JК
Sharpes Sword :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 71 из 213“God, Richard, isn’t this fun?” Sharpe pushed through the crowd. “Is the General here?”
“What do you think?” Spears gestured at the cavalry officers. “They wouldn’t dare if he was here. No, the word is he isn’t coming. Lickin‘ his wounds, so to speak.” He was shouting over the crowd’s noise.
Sharpe was introduced to the cavalry officers, a whirl of names, bonhomie, unmemorable faces, and then Spears pushed him through the doorway, back to the hall, and up a huge staircase that separated in two great curves either side of a statue. The statue, which was of a decorous maiden holding a pitcher of water, had been crowned with a British shako. Sharpe had thought that the room with the food must be the main room of the Palacio, but he was shown, at the stair’s top, through a door and into a hall that took his breath away. It was the size of a cavalry drill hall, lined with huge paintings, topped by a ceiling of intricate plaster, and lit by great chandeliers, each a universe of candles, and the crystal winked and dazzled, glittered and shook, above the uniforms of the officers, silver and gold, lace and chain, and above the dresses and jewels of the women. “Jesus!” The word was torn from him involuntarily.
“He sent His apologies.” Spears grinned at him. “Do you like it?”
“It’s incredible!”
“She married one of the richest devils in Spain, and the dullest.” Spears suddenly bowed to a middle-aged civilian. “My lord!”
The civilian nodded gravely to Spears. “My lord.” He was English, plump, with an angry face. He looked at Sharpe, quizzing him up and down with a raised monocle. Sharpe’s uniform was still wet with water and blood. “Who are you?”
Spears stepped in front of Sharpe. “It’s Callard, my lord. You remember him?”
His lordship waved Spears aside. “We have appearances to keep up, Callard, and you are a disgrace. Retire and change.”
Sharpe smiled. „I’ll rip your windpipe out of your fat throat if you don’t take your fat arse out of that door in two seconds.“ The smile had disguised a terrible anger that hammered at the man. For one second the plump man looked as if he would protest, and then he fled, rump going from side to side, leaving Sharpe angry and Lord Spears almost helpless with laughter.
“God, you’re precious, Sharpe. You know who that was?”
“I couldn’t give a damn.”
“So I see. Lord Benfleet. One of our politicians, come to put some spine into the Dagoes. His nickname, you’ll be pleased to know, is Lord Bumfleet. Come on.
“What do you think?” Spears gestured at the cavalry officers. “They wouldn’t dare if he was here. No, the word is he isn’t coming. Lickin‘ his wounds, so to speak.” He was shouting over the crowd’s noise.
Sharpe was introduced to the cavalry officers, a whirl of names, bonhomie, unmemorable faces, and then Spears pushed him through the doorway, back to the hall, and up a huge staircase that separated in two great curves either side of a statue. The statue, which was of a decorous maiden holding a pitcher of water, had been crowned with a British shako. Sharpe had thought that the room with the food must be the main room of the Palacio, but he was shown, at the stair’s top, through a door and into a hall that took his breath away. It was the size of a cavalry drill hall, lined with huge paintings, topped by a ceiling of intricate plaster, and lit by great chandeliers, each a universe of candles, and the crystal winked and dazzled, glittered and shook, above the uniforms of the officers, silver and gold, lace and chain, and above the dresses and jewels of the women. “Jesus!” The word was torn from him involuntarily.
“He sent His apologies.” Spears grinned at him. “Do you like it?”
“It’s incredible!”
“She married one of the richest devils in Spain, and the dullest.” Spears suddenly bowed to a middle-aged civilian. “My lord!”
The civilian nodded gravely to Spears. “My lord.” He was English, plump, with an angry face. He looked at Sharpe, quizzing him up and down with a raised monocle. Sharpe’s uniform was still wet with water and blood. “Who are you?”
Spears stepped in front of Sharpe. “It’s Callard, my lord. You remember him?”
His lordship waved Spears aside. “We have appearances to keep up, Callard, and you are a disgrace. Retire and change.”
Sharpe smiled. „I’ll rip your windpipe out of your fat throat if you don’t take your fat arse out of that door in two seconds.“ The smile had disguised a terrible anger that hammered at the man. For one second the plump man looked as if he would protest, and then he fled, rump going from side to side, leaving Sharpe angry and Lord Spears almost helpless with laughter.
“God, you’re precious, Sharpe. You know who that was?”
“I couldn’t give a damn.”
“So I see. Lord Benfleet. One of our politicians, come to put some spine into the Dagoes. His nickname, you’ll be pleased to know, is Lord Bumfleet. Come on.