Fenner sat very still. ‘How could it become public?’
‘Because Major Richard Sharpe is in full knowledge of the facts.’ Sir William smiled. ‘He attempted to see the Duke of York today. York’s aide sent for me, knowing that I had been Sharpe’s commanding officer, and I have, so far, kept him silent. You owe me thanks for that.’
Fenner somehow managed to hide his horror. Sharpe was alive? His Lordship had thought it strange that his hired assassins had not come to collect their reward, but nor had Sharpe ever appeared again and Fenner had persuaded himself that the troublesome Rifleman was safely dead.
The door to the drawing room creaked ajar and Fenner supposed that Anne Camoynes was listening there. God damn her! He dared not close the door lest the movement be interpreted as nervousness and, to cover his astonishment and consternation, he lit a cigar for himself and forced insouciance into his voice. ‘You say Sharpe spoke to you?’
‘At great length. A very remarkable man, my Lord. I knew him as a sergeant. He has a talent for battle, but not, I think, for politics.’ Lawford smiled as though such a lack in a man was to be pitied. ‘He is an intemperate fellow, often foolhardy, and not easily dissuaded. He pointed out to me, with commendable passion, the need for veteran Battalions to be kept in Spain. His own Battalion, as your Lordship knows, is in danger of dismemberment and he feels, not without cause, that it has yet a great contribution to make in the invasion of France. If he feels that it is being deliberately denied replacements, then he could make an unwelcome noise. Your Lordship comprehends me?’
Fenner nodded. How, in God’s name, had Sharpe discovered Foulness? Fenner would dearly love to know, yet to ask was to reveal too great a concern.
‘Fortunately,’ Lawford went on, ‘he has no absolute proof, so his opportunity for embarrassing our government is slight. He has agreed to do nothing until the day after tomorrow, my Lord, and to leave the resolution of this affair entirely in my hands.’
Fenner bowed to Lawford, a gesture that did express relief, for now he knew what he must deal with. Not with some rogue Rifleman whose passion and enmity scared His Lordship, but with another politician, a man who understood that compromise was the very finest of the arts. ‘You have suggestions, Sir William?’
‘Mere thoughts,’ Sir William smiled. ‘I really do not know if there is anything amiss at Foulness. A strange name, yes?’ Lord Fenner smiled, for the words told him that Sir William had not come to preach morality, but to make his bargain. Lawford drew on his cigar. ‘My concern is with Major Sharpe. I owe him a great deal, sir, including my life. You will sympathise with my wish to extricate him from this entanglement. I would not want him punished, nor in any way see his career harmed, indeed, I would like to see it advanced. If he is guilty of anything, my Lord, it is merely an excessive devotion to his duty.’
Lord Fenner nodded. ‘You say he is in London?’
‘I did not. I said he has agreed to do nothing until I speak to him in two days.’
‘What does he want?’
‘His Battalion.’
Lord Fenner knew that now he had to play a card of his own. ‘But if there is no Battalion, Sir William, he cannot have it.’ Fenner’s gaze was challenging.
Lawford knew that Lord Fenner, by his last statement, was saying that the physical evidence at Foulness, the men, the camp itself, all signs of the hidden Battalion, would be removed. The men would be sent to different depots throughout Britain, dispersed in sections, while the tents and buildings would be destroyed. There could be no disgrace for Lord Fenner, for there would be no evidence of any kind. Lawford smiled. ‘I thought, my Lord, that he might be given command of a Rifle Battalion in the American war? We need good men over there.’
‘America?’ Lord Fenner thought it would do very well; a minor, scrappy war being fought three thousand miles away. No one cared what happened in America. ‘We could doubtless arrange such a thing, so long as he keeps silent about this preposterous business.’