Sharpe followed, but before he reached the companionway he was accosted by Lord William Hale who stepped from behind a pile of boxes. The young man in the sepulchral clothes stood behind his lordship. “Your name?” Hale demanded.
Sharpe bristled. The sensible course was to knuckle under, for Hale was evidently a formidable man in London, but Sharpe had acquired an acute dislike of his lordship. “The same as it was ten minutes ago,” he answered curtly.
Lord William looked into Sharpe’s face which was sunburned, hard and slashed by the wicked scar. “You are impertinent,” Lord William said, “and I do not abide impertinence.” He glanced at the grubby white facings on Sharpe’s jacket. “The 74th? I am acquainted with Colonel Wallace and I shall let him know of your insubordination.” So far Lord William had not raised his voice which was chilling enough anyway, but now a note of indignation did creep in. “You could have killed me with that pistol!”
“Killed you?” Sharpe asked. “No, I couldn’t. I wasn’t aiming at you.”
“You will write to Colonel Wallace now, Braithwaite,” Lord William said to the young man in the black clothes, “and make sure the letter goes ashore before we sail.”
“Of course, my lord. At once, my lord,” Braithwaite said. He was evidently Lord William’s secretary and he shot Sharpe a look of pitying condescension, suggesting that the ensign had come up against forces far too strong for him.
Lord William stepped aside, allowing Sharpe to catch up with the young Binns who had been watching the confrontation from the companionway.
Sharpe was not worried by Lord William’s threat. His lordship could write a thousand letters to Colonel Wallace and much good it would do him for Sharpe was no longer in the 74th. He wore the uniform for he had no other clothes to wear, but once he was back in Britain he would join the 95th with its odd new uniform of a green jacket. He did not like the idea of wearing green. He had always worn red.
Binns waited at the foot of the companionway. “Lower deck, sir,” he said, then pushed through a canvas screen into a dark, humid and foul-smelling space. “This is steerage, sir.”
“Why’s it called steerage?”
“They used to steer the boats from here, sir, in the old days, before there was wheels. Gangs of men hauling on ropes, sir, must have been hell.” It still looked hellish. A few lanterns guttered, struggling against the gloom in which a score of sailors were nailing up canvas screens to divide the fetid space into a maze of small rooms. “One seven by six,” Binns shouted, and a sailor gestured to the starboard side where the screens were already in place. “Take your pick, sir,” Binns said, “as you’re one of the first gentlemen aboard, but if you wants my advice I’d be as near aft as you can go, and it’s best not to share with a gun, sir.” He gestured at an eighteen-pounder cannon that half filled one cabin. The weapon was lashed to the deck and pointed at a closed gunport. Binns ushered Sharpe into the empty cubicle next door where he dropped a linen bag on the floor. “That’s a mallet and nails, sir, and as soon as your dunnage is delivered you can secure everything shipshape.” He tied back one side of the canvas box, thus allowing a little dim lantern light to seep into the cabin, then tapped the deck with his foot. “All the money’s down below, sir,” he said cheerfully.
“The money?” Sharpe asked.
“A cargo of indigo, sir, saltpeter, silver bars and silk. Enough to make us all rich a thousand times over.” He grinned, then left Sharpe to contemplate the tiny space that would be his home for the next four months.
The rear wall of his cabin was the curving side of the ship. The ceiling was low, and crossed by heavy black beams in which some hooks rusted. The floor was the deck, thickly scarred with old nail-holes where previous passengers had hammered down their chests. The remaining three walls were made of dirty canvas, but it was a heaven compared to the accommodation he had been given when he had sailed from Britain to India. Then, a private, he had been content with a hammock and fourteen inches of space in which to swing it.