Sharpe's Havoc (11 page)

“I’ve got to cross the river,” Sharpe said, “and there’s a bridge there, and there’s a
Portuguese army there, and just because the bloody Frogs are going there doesn’t mean that
they’ll capture the bridge.” And if they did, he thought, then he could go north from Amarante
until he found a crossing place, then follow the Tamega’s far bank south until he reached a
stretch of the Douro unguarded by the French. “So how do we reach Amarante if we don’t go by
road? Can we go across country?”

Vicente nodded. “We go north to a village here”-he pointed to an empty space on his
map-”and then turn east. The village is on the edge of the hills, the beginning of the-what do
you call it? The wilderness. We used to go there.”

“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.

The savage 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 is a food store.

The servants had been surprised when Miss Kate came to the house, nit they curtsied or
bowed and then set about making the great rooms comfortable. The dust sheets were pulled from
pieces of furniture, the )ats 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 ragamuffins. 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.”