Disclaimer: These are works of fan-fiction created for entertainment. It is not the intention of the author to infringe on anyone's copyright. No rights infringement intended. Warning: General Audience

The Sharpe Fan Fictions of Paul K.

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Bernard Cornwell’s

SHARPE’S Justice

Richard Sharpe and the
Peace of the Congress of Vienna

Screenplay Written by Patrick Harbinson and Bernard Cornwell.
Novel Adapted by Paul Kaster

PART TWO

1814 THE DAY AFTER CHRISTMAS BOXING DAY

Chapter 11
KEIGHLEY
PARFITT’S HOUSE

Guests began to arrive at 4 pm. Most had enjoyed Christmas Day with their families. Parfitt is known for holding lavish parties. The Christmastide Ball has been the biggest of the year each year. Parfitt doesn’t come from ‘old money’ so he tries to impress everyone with how much money he has now. They have come to expect many uncommon foods to try and entertainment from music, poetry reading or something else.

The drawing room had been emptied of most of the large furniture. Fire burned in the fireplace, although it would be dampened as more people arrived. The staff was aware to keep the guests from becoming too warm, especially after eating and drinking. A string quartet played music from a corner of the room.

As the guests arrived, the butler and maid took their coats and capes. The maid removed the outer clothes to another room while the butler escorted the guests to the drawing room. All the servants wear the finest clothes that Sir Willoughby has provide for them The men wear powdered wigs, even though this style is passing in London. The drawing room could be closed from the foyer by a pair of pocket doors, but today, the doors were open partially, so that the guests could easily enter without having the heat of the fire escape each time the foyer doors opened to the outside. The butler would stop at the doors, then announce the arriving guests to the room before signaling for the new guests to enter.

Inside, Parfitt greeted them, then passed them to other guests. This continued for nearly an hour. By five o’clock, almost all the guests had arrived. For the past fifteen minutes, Parfitt casually checked the doorway to see if Major Sharpe had arrived. He was becoming annoyed as he had wanted to show Sharpe to the room. Besides those at the dinner when Sharpe arrived, he wanted them the guests to see that he had a ‘real’ soldier to help with the worker unrest.

Sharpe had been told to arrive between four o’clock and half past five at the latest. After discussing what Harper and learned and what more he would like Harper to investigate, he set off to Parfitt’s to arrive at quarter past five. He was cautious as he rode to Parfitt’s as the sun had already set. He had already had one horse shot from under him. He was glad that the ride was uneventful.

Promptly at quarter past five, he was in Parfitt’s foyer and being shown to the drawing room.

“Major Richard Sharpe.” The butler announced.

Parfitt strides to him.

“Good to see you Richard. Welcome.”

“How did you enjoy your Christmas?”

“Spent it visiting the orphan children, Sir Willoughby. When I was young, many Christmases were not too special. Thought I would see if I could give them something to mark the day.”

“You surprise me Richard! A warrior with a soft heart. I would na expected that of ya. Good for you, and the children.”

“Are ya hungry, man? We will eat in fifteen minutes. Before, I want you to meet….” Parfitt takes him by the elbow to meet two or three groups of people before the servants will call them to the dining room.

Sharpe was uncomfortable about coming to this ball. He is more uncomfortable because he has noticed that all the men wear their finest dress jackets, silk shirts and stockings, collars and stylish shoes. He is the ONLY one wearing a uniform. He regrets leaving his best uniform in France. He bought that when he met the Prince of Wales. It passed muster for that occasion. This is the second dinner that he is wearing his battle uniform.

Promptly at half past five, the butler opened the drawing room doors to the fully open position.

“Ladies and gentlemen. Dinner.”

“Is being served in the dining room. Please make your way at your own good time.”

Parfitt leaves Sharpe to add “Yes, one and all. I wish all of you a merry holiday and full bellies before this night is over.”

Sharpe knew few of the guests. He had scanned around to see whom he had met already. Lord Stanwyck, Wickham and Mr. Stills. Fortunately Mr. Parker is not there. He continues to avoid talking about where he worked when he was here.

Since the number of guests was larger than the seating available at the dining table, Parfitt’s servants had rearranged to the dining room to set up a buffet serving area at one end with small tables for two to four people to stand while they ate and drank. The buffet line was redolent with roast goose and beef, potatoes, onions, greens, mushrooms, sauces and breads. At a separate table were many dried fruits, nuts and sweets for after the meal.

In groups the guests move from the drawing to the dining room. They queue up to select plates and choose what they eat. The talk is now a babble of comments about what to eat, not to eat, which party had served such things before, and finally to take dessert now or later. As they finish the line, they move to tables. Sharpe dawdles so that he is last to the line. He takes meat and potatoes and nothing more. He also avoids drinking more than a sip of wine or two. Mr. Still seeks him out to join the table at which he stands alone.

“Major Sharpe. Good to see you again. Have you found something better than leather to eat today, today.” Stills says good naturedly. He has told Sharpe’s story of eating leather to some of his worker. They too enjoyed the tale.

“Mr. Still, Sir Willoughby sets a very good table. I found more than enough to fit my simple tastes.”

“Good for you.”

“Now that you are here a few days, how do you like Yorkshire? Have ya met any one you knew from before?”

“Aye, I met with two people that I had met before and another soldier comrade from the 33rd Foot.”

“How are the other locals treating ya?”

“My innkeeper would rather I find another place to stay.”

Stills chuckles, “Aye, I’m sure he would. As would any other inn keeper. No offense intended, but many here are wary of our Yeomanry.”

Sharpe perks up. He realizes that Stills is sharing news that may help him. “Why are the locals wary of the Yeomanry?”

“The Yeomanry is supposed to be militia. When they started, their colonel drilled them and prepared them to fight the French, when they came. Since 1807, that threat went away. The training dropped to no more than the twenty-eight days per year that they were required to do.

“From 1809, when London changed that militia could go to regular army units with a significant bonus and no penalty, some of the more glory-seeking men, took the bounty and went to the army. Lord Percy’s son was one.”

Sharpe had not known that Stanwyck’s son had been with the Yeomanry.

“Lord Percy’s son?”

“Yes, he was captain when Wickham was a lieutenant.”

“Mr. Stills, thank you for helping me with some of the history of my command.” Sharpe regrets that he has not earlier researched the nature of his command. So far, he has relied on the information that Wickham and Parfitt have fed him. “I need to find out more about this yeomanry, soon.”

Stills signals a servant to bring more wine. He has been sipping steadily since Sharpe joined his table. The servant tops Stills’ goblet and offers to serve Sharpe. He waves the servant off.

Stills sips. “Major Sharpe, I don’t know much, but since Wickham has taken command, HIS troop of Yeomanry has trained more than the minimum number of days. He has shifted men around in the troops so that his troop has men loyal to him. Didn’t know yeomanry to keep to uniform all the time.”

He sips again, then looks over his shoulders to see where Wickham and Parfitt are. Softly, “This troop has become Parfitt’s personal police force. And, he polices the rules he wants.”

“And the other troops?”

“The other troops train two to three days per month. The rest of the time, they work and live their lives.”

Sharpe is surprised by this. He understood that the Yeomanry was militia and the limits set on militia. But his orders indicated he is to command a unit that has been ‘called up’, for lack of a better term, to address civil unrest.

“Mr. Stills, sir? Do you fear the Yeomanry?”

Stills sips his wine, but does not answer.

Before Sharpe can press more questions on Stills, Parfitt’s servant rings a bell.

Parfitt’s voice booms out after the bell.

“My dear guests. Please enjoy any more that you choose to eat or drink, but I ask that we return to the drawing room. There will be music and dance. When we give the musicians rest, George Wickham here,” he nods to George. “and Sir Joseph Lampeter will demonstrate their fencing skills.”

Many of the guests applaud.

“So now, if you make your way, please?”

Sharpe turns to ask Mr. Stills more, but Stills has gone. He watches as Stills steers to the foyer and the butler, not the drawing room. It appears that he has finished his evening. Sharpe considers to go too. Before he can, Parfitt catches his arm again.

“Richard.”

“Are ya shy lad? You’ve hardly met any of these people here.”

“Sir Willoughby. I am enjoying the party. I do not have the manners that these people have.”

“I want to avoid embarrassing myself and you should I do something not…… gentlemanly.”

“Blast Richard! Go talk with people. They won’t bite ya.”

Parfitt walks off, but turns to make sure that Sharpe follows him back to the drawing room. Reluctantly, Sharpe tags along at the back of the crowd.

In the drawing room, the musicians retune their instruments. The leader of the quartet announces which songs they plan to play and the dance that fits that music.

“Ladies and gentleman, the first song will be a waltz. For those that wish to dance, please gather in the center of the room.”

Some ten or twelve men and women move to the center of the floor. The remaining guests shift back towards the walls to give them room.

The quartet starts to play. The dancers set off to dance in a counterclockwise circle. The waltz finishes, then another and so on for forty-five minutes.

Sharpe roams through the guests trying to be seen, but not be selected to talk. He is uncomfortable in gatherings like this. As Jane had criticized him after they married, conversation is not a skill that he has learned. That is conversation of their world. They can talk of rents from tenants, the latest fashions or shows in London, the latest gossip and other things that he has no interest. He makes his way towards a window, but a man turns from the group he has been with and into Sharpe’s way.

“Excuse me.”

Parfitt sees Sharpe from across the room.

“Richard. Richard lad.”

“Look happy man. It’s not a damn funeral. Someone has been asking after you.”

Parfitt again escorts him to a group. He sees that one is Lord Stanwyck and another is Wickham. Sharpe had not recognized Wickham as he wears a fine black dress jacket, white skin-tight breeches, silk shirt, stock and stockings and leather shoes polished like a mirror.

Wickham snotices that Sharpe has scanned him. He looks at Sharpe’s uniform and sniffs.

“You know Lord Percival Stanwyck.”

Lord Stanwyck greets him amicably. “Sharpe.”

“Lord Percy.”

From behind Lord Percy, a woman that had been talking with Parfitt, Wickham and Stanwyck turns towards him. To his surprise, it is Anne Camoynes. She must have arrived before he did. How did he miss seeing her in the drawing room and throughout dinner?

Anne wears a white satin gown with gold trim. A faux jacket is short and tied under her buxom and descends down her back over the skirt The edge of the jacket is trimmed in gold frogging. The skirt sparkles with many gold sequins. The gold and pearl earrings and necklace are as rich as the dress. She wears white elbow length gloves and carries a folded fan, which she raps into her palm as if it is an officer’s baton. The price of what Anne is wearing could pay for at least a majority in a select regiment. She is so stunning. He is almost unable to speak.

“Lady Anne.”

Anne is pleased that she has been able to surprise Sharpe. She likes to see him off balance. “Ah, Major Sharpe.” Anne says haughtily.

“My lady”

Anne nods towards Wickham who had been standing nearby. “Captain Wickham tells me you’ve come to teach his men the art of war.”

Sharpe’s friend, Captain Chase would say that his ‘sails were all in irons.’. ‘taken aback’ He replies, “No ma’am, I’m just here, really.”

“Hope You make better use of your time than that. Perhaps you can ask Captain Wickham to teach you some of the arts of peace.”

Wickham smiles a thin-lipped smile. He hopes that Anne’s attentions will lead to something more.

“Conversation or example.” Anne turns and walks away.

Anne turns from Sharpe and briefly to Wickham to let him know too that she is in command of this situation. She offers her arm to Wickham. George takes her arm and then walks away leaving both Sharpe and Lord Percy to fathom what game Anne is playing.

Sharpe knows how to fight men in combat. Dealing with women leaves him perplexed. He retreats slowly to a darkened area in the foyer.

Lady Anne watches him go. She has not finished with him. She pursues him to the foyer. As she walks up, Sharpe is surprised. He turns defensively. But relaxes some when he sees Anne.

With a much softer tone than she used in the other room, “Major Sharpe. I have more news for you.”

Sharpe remains wary, “What is it Ma’am?”

Anne decides to play with him some more. She noticed that he avoided the dancing earlier.

“Don’t you dance Major Sharpe?”

“No. What tis your news?” Sharpe grows impatient with her game.

You should learn. I’m sure, what’s her name, Lucille, likes to dance now and then. Don’t you think?” She clearly is annoyed that he first chose Jane and now Lucille over her.

“Please tell me, ma’am”

“Rossendale is here.”

Sharpe turns as if to go back to the party to find him. If he had missed Anne, then he may have missed Rossendale too. Although as Rossendale is such a ‘peacock’ he doesn’t know how he could have remained anonymous in this group.

Anne grabs his arm, “Oh, not here. Nearby. Parfitt says he’s been left an estate.”

Sharpe had been yielding to his anger. He calms down before asking. “Is he there now?”

“Yes. And his mistress, Mrs. Sharpe as well.” Anne says ‘Mrs. Sharpe’ with emphasis that clearly would signal that she does not approve. She waits to see how the term ‘mistress’ sets with Sharpe.

Sharpe perks up at this news.

“Jane. Ma’am, where is this?”

Anne smiles without answering. Sharpe did not react to the term mistress.

She has shared all that she chooses to, now. She turns to rejoin the party.

Sharpe watches her go. He almost grabs her arm to keep there until she answers all his questions, but does not. Here is not the place to be rough.

While they had talked outside, the musicians and dancers had stopped to rest.

Wickham and Sir Lampeter had prepared to demonstrate their fencing skills during the musical intermission. They now stood without their jackets and waistcoats. George wears cream colored breeches with a gray vest over his white shirt and cravat. Lampeter’s breeches are white. He wears a tan vest with a tan cravat.

As Sharpe reaches the edge of the audience, both already chose fencing foils and were saluting each other in the middle of the floor. The foils are tipped so that no one will be hurt.

Wickham attacks first. He holds his left hand behind his back in classic fencing style.

Lampeter retreats three steps, then launches his own attack. He drives Wickham back four steps.

George takes the last strike and brings it in a half circle from his right to his left side to take Lampeter off balance. With Lampeter’s sword across his body and low to his left, George lunges towards Lampeter’s right shoulder. Lampeter pulls his shoulder back to avoid being touched.

Lampeter now circles around Wickham’s right side so that they trade sides of the room. George resumes his attacks again taking Lampeters sword up and across his body so that George lunges to his left shoulder. Lampeter again avoids the touch.

At the edge of the crowd, Sharpe watches how each fights.

George launches an attack while Lampeter moves to his side again to trade sides of the room. While he passes George, George backhand touches Leampeter’s side. A person in the crowd was assigned to track the touches. He taps a knife on a wine glass to signal the touch.

Lampeter retreats to the edge of the circle. He is clearly tiring. He salutes Wickham’s point. George returns the salute. George signals a servant for a glass of wine. He sips while Lampeter collects himself.

Wickham has fought Lampeter before, he has won more than he has lost.

He knows that at some point, Lampeter will attempt to raise Wickham’s sword arm in order with an upward thrust. Wickham will be prepared and counter with a move of his own.

Lampeter signals that he is ready to resume by whipping his sword side to side. George steps back to the circle and raises his sword in salute. They are ready.

George again attacks first. He drives Lampeter back. He takes the sword low to Lampeter’s right as if he is again going to circle high. Instead, he sweeps left with speed and strength that Lampeter loses his sword. George touches Lampeter’s chest with his sword then returns it to a salute.

Lampeter, bows to Wickham, “Well fought, sir.”

“Your servant.”

Parfitt claps lightly. “Well done George.”

Lady Anne has been standing between Lord Stanwyck and Parfitt. She smiles at George and salutes him with her wineglass before she lowers her eyes to the glass while she sips.

The audience claps their appreciation.

Lord Stanwyck leans behind Anne to address Parfitt. “Pretty stuff Parfitt. I wager he wouldn’t try it against a soldier.”

“Wouldn’t he Percy? Why George Wickham will see any man off.” Parfitt knows that there is bad blood between Percy and George.

While they are talking, Anne’s eyes move reflecting that she is thinking how she can play with this.

The guests watch Parfitt and Stanwyck square off. Stanwyck would like to show up Parfitt. Parfitt would like to prove to Stanwyck that he equal or, better.

Lady Anne questions, “Even…. Major Sharpe?”

Parfitt looks to her. He sees an opportunity. “Ahh, even Sharpe. Why not?”

Sharpe hears them from his ‘hiding place’ by one of the columns behind the crowd.

Parfitt searches the room. “Richard? Where are ya?”

The crowd in front of him turns to see where Parfitt is looking, then makes an opening for Sharpe to go to Parfitt.

He stands up, but does not advance “Sir, I am not one for…”

Parfitt grows tired of Sharpe’s humility. “You aren’t afraid of young George, are ya?”

Anne looks directly at Richard. Her mouth and eyes challenge him.

“Lord Stanwyck wants to see Wickham taken down by a real soldier.

“Then Come on man. Teach the young sprig a lesson.”

Sharpe can see Anne’s eyes watch Stanwyck’s challenge to him and that she is not ready to give up. He tries again to avoid a confrontation.

Wickham watches too. He wets his lips as he relishes the chance to humble Sharpe publicly.

“He’s a fine swordsman. He needs no lessons from me.”

Lady Anne is determined to see Sharpe fight. She has heard so many soldiers talk about what a warrior he is. She raises the challenge. “Then you are afraid, sir”

Sharpe looks to her and says seriously. “In my hands a sword isn’t pretty, ma’am. It kills.”

Parfitt wants to see this match. “Good Lord, Richard. We’re not asking you to kill anyone, sir.”

Wickham has been watching and listening. He decides to put his own challenge into the mix. “Oh try me Major Sharpe. You wouldn’t even get a touch.”

Anne signals with her eyes and a quick lick of her lips that she expects to see Sharpe fight. He realizes that he is outnumbered. He can not avoid this fight. He lowers his eyes in surrender.

Others in the crowd lightly add their encouragement.

“Very well.” Sharpe reluctantly advances to the circle.

Wickham returns to the spot he started against Lampeter.

Lampeter tosses his sword to Sharpe. He takes the sword. It is a fencing saber. It is much lighter than his sword. He is used to the heavy cavalry sword or the saber of the Rifles officers. He hasn’t used one of these since the fight with General the Marques de Casares el Grande y Lelida Sadaba. Fortunately that duel was interrupted that he did not have to continue the fight. He holds and swings it while he paces back and forth at his side of the circle. He tries to find the sword’s balance. This one is tipped, and it still is not his preferred weapon.

Before he tests the weapon very much, George steps to the center of the room, salutes Sharpe and launches an attack. Sharpe stands with his left hand forward. He has never fought with a fencing style. Sharpe watches Wickham’s sword and hand while Wickham watches Sharpe’s eyes. Sharpe recoils to the crowd. Wickham wonders if Sharpe IS afraid.

Before he can answer, Sharpe launches his own attack. It comes with strokes and footwork that Wickham has not seen. He too retreats. At the back of his retreat, he sees a chance to drive Sharpe’s sword to the floor. He strikes down, but Sharpe is too strong to give up the sword He quickly backs up and returns to a guard position.

Wickham notices that Sharpe now looks to his eyes and Sharpe’s eyes have gained a shine. What does he see in Wickham’s fighting style that he can use?

Before he can answer, Sharpe attacks. He comes quickly and from quickly changing angles. Sharpe is too aggressive. As they reach the crowd, they do not stop. The crowd scatters from their way. Sharpe launches an overhead strike. George ducks and rolls to his right. As Sharpe staggers off balance, George touches his backside.

“Touche’”

He looks at those that catch him and then to Anne. He is embarrassed.

Anne wrinkles her nose at him to signal that she is disappointed. Sharpe steps back to the circle and raises his saber to signify he is ready.

Parfitt smiles at George’s success. If this continues, he can ‘tweak Lord Percy’s nose’ that George, his champion, bested Sharpe who Lord Percy favours.

George smiles broadly. He is full of himself at making Sharpe look silly. He rolls his head to the crowd as if to signal that this is child’s play. He confident that he can defeat Sharpe. He has watched Lady Anne communicate to Sharpe with her face and eyes that she expects him to lose. Perhaps by winning, he can get closer to Anne. That would be a prize!

Wickham turns back to face Sharpe.

Sharpe has been collecting himself. He had not removed any of his uniform. His shoulder belt and box had shift. He adjusts his equipment as George advances.

Without either saluting, Sharpe whips his sword at George with a wide sweeping stroke from his right to George’s middle. In battle points on a chest don’t count. Anything that wounds or kills, counts.

George retreats quickly. He sees that Sharpe’s eyes have changed again. With a real sword, he could kill George.

Wickham gets under Sharpe’s sword and prepares to strike. But, Sharpe uses his free hand to grab George’s sword arm to deflect it wide his target.

George resumes his attack. Sharpe slaps his sword against Wickham’s to drive it away.

Sharpe resumes his own attack. But he advances beyond his feet and is extended too far. Wickham steps forward to take Sharpe’s sword ribs and his upper arm where he clamps down on it. Once he as secured the foil, he pulls away from Sharpe, disarming him.

He stands looking at Sharpe with a grin on his face.

Sharpe stands in a stoop as he has not recovered his balance from his thrust. He avoids making contact with Wickham’s eyes. He looks around at the crowd as George tosses his sword to Sharpe’s feet.

From the crowd comes applause and ‘Oh bravo’ comments.

Sharpe looks to Anne sullenly. Anne surprisingly smiles at Richard and toasts him with her glass. She does not acknowledge Wickham.

Parfitt approaches Wickham.

“Well done.”

“Very well done.“

Sharpe briefly bows to Wickham, but says nothing.

Parfitt continues, “You are to be congratulated.” He gloats that his ‘champion’ defeated Stanwyck’s.

Lord Stanwyck steps up to George too. He does not congratulate Wickham. “Where were you at Talavera?” Sir Percy’s son had one time served with Wickham in the Yeomanry. When the call came for volunteers to go to Portugal, Percy’s son chose to go. Wickham stayed. Sir Percy’s son joined the 14th Light Dragoons. He served well and was mentioned in dispatches once. But at Talavera, he was wounded and subsequently died of the wounds.

“Dancing.”

“Dancing and flickering.”

“Very fine sir, very fine.”

George says nothing, but smiles and nods to Lord Percy.

They watch Lord Stanwyck head to the foyer. He’s had enough of Parfitt’s party. He is finished with Parfitt’s effrontery.

Parfitt watches Stanwyck go. He returns to look at George. With the glee of a victor, “Silly old fart.” George smiles and rolls his back in amusement at Parfitt’s comment.

Sharpe tries to less conspicuously make his way to the foyer to collect his cloak. He’s had enough of the party too. Lady Anne goaded him to fighting a way he has never been able to fight. He has never had fencing lessons. Every trained fencer has beaten him when he has tried to fence. But, when it has been on the battlefield, he doesn’t fence. And, he does not lose. Today Wickham won. He’s proved he can fence. And beat the ‘great Major Sharpe.”

He still doesn’t understand why Lady Anne behaves as if she is a slighted lover. The times they were together in London last year, she initiated the trysts. He knew also that she had her own list of men that she would sleep with. Sharpe was just a work assignment or a trophy. As she likes large homes, fancy clothes, rich jewelry and the life of London, why would she expect Sharpe to declare himself to her. She’s even called him an ‘Alley Cat’.

Sharpe goes quickly into the night to get his horse and return to the King’s Inn.



KING’S INN



Sharpe enters the inn. He sees Harper sitting with Jenny the barmaid. Harper has had a few ales and is feeling well.

“Did you have a good evening?”

He’s surprised at the grim face that Sharpe returns. He doesn’t sit with them. He stands.

“Rossendale. He has an estate around here. Find it.”

“Do you think that is a good idea.”

"I said find it."

Harper wants to talk Sharpe out of this. Before he can Sally Bunting enters the inn. She quickly marches to their table. Sharpe and Harper stand. The girl on Harper’s lap falls to the floor. She looks angrily at Harper as she tries to get to her feet. She is embarrassed to be dropped like a sack of flour.

Sally stands under Sharpe’s chin to scold him. “Richard, you should not stay in a place like this.”

She turns and wags a finger at Harper too. “Nor you Patrick.”

“Aye, Miss Bunting, it is godless. Full of foul drink and blasphemy.”

The barmaid finally is still trying to stand up behind them. Another patron tries to help her.

“Get your hands off me you bastard!”

Harper says to her. “Jenny please?”

Jenny slaps his helping hand away, then storms off to the bar. Harper turns back to Sally.

“Listen, I have tried to leave several times Miss Bunting,, but Major Sharpe insists on buying more drink.” Harper gives his best angelic face to her.

Sally turns to reprove Sharpe. “Then shame on you Richard. I know that the widow Bevan has lodgings. You must move there both of you. There tonight.”

In all the turmoil about the evil of an establishment that sells drink and the women sell themselves, Sharpe realizes that Sally came here for something other than to save their souls. “Sally, did you come to tell me something?”

Sharpe takes Sally’s arm to guide her to the doorway. Harper stays behind to make up to Jenny.

Outside, it is a clear cold night. Sally pulls her shawl over her bonnet.

“Richard, I want you to see Elsie’s grave. Matt Truman visits regularly. Maybe you can meet with him there.”

“Where and when, Sal?”

“Tomorrow at the cemetery next to the Skipton Road.”

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Fiction Index | Sharpe Tales Home | Sharpe's Justice Index | Chapter 2

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