‘Tell her the doll’s from me, too.’ He had nothing to give his daughter. She nodded. ‘It’s supposed to be you.’ She smiled. ‘She can have a doll and call it Father. I’ll tell her it’s from you as well.’
Sharpe thought of his words to Frederickson. Leave her to life. He did not want that. Antonia was his only flesh and blood, but she did not know him, nor he her, and he looked up into the mist at a blurred star and thought how selfish he was. He preferred to live on the blade-edge of danger and glory rather than raise a family in peace and security. Antonia was a child of war, and war, as Ducos had said, brought death more often than life. ‘Does she speak yet?’
‘A few words.’ Teresa’s voice was subdued. ‘Mamma. She calls Ramon `Gogga’, I don’t know why.’ She laughed, but there was little pleasure in her voice.
Antonia would speak Spanish. She had no one to call Father except her uncle, Ramon, and she was lucky in him. More fortunate in her uncle than in her father.
‘Major! Major Sharpe!’
The voice hailed him from the inn door, then Dubreton stepped into the street and walked towards them. ‘Major?’
Sharpe put a hand on Teresa’s shoulder, waited till the French Colonel was close. ‘My wife, M’sieu. Teresa? This is Colonel Dubreton.’
Dubreton bowed to her. ‘La Aguja. You’re as beautiful as you are dangerous, Ma’am.’ He gestured towards the inn. ‘It would be my pleasure to have you join us. The ladies have withdrawn, but you would be welcome, I know.’
Teresa, to Sharpe’s surprise, spoke politely. ‘I’m tired, Colonel. I would prefer to wait for my husband in the Castle.’
‘Of course, Madame.’ Dubreton paused. ‘Your husband has done me a great service, Madame, a personal service. To him I owe my wife’s safety. If it is ever in my power, then I will feel honoured to repay that debt.’
Teresa smiled. ‘You’ll forgive me if I hope it is never in your power?’
‘I regret we are enemies.’
‘You can leave Spain, then we need not be.’
‘To be your friend, Madame, makes the idea of losing this war bearable.’
She laughed, pleased with the compliment, and to Sharpe’s utter astonishment held out her hand and let the Frenchman kiss it. ‘Would you call my horse, Colonel? One of your men is holding it.’
Dubreton obeyed, smiling at the odd chance that had brought him so close to a woman on whose head France had a high price. La Aguja, ‘the needle’, fought a bitter war against his men.
Harper brought the horse, helped Teresa into the saddle, and walked back with her towards the Castle. Dubreton watched them go and took a cigar from a leather case. He offered one to Sharpe and the Rifleman, who rarely smoked, wanted one now. He waited as Dubreton blew the spark on the charred linen inside his tinder-box into a flame, then bent down to light the cigar.
The hooves of the horse faded on the brittle, frosted earth. Dubreton lit his own cigar. ‘She’s very beautiful, Major.’
‘Yes.’
The cigar smoke vanished into the mist. A small breeze was blowing now, a breeze to blow cannon smoke away from the guns’ muzzles. The mist would clear soon, blown into scraps, and then what? Rain or snow.
Dubreton gestured Sharpe back towards the inn. ‘Your Colonel demanded your presence. Not, I think, that he needs or wants your advice, I suspect he merely wanted to deprive you of your wife’s company.’
‘As you deprived him?’
Dubreton smiled. ‘My wife, who is no fool, has even suggested that the beautiful Lady Farthingdale is not all she is supposed to be.’
Sharpe laughed, made no reply, and stood aside to let Dubreton duck under the lintel of the inn door. Once inside, Sharpe pulled the curtain close, and found the room stuffy with the smoke of cigars, tense with serious talk. The Battalion of wine bottles had been destroyed, replaced with brandy that only the junior officers were drinking with enjoyment. Sir Augustus Farthingdale was frowning, Ducos was smiling his secret smile.
Dubreton looked at Ducos. ‘I’m afraid you just missed La Aguja, Ducos. I invited her to join us, but she pleaded tiredness.’