JК
Sharpes Eagle :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 84 из 203”
“Ah!” The General’s eyebrows went up; he laid down his quill and leanedback in the chair. “Whose then, sir?”
“I regret to say, sir, that Lieutenant Sharpe disobeyed an order even though it was repeated to him. Major Forrest heard me give the order to Lieutenant Gibbons, who then carried it to Sharpe. By his action Lieutenant Sharpe exposed the Battalion and betrayed it.” Simmerson had found his rehearsed theme and he warmed to his task. “I am requesting, sir, that Lieutenant Sharpe be court-martialled… „
Wellesley held up a hand and stopped the flow of words. He looked, almost casually, at Sharpe, and there was something frightening about those blue eyes over the great, hooked nose that looked, judged, and were quite inscrutable. The eyes flicked to Forrest.
“You heard this order, Major?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You, Lieutenant. What happened?”
Gibbons arched his eyebrows and glanced at Sharpe. His tone was bored, supercilious. “I ordered Lieutenant Sharpe to deploy his Riflemen, sir. He refused. Captain Hogan joined in his refusal.” Simmerson looked pleased. The General’s fingers beat a brief tattoo on the table. “Ah, Captain Hogan. I saw him an hour ago.” Wellesley drew out a piece of paper and looked at it. Sharpe knew it was all an act: Wellesley knew precisely what was on the paper but he was drawing out the tension. The blue eyes came up to Simmerson again; the tone of voice was still mild. “I have served with Captain Hogan for many years, Sir Henry. He was in India. I have always found him a most trustworthy man.” He raised his eyebrows in a query, as though inviting Simmerson to put him right. Simmerson, inevitably, accepted the invitation.
“Hogan, sir, is an Engineer. He was not in a position to make decisions about the deployment of troops.” He sounded pleased with himself, even anxious to show Wellesley that he bore the General no ill-will despite their political opposition.
Somewhere in the palace a clock whirred loudly and then chimed ten o’clock. Wellesley sat, his fingers drumming the table, and then jerked his gaze up to Simmerson.
“Your request is denied, Sir Henry. I will not court-martial Lieutenant Sharpe.” He paused for a second, looked at the paper and back to Simmerson. “We have decisions to take about your Battalion, Sir Henry, I think you had better stay.”
Lawford moved to the door. Wellesley’s voice had been hard and cold, the tone final, but Simmerson exploded, his voice rising indignantly.
“He lost my colour! He disobeyed!”
Wellesley’s fist hit the table with a crash.
“Ah!” The General’s eyebrows went up; he laid down his quill and leanedback in the chair. “Whose then, sir?”
“I regret to say, sir, that Lieutenant Sharpe disobeyed an order even though it was repeated to him. Major Forrest heard me give the order to Lieutenant Gibbons, who then carried it to Sharpe. By his action Lieutenant Sharpe exposed the Battalion and betrayed it.” Simmerson had found his rehearsed theme and he warmed to his task. “I am requesting, sir, that Lieutenant Sharpe be court-martialled… „
Wellesley held up a hand and stopped the flow of words. He looked, almost casually, at Sharpe, and there was something frightening about those blue eyes over the great, hooked nose that looked, judged, and were quite inscrutable. The eyes flicked to Forrest.
“You heard this order, Major?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You, Lieutenant. What happened?”
Gibbons arched his eyebrows and glanced at Sharpe. His tone was bored, supercilious. “I ordered Lieutenant Sharpe to deploy his Riflemen, sir. He refused. Captain Hogan joined in his refusal.” Simmerson looked pleased. The General’s fingers beat a brief tattoo on the table. “Ah, Captain Hogan. I saw him an hour ago.” Wellesley drew out a piece of paper and looked at it. Sharpe knew it was all an act: Wellesley knew precisely what was on the paper but he was drawing out the tension. The blue eyes came up to Simmerson again; the tone of voice was still mild. “I have served with Captain Hogan for many years, Sir Henry. He was in India. I have always found him a most trustworthy man.” He raised his eyebrows in a query, as though inviting Simmerson to put him right. Simmerson, inevitably, accepted the invitation.
“Hogan, sir, is an Engineer. He was not in a position to make decisions about the deployment of troops.” He sounded pleased with himself, even anxious to show Wellesley that he bore the General no ill-will despite their political opposition.
Somewhere in the palace a clock whirred loudly and then chimed ten o’clock. Wellesley sat, his fingers drumming the table, and then jerked his gaze up to Simmerson.
“Your request is denied, Sir Henry. I will not court-martial Lieutenant Sharpe.” He paused for a second, looked at the paper and back to Simmerson. “We have decisions to take about your Battalion, Sir Henry, I think you had better stay.”
Lawford moved to the door. Wellesley’s voice had been hard and cold, the tone final, but Simmerson exploded, his voice rising indignantly.
“He lost my colour! He disobeyed!”
Wellesley’s fist hit the table with a crash.