‘And you?’ he asked. ‘You’re not missing Bonaparte?’
Lucille sighed. ‘He was always very gracious to me, and he was a clever man. Is a clever man. But so many died, Richard, and he always asked for more men, more deaths. I am sad for France, but the Emperor has killed enough men. We must have peace. Now are we ready?’
Sharpe dressed in the new uniform that Lucille had ordered made in Normandy, and he wondered what small treasure she had sold to pay the tailor’s bill. ‘This was good of you,’ he said, patting the faded oak wreath on his upper sleeve before hanging the massive sword on its slings.
‘It was my pleasure, Richard.’ She raised a hand and stroked his cheek. ‘You haven’t shaved!’
‘No time,’ Sharpe said.
‘Stubborn man,’ she said, then handed him his shako. ‘I brushed it,’ she said, ‘and polished the badge. And we should leave.’
‘God save Ireland!’ Harper exclaimed as they came down the big curving staircase. ‘I didn’t recognise you!’ He gave an ironic bow. ‘Your carriage awaits.’
Harper sat on the box, the seven-barrel gun beside him. ‘I should have brought my rifle,’ Sharpe grumbled.
‘I have mine,’ Harper said.
‘There’s no danger, is there?’ Lucille asked.
‘Not with me here, madame,’ Harper said happily, patting the massive volley gun, then taking the reins. ‘Nice evening for a drive!’
The sun was low in the western sky, a cloudless sky, as the carriage rolled smartly eastwards. Folk watched them pass, and Sharpe could not resist a secret pleasure in riding an open carriage with a beautiful woman at his side. ‘I used to envy folk in carriages,’ he said.
‘And steal from them too!’ Harper put in, turning the horses north. ‘Not far now!’
‘We could have walked,’ Sharpe grumbled.
‘In these shoes?’ Lucille lifted a foot to show a delicate pair of silver shoes.
‘Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré,’ Harper announced as he turned left again.
‘When did you learn to drive?’ Sharpe asked.
‘Never did, sir! But how hard can it be?’
Redcoats stood guard outside the Duke’s house, which was another mansion, even larger than the Countess’s house. ‘Ah,’ Lucille said, recognising the house, ‘the H?tel Grimod de La Reynière. The Duke likes his comfort.’
‘He deserves it,’ Sharpe said. The carriage rattled past an ornamental pond where two fountains played, then the wheels made a crunching sound on the driveway’s gravel and Harper hauled on the reins to stop under a high portico where a Corporal of the 1st Foot Guards stepped forward to open the door and lower the steps. Sharpe jumped down first to assist Lucille. ‘God help me,’ he muttered. He thought he would rather fight a battle than face this evening.
‘You’ll enjoy it, Richard!’ Lucille said brightly, then put her arm in Sharpe’s and drew him to the front door that was held open by a redcoat.
‘I’ll be waiting for you, sir!’ Harper called, moving the carriage away.
Sharpe took a deep breath and stepped into a hall of senior officers in laced and braided uniforms. Almost all had sashes bearing bejewelled decorations, and one man, in the severe dark blue uniform of Prussia, wore a star with more diamonds than a Piccadilly whore could have earned in a lifetime. The Prussian was talking to the Duke, who looked as if he was not enjoying the conversation. There were perhaps a dozen men in the room, almost all of whom Sharpe recognised and almost none of whom he felt comfortable with, but then a door at the room’s far end opened and Major Vincent entered and, seeing Sharpe, raised a hand in greeting. Vincent’s entrance evidently gave the Duke a chance to break off his conversation with the Prussian and cross to Vincent’s side. They spoke briefly, then Sharpe heard the Duke’s great neigh of laughter, which prompted Vincent to beckon Sharpe. ‘You’d best come with me,’ Sharpe said to Lucille.
‘I’ll wait here,’ Lucille said, entirely at home in a room of beautifully uniformed officers.
Vincent left the Duke and led Sharpe into a small parlour. ‘It’s good to see you, Sharpe! How are you?’
‘Confused.’
‘As are we all. The Emperor has abdicated, the King is coming, but no one really knows what the hell is happening. But you’ve done well!’
‘I have?’ Sharpe sounded dubious. ‘La Fraternité still exists.’
‘Does it?’ Vincent was equally dubious. ‘We’re inclined to believe that Fox is right, and that la Fraternité died on the battlefield with General Delaunay. And the Duke wants to reward you for rescuing Fox from Ham. With this.’ He opened a flat black case no bigger than a cavalryman’s sabretache and took from it an enamelled red cross that hung from a length of red ribbon. ‘Stand still, Colonel.’ He hung the cross around Sharpe’s neck, then took from the case a glittering silver star that he pinned to Sharpe’s left breast. ‘Congratulations, Sharpe.’
‘For what?’
‘The Czar of Russia has just awarded you the Order of Saint Vladimir, second class.’
Sharpe had to laugh. ‘The Czar? He doesn’t know I exist!’
‘He will.’
‘And why me?’
‘You want the truth?’
‘Please.’
‘The Czar sent the order requesting the Duke to give it to a worthy recipient, so the Duke offered it to Colonel Lygon, who refused it.’
Sharpe could not resist glancing in the mirror above the mantel to see the medal reflecting the candlelight from his breast. ‘Why would he refuse this?’
‘Because it’s second class, and the Colonel thought it degrading. Lygon, of course, is a cavalryman, so you can’t expect much sense from the man, and the star of the second class is a much better-looking decoration than the first, but Lygon was insulted, so the Duke said to find another recipient. I suggested you and the Duke agreed. Are you insulted?’
‘Far from it, Major. Lucille can wear it.’
‘It’s a tawdry thing, of course, but it gives you certain privileges in Russia. You can whip the serfs and piss in the Volga, that sort of thing.’
‘I’ll manage without those.’
‘Then I suggest we join the others and, by the way, the widow Delaunay is invited tonight.’
‘Bloody hell,’ Sharpe responded. ‘Is Fox here too?’
‘Good Lord, no! This is military men only.’
Sharpe, curiously pleased at the star of Saint Vladimir, followed Vincent into the reception room where a knot of officers had gathered around Lucille. He was going to join them, but the Duke caught his eye and beckoned. ‘Congratulations, Sharpe.’
‘On the medal, Your Grace?’
‘You deserve it.’
‘I hope the Czar agrees.’
‘He said to give it to a brave man, so yes, he’ll be pleased.’ The Duke snapped his fingers and a passing orderly swerved with a tray of champagne glasses. ‘Take one, Sharpe,’ the Duke ordered.
‘Thank you, Your Grace.’
‘I particularly want you to meet Colonel Kippen of the Prussian army. If you operate in the east of the city you’ll need a liaison officer, and Kippen’s your man.’