Sharpes Escape   ::   Корнуэлл Бернард

"I don't think Iwas really wanted out there," Sarah explained. "Not that Sergeant Harper was unwelcoming, he wasn't, but I had the distinct impression that the two of them could cope without me."

"That's probably true," Sharpe said.

"And I won't keep you awake," she promised.

But she did.

It was morning when Sharpe woke. The cat had somehow got into the kitchen and was sitting on the small shelf beside the stove where it was washing itself and occasionally looking at Sharpe with yellow eyes. Sarah's left arm was across Sharpe's chest and he marveled at how smooth and pale her skin was. She was asleep still, a strand of golden hair shivering at her open lips with every breath. Sharpe eased himself from beneath her embrace and, naked, edged open the kitchen door just far enough to see into the parlor.

Harper was in the armchair, Joana asleep across his lap. The Irishman turned at the creak of the hinges. "All quiet, sir," he whispered.

"You should have woken me."

"Why? Nothing's stirring."

"Captain Vicente?"

"He crept out, sir. Went to see what was happening. Promised he wouldn't go far."

"I'll make some tea," Sharpe said, and he closed the door.

There was a basket of kindling beside the stove and a box of small logs. He worked as quietly as possible, but heard Sarah stir and turned to see her looking up at him from the jumble of bedclothes. "You're right," she said, "the army is an education."

Sharpe leaned against the stove. She sat up, clutching Harper's greatcoat to her breasts, and he stared at her, she stared back and neither spoke until she suddenly scratched at her thigh. "When you were in India," she asked unexpectedly, "did you meet people who believed that after death they came back as another person?"

"Not that I know about," Sharpe said.

"I'm told they believe that," Sarah said solemnly.

"They believe all sorts of rubbish. Couldn't keep up with it."

"When I come back," Sarah said, tilting her head to rest against the wall, "I think I'll come back as a man."

"Bit of a waste," Sharpe said.

"Because you're free," she said, gazing up at the dried herbs hanging from the beams.

"I'm not free," Sharpe said. "I've got the army all over me. Like fleas." He watched her scratch again.

"What we did last night," Sarah said, and blushed very slightly and it was plain she had to force herself to speak of what had happened so naturally in the darkness, "doesn't leave you changed. You're the same person. I'm not.