‘If there’s no evidence, my Lord, what does it matter?’
Fenner said nothing. There was only one proof that could destroy him, and that was the secret records of the Battalion auctions, and they, he knew, were safe. Even if Major Sharpe should produce the men themselves, what could they prove? They were listed as a Holding Battalion, so the men were accounted for. The officers might bleat about auctions, yet they had taken the money and so risked punishment, while not one officer, apart from Girdwood, knew of His Lordship’s involvement.
Sir William tossed his cigar into the empty hearth. ‘I have your permission to return and speak with you tomorrow, my Lord? I would not ask you for a precipitate decision.’
Fenner stood. ‘America?’
‘It would be most suitable. A Battalion command, of course. Nothing less.’ Lawford was ensuring that Sharpe did not suffer. The scandal would be avoided, the government safe, and Sir William’s own reward could wait.
‘Of course.’ Fenner held a hand out to guide his guest towards the door. ‘I really am most obliged to you, Sir William. Men of sense and discretion are rare commodities these days. We must make sure your talents do not go unrewarded.’
‘Thank you, my Lord.’ Which meant that Lawford could now look for a government post, something unburdensome but with a welcome salary.
Lord Fenner did not summon his steward, but opened his front door himself. ‘I shall look forward to your return tomorrow. You have a coat, a hat?’
Sir William stood on the step in the gentle London dusk, and thought that it was a good evening’s work. There would be no scandal, no ribald jeers in Parliament. Instead the criminal evidence would be quietly hidden and Richard Sharpe, whom Lawford liked, would get a just reward. He would be promoted, he would have a Rifle Battalion of his own, and no one, except the enemies against whom that Battalion was matched, would suffer. No one. Lawford smiled as his groom opened the carriage door.
Lord Fenner, from his front windows, watched Sir William’s coach go towards St James’s. Lord Fenner was not happy. He had been found out, yet he was sensible of the fact that Sir William had been most delicate. Sir William wanted a reward; why else had he come? His price was Sharpe’s future. Lord Fenner would rather have seen Sharpe flayed alive, but the man’s promotion was a very cheap price to pay.
He turned to the drawing room, opening the door that had been left ajar, to find the Lady Camoynes leafing through a book. ‘How long have you been here?’
‘A while, Simon.’
‘You heard?’
‘That is why I came to this room.’ She smiled at him, her green eyes bright in the lamplight. ‘You might care to know, Simon, that Lawford has a most expensive and ambitious wife. You are fortunate.’
‘Fortunate?’
‘That you will be able to bribe him into silence. A Battalion for the Major and a salary for Sir William.’
‘You disapprove.’ He said it to mock her, to diminish her. She was his creature, in his debt, in thrall to his whim for the future of her son and his inheritance.
‘If it was I, Simon,’ Lady Camoynes closed the book, ‘I would use the knowledge to destroy you.’
He laughed. ‘But it is not you, and your place in my house, Anne, is upstairs.’
She dropped the book and, without another word, turned and left the room. Lord Fenner followed her up the stairs, his appetite, as ever, sharpened by the apprehension of this demonstration of his power. The evening was yet young, and he would do mischief.
CHAPTER 13
Most Londoners claimed that the Vauxhall Gardens were past their prime, that the delights of London’s oldest pleasure garden were faded, mere shadows of outrageous past joys, yet Sharpe had always liked Vauxhall. As a child he had come here from the rookery, sent to pick pockets in its shadowed walks and about its extraordinary pavilions, grottoes, lodges, temples, statues, and porticos. It was lit by a myriad of lamps, mostly shaped as stars or sickle moons, lamps that were strung among the trees at different heights so that, from any part of the garden, it seemed as if a visitor walked like a giant amongst a galaxy.