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Sharpes Eagle :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 88 из 203By making the shattered South Essex into a Battalion of Detachments Wellesley was literally wiping the name ‘South Essex’ from his army list; it was a punishment that was aimed at Simmerson’s pride, though Sharpe doubted whether a man who appeared to take the loss of his King’s Colour with such remarkable equanimity would be for long dismayed by the downgrading of his Battalion. His face betrayed his thoughts, and Lawford interrupted.
“You’re worried about Simmerson?“
”Yes.“ These was no point in denying the fact.
”You need to be. Sir Arthur has done what he can for you, he’s given you promotion, you will believe me when I say that he had written home of you in the highest terms.“
Sharpe nodded. “But.”
Lawford shrugged. He walked across to the window and stared past the heavy velvet curtains at the plain beyond the walls, the whole scene doused in the relentless sun. He turned back. “Yes. There’s a but.”
“Go on.”
Lawford looked embarrassed. “Simmerson is too powerful. He has friends in high places.” He shrugged again. “Richard, I am afraid that he will damage you. You’re a pawn in the battle of politicians. He is a fool, agreed, but his friends in London will not want him to look a fool! They will demand a scapegoat. He’s their voice, do you understand that?” Sharpe nodded. “When he writes from Spain and says the war is being conducted wrongly, then people listen to his letter being read in Parliament! It doesn’t matter that the man is as mad as a turkey-cock! He’s their voice from the war, and if they lose him then they lose credibility!”
Sharpe nodded wearily. “What you’re saying is that pressure will be applied for me to be sacrificed so that Simmerson can survive?”
Lawford nodded. “I’m afraid so. And Sir Arthur’s defence of you will be seen as mere party politics.”
“But for God’s sake! I was in no way responsible!”
“I know, I know.” Lawford spoke soothingly. “It makes no difference. He has chosen you as his scapegoat.”
Sharpe knew he spoke the truth. For a few weeks he was safe, safe while Wellesley marched further into Spain and brought the French to battle, but after that a letter would come from the Horse Guards, a short and simple letter that would mean the end of his career in the army. He was sure he would be looked after. Wellesley himself might need an estate manager or would recommend him to someone who did. But he would still eke out his years under a cloud as the man named officially responsible for losing Simmerson’s colour. He thought of his last conversation with Lennox. Had the Scotsman foreseen it all?
“There is another way.” He spoke quietly.
Lawford looked at him.
“You’re worried about Simmerson?“
”Yes.“ These was no point in denying the fact.
”You need to be. Sir Arthur has done what he can for you, he’s given you promotion, you will believe me when I say that he had written home of you in the highest terms.“
Sharpe nodded. “But.”
Lawford shrugged. He walked across to the window and stared past the heavy velvet curtains at the plain beyond the walls, the whole scene doused in the relentless sun. He turned back. “Yes. There’s a but.”
“Go on.”
Lawford looked embarrassed. “Simmerson is too powerful. He has friends in high places.” He shrugged again. “Richard, I am afraid that he will damage you. You’re a pawn in the battle of politicians. He is a fool, agreed, but his friends in London will not want him to look a fool! They will demand a scapegoat. He’s their voice, do you understand that?” Sharpe nodded. “When he writes from Spain and says the war is being conducted wrongly, then people listen to his letter being read in Parliament! It doesn’t matter that the man is as mad as a turkey-cock! He’s their voice from the war, and if they lose him then they lose credibility!”
Sharpe nodded wearily. “What you’re saying is that pressure will be applied for me to be sacrificed so that Simmerson can survive?”
Lawford nodded. “I’m afraid so. And Sir Arthur’s defence of you will be seen as mere party politics.”
“But for God’s sake! I was in no way responsible!”
“I know, I know.” Lawford spoke soothingly. “It makes no difference. He has chosen you as his scapegoat.”
Sharpe knew he spoke the truth. For a few weeks he was safe, safe while Wellesley marched further into Spain and brought the French to battle, but after that a letter would come from the Horse Guards, a short and simple letter that would mean the end of his career in the army. He was sure he would be looked after. Wellesley himself might need an estate manager or would recommend him to someone who did. But he would still eke out his years under a cloud as the man named officially responsible for losing Simmerson’s colour. He thought of his last conversation with Lennox. Had the Scotsman foreseen it all?
“There is another way.” He spoke quietly.
Lawford looked at him.