Sharpe's Respect
Spoiler: Sharpe's Eagle
Wordcount: 1684
CROSSOVER FIC

Author's Note: Edrington was not given a first name anywhere in canon. I have chosen to call him Alexander, because of all the names given to him in various fanfics, this is my favourite. I've also promoted him, though not as much as I maybe should have; a Major in 1797 should be a General in 1809. I couldn't stretch credibility much more...

The story is set after Sharpe's Eagle. I have taken elements of both the TV episode and the book, and meshed them together. I hope it works.

~~~~~

Sharpe scowled, watching the sentries salute the new arrival. Yet another rich, supercilious snob, playing at soldiers. He looked rich, too, from the evident quality of his horse and saddlery, and the meticulous tailoring of his uniform. Just the sort who would fit in properly in the Officers' Mess. Unlike himself.

Rumours had flown thick and fast about the new officer, and Harper had said only the other day that he was a Lord or some such thing, to which Sharpe had replied that it didn't take having a peerage to win battles, and being a soldier wasn't something money could buy. "There's some gentlemen as make good officers, Pat. The men trust them to do the job, fight the Frogs and get as few men killed as they can."

Harper nodded. "A killing officer."

"Aye. And there's some buggers who call themselves gentlemen, who ain't anything of the sort and who'd piss their breeches as soon as look at a Frenchy."

"Simmerson," Harper growled, his face growing dark.

"Aye, right. And there are some gentlemen who ride their horses, drink their wine, and look down their noses at you. And they're the ones to watch for, Pat. You can follow a leader, and let a coward show himself for the lily-livered fool he is, but if you don't know a man's colour, he bears watching close. Because if he's a wrong'un, the men'll know it, and there'll be no holding them."

They watched as a private soldier went to hold the horse's head, allowing the newcomer to dismount. He said a few words to the soldier, who nodded, pointed to the house currently masquerading as the South Essex Officers' Mess, then saluted and led the horse away.

The stranger crossed the road and entered the building. He walked like a born gentlemen, self-assured and confident and Sharpe felt a twinge of jealousy. He drained his mug of the tepid tea still in it and turned away from the window. He passed the empty mug to Harper, thrusting the jealousy aside as he did so. "We have to give him a chance, Pat. He might even be a good officer under all that money."

Harper took the mug, keeping his own counsel.

Sharpe continued, oblivious. "Though he needn't show off that he's got money. Even Wellington's got money, but he don't show it off. Unless you count the horses he rides, and he needs those, Being the General an' all." He sighed. "Anyway, time we made sure the Light Company's ready to meet their new Colonel." He grabbed his rifle and left the room.

There was a redcoat Private from the South Essex's Light Company loitering outside the door, his hand raised to knock. As Sharpe came out, the soldier straightened up. Catching the black look on his Captain's face, he came to attention and saluted before handing over the slip of paper he'd been entrusted with. He remained at attention as Sharpe opened it, his scowl deepening as he saw the elegant hand contained within. He read the note through and looked up. The Private swallowed as that scowl fell on him, and seemed to shrink a little inside his jacket, though he still stood to attention.

"No answer," Sharpe said. "Dismissed, Private."

The Private saluted again and escaped, thankful he hadn't been chewed out by his officer.

"Bad news?" Harper asked from behind Sharpe's shoulder.

"Only if being told the new commanding officer expects you to be in Mess for dinner this evening is bad news," Sharpe said, creasing the note up and shoving it into a pocket.

"That'll be a yes, then, sir," Harper said. From the tone of his voice he was grinning like a lunatic but when Sharpe spun round to check his face, he looked as solemn as a judge.

"And he wants to meet his Captains. Privately. Starting with the Captain of the Light Company."

This time Harper did grin. "Well, sir, you'd best not keep the gentleman waiting, to be sure."

Five minutes later, Sharpe found himself standing in front of a table currently masquerading as a desk, behind which his new commanding officer was seated. He had the regimental books piled to one side of him with his hat perched on top.

"Ah, Captain Sharpe," he said, standing up. "As we have not met, allow me to introduce myself. I am Alexander Edrington. I am, in fact, the Earl of Edrington, but I won't insist on being called 'my Lord'. We are all in the Army here, after all."

At Sharpe's curious look, he gave a half-smile. "I only insist on it to the Navy."

Sharpe grinned and looked away.

"I understand the South Essex was only recently raised," the new Colonel said, sitting down again and looking up at him. "Do sit down, please." Sharpe looked around for a chair and sat down warily. This was certainly not what he'd expected from any Colonel. Certainly not one who'd just taken the Colonelcy from Lawford, who'd only held it temporarily until a relief arrived from England.

Edrington moved his hat and pulled the top book off the pile and opened it, leafing through its contents. "I see that there are quite a few entries in the Punishment Book. I don't suppose you know anything about them?"

Sharpe was about to reply when Edrington shook his head. "I was forgetting. You only joined the regiment a few days before Talavera."

"Aye. But I saw enough before then." He stopped there, staring into the empty fireplace across the room. Edrington waited, but Sharpe felt he'd already said enough.

There was a sigh from the man behind the table. "Captain Sharpe, I realise I am an newcomer and an outsider. I wish to remain such for no longer than necessary, which is why I am holding these interviews. I know that you were raised from the ranks, and I have Sir Arthur Wellesley's opinion that you are the best commander of a Light Company he has seen. I need your help to make this regiment shape up. And to do that, I need to know what shape it currently is in. I can ask the men, but you and I both know they won't talk to me about the things that matter to them. So I'm asking you." He flicked through more pages of the Punishment Book. "I see here Private Dobbs received 75 lashes a week before Talavera, for fainting on parade. In your opinion, was such a punishment unusual?"

Sharpe scowled. "No, sir."

"I take it from the look on your face that that wasn't all that happened."

"No, sir, it weren't. That afternoon, I took the Light Company for some training, and he was there, in full kit. When he should've been on light duties, if he was even fit to do anything at all."

"You don't agree with flogging, then, I take it?" Edrington closed the book and leaned back, studying the other officer. Sharpe flushed under Edrington's scrutiny, but kept his head up, gazing at a point just over the Colonel's ear. "If you are worried that I might turn out to be a flogging officer, allow me to assure you that I do not relish the sight of seeing a man writhing under the cat. While I am in command of the South Essex" (Sharpe's eyes widened at the use of the regiment's name instead of their current designation as a Battalion of Detachments) "I will not have men dragged to the triangle for some trivial thing. As I understand you do not. There are better ways to maintain discipline, after all. As I'm sure you are aware." He smiled at Sharpe, who was taken by surprise. Maybe the new Colonel wasn't a born bastard after all...

"I am also concerned about the rate of fire the men have," Edrington said, smoothly shifting subject before Sharpe could get too uncomfortable. "I understand that the Light Company has the fastest rate of fire in the regiment. Due, I believe, to some rather unusual training methods on your behalf." He pulled another book over to him, and Sharpe felt his heart sink. "I don't much care for the practice of wearing stocks, I must confess. Thank you for solving the problem of getting rid of them." He stood up and came around the desk to perch on it, leaving no barrier between the two men. "You are the most junior Captain in the regiment, yet you have the most experience. You have three weeks, as much ammunition as you require and my full support. You may use any method you desire. But I want those men to be able to hold their own with the rest of this army. We're at war, Mister Sharpe. You and I know what battle is like. Make the men ready for it."

Sharpe got to his feet, feeling more comfortable standing. "Yes, sir."

"We lost a Colour through an officer's cowardice," Edrington said, his tone becoming introspective. "We gained an Eagle through an officer's courage." He held out a hand. "Thank you."

Sharpe found himself outside five minutes later, wondering what the hell had just happened. Yes, Edrington had the class and the money. But he also seemed to have experience and common sense. He was everything that Sharpe despised, but he'd won Sharpe round. He hoped that Edrington's ideas and reforms would work, but if they didn't, he'd still have Sharpe's respect.