Sharpe stared at her. He said nothing. He was trying to work out how he had miscalculated so badly, failed so terribly. He was blaming himself for halting the half Battalion so far from the Royal stand. He should have smashed his way through the ranks of guards to the balustrade behind which the Prince had sat. He could have wept for Jane. They had been like children, thinking love a game that bravery could win, but the bastards had won.
Lord Fenner frowned. ‘My dear Anne, I am engaged on the business of state.’
‘Introduce me, Simon!’
Fenner reluctantly stood. He cleared his throat. ‘General Sir Barstan Maxwell, I have the honour of naming the Dowager Countess Camoynes.’ He made the introduction peremptorily. ‘I presume you can wait, Anne?’ He said it with a bad grace, his confidence returning after the shock of her entry.
‘Of course I can wait, Simon. I merely wanted to be sure you had not forgotten that I was having supper with you tonight?’
‘I had not forgotten.’ Fenner sat down and pulled his chair close to the table. ‘But I am delayed and will be obliged if you would wait outside, my Lady.’
‘As you ask so graciously, my Lord, I will. I am honoured to have made your acquaintance, Sir Barstan.’ She smiled at the Guards officer, then at Sir Henry, and finally gave Sharpe a cold, unfriendly look. ‘Your uniform is a disgrace, Major.’
Sir Henry Simmerson, who had said the same thing at the commencement of the evening’s business, gave a snort of delighted agreement. Lady Camoynes smiled at him, then looked back to Sharpe. ‘You are also most remiss, Major.’
‘Anne!’ Lord Fenner said testily.
‘A moment, Simon.’ She chided him sweetly, then looked imperiously at Sharpe. ‘Most remiss indeed, Major.’
‘Remiss, Ma’am?’
She brought her left hand from beneath her cloak. ‘You promised me this, hut what is a soldier’s promise? A mere bauble, yes?’ She smiled. She held a red leather-bound book in her gloved hand. ‘I had to find them for myself! Your steward, Simon? He wanted to know what he was to burn, so he was still reading them when I arrived for our little supper. Servants are so curious about us, aren’t they?’ She smiled at Lord Fenner. ‘I have the other one. It’s quite safe, of course, rescued from the flames. It has some letters inside signed by you. How careless of you not to destroy them. Do hold this book for me, Major.’ She turned a chair to face the large table. ‘I think perhaps I’ll stay now, Simon. I am so fascinated by your business of state.’
General Sir Barstan Maxwell thought the world had gone mad. The Rifleman was smiling, leafing through a ledger book at which Lord Fenner and Sir Henry, white-faced and aghast, stared with disbelief. The Dowager Lady Camoynes sat, and on her elegant and disdainful face there came an expression of alert and intelligent anticipation.
The clerk was suddenly no longer needed. His records of the evening’s transactions were taken by Lord Fenner and ripped into two. ‘My Lord!’ General Maxwell protested.
‘Sir Barstan, this is not your business. Go, man!’ This last to the clerk who, flurried by the evening’s strange turn, dropped his pen and fled to the door.
General Sir Barstan Maxwell stared at the torn record. ‘My Lord, I insist this is done properly! I must insist!’
‘It is being done properly, Sir Barstan.’ Lady Camoynes was suddenly dominating the room. ‘Most properly indeed. If it is done any other way, my dear General, there is likely to be a most horrid scandal. Is that not true, Simon?’
The General looked at Lord Fenner, who, under Lady Camoynes’ gaze, nodded weakly in confirmation.
She laughed. ‘A splendid scandal, General. I do think your master of York will want us to keep it a secret, don’t you? Freddie’s had quite enough trouble already.’ There was no one to dispute her words as she looked at Sharpe. ‘Perhaps, Major Sharpe, you have some few requests to make of Lord Fenner?’
‘Requests?’
She made a disappointed face at him. ‘I assume you want a favour of Simon?’ She gestured at Lord Fenner. ‘I do believe this would be an opportune moment to ask. My own small requests,’ she smiled at Lord Fenner, ‘will wait.’ She ruled the room. Sir Henry, who had delivered the books to be burned, felt his heart beating with a dangerous rapidity.