„Couldn’t the embassy do that?” Hogan demanded.
„Not without being noticed,” Pumphrey said, „and not without occasioning some offense to a nation which is, after all, our most ancient ally. And I rather suspect that if you despatch someone from the embassy to ask questions then you will merely fetch the answers people think you want to hear. No, Christopher was supposed to be an English gentleman traveling in north Portugal, but, as you observe, the opportunity went to his head. Cradock was then halfwitted enough to give him brevet rank and so Christopher began hatching his plots.” Lord Pumphrey gazed up at the ceiling which was painted with reveling deities and dancing nymphs. „My own suspicion is that Mister Christopher has been laying bets on every horse in the race. We know he was encouraging a mutiny, but I strongly suspect he betrayed the mutineers. The encouragement was to reassure us that he worked for our interests and the betrayal endeared him to the French. He is determined, is he not, to be on the winning side? But the main intrigue, of course, was to enrich himself at the expense of the Savage ladies.” Pumphrey paused, then offered a seraphic smile. „I’ve always rather admired bigamists. One wife would be altogether too much for me, but for a man to take two!”
„Did I hear you say he wants to come back?” Sharpe asked.
„I surmise as much. James Christopher is not a man to burn his bridges unless he has no alternative. Oh yes, I’m sure he’ll be designing some way to return to London if he finds a lack of opportunity with the French.”
„Now I’m supposed to shoot the shit-faced bastard,” Sharpe said.
„Not precisely how we in the Foreign Office would express the matter,” Lord Pumphrey said severely, „but you are, I see, seized of the essence. Go and shoot him, Richard, and God bless your little rifle.”
„And what are you doing here?” Sharpe thought to ask.
„Other than being exquisitely uncomfortable?” Pumphrey asked. „I was sent to supervise Christopher. He approached General Cradock with news of a proposed mutiny. Cradock, quite properly, reported the affair to London and London became excited at the thought of suborning Bonaparte’s army in Portugal and Spain, but felt that someone of wisdom and good judgment was needed to propel the scheme and so, quite naturally, they asked me to come.”
„And we can forget the scheme now,” Hogan observed.
„Indeed we can,” Pumphrey replied tartly. „Christopher brought a Captain Argenton to talk with General Cradock,” he explained to Sharpe, „and when Cradock was replaced, Argenton made his own way across the lines to confer with Sir Arthur. He wanted promises that our forces wouldn’t intervene in the event of a French mutiny, but Sir Arthur wouldn’t hear of his plots and told him to tuck his tail between his legs and go back into the outer darkness whence he came. So, no plots, no mysterious messengers with cloaks and daggers, just plain old-fashioned soldiering. It seems, alas, that I am surplus to requirements and Mister Christopher, if your lady friend’s note is to be believed, has gone with the French, which must mean, I think, that he believes they will still win this war.”
Hogan had opened the window to smell the rain, but now turned to Sharpe. „We must go, Richard. We have things to plan.”
„Yes, sir.” Sharpe picked up his battered shako and tried to bend the visor back into shape, then thought of another question. „My lord?”
„Richard?” Lord Pumphrey responded gravely.
„You remember Astrid?” Sharpe asked awkwardly.
„Of course I remember the fair Astrid,” Pumphrey answered smoothly, „Ole Skovgaard’s comely daughter.”
„I was wondering if you had news of her, my lord,” Sharpe said. He was blushing.
Lord Pumphrey did have news of her, but none he cared to tell Sharpe, for the truth was that both Astrid and her father were in their graves, their throats cut on Pumphrey’s orders. „I did hear,” his lordship said gently, „that there was a contagion in Copenhagen. Malaria, perhaps? Or was it cholera? Alas, Richard.” He spread his hands.
„She’s dead?”
„I do fear so.”