Sharpes Havoc   ::   Корнуэлл Бернард

„I ordered the Lieutenant to find a young Englishwoman who was lost, sir,” Hogan hurried to explain. „In fact I ordered him to accompany Colonel Christopher.”

The mention of that name was like a whip crack. No one spoke though the young civilian who had been pretending to sleep in the armchair and who had opened his eyes wide with surprise when Sharpe’s name was first mentioned now paid very close attention. He was a painfully thin young man and pallid, as though he feared the sun, and there was something feline, almost feminine, in his delicate appearance. His clothes, so very elegant, would have been well suited to a London drawing room or a Paris salon, but here, amidst the unwashed uniforms and suntanned officers of Wellesley’s staff, he looked like a pampered lapdog among hounds. He was sitting up straight now and staring intently at Sharpe.

„Colonel Christopher.” Wellesley broke the silence. „So you’ve been with him?” he demanded of Sharpe.

„General Cradock ordered me to stay with him, sir,” Sharpe said, and took the General’s order from his pouch and laid it on the table.

Wellesley did not even glance at the paper. „What the devil was Cradock doing?” he snapped. „Christopher’s not even a properly commissioned officer, he’s a damned Foreign Office flunkey!” These last words were spat at the pale young man, who, rather than respond, made an airily dismissive gesture with the delicate fingers of his right hand. He caught Sharpe’s eye then and turned the gesture into a small wave of welcome and Sharpe realized, with a start of recognition, that it was Lord Pumphrey whom he had last met in Copenhagen. His lordship, Sharpe knew, was mysteriously prominent in the Foreign Office, but Pumphrey offered no explanation of his presence in Oporto as Wellesley snatched up General Cradock’s order, read it and then threw the paper down. „So what did Christopher order you to do?” he asked Sharpe.

„To stay at a place called Vila Real de Zedes, sir.”

„And do what there, pray?”

„Be killed, sir.”

„Be killed?” Sir Arthur asked in a dangerous tone. He knew Sharpe was being impudent and, though the rifleman had once saved his life, Sir Arthur was quite ready to slap him down.

„He brought a French force to the village, sir. They attacked us.”

„Not very effectively, it seems,” Wellesley said sarcastically.

„Not very, no, sir,” Sharpe agreed, „but there were twelve hundred of them, sir, and only sixty of us.