“You feel safe with Aksel and his merry men?”
“Safe from whom?” Skovgaard looked up into the sky where bands of white cloud stretched from east to west. “From my friends, the British?” he asked sarcastically.
“From your new friends, the French.”
“I shall stay here in the warehouse. And so will Astrid. Aksel and his men will be sufficient, I think.” Skovgaard listened to the distant gunfire for a few seconds. “Aksel is an officer now,” he went on, “and your presence is an embarrassment to him.”
“I wonder why,” Sharpe said, thinking of Astrid.
Skovgaard must have known what Sharpe was thinking, for he blushed slightly. “Aksel is a good Dane,” he said hotly, “and you are an enemy, Mister Sharpe.”
“Enemy?” Sharpe pulled on his shirt. “I spent the last two afternoons playing tipcat with children in an orphanage. Is that what an enemy does?”
Skovgaard frowned. “You are English and Aksel is right. You put me in a difficult position. You may keep the two pistols, but I insist you leave.”
“And if I don’t?”
For a moment Skovgaard looked angry, then he bowed his head as though he was thinking. “I have lost much in my life, Lieutenant.” He spoke surprisingly softly, still looking at the ground. “My wife, my son, my son-in-law and my grandson. God has punished me. I have pursued worldly goals, Lieutenant”-he looked up at Sharpe now-“preferring success to His will. Your country has rewarded me greatly in return for my help. That is how I could buy the house in Vester Fuelled, but it is the fruit of sin. I am sorry, Lieutenant, but to me you represent evil. Your country’s desires, its actions, its ambitions, they are all wrong.”
“You think the French-”
“I think the French are as bad if not worse,” Skovgaard anticipated Sharpe’s words, “but it is my soul I must worry about. I shall put my faith in God, where it should have been all these months. This is a godly family, Lieutenant, it always has been, and you, I think, are not godly. I see… ” Skovgaard hesitated and frowned, then nerved himself to go on. “I see my daughter’s interest in you. That does not surprise me, for you resemble Nils, but you cannot be good for her.”
“I-” Sharpe tried to speak.
“No!” Skovgaard again interrupted. “Tell me, Lieutenant, are you saved in Christ Jesus?”
Sharpe stared at Skovgaard’s thin face, then sighed. “No.”
“Then you will leave us, for this is a godly house and your presence disturbs us.”
“You think God will protect you from Lavisser?”
“He can do whatever He wishes, Lieutenant. He will hold us against all the world’s evils if it is His will.”
“Then you’d better pray, Mister Skovgaard, you’d better bloody pray.”
There was nothing to be done. Sharpe changed into his uniform which he covered with his greatcoat. He put the telescope into one pocket, the guineas into another, belted the saber about his waist and thrust the good pistols into the belt, then went down to the kitchen where Astrid had just served Aksel Bang with a dish of barley porridge. “So you leave us, I hear?” Bang said happily.
“Isn’t that what you wanted, Aksel?”
“We can manage without the English,” Bang said cheerfully.
“You will have breakfast, Lieutenant?” Astrid asked Sharpe.
“I just came to say goodbye.”
“I shall come to the gate with you.” She took off her apron and, ignoring Bang who watched her like a dog eyeing a bone, led Sharpe into the yard. Sharpe had thought she meant she would see him to the warehouse’s back gate which opened onto Skindergade, but she must have meant one of the city gates for she walked into the street with him.
“You shouldn’t be out here on your own,” Sharpe told her, for once she had said goodbye she would have to return to her father’s house unescorted.
“No one is looking for me this morning,” she said dismissively. “Everyone is watching the British.” She led him past the cathedral, which lay close to the warehouse. “I am sorry you are going.”
“So am I.”
“And the children will miss their American friend.” She smiled. “You like children?”