Bernard Cornwell – 1812 10 Sharpe’s Enemy

‘I’m sure.’ He pressed back, turned to Dubreton. ‘Partridge?’

‘Of course.’ Dubreton spoke between mouthfuls. ‘Butter, salt and pepper inside the bird, two vine leaves on the outside with some pork fat. You see? Simple!’

Sir Augustus, still smarting from the rebuke over turnips, cheered up. ‘You should try fat bacon, Colonel! Much better than pork fat. My dear Mother always insisted on fat bacon.’

Josefina’s foot was now hooked round Sharpe’s ankle, pulling his leg closer. An orderly served her other neighbour wine and she moved her chair, seemingly to give him room, and then her knee was touching Sharpe’s.

‘Fat bacon!’ Dubreton had sucked a bone clean and discarded it. ‘My dear Sir Augustus! It fights the juice of the bird! And bacon burns!’ He smiled at Josefina. ‘You must change his habits, Milady, and insist on nothing but pork fat.’

She nodded, her mouth full, then dabbed at his lips. ‘No herbs, Colonel?’

‘Beautiful lady.’ Dubreton smile. ‘A young bird needs no herbs. An older bird? Yes, perhaps. A little thyme, parsley, perhaps a bay leaf.’

She paused with a forkful of breast-meat an inch from her mouth. ‘I shall always remember to have young birds, Colonel.’ Her knee rubbed Sharpe.

An orderly put more logs on the fire and somewhere in the village mens’ voices sang together, while other orderlies moved round the table and gave everyone a second glass of wine, lighter red than the first, and when Sharpe moved to pick up the new glass Dubreton stopped him. ‘Wait, Major! That’s for your main dish. Stay with your, what do you call it, claret! Stay with your claret for the moment.’

Josefina’s other neighbour had shifted his chair closer so that his view was not impaired. Sir Augustus pushed half of his partridge away, uneaten, and stared unhappily across the table. Josefina was dazzling the Dragoon Captain, fingering the silver wire of his epaulette, and asking him how he cleaned it. Sharpe smiled to himself. She was superb. As untrustworthy as a cheap sword in battle, but the years had not palled her excitement or her mischief. He saw Ducos’ eyes on him, the spectacles flashing on and off with candlelight as the Major chewed, and it seemed to Sharpe that Ducos smiled because he knew what was happening.

Harry Price was explaining cricket to one of the Frenchwomen, using a blend of English and outrageous French. ‘He bowls la balle, oui? And he frappes it avec le baton! Comme ca!’ Price made a stroke with his knife that rang loud on the edge of a wineglass. His flushed face smiled an apology at the senior officers who turned to look.

A French major egged Price on. ‘The same man? He throws and hits?’

‘Non, non, non!’ Price drank from the wineglass. ‘Onze hommes, oui? Une homme bowls et une homme frappes. Dix catch. Une homme from autre side frappes comme le man bowls. Simple!’

The French Major explained cricket to the rest of the table, making much of’une homme’ and ‘le frapping’, and the laughter was unforced, the room warm, and the wine good. Christmas evening with the French? Sharpe leaned back in his chair and it seemed so strange, no, more than strange, unnatural that tomorrow these same men might be trying to kill each other. Price was offering to teach the French cricket in the morning, but Sharpe’s instincts warned him of a different game.

Josefina’s foot was still for the moment, hooked about his ankle while she listened to the Dragoon tell a long story about a ball in Paris. That would be to Josefina’s liking. Paris would be heaven to her, a mythical city where a beautiful woman could walk for ever on soft carpets beneath crystal lights receiving the homage of dazzling uniforms. He thought to remove his foot, knowing he did not want her, but he could not summon the energy or desire to move. He looked at Farthingdale, unhappily defending his book against Ducos’ surprising knowledge, and Sharpe supposed that he was flirting with Josefina because he disliked Sir Augustus so much. He did it, too, because he was weak. If Sir Augustus was not guarding her tonight Sharpe knew he would not resist the temptation. He shifted his foot a fraction and she tightened the pressure fiercely.

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