The next morning Sharpe saw posters being pasted onto walls throughout London. The printing was thick and black, with a gaudy red Royal coat of arms emblazoned at the top. He paused, on his way from Southwark where he had spent the night, and read one of the posters on Old London Bridge.
A GRAND REVIEW
In the Presence and by the Gracious Command of;
HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS THE PRINCE OF WALES
On the Forenoon of Saturday 21st August, in Hyde Park, His Majesty's Cavalry, Artillery, and Infantry, with their Bands, Colours and Appurtenances, will Parade before His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales, the Prince Regent, and before His Royal Highness, the Duke of York, together with the Trophies and Artillery pieces captured in the Present Wars against the French now being fought in Spain.
And, by His Royal Highness's Gracious Command and Pleasure, the troops will enact, with Precision and Verisimilitude, the Recent Great Victory Gained over the forces of the Corsican Tyrant at Vittoria.
GOD SAVE THE KING!
The battle of Vitoria, Sharpe thought, was being milked for all it was worth, presumably to take the minds of Londoners away from the rising price of food and the ever-increasing taxes that fuelled the war.
He was dressed in the uniform he had bought to attend Carlton House, his old boots polished, his scabbard shining, only the crusts of blood on his cheeks remaining of his time at Foulness.
He had left Harper in Southwark, eating a huge breakfast and regaling Isabella and his relatives with stories of the chase over the marshland. The Sergeant, as soon as breakfast was done, was taking a message to the Rose Tavern for d'Alembord and Price. Sharpe fervently hoped that those two officers had stayed safely out of Lord Fenner's notice.
Sharpe stopped in St Alban's Street and, from Mr Hopkinson, took thirty guineas of the gold he had left with the army agent. He had money again, he wore a proper uniform, and he was ready for battle against Girdwood, Simmerson, and all the men who made their profits from the camp at Foulness.
He had thought long, as the Thames barge lumbered towards London on an incoming tide, just how he should fight the battle. Harper had been all for an immediate descent on the camp, both men in uniform, but, tempting as the prospect was, Sharpe had decided against it. Instead, with some trepidation, he would go to the authorities. He would turn the bureaucracy, behind which Simmerson and Girdwood hid, against them. He would return to Foulness, but in his own time, and on different business; the business of a golden-haired girl who had helped him escape.
He crossed Whitehall, stepped round a pile of horse-dung that was being swept from the Horse Guards' courtyard, returned the salute of the sentries, and nodded at the porter who opened the door to him. Another porter, resplendent in his uniform, eyed Sharpe suspiciously as he came to the long table where he must state his business. 'Your name, sir?
'Major Richard Sharpe. South Essex.
'Of course, sir. You was here a few days back. The man, as big as Harper, had lost one eye. He was an old soldier, discharged wounded from the war, and, because Sharpe was a fighting man and not a uniformed administrator, he unbent enough to give the Rifleman a smile. 'And what can we do for you today, sir?
'I've come to see the Duke of York.
The smile went. 'At what time, sir? The question was polite, but there was an undoubted warning in the words.
'I don't have an appointment.
The porter, rocking slowly up and down on the balls of his feet, stared with his one good eye at the Rifleman. 'You don't have an appointment, sir? He said each word very slowly and distinctly.
'No.
'His Royal Highness, the Duke of York, the porter said as though the King's second son was on intimate terms with him, 'will see no one without an appointment, sir. If you'd like to write your business, sir. He waved an imperious hand towards a writing desk that was set beneath the windows which opened onto Whitehall.
'I shall wait, Sharpe said.
He refused to be dissuaded, just as he refused to put on paper the nature of his business. He insisted that he would wait until the Commander in Chief would see him, sat in a leather armchair beside an empty grate and turned a deaf ear to all the porter's entreaties.
Men came and went in the hallway. Some looked curiously at the Rifle officer; others, sensing that he was being importunate, looked hurriedly away. Sharpe himself, as the great clock by the stairway ticked heavily through the morning, gazed up at a great oil painting above the fireplace. It showed the battle of Blenheim, and Sharpe stared at it for so long that it almost seemed as if the red lines of British infantry were moving before his eyes. Not much had changed, he thought, in a hundred years. The infantry lines were thinner now, but battlefields looked much the same. He yawned.
'Major Sharpe?
A staff officer, perfectly uniformed, smiled at him.
'Yes.
'Captain Christopher Messines. Most honoured, sir. Would you like to step this way?
The porter gave Sharpe a look that seemed to say "I told you so," as Sharpe followed Messines through a doorway. They went down a hallway hung with paintings, and into a small reception room that looked out to the parade ground. Messines gestured to a chair. 'Coffee, Major? Tea, perhaps? Sherry, even?
'Coffee.
Messines went to a sideboard where silver pots waited and, into two tiny, fragile cups decorated with blue flowers, poured coffee. 'You wanted to see His Royal Highness? Do please sit, Major. No need for ceremony. A water-biscuit, perhaps? The weather really is splendid, isn't it? Quite wonderful! Messines seemed fascinated by the two crusts of blood on Sharpe's cheeks, but was far too well bred to think of asking how they had come to be there.
Messines was charming. He regretted that His Royal Highness was consumed with work, and that, even as they spoke, His Royal Highness's carriage was waiting outside, and the Lord alone knew when he would be back, but if Major Sharpe cared to tell Captain Messines the nature of his business?
Major Sharpe would not.
Captain Messines blinked as though Sharpe must have misunderstood, then gave his most winning smile. 'Isn't it splendid coffee? I believe the beans for this brew were captured at Vitoria. You were there, of course?
'Yes.
Messines sighed. 'His Royal Highness really will not see random visitors, Major. I do hope you understand.
Sharpe drained the small cup. 'You're telling me it's hopeless to wait?
'Quite hopeless. Messines gave his engaging smile to soften the bad news.
Sharpe stood. He pulled the great sword straight in its slings. 'I'm sure the Prince of Wales would be fascinated by my news.
It was a shot at random, but it must have struck home, for Messines raised both hands in a gesture of placation. 'My dear Major Sharpe! Please! Sit down, I beg you!
Sharpe guessed that there was little love lost between the pleasure-loving Prince of Wales and his sterner brother, the Duke of York. The Duke, whose ineptness as a General had given currency to a mocking little rhyme that described how, in his Flanders campaign, he had marched ten thousand men to the top of a hill and marched them down again, had nevertheless proved an efficient, meticulous, and mostly honest administrator. There had only been one scandal, when his mistress had been found selling commissions, and Sharpe's words suggested, rightly, that the Prince would relish another scandal that would sully his younger brother's stern reputation. Messines smiled. 'If you could just tell me what it's about, Major?
'No. Sharpe had decided that his words should be only for the Duke, for the Commander in Chief. There were other men in this building, important men, but he did not know which of them were involved, like Fenner, in the Foulness business. It had even occurred to him that perhaps there were other camps doing the same crimping trade.
Messines sighed again. He steepled his fingers and stared at a print of cavalrymen that hung on one wall, then shrugged at Sharpe. 'You may be in for a very long wait, sir.
'I don't mind.
Messines gave up. He invited Sharpe to stay in the small room, even fetching a copy of that morning's Times for him.
The newspaper shocked Sharpe. It printed a report from San Sebastian on Spain's northern coast and it appeared, though this was not the burden of the report, that at least one assault on the town had failed and the British army, however optimistic the newspaper sounded, was baulked and taking casualties. It was what followed that shocked Sharpe. The newspaper was reporting a victory, though its report was confusing, and Sharpe, who had been told by Major General Nairn that the rest of this summer would see a lull in the war, now read that a French thrust over the Pyrenees had been repulsed after grim fighting. There was a list of casualties on an inside page and Sharpe read it intently. There was no mention of any man from the shrunken South Essex, so perhaps, he thought, they still guarded the Pasajes wharfs.
He stared into the parade ground. Men were fighting and dying in Spain and he was here! It struck him as a bitter fate. His place was not here where men drank their coffee from small, exquisite cups.
A clock in the passage struck eleven.
He read the rest of the paper. There was no other news from Spain. There had been riots because of the high price of bread in Leicestershire and the militia had been called out and found it necessary to fire a volley of musketry into the crowd. A weaving mill in Derbyshire had been broken into by a mob who feared that its machinery would take away their jobs. The mill's looms had been smashed with hammers, and its wheel-shaft damaged by fire, causing the magistrates to call out the local militia. He turned back to the report from Spain. A battle had been fought at Sorauren. He had never heard of the place, and he wondered if it was in France or Spain, for the border was intricate in the Pyrenees, but then he reflected that the Times would surely have said if any British troops had crossed the frontier. He wanted to be there when it happened. He wanted to be there with his own regiment.
The clock struck twelve and the door behind him opened.
'Richard! By all the Gods! Richard! Sharpe turned, startled by the good-natured interruption. A one-armed man, elegantly dressed in civilian clothes; a handsome man, smiling in unforced welcome, faced him. 'My dear Sharpe! I had business with the Adjutant General and the porter told me you were here!
'Sir! Sharpe smiled in genuine pleasure.
'My dear Richard! How very good to see you, and almost properly dressed!
Sharpe shook the one hand. 'How are you, sir?
'My dear fellow! I'm wondrously healthy. You look very good yourself, very good indeed. The Honourable William Lawford was pumping Sharpe's hand up and down. 'Except for your face. Had a fight with a cat?
Lawford was plumper than in the days when he had been the South Essex's Lieutenant Colonel, and much plumper than when he had been a Lieutenant in India and Sharpe had been his Sergeant. They had been imprisoned together by the Sultan Tippoo, and in those days Lieutenant Lawford had been thin as a ramrod. Now, out of the army, and evidently prospering as a civilian, he had spread in the waist and his handsome face was rounded with good living and success. 'What are you doing here, Richard?
'I'm hoping to see the Duke.
'My dear fellow! You'll wait in vain! He's gone to Windsor and I doubt we'll see him again this week. You'll take some lunch?
Sharpe hesitated, but Lawford's certainty that the Duke would not be returning to the Horse Guards swayed him. 'Yes, sir.
'Splendid.
Lawford had a carriage; a rich, high, open vehicle drawn by four horses and driven by liveried servants. They crossed the parade ground at a fast clip and Lawford raised his cane to acknowledge a greeting from a horseman who came from the park. He smiled at Sharpe. 'I heard you were in London. You saw Prinny, yes?
'Yes.
'What a fool he is! Almost took my head off with the sword when he gave me the knighthood. He laughed, but Sharpe sensed that the true message being given was that Lawford was now Sir William.
'You were knighted?
'Yes. Lawford smiled modestly at Sharpe's evident admiration. 'All nonsense, of course, but Jessica approves.
Sharpe gestured at the coach they sat in. 'You must be prospering, sir!
'That's kind of you, Sharpe! Sir William smiled. 'I've a few acres these days. I'm in the Commons, of course. He laughed as though it was a minor thing. 'I sit as a magistrate and send a few villains to Australia as well. It keeps me busy, what? Ah! Here we are!
They had passed St James's Palace, stopped on the hill beyond, and servants hastened to open the carriage door. Lawford gestured Sharpe forward, then up some steps into a great hallway where Sir William was greeted by obsequious servants. It was evidently a gentlemen's club. Sharpe was relieved of his sword and ushered into the dining room.
Lawford took Sharpe's elbow. 'They do a cold spiced beef, Richard, which I really must recommend. The salmagundi is truly the best in London. Turtle soup, perhaps? Ah, this table, splendid.
The meal was excellent. It seemed odd to think that their last meeting had been in the convent at Ciudad Rodrigo where, the city still stinking of fire and cannon-smoke, Lawford had lain in bed with his left arm newly amputated. Lawford laughed at the memory. 'Seems I was damned lucky to miss Badajoz, yes?
'It was bad.
'You survived, Richard! Lawford raised his glass of claret and signalled with his head for the waiter to bring another bottle.
Cigars were given to them and Sharpe admiringly watched the skill with which Lawford used his one hand to clip and light the cigar. He refused to let the waiter do it, preferring, he said, always to cut his own. He blew out a plume of smoke. 'So why on earth were you trying to see York?
Sharpe told him. He wanted to tell someone, and who better than this Member of Parliament, magistrate, and old soldier with whom he had fought on two continents.
Lawford listened, sometimes asking a question, more often prompting Sharpe to continue. His shrewd eyes watched the Rifleman and, if the story of Foulness astonished him, he took care to hide it. Indeed, the only real surprise he showed was when Sharpe described the attempt in the rookery to murder him.
When the tale was told Lawford put his cigar down and sipped at some brandy. He swirled the liquid in his glass and stared at Sharpe. 'So what's your private interest, Richard?
'Private? Sharpe was puzzled.
Lawford retrieved his cigar and sketched a gesture in the air, leaving a trail of smoke. 'What do you personally want out of it?
Sharpe paused. This was not the moment to talk of Jane Gibbons, or his wish to save her from an odious marriage. 'I just want men to take to Spain. I want a Battalion to fight into France.
'Ah! Lawford seemed surprised that Sharpe should want nothing more. 'I see, I see. Who else have you told?
'No one.
'Except your Sergeant, of course. He's well, is he?
'Yes, sir.
'Do tell him I asked. Splendid fellow, for an Irishman. Lawford frowned. 'You say he killed a militia man?
'We killed one.
Lawford smiled at the «we». 'A trifle clumsy, perhaps? Better not to have done it.
'They were trying to kill us!
'Bound to be questions asked, Richard, bound to be! Fellows will be up on their hind legs embarrassing the government. It's really too bad.
'Say they were chasing smugglers! Sharpe could not understand this concern for a dead militia man that did not seem extended to Sir Henry's peculations.
'Brilliant! Smugglers! Very good, Richard. We'll do that. He leaned forward and laid the stub of his cigar on a silver plate. 'You do have some proof of these auctions, Richard, of course? Account books, records, tedious paperwork? He smiled.
'Accounts?
'Proof, Richard, proof.
'I saw it!
Sir William shook his head slowly, then sipped his brandy. 'My dear Sharpe! All you saw were some soldiers on Simmerson's lawn! The rest is surmise! Sharpe had said nothing about Jane Gibbons or what she had told him, though now, facing Lawford's sceptical face, he doubted whether her testimony would add any weight to his argument.
'I saw. .
'I know what you say, Lawford smiled to take the sharpness from his words, 'but we shall want proof.
Sharpe leaned back. He felt uncomfortable in this lavish room among these fat men whose chins bulged and wobbled over their silk stocks. 'I heard Lord Fenner say there was no Second Battalion, except as a paper convenience, and I've proved him wrong.
'There is that, Lawford smiled. 'A greedy man, Fenner. Seems as rich as Croesus, but always eager for more. Not a fellow I'd choose as an enemy, at least not without proof, eh?
'The proof is at Foulness. A day's march away!
'I'm sure it is. Lawford held up his one hand in a placatory gesture. His other sleeve was pinned across his coat. 'The nub is York.
'York?
'The Duke. Foolish Freddie. Lawford smiled again. 'Doesn't want another scandal, that's for sure! He had to resign for two years as it was. My dear fellow, thank you. Sharpe had poured more brandy as Lawford cut another cigar. 'I think you'd better leave it to me, Richard. Sharpe said nothing, and Lawford leaned forward persuasively. 'Let me patrol around it, eh? Will you let me do that, Richard? Say to the end of next week? He laughed. 'That'll give you a chance to watch Prinny's battle of Vitoria, yes? You'll enjoy that!
Sharpe was not happy with the suggestion, but he accepted that Sir William moved in circles that understood these matters, while he was a friendless soldier in a capital city where no one cared about him. 'Why don't I just see the Duke of York?
'Richard! Lawford said in a pained voice. 'You'll only upset him, and you know how liverish that damned family is! My dear Sharpe! If I was facing a French army I'd be delighted to have your help, can't you see you need mine now? You want your men, yes?
'Yes.
'Then I shall do my damnedest! I can't promise anything, of course, but I think I can extricate you. Where are you lodging, Richard?
'Rose Tavern. It's in Drury Lane.
'I do know where the Rose is, Richard, Lawford said testily, then noted the name in a silver bound notebook. 'Give me two days, then meet me here for luncheon. You can do that? And don't worry about disobeying those orders to go back to Spain, I'll make sure there's no undue fuss there.
Sharpe frowned. 'Can I ask what you propose to do, sir?
'Do? Lawford snapped the notebook shut. 'The proper thing, the clever thing. A few quiet words, Richard, here and there. Thank God Parliament's recessed so we can keep the whole damned mess secret. And you, Richard, he stabbed at Sharpe with his fresh cigar, 'are going to do nothing. You will keep quiet. No stirring up the enemy from the skirmish line? This is London, not Spain! He laughed. 'Perhaps we can tempt you to dine one evening? Lady Lawford would never forgive me if I didn't snare you for one night.
'That's kind of you, sir.
'Nonsense! Lawford smiled. 'Just leave it all to me, Richard! He picked up a strawberry left over from luncheon and popped it into his mouth. 'Just leave it to me.
'Yes, sir.
Lord Fenner met his guest in the library. His Lordship was not pleased.
Lord Fenner was in the habit of asking the Lady Camoynes to visit him in the early evening, thus leaving his nights free for the pursuit of other pleasures. This evening, as Lord Fenner closed the library door, the Lady Camoynes waited upstairs and Lord Fenner, instead of watching her undress, was forced to be polite to this unexpected and unwelcome guest. 'I usually take a glass of brandy at this hour. You'll join me?
Sir William Lawford smiled his assent. He appraised the pictures that hung between the shelves, noting a fine small drawing of ships at sea and a very good Reynolds. 'Your mother?
'Yes, Lord Fenner had barked his order for the brandy. 'You said this business was urgent, Sir William?
'I would hardly disturb your Lordship otherwise. Lawford ignored his host's barely disguised rudeness, admiring instead a Roman bust of a woman with tightly rolled hair. Everything about this room, from its books to its fine hand-painted Chinese wallpaper, testified to the exquisite taste and wealth of Lord Fenner. Lawford accepted his brandy, waited until the steward had left, then sat in the chair Fenner offered. 'Your Lordship's most excellent health.
'And yours. Fenner sat down. He was dressed in a black suit, with a white silk waistcoat and stock. He tried to guess, from Lawford's demeanour, just what kind of business was so urgent as to preclude an appointment, but the younger man's face was unreadable. Fenner was remembering what he knew of Lawford; an ex-soldier who now sat in the Government's interest on the green-leather benches of the House of Commons. Fenner crossed his legs and brushed at a boot-tassel. 'You'll forgive me, Sir William, if I tell you that I have other engagements this evening?
'Quite so, Lawford smiled. 'I think you'll hear me out, though. We both, after all, share an interest in making certain that no scandal disturbs our administration? This is very good brandy! My smugglers bring in a most inferior article.
'You spoke of scandal.
Lawford stared at the thin, pale face with its aquiline nose. 'Girdwood, Foulness, auctions. You permit me to smoke?
Lord Fenner was too astonished to offer or refuse permission. He said nothing until Lawford had cut and lit a cigar with his one hand, then he made his nasal voice deliberately calm. 'You confuse me, Sir William.
'Confuse you?
'You play at riddles like a child.
Lawford shrugged apologetically. He was nervous. This handsome lord, a government minister, conveyed such an air of elegant gravity that it seemed unthinkable that he should be bound up in so squalid an affair as Foulness. Lawford smiled. ‘I do not, for one moment, sir, imagine that you know of what I speak. Let us, though, assume that you have some influence over those who might? Sir Henry Simmerson, perhaps?
Lord Fenner showed none of the relief that he felt. Lawford was showing his cards, and though the first cards had horrified Fenner, this last demonstrated that Sir William did not seek his disgrace. Fenner's voice was still cold and toneless. 'We can assume that, Sir William.
Lawford, who had half-expected to be forcibly ejected from the house, even challenged to a duel, knew now that Sharpe's accusations were right. Lord Fenner had admitted nothing, but the very fact that he would talk proclaimed that there was much to admit. Sir William rested his cigar to take up the brandy. 'Should news of Sir Henry's peculations at Foulness become public, my Lord, I need hardly tell you the result. Nor did he; another scandal to rock the government, cries of treason, of corruption, of demands for enquiries and God knows what else.
Fenner sat very still. 'How could it become public?
'Because Major Richard Sharpe is in full knowledge of the facts. Sir William smiled. 'He attempted to see the Duke of York today. York's aide sent for me, knowing that I had been Sharpe's commanding officer, and I have, so far, kept him silent. You owe me thanks for that.
Fenner somehow managed to hide his horror. Sharpe was alive? His Lordship had thought it strange that his hired assassins had not come to collect their reward, but nor had Sharpe ever appeared again and Fenner had persuaded himself that the troublesome Rifleman was safely dead.
The door to the drawing room creaked ajar and Fenner supposed that Anne Camoynes was listening there. God damn her! He dared not close the door lest the movement be interpreted as nervousness and, to cover his astonishment and consternation, he lit a cigar for himself and forced insouciance into his voice. 'You say Sharpe spoke to you?
'At great length. A very remarkable man, my Lord. I knew him as a sergeant. He has a talent for battle, but not, I think, for politics. Lawford smiled as though such a lack in a man was to be pitied. 'He is an intemperate fellow, often foolhardy, and not easily dissuaded. He pointed out to me, with commendable passion, the need for veteran Battalions to be kept in Spain. His own Battalion, as your Lordship knows, is in danger of dismemberment and he feels, not without cause, that it has yet a great contribution to make in the invasion of France. If he feels that it is being deliberately denied replacements, then he could make an unwelcome noise. Your Lordship comprehends me?
Fenner nodded. How, in God's name, had Sharpe discovered Foulness? Fenner would dearly love to know, yet to ask was to reveal too great a concern.
'Fortunately, Lawford went on, 'he has no absolute proof, so his opportunity for embarrassing our government is slight. He has agreed to do nothing until the day after tomorrow, my Lord, and to leave the resolution of this affair entirely in my hands.
Fenner bowed to Lawford, a gesture that did express relief, for now he knew what he must deal with. Not with some rogue Rifleman whose passion and enmity scared His Lordship, but with another politician, a man who understood that compromise was the very finest of the arts. 'You have suggestions, Sir William?
'Mere thoughts, Sir William smiled. 'I really do not know if there is anything amiss at Foulness. A strange name, yes? Lord Fenner smiled, for the words told him that Sir William had not come to preach morality, but to make his bargain. Lawford drew on his cigar. 'My concern is with Major Sharpe. I owe him a great deal, sir, including my life. You will sympathise with my wish to extricate him from this entanglement. I would not want him punished, nor in any way see his career harmed, indeed, I would like to see it advanced. If he is guilty of anything, my Lord, it is merely an excessive devotion to his duty.
Lord Fenner nodded. 'You say he is in London?
'I did not. I said he has agreed to do nothing until I speak to him in two days.
'What does he want?
'His Battalion.
Lord Fenner knew that now he had to play a card of his own. 'But if there is no Battalion, Sir William, he cannot have it. Fenner's gaze was challenging.
Lawford knew that Lord Fenner, by his last statement, was saying that the physical evidence at Foulness, the men, the camp itself, all signs of the hidden Battalion, would be removed. The men would be sent to different depots throughout Britain, dispersed in sections, while the tents and buildings would be destroyed. There could be no disgrace for Lord Fenner, for there would be no evidence of any kind. Lawford smiled. 'I thought, my Lord, that he might be given command of a Rifle Battalion in the American war? We need good men over there.
'America? Lord Fenner thought it would do very well; a minor, scrappy war being fought three thousand miles away. No one cared what happened in America. 'We could doubtless arrange such a thing, so long as he keeps silent about this preposterous business.
'If there's no evidence, my Lord, what does it matter?
Fenner said nothing. There was only one proof that could destroy him, and that was the secret records of the Battalion auctions, and they, he knew, were safe. Even if Major Sharpe should produce the men themselves, what could they prove? They were listed as a Holding Battalion, so the men were accounted for. The officers might bleat about auctions, yet they had taken the money and so risked punishment, while not one officer, apart from Girdwood, knew of His Lordship's involvement.
Sir William tossed his cigar into the empty hearth. 'I have your permission to return and speak with you tomorrow, my Lord? I would not ask you for a precipitate decision.
Fenner stood. 'America?
'It would be most suitable. A Battalion command, of course. Nothing less. Lawford was ensuring that Sharpe did not suffer. The scandal would be avoided, the government safe, and Sir William's own reward could wait.
'Of course. Fenner held a hand out to guide his guest towards the door. 'I really am most obliged to you, Sir William. Men of sense and discretion are rare commodities these days. We must make sure your talents do not go unrewarded.
'Thank you, my Lord. Which meant that Lawford could now look for a government post, something unburdensome but with a welcome salary.
Lord Fenner did not summon his steward, but opened his front door himself. 'I shall look forward to your return tomorrow. You have a coat, a hat?
Sir William stood on the step in the gentle London dusk, and thought that it was a good evening's work. There would be no scandal, no ribald jeers in Parliament. Instead the criminal evidence would be quietly hidden and Richard Sharpe, whom Lawford liked, would get a just reward. He would be promoted, he would have a Rifle Battalion of his own, and no one, except the enemies against whom that Battalion was matched, would suffer. No one. Lawford smiled as his groom opened the carriage door.
Lord Fenner, from his front windows, watched Sir William's coach go towards St James's. Lord Fenner was not happy. He had been found out, yet he was sensible of the fact that Sir William had been most delicate. Sir William wanted a reward; why else had he come? His price was Sharpe's future. Lord Fenner would rather have seen Sharpe flayed alive, but the man's promotion was a very cheap price to pay.
He turned to the drawing room, opening the door that had been left ajar, to find the Lady Camoynes leafing through a book. 'How long have you been here?
'A while, Simon.
'You heard?
'That is why I came to this room. She smiled at him, her green eyes bright in the lamplight. 'You might care to know, Simon, that Lawford has a most expensive and ambitious wife. You are fortunate.
'Fortunate?
'That you will be able to bribe him into silence. A Battalion for the Major and a salary for Sir William.
'You disapprove. He said it to mock her, to diminish her. She was his creature, in his debt, in thrall to his whim for the future of her son and his inheritance.
'If it was I, Simon, Lady Camoynes closed the book, 'I would use the knowledge to destroy you.
He laughed. 'But it is not you, and your place in my house, Anne, is upstairs.
She dropped the book and, without another word, turned and left the room. Lord Fenner followed her up the stairs, his appetite, as ever, sharpened by the apprehension of this demonstration of his power. The evening was yet young, and he would do mischief.