dav190.

A Little Sight-Seeing?

Portland Place. Breakfast. June 1819.

rederick Daventry glanced Sharpe out of the corner of his eye. He was buttering toast in his hand as though applying mortar to a board. Daventry wondered why he didn't leave the toast on the plate to do it. Easier that way, surely? It occurred to Daventry that someone at sometime in his life, his nanny, or mother, must have shown him, told him, the correct way to do things. But not Richard, he had never had the luxury of a nanny. Not even a mother. Well, not for long. He quite liked watching Sharpe, for his movements were surprisingly delicate and unhurried.

He'd watched him this morning as he'd lain asleep in bed. As Daventry had left the bed so Richard had sleepily spread himself, rolling into the warmth he'd left, his arms outstretched. And Daventry had quickly found paper and pencil and sketched him, memories of their conversation late into the night inspiring him. Having finished it, he'd written just two words. They'd seemed apt. Now, as he remembered them, he felt a little foolish. 'My angel'. Did he really think that? He had at the time. Perhaps he should have written 'My fallen angel', that was more fitting. It was one to hide from Richard, that was for sure. He'd mock him for the foolishness, for having feelings like that. Frederick Daventry was just saddened that Richard didn't have feelings for him in the same way. He'd thought he had. But it wasn't so. Richard Sharpe enjoyed sex with him, enjoyed the intimacy of that friendship. It didn't really go beyond the bedroom door.

Daventry looked back to the breakfast table, something catching his eye. A knife was now sticking savagely out of the butter reminding him of the story of the sword in the stone. Strangely, Richard coped better at Ashworth House than here. But then, the servants did most of the serving there. Dorrie saw to it that the butter was in neat little pats. Far easier to deal with. Frederick Daventry hadn't thought of it before, he'd never asked Hopkins to form the butter into pats at Portland Place. A too feminine touch, he supposed.

A ghost of a smile formed on his lips as the marmalade spoon was just about to be set down on the table, then hastily put in the right place, pushed a little too deeply into the bitter orange so that the next user would get sticky fingers. Hopkins arrived with fresh tea in a silver pot and the morning paper. Then, with a nod from his master, the manservant had  opened the door and disappeared back to his quarters, leaving them alone once more.

Daventry unfolded the paper and scanned the headlines, then he glanced back to Richard who had reached out for the scalding tea. "Put the milk in first?" murmured Daventry as a suggestion, aware the fine bone china could crack with the shock. Sharpe hovered with the pot above his cup, then put it back down and found the milk. "It tastes better that way" Frederick told him kindly "Or so I always think". He felt a bit of a fraud as he said it, then realised he was avoiding a scene like yesterday's over the shilling. Did it really matter, a cracked cup, a missing shilling? Somehow it did.

"We can go back to Ashworth tomorrow, can't we, instead of today?" Sharpe suddenly asked, changing their plans.

"Not really. I have to collect the rents" explained Frederick.

This was news to Sharpe. It was the first he'd heard of collecting rents. He hadn't imagined Frederick would do that himself. Go round the tenant farmers. Wouldn't he have a man to it for him? He asked about it.

"I always try to collect the rents on the quarter days, especially on St John's. It's traditional."

That seemed to end the matter, then Daventry relented a little. "We can leave the journey till this evening, if you wish? So long as we're back for tomorrow. We can spend the day in London, if that's what you want? Had you got plans?" If Sharpe did, then Daventry couldn't imagine them, unless he had thoughts on the bedroom. Maybe that was it? Or maybe Richard was just happier in London? Frederick was never sure what Richard thought of being at Ashworth. Somehow the longer he knew him the less he understood him.

Sharpe was shaking his head, he seemed a bit vague about how he wanted to spend his day, but he was clearly thinking of avoiding the return to Ashworth. "I just thought we could be on our own for a while longer, away from Maixm and the others......I'll be back in France soon." He petered out with his reason.

"Alright" agreed Frederick "What do you want to do?"

Sharpe shrugged, then put more sugar in his tea. "We don't need to do anything do we, just spend the day together?"

"If you wish". Daventry wondered what this was all about, and what they'd do? Sit and talk, walk in the park, go drinking, riding, perhaps go to The Club? He glanced back to his paper, feeling at a loss. Maybe he'd leave it to Richard, see what he proposed?

He proposed nothing, clearly happy just to drift through the hours.

"We could hire an open-top carriage, it's a beautiful day?" suggested Frederick leaving the table, flicking his paper in the direction of the window, encouraging Sharpe to see the sun. "Have you seen Arthur's new residence? I say new, he actually bought it about two years ago. He and an architect fellow called Benjamin Wyatt are setting about altering the original design, a facade of Bath stone like The Belmont........" Sharpe's blankness made him stop. "I'm talking about Wellington. Arthur Wellesly?" Daventry looked enquiringly at Sharpe, an eyebrow raised as though that might help his cause.

"D'you mean call on him...?" asked Sharpe, clearly appalled at the idea.

"No. Of course I don't mean that. I mean, just ride past, take a look at it, I thought it might be of interest?"

It wasn't.

Daventry thought again "We could ride out and see the windmill that's been built, it's not far from Brixton Hill?" He seemed enthusiastic.

As Frederick seemed to want to ride about, Sharpe suggested Clerkenwell. "What's there to see?" asked Daventry politely.

Sharpe thought about it. "Plague pits, rookeries, there's a graveyard the bodysnatchers go to. There's a monastry, too, that's supposed to be haunted, you like ghosts and all that rubbish, and there's the cathedral, St Paul's. Or we could go to Clink Street and see the prison?"

"We could go into the cathedral, climb to the Whispering Gallery, have you ever done that?" asked Daventry his imagination fired at the thought of St Paul's. He then thought of the words his unholy Richard might whisper in such a holy place. Perhaps St Paul's wasn't such a good idea......

"We could go to Greenwich, eat at the pie and eel shop, have you ever done that?" countered Sharpe not to be outdone.

Daventry side-stepped that suggestion, for his idea of dining out and Richard's never seemed to tally. He tactfully suggested that Greenwich was a little too far.

Finally Frederick suggested hiring the carriage and just going where they wished, no need to plan anything. Sharpe agreed. Then Daventry grinned at him. "Let's dress you up as a gentleman and take you to some of my haunts?" He liked the idea, wondering if Richard could play act the role as he had done in the Jews Quarter?

Sharpe looked very unsure, he doubted he could pass himself off, he told Frederick so.

"Ridiculous! I'm sure we can make you look very distinguished. Just remember your manners, and like you told me, keep your mouth shut?"

Sharpe took him to task over that. "You didn't keep yer mouth shut, you nearly landed us in the shit!" Sharpe thought again, then said, his tone surly, "What happens if we meet any of your friends in these haunts of yours?"

Frederick considered this. "You're a friend, too. People at Horse Guards know that we're friends. Besides, your war record is still impressive, you're still spoken of, you know? Lieutenant-Colonel Sharpe!"

Somehow all this silenced Sharpe, he didn't even ask about his lingering reputation. He knew that for as many good things  as were said about him, there would be as many bad. In a way of dismissing it all, ducking out of doing something he didn't want to do, he said "We don't need to go anywhere, we can stay here. You're alright  now, aren't you?" he nodded his head in Daventry's direction, his meaning quite clear as he stared at his friend's breeches.

Daventry knew then that he'd been right. Richard had got thoughts on the bedroom. When he didn't reply straight away Sharpe asked him "You never been kicked in the crotch before, then?" He seemed to think this the reason for Frederick's hesitancy. "You'll be alright now, it won't hurt...you mght... tingle... a bit?" The assurance was swift for Sharpe was knowledgeable in these matters. Getting no response he went back to what they'd been talking about. "We can go out, if you want, but I'm not getting poshed up. Can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear, can you?"said Sharpe quietly.

"Good Lord! If I can pass as a ..pimp..in your back streets, then I'm quite sure......."

Sharpe stopped him. "I said no, D. I won't do it. I'm not one for play-acting, never was. I know what am I, and neither you or anyone else can change that. No-one will ever mistake me for a gentleman. No-one ever has." He wasn't after Frederick's sympathy, he was just making it very clear. "I'll go with you, to your places, but as I am. Alright?"

Frederick Daventry silently agreed to his proposal, realising more and more that the only basis for Richard's friendship with him was sexual. Perhaps Max had been right, more right than even he had imagined. Sharpe didn't just to be with him, he just wanted to be in bed with him. Nothing more. He was tempted to confront Sharpe with it, then didn't. He blamed himself. He'd forced Ashworth and everything else on Richard. It had been a mistake. In truth, he'd known it from the beginning.

Then Sharpe was intruding on his thoughts. "Anyway, it's easier to go down the social ladder than up. Believe me, I know. Dress yerself down again, if you want to play act. I'll take you to meet Maggie, introduce you properly....Oi! Are you listening to me?"

That roused Frederick, making him ask "Does she know my name?"

The concern in his voice produced the slightest of sneers on Sharpe's face. "Don't worry, yer secret's safe with me......"

"I asked you if she knows my name!" The question was direct, needing an answer.

Sharpe took his time, before answering flatly "No".

What bothered Daventry was that Richard seemed to need to think about it, as though choosing an answer that would suit, or pacify. He wasn't sure he believed him. Sharpe and his gin parlour madam were very close, he certainly shared his secrets with her, more than he even did with Lucille. Daventry wondered how much of Richard's life, past and present, Lucille did know about. Or understand. Precious little probably. He hadn't thought about that before.

Sharpe swallowed the rest of his tea, then, setting the cup back on the saucer said, as he got up "Come on then, if we're going out, get your bloody carriage, don't want to waste all day, do we!"

The end.

Anon. July.1999.
 

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