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Sharpes Havoc :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 72 из 242” The Frenchman, hearing his name spoken, gave Sharpe a nervous nod.
„We’ll come with you,” Sharpe said, ignoring the Frenchman.
Christopher shook his head. „I think not, Sharpe. Monsieur Argenton will arrange for the two of us to use the pontoon bridge at Oporto if it’s been repaired, and if not he’ll arrange passage on a ferry, and I hardly think our French friends will allow a half company of riflemen to cross the river under their noses, do you?”
„If you talk to them, maybe,” Sharpe said. „You seem friendly enough with them.”
Christopher threw his reins to Luis, then gestured that Argenton should dismount and follow him into the house. „‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’ „Christopher said, going past Sharpe, then he turned. „I have different plans for you.”
„You have plans for me?” Sharpe asked truculently.
„I believe a lieutenant colonel outranks a lieutenant in His Britannic Majesty’s army, Sharpe,” Christopher said sarcastically. „It always was so, which means, does it not, that you are under my command? So you will come to the house in half an hour and I shall give you your new orders. Come, monsieur.” He beckoned to Argenton, glanced coldly at Sharpe, and went up the steps.
It rained next morning. It was colder too. Gray veils of showers swept out of the west, brought from the Atlantic by a chill wind that blew the wisteria blossoms from the thrashing trees, banged the Quinta’s shutters and sent chill drafts chasing through its rooms. Sharpe, Vicente and their men had slept in the stable block, guarded by picquets who shivered in the night and peered through the damp blackness. Sharpe, doing the rounds in the darkest heart of the night, saw one window of the Quinta glowing with the glimmer of shuddering candlelight behind the wind-shaken shutters and he thought he heard a cry like an animal in distress from that upper floor, and for a fleeting second he was sure it was Kate’s voice, then he told himself it was his imagination or that it was just the wind shrieking in the chimneys. He went to see Hagman at dawn and found the old poacher was sweating, but alive. He was asleep and once or twice spoke a name aloud. „Amy,” he said, „Amy.” The doctor had visited the previous afternoon, he had sniffed the wound, shrugged, said Hagman would die, washed the injury, bandaged it and refused to take any fee. „Keep the bandages wet,” he had told Vicente who was translating for Sharpe, „and dig a grave.
„We’ll come with you,” Sharpe said, ignoring the Frenchman.
Christopher shook his head. „I think not, Sharpe. Monsieur Argenton will arrange for the two of us to use the pontoon bridge at Oporto if it’s been repaired, and if not he’ll arrange passage on a ferry, and I hardly think our French friends will allow a half company of riflemen to cross the river under their noses, do you?”
„If you talk to them, maybe,” Sharpe said. „You seem friendly enough with them.”
Christopher threw his reins to Luis, then gestured that Argenton should dismount and follow him into the house. „‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’ „Christopher said, going past Sharpe, then he turned. „I have different plans for you.”
„You have plans for me?” Sharpe asked truculently.
„I believe a lieutenant colonel outranks a lieutenant in His Britannic Majesty’s army, Sharpe,” Christopher said sarcastically. „It always was so, which means, does it not, that you are under my command? So you will come to the house in half an hour and I shall give you your new orders. Come, monsieur.” He beckoned to Argenton, glanced coldly at Sharpe, and went up the steps.
It rained next morning. It was colder too. Gray veils of showers swept out of the west, brought from the Atlantic by a chill wind that blew the wisteria blossoms from the thrashing trees, banged the Quinta’s shutters and sent chill drafts chasing through its rooms. Sharpe, Vicente and their men had slept in the stable block, guarded by picquets who shivered in the night and peered through the damp blackness. Sharpe, doing the rounds in the darkest heart of the night, saw one window of the Quinta glowing with the glimmer of shuddering candlelight behind the wind-shaken shutters and he thought he heard a cry like an animal in distress from that upper floor, and for a fleeting second he was sure it was Kate’s voice, then he told himself it was his imagination or that it was just the wind shrieking in the chimneys. He went to see Hagman at dawn and found the old poacher was sweating, but alive. He was asleep and once or twice spoke a name aloud. „Amy,” he said, „Amy.” The doctor had visited the previous afternoon, he had sniffed the wound, shrugged, said Hagman would die, washed the injury, bandaged it and refused to take any fee. „Keep the bandages wet,” he had told Vicente who was translating for Sharpe, „and dig a grave.