SHARPE’S REGIMENT

‘Nothing, sir.’

‘Don’t wait if he has news. Just find me.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Sharpe crossed to the office and there he gave much the same to the officers, though he also offered them a chance to resign their commissions this very night if they so wished. ‘Just don’t be here in the morning, you understand?’

There was silence. There were the two Captains; Smith the senior man, and Finch the junior, with six Lieutenants. They all looked old for their rank, and Sharpe supposed that Girdwood had hand-picked each of them. Doubtless they were filled with resentment against an army that had let younger men be promoted over them, that had even allowed a man from the ranks, Richard Sharpe, to be a Major. He was equally sure, though he did not yet have any proof, that their rancour had been assuaged by generous payments from the profits of Foulness.

‘I know what this place is.” Not one of them, just like the sergeants, would catch his eye. ‘You’re bloody crimpers! Hardly a gentleman’s trade, is it? And thieves.’

Captain Finch, his head still bandaged from the thump Harper had given him with his pistol butt, looked angrily at Sharpe, but the Rifleman stared him down. ‘I had to find this place by bloody joining up! And what do I find? Thieves masquerading as gentlemen. Common bloody criminals. You! Captain Smith?’

‘Sir?’ Captain Hamish Smith, five years older than Sharpe and with prematurely grey hair and sunken cheeks, looked timidly at the Rifleman.

‘Where’s the Battalion chest?’

‘In that cupboard, sir.’

‘Open it.’

‘The chest is locked, sir. Colonel has the key.’

Sharpe took his rifle. They watched in silence as, with the practised, quick efficiency of a trained Rifleman, he loaded the gun. When the rifle was primed, he opened the cupboard, dragging the great, padlocked chest onto the floor, and held the muzzle against the steel padlock.

They flinched as the bullet ripped the hasp away from the chest with a burst of splinters and a shrieking of torn metal. ‘You! Tell me your name again.’ Sharpe pointed to a tall, long-faced Lieutenant who had been guarding the bridge when Sharpe arrived and who still looked shocked from the savage words that had answered his challenge there.

‘Mattingley, sir.’

‘Count the contents.’

Sharpe had kicked the lid open. He could see bags of coin and a pile of banknotes, but he could see no ledgers or papers. Lieutenant Price, in his search of this office, had likewise found no incriminating documents. The only proof Sharpe had, at this moment, of Sir Henry Simmerson and Lieutenant Colonel Girdwood’s illegalities was the Battalion itself. The proof he so desperately needed was not here, and he prayed that d’Alembord would find it in Girdwood’s quarters.

He gave the orders for the next day as Mattingley counted the money. When the orders were given, he stared at each man in turn. ‘I will say one last thing. I do not know, nor do I much care, whether the army will punish your thievery and crimping. I do know this. The attitude of the Horse Guards will be much affected by the behaviour of this Mess over the next few days.’ The truth was that he could not control the Battalion without these men or the sergeants, and, though he despised them and would have gladly seen each one broken and dismissed, he needed them. ‘My object, gentlemen, is simple. I wish our Regiment to be part of the invasion of France. It is to that purpose that I am here, and if you help me in that purpose then I will do what I can to ensure your own personal survival.’ He looked at Mattingley. ‘How much?’

‘Two hundred and four guineas in coin, sir. Forty-eight pounds in note.’

‘This room will be locked and guarded tonight. If I find anything missing, any papers, any money, then I will know who to question. Captain Smith? I’ll trouble you to stay here. The rest of you gentlemen are dismissed.’

He watched them file from the door. d’Alembord waited outside and Sharpe gestured for him to enter. ‘Anything?’

‘Nothing, sir.’ d’Alembord had searched Girdwood’s quarters, even those of his servant. ‘Except some poetry.’ He grinned, and it was a relief to Sharpe, after the last half hour, to hear an honest voice with humour in it.

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