Leaving the Officers' Mess

"I know," Padstowe said quietly, leading Sharpe away from the scene and towards his billet. "But we shall have to come up with a way to convince the court that. And I believe they may yet be convinced."

"I bloody hope so." Though thoughts of trying to convince a court martial of a private soldier's innocence were overlaid by memories of his own court martial, which had resulted in him receiving 200 lashes. Not the most cheerful of thoughts, that.

"Hm."

Padstowe was not a trained advocate, but he was fairly convinced that he knew how the court might be swayed. He would have to talk to Williams first, though. He would do all he could, even call Sir Arthur as a character witness against Hakeswill if needs be - though he was convinced that it would not come to that. Just as well, because Sir Arthur would most likely refuse to be party tosuch a petty issue.

Sharpe looked at his friend. "'Hmm' sounds hopeful. At least, I think it does."

Padstowe gave his friend a small smile.

"I think it is. For the moment. How are you feeling?" He paused, squinting to get a closer look at Sharpe's neck. "Not feeling faint or anything?"

"No. I think I'm recovered by now. I can breathe again, anyhow. And he didn't try hitting or kicking, which he's done before, so I don't reckon I'm going to get any bruises or anything. Though I'm still a little deaf from firing my rifle when it was slung. I think I got scorched a little, too."

He felt a little unreasonable at Padstowe's fussing over him. The Private almost certainly felt worse than he did at the prospect of a court of inquiry, at the very least, and who knew what sentence.

"Looked like a very close-run thing, though," Padstowe said, his brow creasing. The mark the cord had made was dark and livid around Sharpe's throat. There must have been a hell of a force behind that pull.

[OOC: Going to beddie-byes now. Thank you everybody for playing tonight, it's been fun. (well, if fun could ever be the operative word. Poor Williams. ]

Sharpe felt his throat with one hand. "I bloody hope I don't end up with a scar the same as Hakeswill has, where they tried to hang him. Keeps saying he's going to live forever, 'cause he survived the rope, but I'll do for him one day. All proper and legal, which he won't wriggle out of."

[Williams has 'enjoyed' it too - it makes a change from football. I won't describe the lock-up, although Obadiah and I should be there together. Only I expect there are some Inniskillings there already.]

Padstowe thought it best not to reply.

Sharpe's billet was not that far away, and barely five minutes later they were outside the small door, Padstowe banging his fist against the old woodwork. The door was opened by Sharpe's sergeant, Harper.

"Ah, Harper," Padstowe said. Despite his protests Sharpe was leaning very heavily on him to keep upright. "We need to get Mister Sharpe to his bed, along with a good mug of strong tea and perhaps a little something to eat."

"Evening' sir," Harper said, looking from one officer to the other. "Mister Sharpe, I'm surprised at you, going all the way over to the Officers' Mess just for a wee bit to drink." He took Sharpe's weight from Padstowe and guided him in to sit down. "Won't you come in, Captain?"

Sharpe felt grateful for his friend, though somehow the knowledge that he was home, safe, brought the shakes back worse than ever. "Dammit, Pat. Bugger the tea. Have you got any brandy?"

"Thank you, Harper, I shall."

He followed the two men in and shut the door behind him, taking off his hat and laying on the table. He turned back at Sharpe's request for brandy and was alarmed that Sharpe had started shaking. He exchanged glances with Harper, nodded, and the Irishman dug a bottle from his pack, poured it into Sharpe's tin mug and held it under his nose.

"Here you are, sir; Major Hogan's finest."

"Thank God for Major Hogan, then." He leaned back, taking the mug from Harper. "You don't have to shove it right under my nose, Pat." He took a mouthful, and Harper grinned, watching him.

"That's the way, sir." He frowned, seeing the livid mark on Sharpe's throat. "Now what have you been playing at, sir?"

"It's more someone has been playing with Mister Sharpe, Harper," Padstowe said. Now they were inside in the light the mark of the cord looked more gruesome than ever. "Your lieutenant narrowly missed an appointment with Lucifer."

Harper was taken by surprise and sank slowly into a chair across from Sharpe. "And didn't I tell you not to be roaming out there without me?"

"Yes, Pat."

"And didn't I say that if you had to leave me here, you should come straight back?"

"Yes, Pat." Sharpe had drained the mug and held it out, hoping for more.

Harper got up and took the kettle off the fire.

Padstowe could not help but smile at Harper's henpecking - he sounded like a mother scolding her naughty child. But his smile was short-lived as Harper then turned to him.

"And you, sir; you should know better than to let him go wandering on his own at this time of night."

Padstowe near choked in surprise.

"I should have thought Sharpe old enough by now to take of himself, sergeant." he said, somewhat dryly.

"That's as may be, sir, but it never hurts to stick together. You never know who else is wandering the streets on a night like this." Harper threw some tea-leaves into Sharpe's mug and his own and filled them up from the kettle before passing his mug to Padstowe.

Sharpe pouted a little at getting tea instead of the brandy he wanted, but said nothing, content to let the Irish Sergeant and the Kentish officer wrangle about him.

Padstowe merely glared at Harper as he held out the mug for some water. What was he, Sharpe's nursemaid? But there was a slight pang of guilt, that maybe he should have accompanied Sharpe... No, he had been fine all the other nights he had gone home alone, and true, they had expected trouble from the 33rd, but neither of them had expected it to materialise this quickly. That bastard Hakeswill certainly knew how to make the best of an opportunity - for Padstowe was now convinced it had been Hakeswill that had tried to kill Sharpe. His friend's previous confidences and the man's toadying manner had been proof enough for him, but there was no way thjat he could make it stand up in court. The only way out would be to make sure there was no case to answer - either for Williams or Hakeswill. Damn, but it was a mess...

He sank into a reverie, gripping the cuup between his hands and staring at the middle-distance. There was a way out of this, if only he could get Sharpe to tell the truth...

Harper ignored the glare. "So, would you be telling me what happened, then?"

Sharpe sighed and cupped his hands round his mug. "I was on my way back from the Mess and thought I was being followed, though I couldn't see anything. I'd passed an alleyway before I heard something clatter as though a tile had fallen."

He paused, thinking. As if something had been thrown, though he hadn't thought that at the time. "I thought it was a couple of cats, but I didn't hear anything else. I ducked into the alleyway to load my rifle. Not properly, I couldn't risk using the ramrod. And I only loaded blank. Didn't want to look a fool if it was only a cat."

He had another mouthful of tea. "Well, I went to carry on. Passed a cart left on the other side and got jumped. Bastard had a cord round my neck before I knew what had happened." He held out his hand, still cut from where he tried to pull it away. "Managed to pull the trigger. Next thing I know, I'm on my knees, I can hear someone running. Then there's Private Williams come up and ask if I'm all right, sir?"

He took another mouthful of tea. "And then he's grabbed from behind, dragged up and Sergeant Hakeswill's shouting blue murder, that he'd tried to do for me. As if he would. Never seen him before and there's richer pickings than me out there. Bloody grateful to the lad, I was an' all."

...And then I blundered in, Padstowe thought. It was an odd thing for a spy (and yes, he admitted to himself that he was one) but he detested subterfuge of any kind when he was not on assignment. Sometimes it was a necessary evil, but he would not see any man convicted under false witness - even one such as Hakeswill. Perhaps he would have thought different if he were in Sharpe's or poor Williams' position, but he was not, and he doubted whether his going along with the lie would have made it any better.

Harper frowned.

"Hakeswill?" He had not heard the name before.

Sharpe didn't say anything, but unbuttoned his jacket, shrugged it off and pulled off his shirt before turning around.

"The bastard that got me 200 lashes for something I didn't do."

Padstowe averted his eyes. In the few days he had shared Sharpe's lodgings he had seen the scars twice, never up close, and the lieutenant had only explained their presence once; in not very great detail and notbecause he had asked. There was a certain curiosity about a flogged officer, but now Padstowe found that he did not want to look, and kept his eyes away.

"I'll murder the bugger, sir," Harper said calmly, but the outrage was clear in his eyes.

"Not if I get there first, you won't," Sharpe said, pulling his shirt back on. He shot an apologetic look at Padstowe.

"Hakeswill had a down on me since before we arrived in India, and it's only got worse since. Tonight ain't the first time he tried to do for me, and it probably won't be the last."

Padstowe sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"We'll have to find a way to deal with him," he said quietly. "In the interests of army he has to be dealt with, one way or the other. It does no good to anyone to have rotten apples like that hanging around."

"I just hope we can do it before too many more soldiers get flogged. Or worse." He sighed. "But he's crafty. Always gets the officers on his side. You saw how he was with the major, earlier, sir."