Farthingdale managed to convey that he and Wellington were on close terms, that he was vouchsafing a state secret to Sharpe. The paper-knife tapped the polished desk-top. ‘My wife, Major, has the highest connections in the Portuguese court. You understand?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘The Marquess of Wellington does not want our relationship with the Portuguese government jeopardized.’
‘No, sir.’ Sharpe resisted the impulse to tell Sir Augustus Farthingdale that he was a pompous idiot. It was interesting that Wellington had written, the letter doubtless posted north by one of the young cavalry officers who, by changing frequent horses, could cover sixty miles in a day. Wellington must be in Lisbon then, for the news could not have reached Cadiz in time for a reply tahave been received. And Farthingdale was pompous because even Sharpe knew that Wellington’s concern would not be the Portuguese government. His concern would be the Spanish. The story of Adrados had spread like fire on a parched plain, feeding from the sensibilities of Spanish pride, and in the New Year the British army must march back into Spain. The army would buy its food from the Spanish; use Spanish labour to bake bread and drive mules, find forage and give shelter, and Pot-au-Feu and Hakeswill had jeopardized that co-operation. The poison of Adrados had to be lanced as one small step towards winning the war.
Yet Sharpe, who guessed he had known Wellington longer than Farthingdale, knew that there would be something else about Pot-au-Feu which would deeply disturb the General. Wellington believed that anarchy was always just a rabble-rouser’s shout away from order, and order, he believed, was not just an essential but the supreme virtue. Pot-au-Feu had challenged that virtue, and Pot-au-Feu would have to be destroyed.
The paper-knife was put down on a pile of paper, perhaps Farthingdale’s next book of Practical Instructions to Young Officers, and one immaculate knee was crossed over the other. Sir Augustus straightened the tassel of a boot. ‘You say she has not been harmed?’ There was a hint of worry beneath the polished voice.
‘So Madame Dubreton assured us, sir.’ A clock in the hallway struck nine. Sharpe guessed that most of the furnishings of these lodgings had been transported north just for Sir Augustus’ visit. He and Lady Farthingdale had made their magnificent progress around the winter quarters of the Portuguese army and then stopped at Frenada on their way south so that Lady Farthingdale could visit the shrine of Adrados and pray for her mother who was dying. Farthingdale had preferred a day’s rough shooting, but two young Captains had eagerly offered to escort his wife to the hills. Sharpe wished that Sir Augustus would show him a picture of his wife, but the Colonel did not evidently think that desirable.
‘I have it in mind, Major, to lead the rescue of Lady Farthingdale?’ Sir Augustus inflected the statement as a question, almost a challenge, but Sharpe said nothing. The Colonel dabbed the corner of his mouth with a finger, then inspected the fingertip as if something might have adhered to it. ‘Tell me how possible a rescue is, Major?’It could be done, sir.’
‘The Marquess of Wellington,’ again the annoying circumlocution of Wellington’s full title, ‘wishes it to be done.’We’d need to know which of the buildings she’s in, sir. There’s a Castle, a Convent, and a whole village, sir.’
‘Do we know?’
‘No, sir.’ Sharpe did not want to speculate here. That could wait till he saw Nairn.
The eyes looked at Sharpe with hostility. Sir Augustus’ expression implied that Sharpe had failed utterly. He sighed. ‘So. I have lost my wife, five hundred guineas, at least I’m glad to see you still have my watch.’
‘Yes, sir. Of course, sir.’ Sharpe undipped the chain reluctantly. He had never owned a watch, indeed he had often been scathing about them, saying that any officer who needed a machine for telling the time of day did not deserve to wear a uniform, but now he felt that the possession of this timepiece, albeit borrowed, lent him a certain air of success and property; something proper to a Major. ‘Here, sir.’ He handed it to Sir Augustus who opened the lid, checked that both hands and the glass were still there, and who then slid open a drawer of the desk and put the watch away. Then the long slim fingers wiped delicately against each other. ‘Thank you, Major. I am sorry this has been so fruitless an experience. Doubtless we will meet at Major General Nairn’s headquarters meeting in the morning.’ He stood up, his movements precise as a cat.