born to it, Sharpe.” Torrance laughed at the look of horrified outrage
on Sharpe’s face.
“Christ, I despise you!” he said savagely.
“You’re like a dressed-up monkey, Sharpe, only you can’t even wear
clothes properly! I could give you lace and braid, and you’d still
look like a peasant, because that’s what you are, Sharpe. Officers
should have style! They should have wit!
And all you can do is grunt. You know what you are, Sharpe? You’re an
embarrassment, you’re .. .” He paused, trying to find the right
insult, and shook his head in frustration as the words would not
come.
“You’re a lump, Sharpe! That’s what you are, a lump! And the kindest
thing is to finish you off.” Torrance smiled.
“Goodbye, Mister Sharpe.” He pulled the trigger.
The flint smashed down on the steel and the spark flashed into the
empty pan.
Sharpe reached out in the silence and took the pistol from Torrance’s
hand.
“I loaded it, sir, but I didn’t prime it. On account of the fact that
I might be a lump, but I ain’t any kind of fool.” He pushed Torrance
back into the chair, and Torrance could only watch as Sharpe dropped a
pinch of powder into the pan. He flinched as Sharpe closed the friz
zen then shuddered as Sharpe walked towards him.
“No, Sharpe, no!”
Sharpe stood behind Torrance.
“You tried to have me killed, sir, and I don’t like that.” He pressed
the pistol into the side of the Captain’s head.
“Sharpe!” Torrance pleaded. He was shaking, but he seemed powerless
to offer any resistance, then the muslin curtain from the kitchen was
swept aside and Clare Wall came into the room. She stopped and stared
with huge eyes at Sharpe.
“Clare!” Torrance pleaded.
“Fetch help! Quickly now!” Clare did not move.
“Fetch help, my dear!” Torrance said.
“She’ll be a witness against you, Sharpe.” Torrance had turned to look
at Sharpe and was babbling now.
“So the best thing you can do is to put the gun down. I’ll say nothing
about this, nothing! Just a touch of fever in you, I expect. It’s all
a misunderstanding and we shall forget it ever happened. Maybe we
could share a bottle of arrack? Clare, my dear, maybe you could find a
bottle?”
Clare stepped towards Sharpe and held out her hand.
“Fetch help, my dear,” Torrance said, ‘he’s not going to give you the
gun.”
“He is,” Sharpe said, and he gave Clare the pistol.
Torrance breathed a great sigh of relief, then Clare clumsily turned
the gun and pointed it at Torrance’s head. The Captain just stared at
her.
“Eyes front, Captain,” Sharpe said, and turned Torrance’s head so that
the bullet would enter from the side, just as it might if Torrance had
committed suicide.
“Are you sure?” he asked Clare.
“God help me,” she said, ‘but I’ve dreamed of doing this.” She
straightened her arm so that the pistol’s muzzle touched Torrance’s
temple.
“No!” he called.
“No, please! No!”
But she could not pull the trigger. Sharpe could see she wanted to,
but her finger would not tighten and so Sharpe took the gun from her,
edged her gently aside, then pushed the barrel into Torrance’s oiled
hair.
“No, please!” the Captain appealed. He was weeping.
“I beg you, Sharpe. Please!”
Sharpe pulled the trigger, stepping back as a gush of blood spouted
from the shattered skull. The sound of the pistol had been hugely loud
in the small room that was now hazed with smoke.
Sharpe knelt and pushed the pistol into Torrance’s dead hand, then
picked up the pouch with its gold and thrust it into Clare’s hands.
“We’re going,” he told her, ‘right now.”
She understood the haste and, without bothering to fetch any of her
belongings, followed him back into the outer room where Sajit’s body
lay slumped over the table. His blood had soaked the chitties Clare
whimpered when she saw the blood.
“I didn’t really mean to kill him,” Sharpe explained, ‘then realized
he’d be a witness if I didn’t.” He saw the fear on Clare’s face.
“I trust you, love. You and me? We’re the same, aren’t we? So come