Sharpes Escape   ::   Корнуэлл Бернард

He opened the study door, shouted for a servant and sent her to summon Miss Fry to the study. "I cannot write," he explained to her when she arrived, holding up his bruised right hand to prove the incapacity. In truth he could write, though his knuckles were still sore and to flex his fingers was painful, but he did not want to write. He wanted Sarah. "You will write for me," he went on, "so sit."

Sarah bridled at his abrupt tone, but obediently sat at the Major's desk where she pulled paper, inkwell and sand shaker towards her. Ferragus stood close behind her. "I am ready," she said.

Ferragus said nothing. Sarah looked at the wall opposite that was filled with leather-bound books. The room smelled of cigar smoke. The gunfire was persisting, a grumble from far away like thunder in the next county. "The letter," Ferragus said, startling her with his gravelly voice, "is for my brother." He moved even closer so that Sarah was aware of his big presence just behind the chair. "Give him my regards," Ferragus said, "and tell him that all is well in Coimbra."

Sarah found a steel-nibbed pen, dipped it in ink and began writing. The nib made a scratching noise. "Tell him," Ferragus went on, "that the matter of honor is not settled. The man escaped."

"Just that, senhor ?" Sarah asked.

"Just that," Ferragus said in his deep voice: Damn Sharpe, he thought. The wretched rifleman had destroyed the flour, and so Ferragus's token gift to the French had stayed ungiven, and the French had been expecting the flour and they would now think Ferragus could not be trusted, and that left Ferragus and his brother with a problem. How to reassure the enemy? And would the enemy need reassurance? Would they even come? "Tell my brother," he went on, "that I rely on his judgment whether or not the enemy will be stopped at Bussaco."

Sarah wrote. As the ink began to thin on the nib she dipped the pen again and then froze because Ferragus's fingers were touching the nape of her neck. For a heartbeat she did not move, then she slapped the pen down. " Senhor , you are touching me."

"So?"

"So stop! Or do you wish me to call Major Ferreira's wife?"

Ferragus chuckled, but took his fingers away. "Pick up your pen, Miss Fry," he said, "and tell my brother that I pray the enemy will be stopped."

Sarah added the new sentence. She was blushing, not from embarrassment, but out of rage. How dare Ferragus touch her? She pressed too hard on the pen and the ink spattered in tiny droplets across the words.