‘I’m sure your priest would agree,’ Sharpe observed ironically.
‘Whoever he is.’
‘And no one suspects?’
‘They don’t say anything, at least not to Augustus. He told everyone he’d married me, why shouldn’t they believe him?’
‘And he doesn’t think anyone’s suspicious?’
‘Richard, I told you.’ She sounded almost exasperated. ‘He’s in love with me, he really is. He can’t get enough of me. He thinks I was created by the moon goddess, at least that’s what he said one night.’ Sharpe laughed, and she smiled. ‘He really does. He thinks I’m perfect. He’s always saying that. And he wants to own me, every part of me, every hour, everything.’ She shrugged. ‘He pays.’
‘And he doesn’t know about anyone else?’
‘The past, you mean? He’s heard. I told him it was all rumour, that I had entertained officers, but why shouldn’t I? A respectable married woman in Lisbon, perhaps a widow, I was allowed to take tea with an officer or two.’
‘He believes that?’
‘Of course! That’s what he wants to believe.’
‘How long will it last?’
‘I don’t know.’ She made a face at the hillside. ‘He’s nice. He’s like a cat. He’s very clean and very delicate and very jealous. I miss, well, you know.’
Sharpe laughed. ‘Josefina!’ It was an incredible story, but no more so than dozens he had heard of the shifts men and women resorted to in Cupid’s service. She watched him laugh.
‘I’m happy, Richard.’
‘And rich.’
‘Very.’ She smiled. ‘So you’re not to tell him I told you all this, understand? You’re not to tell him!’
‘I won’t say you told me.’
‘You’d better not. Another two months and I’ll have enough to buy some property in Lisbon. So I’ve told you nothing!’
He knuckled his forehead. ‘Yes, Ma’am.’
‘Lady Farthingdale.’
‘Yes, Milady.’
She laughed. ‘I’m getting to like being called that.’ She clutched the cloak tighter at her throat. ‘So tell me about you.’
He grinned, shook his head, and was trying to think of something non-committal to say when there was a bellow from across the roof. ‘Sir! Major Sharpe, sir!’
He turned, getting to his feet. ‘What?’
‘Those horsemen, sir. Saw them again. They’ve gone now.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘What were they?’
‘Dunno, sir, except… ‘
‘Except what?’ Sharpe shouted.
‘Can’t be sure, sir, but I thought they could be bloody French. Only three of them, sir, but they did look Frenchie.’
Sharpe understood the man’s doubt. French Cavalry rarely moved except in large formations and it sounded strange that just three enemy cavalry could be in this high valley. ‘Sir?’ The man called again.
`Yes?’
‘Could be the deserters, sir. They’ve got Frenchie uniforms.’
‘Keep looking!’ The man was probably right. Three French cavalrymen from Pot-au-Feu’s band were merely scouting the valley to the east and south. Pot-au-Feu surely was leaving. Sharpe turned to Josefina. ‘Time to go. Work to do.’ He held out his hand and helped her up. She looked at him with a hint of worry.
‘Richard?’
‘Yes.’ He presumed she was worried about the possibility of French troops in the high valley.
‘Are you glad to see me?’
‘Josefina.’ He smiled. ‘Yes, of course.’
They walked along the flat space between the parapet and the tiles, Riflemen making way for them and giving Josefina admiring looks. Sharpe stopped beneath the spread flag and stared westward into the shadows of the pass where the mist was shredding itself into decaying wisps. There was a slight movement among the grey rocks far down, a movement scarcely visible, but enough to prompt a shout from another sentry.
‘Sir!’
‘I’ve seen them, thank you!’
The Fusiliers were in sight. Sharpe looked from them up to the beaded, frail flag and he wondered why the instinct persisted that he might yet have to fight for it. He pushed the thought away, handed Josefina to the head of the ramp, and raised his voice so that the Riflemen could hear him. ‘Your husband will be here within the hour, Milady.’
‘Thank you, Major Sharpe.’ She bowed slightly towards him then, in a superb gesture, waved an arm around the whole Convent, a gesture that embraced all the watching Riflemen. She raised her voice. ‘And thank you to all of you. Thank you!’