He knew he should not have looked. He should have muttered an acknowledgement then, like some creature of the earth, skulked back into the dark, wet tunnel.
But the voice was that of a young woman of whom he had dreamed impossible dreams, prompted by a single, brief meeting in a dark, cool church before her brother's memorial stone.
He did what he knew he should not do. He looked up at her. He reasoned that she would not recognise him, and he wanted, after these four years, to see if she was as truly lovely as his memory of her.
She was stooping, petting the dog, and she smiled again. 'He sounds very fierce, but he isn't. He's a coward, really, though he frightens Lieutenant Colonels, don't you, Rascal? Her voice faded.
Jane Gibbons was staring at him.
She saw a man smeared with mud, yet she recognised him.
He wondered how, in all creation, it was possible for her to recognise him, yet she did. She stared, her mouth open, the dog forgotten, and Sharpe stared back.
He had remembered her as beautiful, but the image of her that he had carried in his head was entirely wrong. He had thought of her as a kind of doll, a creature manufactured in his dreams to be all that he wanted her to be, while now, staring at each other in silent amazement, she seemed to Sharpe to be suddenly so alive and there was the double shock, of seeing her face as he had seen it once before, and of seeing someone so independently alive, not captive in his dreams.
She opened her lips, as if about to speak, but no sound came from her. Her face, shadowed by the straw bonnet that softened the strong lines of her mouth and cheekbones, had the clear, fresh skin that came of England's climate and that Sharpe so rarely saw in Spain. Her hair, pale as sundrenched gold, was looped beneath her ears. She had been a sister to one of Sharpe's enemies and was niece to another. Jane Gibbons.
She stared, and for a moment he thought she was going to call out, but then, suddenly, with an impulsive vivacity, she sat on the top step and shook her head. 'It's you! She spoke in amazement. 'It is you?
He did not know what to say. To confirm it was to risk that she would call out, to deny it was to lose this chance of speaking with her, and Sharpe was silent, struck dumb by her loveliness and he thought how he had devalued this beauty in his memory of her, then he felt panic as she turned from him to look towards her uncle.
She did not call out. Instead she looked back to Sharpe, her eyes shining with a kind of quick mischief. 'It is you?
'Yes.
'He said you were dead! She looked once more towards her uncle and it struck Sharpe that she feared Sir Henry as much as he at this moment did. She looked to Sharpe again. 'What are you doing here? She had grabbed the small dog and now cuddled it in her lap. 'What are you doing? She repeated the question with almost breathless astonishment, mixed with pleasure, and Sharpe, who had only met her once, was startled by her quick vivacity, by the secret delight she took in this meeting. She was beautiful, and there was a streak of mischief in her that gave quickness to that beauty.
Sergeant Major Brightwell’s voice boomed loud over Sharpe's head. 'Companies! Close order! March!
Instinctively Sharpe shrank back, fearing discovery, and to his astonishment Jane Gibbons gathered her skirts up, clutching the dog with her other hand, and, with one more backward glance towards her uncle, came down the steps until she was hidden from the lawn. She sat close to Sharpe. 'What are you doing here?
Giles Marriott gaped at them. 'Dick?
'Go away! Leave us! Sharpe hissed it. 'Go and clear the entrance! Go on!
Marriott backed into the darkness of the boathouse tunnel. Jane Gibbons laughed nervously. 'I can't believe it! It is you! What are you doing?
'I came to find the Second Battalion. He made a gesture of impatience, not with her, but with himself as if he was uncertain how to explain the long story of his presence, but she understood immediately.
'They hide them here and sell them off. They auction them.
'Auction? It was Sharpe's turn to sound astonished. Somehow auctioning seemed to make the crimping worse. 'That's what they're doing up there?
She nodded. 'They make their bids over lunch. My uncle said it was legal, but it isn't, is it?
He almost smiled, so solemnly had she asked the question. 'No, it isn't.
'He said you were dead!
'Someone tried to kill me.
She shuddered, staring at him with her astonished, huge eyes. 'But you're still an officer? It was a natural enough question, seeing him smeared to the waist with mud.
'Yes. A Major.
She bit her lower lip, smiled, and looked to the top of the steps as if fearing her uncle's approach. Her dog wriggled in her arms and she quieted it. 'I saw your name in The Times. After Salamanca. A place with a funny name?
'Garcia Hernandez.
'I think so. They said you were very heroic.
'No. I was in a cavalry charge. I couldn't stop the horse.
She laughed. Both were uncertain. Sharpe had dreamed so often of seeing her again, of talking with her, yet now he seemed struck dumb. He stared into her face as though he would try to remember it for ever. Her skin looked so soft. Her hair was gold. 'I…" he began to say, but at the very same moment she said, 'Will. . and they both stopped, embarrassed and smiling.
'Go on, he said.
'Will they try and kill you again?
'If they know who I am. They don't. I'm calling myself Dick Vaughn.
'What will you do?
'I have to get away. Me and a friend. You remember Sergeant Harper? The big fellow?
She nodded, but her face was suddenly worried. 'You have to escape?
'Tonight. He had made up his mind. He knew now what happened here, that Girdwood, Simmerson, and Lord Fenner were crimping on a grand scale. He had no more business as Private Dick Vaughn, just vengeance as Major Richard Sharpe. 'After dark tonight.
She glanced back up the steps, then to Sharpe again. 'They guard the camp. Her voice was an earnest, sibilant warning. 'They have militia patrolling from here to Wickford. There are cockle boats on the sands, off the shore, and they even watch those. If they catch men deserting they get a reward.
The fishermen?
'And the militia. I've heard shooting in the night. Above them, Sergeant Major Brightwell ordered the Companies to turn left. Jane bit her lip and held her dog tight. 'You could take one of our punts. Cross the river. They don't guard the north bank. Her voice was only a whisper.
He smiled, suddenly delighted that she had become a conspirator. She could have betrayed him, she could have screamed at the sight of him, but instead she had come into this hiding place and plotted with him. She had taken his sudden presence as coolly as a veteran soldier would have taken an ambush, she had not screamed, nor shouted, just made her decision and talked with him. He admired her for it, and, looking into her eyes, he suddenly knew that his own heart was beating like a frightened recruit facing the French for the first time. 'Can you leave us some food? Money?
'Two guineas?
'That would be plenty. In the boathouse? Tonight?
She nodded, her eyes suddenly bright with mischievous delight. 'And you'll stop the auctions?
‘I’ll stop them. With your help. He smiled at her, and it seemed like a miracle that their heads were so close. He could smell her scent, like a clean thing in a foul land.
She looked at the dog in her lap. She seemed embarrassed suddenly, then her big eyes came back to Sharpe and she hesitated. 'I want. . But whatever she was to say could not be said, for there was a sudden yelping coming from the lawn.