gilded statuette suddenly flashed in the light. He handed it up to Lawford. “The Battalion’s missing colour, sir. It was the best Sergeant Harper and I could do.”
Lawford stared at the two men, at the tiredness beneath the powder stains, at the lines on their faces grooved with blood from scalp wounds, and at the black patches where bayonets had sprung blood into their green jackets. He took the Eagle, disbelieving, knowing it was the one thing that would restore the Battalion’s pride, and hoisted it high into the air.