Sharpe 3-Book Collection 2: Sharpe’s Havoc, Sharpe’s Eagle, Sharpe’s Gold (10 page)

“We?” Sharpe asked. “The poets and philosophers?”

“We would walk there,” Vicente said, “spend the night in the tavern and walk back. I doubt there will be Frenchmen there. It is not on the road to Amarante. Not on any road.”

“So we go to the village at the edge of the wilderness,” Sharpe said. “What’s it called?”

“Vila Real de Zedes,” Vicente said. “It is called that because the vineyards there once belonged to the King, but that was long ago. Now they are the property of –”

“Vila Real de what?” Sharpe asked.

“Zedes,” Vicente said, puzzled by Sharpe’s tone and even more puzzled by the smile on Sharpe’s face. “You know the place?”

“I don’t know it,” Sharpe said, “but there’s a girl I want to meet there.”

“A girl!” Vicente sounded disapproving.

“A nineteen-year-old girl,” Sharpe said, “and believe it or not, it’s a duty.” He turned to see if the stretcher was finished and suddenly stiffened in anger. “What the hell is he doing here?” he asked. He was staring at the French dragoon, Lieutenant Olivier, who was watching as Harper carefully rolled Hagman onto the stretcher.

“He is to stand trial,” Vicente said stubbornly, “so he is here under arrest and under my personal protection.”

“Bloody hell!” Sharpe exploded.

“It is a matter of principle,” Vicente insisted.

“Principle!” Sharpe shouted. “It’s a matter of bloody stupidity, lawyer’s bloody stupidity! We’re in the middle of a bloody war, not in a bloody assizes town in England.” He saw Vicente’s incomprehension. “Oh, never mind,” he growled. “How long will it take us to reach Vila Real de Zedes?”

“We should be there tomorrow morning,” Vicente said coldly, then looked at Hagman, “so long as he doesn’t slow us down too much.”

“We’ll be there tomorrow morning,” Sharpe said, and then he would rescue Miss Savage and find out just why she had run away. And after that, God help him, he would slaughter the bloody dragoon officer, lawyer or no lawyer.

T
HE
S
AVAGE
country house, which was called the Quinta do Zedes, was not in Vila Real de Zedes itself, but high on a hill spur to the south of the village. It was a beautiful place, its whitewashed walls edged with masonry to trace out the elegant lines of a small manor house which looked across the once royal vineyards. The shutters were painted blue, and the high windows of the ground floor were decorated with stained glass which showed the coats of arms of the family which had once owned the Quinta do Zedes. Mister Savage had bought the Quinta along with the vineyards, and, because the house was high, possessed a thick tiled roof and was surrounded by trees hung with wisteria, it proved blessedly cool in summer and so the Savage family would move there each June and stay till October when they took themselves back to the House Beautiful high on Oporto’s slope. Then Mister Savage had died of a seizure and the house had stayed empty ever since except for the half-dozen servants who lived at the back and tended the small vegetable garden and walked down the long curving drive to the village church for mass. There was a chapel in the Quinta do Zedes and in the old days, when the owners of the coats of arms had lived in the long cool rooms, the servants had been allowed to attend mass in the family chapel, but
Mister Savage had been a staunch Protestant and he had ordered the altar taken away, the statues removed and the chapel whitewashed for use as a food store.

The servants had been surprised when Miss Kate came to the house, but they curtsied or bowed and then set about making the great rooms comfortable. The dust sheets were pulled from pieces of furniture, the bats were knocked off the beams and the pale-blue shutters were thrown open to let in the spring sun. Fires were lit to take away the lingering winter chill, though on that first evening Kate did not stay indoors beside the fires, but instead sat on a balcony built on top of the Quinta’s porch and stared down the drive which was edged with wisteria hanging from the cedar trees. The evening shadows stretched, but no one came.

Kate almost cried herself to sleep that night, but next morning her spirits were restored and, over the shocked protests of the servants, she swept out the entrance hall which was a glorious space of checkered black and white marble, with a white marble staircase curving up to the bedrooms. Then she insisted on dusting the fireplace in the great parlor which was decorated with painted tiles showing the battle of Aljubarrota where Joao I had humiliated the Castilians. She ordered a second bedroom to be aired, its bed made and the fire lit, then she went back to the balcony above the porch and watched the driveway until, just after the morning bell had rung in Vila Real de Zedes, she saw two horsemen appear beneath the cedars and her soul soared for joy. The leading horseman was so tall, so straight-backed, so darkly handsome, and at the same time there was a touching tragedy about him because his wife had died giving birth to their first baby, and the baby had died as well, and the thought of that fine man enduring such sadness almost brought tears to Kate’s eyes, but then the man stood in his stirrups and waved to her and Kate felt her happiness flood back as she ran down the stairs to greet her lover on the house steps.

Colonel Christopher slid from his horse. Luis, his servant, was riding the spare horse and carrying the great valise filled with Kate’s clothes that Christopher had removed from the House Beautiful once her mother was
gone. Christopher threw Luis the reins, then ran to the house, leaped up the front steps and took Kate into his arms. He kissed her and ran his hand from the nape of her neck to the small of her back and felt a tremor go through her. “I could not get here last night, my love,” he told her, “duty called.”

“I knew it would be duty,” Kate said, her face shining as she looked up at him.

“Nothing else would keep me from you,” Christopher said, “nothing,” and he bowed to kiss her forehead, then took a pace back, still holding both her hands, to look into her face. She was, he thought, the most beautiful girl in creation and charmingly modest for she blushed and laughed with embarrassment when he stared at her. “Kate, Kate,” he said chidingly, “I shall spend all my years looking at you.”

Her hair was black and she wore it drawn back from her high forehead, but with a pair of deep curls hanging where the French hussars wore their
cadenettes
. She had a full mouth, a small nose, and eyes that were touchingly serious at one moment and sparkling with amusement the next. She was nineteen years old, leggy as a colt, full of life and trust and, at this moment, full of love for her handsome man, who was dressed in a plain black coat, white riding breeches and a cocked hat from which hung two golden tassels. “Did you see my mother?” she asked.

“I left her promising that I would search for you.”

Kate looked guilty. “I should have told her…”

“Your mother will want you to marry some man of property who is safe in England,” Christopher said, “not some adventurer like me.” The real reason Kate’s mother would disapprove was because she had hoped to marry Christopher herself, but then the Colonel had discovered the terms of Mr. Savage’s will and had turned his attention to the daughter. “It would do no good to ask her blessing,” he went on, “and if you had told her what we planned then she would most certainly have stopped us.”

“She might not,” Kate suggested in a small voice.

“But this way,” Christopher said, “your mother’s disapproval does not
matter, and when she knows we are married then I am persuaded she will learn to like me.”

“Married?”

“Of course,” Christopher said. “You think I do not care for your honor?” He laughed at the shy look on her face. “There is a priest in the village,” he went on, “who I am sure can be persuaded to marry us.”

“I am not…” Kate said, then she brushed at her hair and tugged at her dress, and blushed deeper.

“You are ready,” Christopher anticipated her protest, “and you look enchantingly beautiful.”

Kate blushed more deeply and plucked at the neckline of her dress which she had chosen very carefully from among the summer frocks stored in the Quinta. It was an English dress of white linen, embroidered with bluebells entwined with acanthus leaves, and she knew it suited her. “My mother will forgive me?” she asked.

Christopher very much doubted it. “Of course she will,” he promised her. “I’ve known such situations before. Your dear mother wants only the best for you, but once she has come to know me she will surely recognize that I will care for you as no other.”

“I am sure she will,” Kate said warmly. She had never been quite certain why Colonel Christopher was so sure her mother would disapprove of him. He said it was because he was twenty-one years older than Kate, but he looked much less, and she was sure he loved her, and there were many men married to wives much younger, and Kate did not think her mother could possibly object on grounds of age, but Christopher also claimed to be a relatively poor man and that, he said, would most definitely offend her mother, and Kate thought that more than likely. But Christopher’s poverty did not offend her, indeed it only seemed to make their love more romantic, and now she would marry him.

He led her down the Quinta’s steps. “Is there a carriage here?”

“There’s an old gig in the stables.”

“Then we can walk to the village and Luis can fetch the gig for our return.”

“Now?”

“Yesterday,” Christopher said solemnly, “could not be too soon for me, my love.” He sent Luis to harness the gig, then laughed. “I almost came with inconvenient company!”

“Inconvenient?”

“Some damn fool engineer—forgive my soldier’s vocabulary—wanted to send a broken-down Rifle lieutenant to rescue you! Him and his raga-muffins. I had to order him away. Be gone, I said, and “stand not upon the order of your going.” Poor fellow.”

“Why poor?”

“Dear me! Thirty-something years old, and still a lieutenant? No money, no prospects and a chip on his shoulder as big as the Rock of Gibraltar.” He put her hand under his elbow and walked her beneath the avenue of wisteria. “Oddly enough I know the Rifle lieutenant by reputation. Have you ever heard of Lady Grace Hale? The widow of Lord William Hale?”

“I’ve never heard of either of them,” Kate said.

“What a sheltered life you do lead in Oporto,” Christopher said lightly. “Lord William was a very sound man. I worked closely with him in the Foreign Office for a time, but then he went to India on government business and had the misfortune to return on a naval ship that got tangled up in Trafalgar. He must have been an uncommonly brave fellow, for he died in the battle, but then there was an almighty scandal because his widow set up house with a Rifle officer and this is the very same man. Ye gods, what can Lady Grace have been thinking of?”

“He’s not a gentleman?”

“Certainly not born one!” Christopher said. “God knows where the army fetch some of their officers these days, but they dredged this fellow up from beneath a rock. And the Lady Grace set up an establishment with him! Quite extraordinary. But some well-bred women like to go fishing in the dirty end of the lake, and I fear she must have been one of them.” He shook his head in disapproval. “It gets worse,” he went on, “because she became pregnant and then died giving birth.”

“Poor woman!” Kate said and marveled that her lover could tell this tale so calmly for it would surely remind him of his own first wife’s death. “And what happened to the baby?” she asked.

“I believe the child died too. But it was probably for the best. It ended the scandal, and what future could such an infant have faced? Whatever, the father of the child was this same wretched rifleman who was supposed to whisk you away across the river. I sent him packing, I can tell you!” Christopher laughed at the recollection. “He scowled at me, he looked grim and claimed he had his orders, but I wouldn’t stand his nonsense and told him to make himself scarce. I hardly wanted such a disreputable rogue glowering at my wedding!”

“Indeed not,” Kate agreed.

“Of course I didn’t tell him I knew his reputation. There was no call to embarrass the fellow.”

“Quite right,” Kate said and squeezed her lover’s arm. Luis appeared behind them, driving a small dusty gig that had been stored in the Quinta’s stables and to which he had harnessed his own horse. Christopher stopped halfway to the village and picked some of the small delicate wild narcissi that grew on the road’s verge and he insisted on threading the yellow blossoms into Kate’s black hair, and then he kissed her again and told her she was beautiful and Kate thought this had to be the happiest day of her life. The sun shone, a small wind stirred the flower-bright meadows and her man was beside her.

Father Josefa was waiting at the church, having been summoned by Christopher on his way to the Quinta, but before any ceremony could be performed the priest took the Englishman aside. “I have been worrying,” the priest said, “that what you propose is irregular.”

“Irregular, Father?”

“You are Protestants?” the priest asked and, when Christopher nodded, he sighed. “The church says that only those who take our sacraments can be married.”