"Why the hell do you stay with him?"
Sharpe asked.
She paused to look at Sharpe. She had oddly hooded eyes that gave her face an air of delicate mystery.
"What choice do I have?" she asked, resuming her polishing.
Sharpe sat beside her, picked up the other boot and rubbed it with blackball.
"So what's he going to do if you bugger off?"
She shrugged.
"I owe him money."
"Like hell. How can you owe him money?"
"He brought my husband and me here, " she said, 'paid our passage from England. We agreed to stay three years. Then Charlie died." She paused again, her eyes suddenly gleaming, then sniffed and began to polish the boot obsessively.
Sharpe looked at her. She had dark eyes, curling black hair and a long upper lip. If she was not so tired and miserable, he thought, she would be a very pretty woman.
"How old are you, love?"
She gave him a sceptical glance.
"Who's your woman in Seringapatam, then?"
"She's a Frenchie, " Sharpe said.
"A widow, like you."
"Officer's widow?" Clare asked. Sharpe nodded.
"And you're to marry her?" Clare asked.
"Nothing like that, " Sharpe said.
"Like what, then?" she asked.
"I don't know, really." Sharpe said. He spat on the boot's flank and rubbed the spittle into the bootblack.
"But you like her?" Clare asked, picking the dirt from the boot's spur. She seemed embarrassed to have posed the question, for she hurried on.
"I'm nineteen, " she said, 'but nearly twenty."
"Then you're old enough to see a lawyer, " Sharpe said.
"You ain't indentured to the Captain. You have to sign papers, don't you? Or make your mark on a paper. That's how it was done in the foundling home where they dumped me. Wanted to make me into a chimney sweep, they did! Bloody hell! But if you didn't sign indenture papers, you should talk to a lawyer."
Clare paused, staring at a sad tree in the courtyard's centre that was dying from the drought.
"I wanted to get married a year back, " she said softly, 'and that's what Tom told me. He were called Tom, see? A cavalryman, he was. Only a youngster."
"What happened?"
«Fever,» she said bleakly.
"But it wouldn't have worked anyway, because Torrance wouldn't ever let me marry." She began polishing the boot again.
"He said he'd see me dead first." She shook her head.
"But what's the point in seeing a lawyer? You think a lawyer would talk to me? They like money, lawyers do, and do you know a lawyer in India that ain't in the Company's pocket? Mind you' she glanced towards the house to make sure she was not being overheard 'he hasn't got any money either. He gets an allowance from his uncle and his Company pay and he gambles it all away, but he always seems to find more." She paused.
"And what would I do if I walked away?" She left the question hanging in the warm air, then shook her head.
"I'm miles from bleeding home. I don't know. He was good to me at first. I liked him! I didn't know him then, you see." She half smiled.
"Funny, isn't it? You think because someone's a gentleman and the son of a clergyman that they have to be kind? But he ain't." She vigorously brushed the boot's tassel.
"And he's been worse since he met that Hakeswill. I do hate him." She sighed.
"Just fourteen months to go, " she said wearily, 'and then I'll have paid the debt."
"Hell, no, " Sharpe said.
"Walk away from the bugger."
She picked up Torrance's hat and began brushing it.
"I don't have family, " she said, 'so where would I go?"
"You're an orphan?"
She nodded.
"I got work as a house girl in Torrance's uncle's house.
That's where I met Charlie. He were a footman. Then Mr. Henry, that's his uncle, see, said we should join the Captain's household. Charlie became Captain Torrance's valet. That was a step up. And the money was better, only we weren't paid, not once we were in Madras. He said we had to pay our passage."
"What the devil are you doing, Sharpe?" Torrance had come into the garden.
"You're not supposed to clean boots! You're an officer!»
Sharpe tossed the boot at Torrance. "I keep forgetting, sir."
If you must clean boots, Sharpe, start with your own. Good God, man! You look like a tinker!»
"The General's seen me looking worse, " Sharpe said.
"Besides, he never did care what men looked like, sir, so long as they do their job properly."
"I do mine properly! " Torrance bridled at the implication.
"I just need more staff. You tell him that, Sharpe, you tell him! Give me that hat, Brick! We're late."
In fact Torrance arrived early at the General's tent and had to kick his heels in the evening sunshine.
"What exactly did the General say when he summoned me?" he asked Sharpe.
"He sent an aide, sir. Captain Campbell. Wanted to know where the supplies were."
"You told him they were coming?"
"Told him the truth, sir."
"Which was?"
"That I didn't bloody well know where they were."
"Oh, Christ! Thank you, Sharpe, thank you very much." Torrance twitched at his sash, making the silk fall more elegantly.
"Do you know what loyalty is?"
Before Sharpe could answer the tent flaps were pushed aside and Captain Campbell ducked out into the sunlight.
"Wasn't expecting you, Sharpe! " he said genially, holding out his hand.
Sharpe shook hands.
"How are you, sir?"
«Busy,» Campbell said.
"You don't have to go in if you don't want."
"He does, " Torrance said.
Sharpe shrugged.
"Might as well, " he said, then ducked into the tent's yellow light as Campbell pulled back the flap.
The General was in his shirtsleeves, sitting behind a table that was covered with Major Blackiston's sketches of the land bridge to Gawilghur. Blackiston was beside him, travel-stained and tired, while an irascible-looking major of the Royal Engineers stood two paces behind the table. If the General was surprised to see Sharpe he showed no sign of it, but instead looked back to the drawings.
"How wide is the approach?" he asked.
"At its narrowest, sir, about fifty feet." Blackiston tapped one of the sketches.
"It's wide enough for most of the approach, two or three hundred yards, but just here there's a tank and it squeezes the path cruelly. A ravine to the left, a tank to the right."
"Fall to your death on one side, " the General said, 'and drown on the other. And doubtless the fifty feet between is covered by their guns?"
"Smothered, sir. Must be twenty heavy cannon looking down the throat of the approach, and God knows how much smaller metal.
Plenty."
Wellesley removed the inkwells that had been serving as weights so that the drawings rolled up with a snap.
"Not much choice, though, is there?" he asked.
"None, sir."
Wellesley looked up suddenly, his eyes seeming very blue in the tent's half light.
"The supply train is twelve hours late, Captain. Why?"
He spoke quietly, but even Sharpe felt a shiver go through him.
Torrance, his cocked hat held beneath his left arm, was sweating.
"I. I.. " he said, too nervous to speak properly, but then he took a deep breath.
"I was ill, sir, and unable to supervise properly, and my clerk failed to issue the chitties It was a most regrettable occurrence, sir, and I can assure you it will not happen again."