JК
Sharpes Gold :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 11 из 179Sharpe stood in the choir watching thepriest whitewash a gorgeous rood-screen. The screen was made of solid silver, ancient and intricate, a gift from some long-forgotten parishioner whose family's faces were those of the grieving women and disciples who stared up at the crucifix. The priest, standing on a trestle, dripping thick lime paint down his cassock, looked from Sharpe to the screen, and shrugged.
'It took three months to clean off last time.
'Last time?
'When the French left. The priest sounded bitter and he' dabbed angrily with the bristles at the delicate traceries. 'If they knew it was silver they would carve it into pieces and take it away." He splashed the nailed, hanging figure with a slap of paint and then, as if in apology, moved the brush to his left hand so that his right could sketch a perfunctory sign of the cross on his spattered gown. 'Perhaps they won't get this far.
It sounded unconvincing, even to Sharpe, and the priest did not bother to reply. He just gave a humourless laugh and dipped the brush into his bucket. They know, thought Sharpe; they all know that the French are coming and the British falling back. The priest made him feel guilty, as if he were personally betraying the town and its inhabitants, and he moved down the church into the darkness by the main door where the Battalion's commissariat officer was supervising the piling of fresh baked bread for the evening rations. The door banged open, letting in the late-afternoon sunlight, and Lawford, dressed in his glittering best uniform, beckoned at Sharpe. 'Ready?
'Yes, sir.
Major Forrest was waiting outside and he smiled nervously at Sharpe. 'Don't worry, Richard.
'Worry? Lieutenant Colonel the Honourable William Lawford was angry. 'He should damned well worry. He looked Sharpe up and down. 'Is that the best you can do?
Sharpe fingered the tear in his sleeve. 'It's all I've got, sir."
'All? What about that new uniform! Good Lord, Richard, you look like a tramp.
'Uniform's in Lisbon, sir. In store. Light Companies should travel light.
Lawford snorted. 'And they shouldn't threaten provosts with rifles either. Come on, we don't want to be late. He crammed the tricorne hat on to his head and returned the salute of the two sentries who had listened, amused, to his outburst.
Sharpe held up his hand. 'One moment, sir. He brushed an imaginary speck of dust from the gold regimental badge that the Colonel wore on his white diagonal sash.
'It took three months to clean off last time.
'Last time?
'When the French left. The priest sounded bitter and he' dabbed angrily with the bristles at the delicate traceries. 'If they knew it was silver they would carve it into pieces and take it away." He splashed the nailed, hanging figure with a slap of paint and then, as if in apology, moved the brush to his left hand so that his right could sketch a perfunctory sign of the cross on his spattered gown. 'Perhaps they won't get this far.
It sounded unconvincing, even to Sharpe, and the priest did not bother to reply. He just gave a humourless laugh and dipped the brush into his bucket. They know, thought Sharpe; they all know that the French are coming and the British falling back. The priest made him feel guilty, as if he were personally betraying the town and its inhabitants, and he moved down the church into the darkness by the main door where the Battalion's commissariat officer was supervising the piling of fresh baked bread for the evening rations. The door banged open, letting in the late-afternoon sunlight, and Lawford, dressed in his glittering best uniform, beckoned at Sharpe. 'Ready?
'Yes, sir.
Major Forrest was waiting outside and he smiled nervously at Sharpe. 'Don't worry, Richard.
'Worry? Lieutenant Colonel the Honourable William Lawford was angry. 'He should damned well worry. He looked Sharpe up and down. 'Is that the best you can do?
Sharpe fingered the tear in his sleeve. 'It's all I've got, sir."
'All? What about that new uniform! Good Lord, Richard, you look like a tramp.
'Uniform's in Lisbon, sir. In store. Light Companies should travel light.
Lawford snorted. 'And they shouldn't threaten provosts with rifles either. Come on, we don't want to be late. He crammed the tricorne hat on to his head and returned the salute of the two sentries who had listened, amused, to his outburst.
Sharpe held up his hand. 'One moment, sir. He brushed an imaginary speck of dust from the gold regimental badge that the Colonel wore on his white diagonal sash.