But she had gone. She snatched open the heavy door, threw herself down the steps, and ran as if every pimp in London chased her.
'Jane! Girdwood shouted from the top step, but she had gone. Far away, from the park, he heard the music which reminded him that he was late for the Review. Damned strange, he thought, but he had never truly understood women. Women, dogs and the Irish. All unnecessary things that got in the way. 'God-damn it, where are my boots? Is the cab coming?
'It's been sent for, Colonel, it's been sent for. Cross brought the boots and helped the Colonel dress for the great celebration of the battle of Vitoria which, this fine day, would grace the Royal park.
The massed bands played the inevitable "Rule Britannia" as the French trophies were paraded about Hyde Park. Enemy guns, a mere fraction of the artillery that Wellington had captured, led the procession that was bright with the flags and guidons that were the lesser standards of the French. The flags were serried in colourful abundance, but it was the eight Eagles, brightly polished and held erect in gaudy chariots, that fetched the warmest applause.
Each French Regiment was given an Eagle standard. Not all of those on display had been taken in battle. Two, Sharpe knew, had been found in a captured French fortress, neither of them incised with their regimental numbers, obviously stored against the day when they might be needed for fresh units. One had been thrown from a high bridge by a trapped French unit, and it had taken days of diving by Spanish peasants to bring the trophy up from the river bed. They had presented it to Wellington and now, as if it had been taken in battle, it was solemnly paraded past the Prince of Wales.
The others had been fought for. There was the Eagle of Barossa, captured by the Irish 87th, which, like the Talavera Eagle, had been taken by a sergeant and an officer together. Harper stared at the distant procession. 'Which one's ours, sir?
'The first one.
Captain Hamish Smith, seeing for the first time the distant gleam of a French Eagle, looked in some awe at the two Riflemen. They had actually done that most splendid thing, brought an enemy Colour from a battlefield, and no soldier, however grubby his career, could fail to be moved.
'We've captured more than eight, Harper said cheerfully.
'More, RSM? Smith asked.
'There was two taken at Sally-manker, sir, but the lads broke one of them up, so they did. Thought it was gold! I heard of another one sold to an officer. Be murder if anyone found out!
Sharpe laughed. He had heard the rumours, but had never known if they were true.
He had marched the half Battalion across the Serpentine bridge, then turned eastwards along the King's private road. He had stared towards the Hyde Park Gate, but Jane Gibbons was not there. He told himself that he had not expected to see her, which was true, but he was disappointed just the same. Now the men were at the southern assembly field, deserted by all the troops except some disconsolate militia who today had to pretend to be the French. They wore grubby blue fatigue jackets and carried red, white and blue tricolours; miserable thin flags run up for the day and which were doubtless destined to be captured before the afternoon was done.
The rest of the parade troops were at the northern assembly area, drawing themselves up for the magnificent advance, with artillery flanking, which was supposed to represent the final stage of Vitoria when Wellington's army, stretched across a river plain, had swept the French in chaos from Spain.
The trophies were at the northern end of the review ground. They had gone past the Prince, the Duke, the carriage parks, and now they were carried by the Battalions of the Review before turning back to be displayed to the packed public enclosure.
'Sir? Harper's voice was a warning.
An infantry captain, harassed and hot, was trotting his horse towards them. He carried a sheaf of papers. Sharpe kicked his heels to meet the man halfway. 'Fine day!
The captain could not distinguish Sharpe's rank. He frowned at the South Essex's yellow facings and looked with shock at the faded, tattered uniform Sharpe wore.
'You're. .?
'Major Richard Sharpe. You?
'Sir? Mellors, sir. The captain threw a hasty salute. 'Sharpe, sir? He sounded uncertain.
'Yes. All going well, Mellors?
'Absolutely, sir. You're. . The captain hesitated.
'What's the news from Spain?
'Spain, sir? Captain Mellors was understandably confused. 'Wellington threw them back, sir. Over the Pyrenees.
'Splendid! We in France yet?
'Not that I've heard.
Thank God for that, Sharpe thought. He wanted to be back in Pasajes before the British marched north. 'Carry on, Captain! Well done!
Mellors blinked. 'You're sure you're supposed to be here, sir?
He was staring at the South Essex. Without their stocks, and with their uniforms stained by the week's marching, they looked an unlikely unit to be brought to this Royal Review.
'Absolutely! Sharpe smiled. 'Colonel Blount's orders. Someone has to clear up after this lot.
'Of course, sir. The explanation made Captain Mellors much happier. Blount, as Harry Price had discovered, was in charge of the day's arrangements, and it made sense to the Captain that some troops had to have the fatigue of clearing the equipment from the park. 'You'll excuse me, sir, but you are the. .?
'Yes. Sharpe interrupted him, and nodded towards the gaudy chariot that led the parade of captured standards down the line of cheering public. 'That's mine.
Mellors beamed. 'Might I shake your hand, sir?"
Sharpe shook hands. 'You don't mind if my men watch from here, do you?
'Of course not, sir. Mellors was only too eager to please a man who had actually captured one of the trophies.
'Warn your fellows that we're here.
'Of course, sir. Mellors saluted again. 'It's an honour to have met you, sir. But Sharpe was not listening. He was staring eastwards and his face was suddenly lit with a pleasure so great that Mellors twisted in his saddle. 'My word, sir!
She was dishevelled, hot, worn out by running, but she could still elicit admiration. She was beautiful. Sharpe kicked his heels back. 'Jane!
'Suffering Christ have mercy on us. Regimental Sergeant Major Harper saw his officer swing from the saddle to clasp the girl into his arms. 'Bloody hell!
'Sergeant Major? Captain Smith was nervous.
Harper sniffed. 'Not my place to criticise officers, sir, which he usually said when he did, 'but you'll notice there's a woman here, sir, and women and Mr Sharpe are not the gentlest mixture in the world. Trouble, sir! Trouble!
'It's Sir Henry's girl!
'That's what I said. Trouble. Harper swivelled to face the half Battalion. 'Take your bloody heathen eyes off her! You've seen women before! Eyes front!
She was panting, exhausted by her journey through London, and she was in his arms. She struggled to speak through her laboured breath. 'He's got them.
'You came.
'He's got them!
'He's got what?
'The books!
'It doesn't matter. Nothing mattered at this moment except that she was here, where the cut grass was fragrant, where he almost trembled as he stared at her. 'You came! He had not known such happiness could exist, something insane and blossoming, something to fill a world.
'I had to. He was there, you see. He's put tar on it again. It's so horrid. She laughed, as filled with stupid, bubbling happiness as he was. 'My uncle's got the books.
'It doesn't matter.
She looked at his jacket, torn and patched, still marked with his dried blood and the blood of enemies. 'That's terrible!
'It's the jacket I fight in.
She fingered a rent. 'I can see why you want a wife.