The marine raised his musket, but just then an authoritative voice snapped in French and the man lowered the gun. Major Dalton thrust the marine aside and saw Bursay’s body which was still twitching. “You did this?” the major asked, kneeling and lifting the lieutenant’s head, then dropping it swiftly as more blood welled from the wound in the neck.
“What else was I to do with him?” Sharpe asked belligerently. He wiped the saber’s tip on the hem of his coat, then pushed past the marine and peered through the broken bulkhead to see that Lady Grace was still crouched on the bed, her hands at her throat, shaking. “It’s all right, my lady,” he said, “it’s over.”
She stared at him. Dalton spoke in French to the marine, evidently ordering the man to report to the quarterdeck, then Lord William peered around the shattered partition, saw the corpse and looked up at Sharpe’s bloodied face. “What … “ he began, but then was bereft of words. There was a graze on Lord William’s cheek where he had been struck by Bursay. The Frenchman was unmoving now. Lady Grace was still sobbing, gasping huge breaths, then whimpering.
Sharpe tossed his saber onto Pohlmann’s bed, and stepped past Lord William. “It’s all right, my lady,” he said again, “he’s dead.”
“Dead?”
“He’s dead.”
A silk embroidered dressing gown, presumably Lord William’s, was hung over the foot of the bed and Sharpe tossed it to Lady Grace. She draped it about her shoulders, then began shaking again. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed, “I’m sorry.”
“Nothing for you to be sorry about, my lady,” Sharpe said.
“You will leave this cabin, Sharpe,” Lord William said coldly. He was shaking slightly and a trickle of blood traced his jawbone.
Lady Grace turned on her husband. “You did nothing!” she spat at him. “You did nothing!”
“You’re hysterical, Grace, hysterical. The man hit me!” he protested to anyone who would listen. “I tried to stop him, he hit me!”
“You did nothing!” Lady Grace said again.
Lord William summoned Lady Grace’s maid who, like him, had been under the marine’s guard in the day cabin. “Calm her down, for Christ’s sake,” he told the girl, then jerked his head to indicate that Sharpe should leave the bedroom.
Sharpe stepped back through the ruined bulkhead to discover that most of the great cabin’s passengers had come upstairs and were now staring at Bursay’s corpse. Ebenezer Fairley shook his head in wonder. “When you do a job, lad,” the merchant said, “you do it proper. Can’t be a drop of blood left in him! Most of it’s dripped down onto our bed.”
“I’m sorry,” Sharpe said.
“Not the first blood I’ve seen, lad. And worse things happen at sea, they tell me.”
“You should all leave!” Lord William had come into Pohlmann’s quarters. “Just leave!” he snapped pettishly.
“This ain’t your room,” Fairley growled, “and if you were a half a man, my lord, neither Sharpe nor this corpse would be here.”
Lord William gaped at Fairley, but just then Lady Grace, her hair ragged, stepped over the splinters of the partition. Her husband tried to push her back, but she shook him off and stared down at the corpse, then up at Sharpe. “Thank you, Mister Sharpe,” she said.
“Glad I could be of service, my lady,” Sharpe replied, then turned and braced himself as Major Dalton led a Frenchman into the crowded cabin. “This is the new captain of the ship,” Dalton said. “He’s an officier marinier, which I think is the equivalent of our petty officer.”
The Frenchman was an older man, balding, with a face weathered and browned by long service at sea. He had no uniform, for he was not a wardroom officer, but evidently a senior seaman who seemed quite unmoved by Bursay’s death. It was plain that the marine had already explained the circumstance for he asked no questions, but simply made a clumsy and embarrassed bow to Lady Grace and muttered an apology.
Lady Grace acknowledged the apology in a voice still shaking from fear. “Merci, monsieur.”
The officier marinier spoke to Dalton who translated for Sharpe’s benefit. “He regrets Bursay’s actions, Sharpe. He says the man was an animal. He was a petty officer till a month ago, when Montmorin promoted him. He told him he was on his honor to behave like a gentleman, but Bursay had no honor.”