‘The old lady must be rich enough,’ Harper said, nodding through the open doors at the lavish house.
‘She is,’ Sharpe agreed. The Dowager Countess Mauberges was rich beyond his imaginings. She had inherited her husband’s coal mines in the north of France, which was why she had been at Brussels before the Emperor’s sudden return had turned that country into a battleground. The Dowager had been in Brussels with her man of business to negotiate the next winter’s price of fuel, and there she had befriended Lucille. She had also been generous, which was reason enough for Sharpe to help her.
‘Company,’ Harper grunted, and Sharpe turned to see that three men had just left the big house and were walking slowly towards the stables. All three were elderly, and Sharpe doubted they were deserters. The man in the centre carried a cudgel, the other two were apparently unarmed. Sharpe went to meet them.
‘Who are you?’ the man holding the cudgel demanded nervously.
‘Friends of the Dowager Countess,’ Sharpe answered.
‘You’re English?’ The three men stopped and the speaker raised the cudgel threateningly.
‘?les Normandes,’ Sharpe answered. ‘The Dowager Countess will be here soon. She sent us ahead.’
‘To do what?’
‘To wait for her.’
‘She’s coming?’ another of the men asked eagerly.
‘She’ll be here in a week or so,’ Sharpe said, hoping he was right. ‘We’ll stay in the stables.’
‘She sent you?’ the cudgel man insisted. ‘To do what?’
‘The Dowager is worried about unrest in the city. She wants the house protected.’
The man looked warily at Pat Harper who had joined Sharpe, cradling his volley gun. The Irishman nodded. ‘Good day to you all!’ he said in English.
The three men who were presumably servants looked terrified, and no wonder. Sharpe was a threatening figure, Harper was huge and carrying the seven-barrel gun, while Sharpe’s other men were watching from the stable doors. ‘You will not enter the house?’ the cudgel man asked.
‘Not unless you need help,’ Sharpe said. ‘The Dowager asked us to come here, so here we are. And who are you?’ he demanded of the man with the cudgel.
‘Philippe Vignot. I’m her ladyship’s steward.’
Sharpe opened his pouch and brought out the crumpled letter. ‘Then this is for you.’
The steward took the letter. ‘Top window,’ Harper muttered, and Sharpe looked up to see two men peering from a dormer window.
‘The Countess says men have taken the house,’ Sharpe spoke to the steward.
‘Deserters from the army, monsieur.’ The steward read the brief letter then handed it to one of his companions. ‘Her ladyship says we can trust you.’
‘You can. How many men are in the house?’
‘Fifteen, sixteen? They bring their women too.’ He shuddered. ‘And, monsieur …’ He stopped.
‘What?’
‘They took two of her ladyship’s maids. We hear them screaming.’
Sharpe grimaced. ‘How long have they been here?’
‘Since May!’
‘You fought them?’ Sharpe asked.
‘We have no proper weapons, monsieur,’ Vignot admitted miserably, ‘and they have muskets and bayonets.’
‘And plenty of powder,’ one of the other men put in.
‘You told the authorities?’
Vignot spat. ‘They do nothing! I told them.’
‘You want us to clear them out?’
‘They must be gone before her ladyship returns,’ Vignot said.
‘Then tonight,’ Sharpe said. ‘You’ll need to leave that back door unlocked,’ he nodded towards the door from which Vignot had come, ‘and leave us some lanterns.’
Vignot seemed uncertain, then nodded reluctantly. He took the letter back from his companion. ‘Her ladyship says you are English?’
‘In another week, Vignot, the city will be full of British and Prussian soldiers. Be glad you have some on your side.’
‘If you say so, monsieur.’ He hesitated. ‘There was a battle, monsieur?’
‘A big one. The Emperor lost.’
‘So it is true.’ Vignot’s face crumpled. ‘And the Emperor?’
‘So far as I know, he lived.’
‘God be praised.’
‘So tonight, Vignot,’ Sharpe said, ‘we will come long after dark, in the middle of the night. Leave the back door unlocked and have four or five lanterns ready.’
‘Yes, monsieur.’
‘And if the men ask who we are,’ Sharpe said, knowing that they would, ‘tell them we are also deserters from the Emperor’s army.’
Sharpe questioned him for a few more minutes, establishing that the three servants slept downstairs where they were expected to provide meals for the deserters who occupied the top two floors, then watched as Vignot and his companions walked back to the house. Sharpe returned to the stables. La Fraternité must wait and Fox’s fate could stay a mystery. He had a fight coming.
The men in the house had seen Sharpe, Harper and the others, so Sharpe had to assume they would be wary. He had told Vignot to say they were also deserters who were content to occupy the coach house, and hoped that would be sufficient to allay any apprehension, but he still waited until he was sure midnight was long past before leading all his men across the gravel to the house’s back door. It was unlocked. ‘Boots off, lads,’ he said softly.
They filed into the night-dark kitchen, blundering against chairs and a table. They took off shoes and boots as Sharpe found the lanterns by feeling along the table. Harper struck a flint against steel, blew on some charred linen in his tinderbox, and Sharpe saw four candle-lanterns. ‘Light them all, Pat,’ he said softly.
The candle flames caught, illuminating the big kitchen and a door that led into a long hallway from which a grand marble staircase curved upwards. The house was silent. ‘With me, Pat,’ he said, ‘the rest of you wait. And stay quiet!’