A/N I finally decided to translate this story into English. It's not my native language, so if anything sounds off, please forgive me. Or maybe you'd want to beta read it for me?
The story is mostly movie-verse, though there can be some little things taken from the books as well.
Antonia Moreno had seen London in pictures and drawings on numerous occasions, and even more often than that she had seen it in her mind, especially when she listened to the stories told her by her English governess Flora. Strict, somewhat stiff Flora hadn't been the best companion for the sensitive teenager who loved to daydream. Still, Antonia had sought her company, knowing that the Englishwoman was her sole connection to her father's country, and one uncle Frederico had only reluctantly agreed to hire after Antonia's long pleas.
The London from these stories, however, turned out to be very different from the real London she was looking at now. The former was filled with music from countless theatres and balls, with gentlemen and elegant ladies walking its streets, talking about fashion, poetry and politics. The latter welcomed her with damp air of the docks, sailors' curses, and beggars in tattered uniforms swarming around the passengers like flies.
"Come on, my dear. George has found a carriage for us."
Suddenly brought back to reality, Antonia forced a smile at the plump lady marching towards her. The Joneses had taken her under their wing back in Gijón, minutes after she had boarded the ship bound for England. They were a middle-aged couple returning home from a visit to Mrs. Jones' brother, who worked for the British embassy. What was his job exactly, it was hard to tell, as Mrs. Sylvia described him as the ambassador's right-hand man, while Mr. George implied that even a janitor had a more important position than his brother-in-law. Sylvia Jones, who didn't have her own children, has immediately "adopted" Antonia, who, lost in the strange world and a bit scared of the journey she had just dared to embark on, welcomed the talkative and curious, but kind-hearted woman's care with gratitude. Moreover, in the older woman's company Miss Moreno was far less noticeable than if she's been travelling alone.
Since leaving her family estate, Antonia had changed her mind as to which last name she should use at least a couple of times. At the beginning, she had travelled as Miss Sharpe, relishing the sound of the name of the father she was about to meet. But when she had stepped on the deck of an English ship, she had realized that Lieutenant Colonel Richard Sharpe had once been a hero of many stories and he could still be remembered by some. She wasn't keen on explaining her story to other passengers, so assuming that probably no one was looking for her anyway, she had gone back to calling herself Antonia Moreno, a Spaniard travelling to England to visit some distant relatives. This explanation was enough for most people, but Mrs. Jones wasn't satisfied with it, demanding more and more details. "But your English is so good!" she'd exclaim on and on. "I used to have an English governess," Antonia would answer patiently. Used to — in the past tense, because when uncle Frederico had died, Flora had quickly found herself a new job. The Englishwoman knew very well that her pupil would soon have to leave the Moreno estate, which was going into the hands of a new owner, and, as there were no other relatives, she'd have to go to a convent school where she'd remain until marrying age. "Do many Spanish girls have English governesses?" Mrs. Jones would inquire further, eyeing suspiciously Antonia's dark blonde hair and fair eyes. "Some of them do," Antonia would answer with an innocent smile, and then change the topic before Mrs. Sylvia could ask more.
Ever since she'd been a small child, Antonia had dreamed of talking to her father in his mother tongue. "I don't know if papa knows Spanish," she'd explain to her uncle, not understanding why he'd seem irritated at that, until she'd been a bit older and realized that mentioning Richard Sharpe was simply unwelcome under Frederico Moreno's roof. Since that time, she'd talk about her father only with Jacinta, her faithful nanny who had taken care of Antonia from her early days and had been the only person who could remember both of her parents and was willing to talk about them.
Because while Teresa "La Aguja" Moreno was a hero, still remembered even over a decade after her death, her English husband was doomed to be forgotten. Antonia knew his name and nationality, she heard a few things about his wartime achievements — with the Imperial eagle he'd taken at Talavera being the first of them — and some unclear gossip about his low birth. She also had a sole memento — a rag doll in a green uniform of a rifleman, made by Teresa Moreno soon before her death. From Jacinta's stories Antonia also knew that her parents had been deeply in love with each other, that they had loved her very much too. The nanny told her that then-Major Sharpe had tears in his eyes when he was forced to leave his baby girl behind in the Morenos' care. So despite the few reluctant and unfavourable remarks that had slipped Frederico's lips, she couldn't believe that someone her mother loved and someone Lord Wellington trusted could deserve nothing by contempt. Thus, the more trouble uncle Frederico had hiding his dislike, the more, contrary to him, Antonia would create in her mind a picture of a perfect hero of a father she dreamed about meeting one day.
When the first letter had arrived, Antonia had already grown out of the rowdy child stage into a slightly shy teenager, struggling to deal not only with Flora, but also with all the servants employed by her more and more ill uncle. She couldn't even hide her excitement on that day, but luckily the faithful Jacinta had managed to cover it, explaining to everyone that señorita Antonia had taken a liking to a handsome officer they'd met on the morning walk. Colonel Sharpe (it had been the letter which had told Antonia her father's true rank — Lieutenant Colonel in the British infantry) had written that he couldn't visit his daughter because of the hatred her current guardian had towards him, but that he had missed her dearly and would be the happiest man to have her with him again. He couldn't offer her luxury, admitting with all honesty that he had not been a rich man; in fact, he couldn't even offer her funds that would cover the cost of her journey. Nevertheless, he'd believed that Antonia would find a way to join him in England.
The only person who'd known about the letters and the plans had been Jacinta, but they had both decided that as long as Frederico Moreno had been alive, Antonia's duty had been to remain by him. So she'd answered her father as well as she could, wishing she could ask Flora to correct her grammar and style. She'd thanked her father for the invitation, explained her position, and promised that as soon as she was able, she would take all she'd inherited from her mother and board the first ship bound for England. She'd also asked that if her father wished to write to her sometimes, he should address his letters to Jacinta, who would then bring them to her mistress without anyone else in the house knowing a thing.
They had exchanged a few letters that way. Colonel Sharpe would describe to his daughter his current estate, his second wife who had made him happy again after the loss of Teresa. Sometimes, but rather seldom, he'd mention his army adventures. Antonia had much less to talk about, so after telling her father about herself, her interests, plans and dreams, she had begun, contrary to every rule of epistolography, to compose her letters of questions — about everything concerning Colonel Sharpe and his memories of Teresa. Now she thought these questions must have been too painful for him, because the letters had become more and more scarce, until one day Jacinta had drowned when taking a bath in the river, and even if there had been any letters from England after that, Antonia had never seen them. A few months later uncle Frederico had died as well, and Antonia had decided it was time to fulfil the promise she had given her father. She had gathered as much of her inheritance as she could without drawing anyone's attention. She had packed the jewellery, taken out the money she and Jacinta had hidden under the window sill after selling some of Antonia's things. She had packed as many clothes and other necessary objects as she could fit into one travel trunk, had written a letter telling her father about her plan, and taking advantage of the commotion that accompanied the sale of the estate, one cold morning she had slipped out, beginning her journey north, towards the sea and the isle of Great Britain that lay behind it. The journey to meet her father at last.
When the luggage was loaded and the Joneses with their young companion took their places in the carriage, it was already almost evening. Sylvia Jones was unhappy that her husband's duties prevented her from staying in London with her new friend and meeting her English relatives. Antonia on the other hand was relieved, because it was getting more and more difficult to keep the truth about her journey from the Englishwoman. Nonetheless, she had to admit she was a bit worried about the moment the Joneses would leave her alone in this strange country.
On this last evening, Mrs. Jones wouldn't leave Antonia's side, attacking her with dozens of warnings and advice: "Always wear something warm, my dear. England is colder than Spain. And much less sunny. And remember not to talk with strangers. London is not a place for young girls such as you. I pray your relatives come soon. Oh, if only we could stay just for a couple more days!" Each such tirade was repeated at least thrice, so some time in the middle of supper Antonia stopped listening and concentrated on her own thoughts instead, remembering only to nod in the moments that seemed appropriate to fool her companion. Luckily for her, when they finally went to bed, Antonia was too exhausted to even think about what the next day could bring.
On the next morning Mrs. Sylvia took her to Mrs. Loveystock — a nice and respectable widow renting rooms only to citizens of impeccable opinion — or so she claimed — and asked the woman to take special care of Antonia. When the lengthy and tearful goodbyes were over and Antonia was finally alone, she ran to her room to write a message to her father. A short note informing the Colonel that she was in London was written in a couple of minutes, but when it came to the signature, Antonia hesitated. Which name should he use? Writing "Antonia Sharpe" would be like a declaration towards a man she hardly even knew. When she was younger, she dreamed of using this name and instead of surprised gazes, meeting with admiration from the people who had heard about the Colonel's heroic victories. Still, she had never had the courage to use it when signing a letter. "Antonia Moreno", she finally wrote, and ran downstairs to look for Mrs. Loveystock.
"Oh, Colonel Sharpe is your relative, Miss?!" the widow exclaimed when she glanced at the letter.
"Distant relative," answered Antonia, praying silently that she wouldn't blush, as she often would when she tried to lie.
"What an amazing coincidence!" continued the woman meanwhile. "Here in that house across the street lives Mister Harris who served under Colonel Sharpe in the Peninsula!" The woman turned to the door as if she intended to run and invite the man over immediately. "You come from Spain, Miss?" she asked instead, turning back and sending Antonia a suspicious stare. "Maybe you're related to the Colonel's first wife, La Aguja? Mister Harris told us about her. Do you know she hadn't been killed by the French, but by an English deserter and..."
"That Mister Harris must be a very good man, since you talk about him so nicely," Antonia interrupted desperately until the woman managed to jump to more conclusions. She was worried about meeting her father enough even without having an audience, and one ready to gossip for years to come about having the Colonel's daughter in one of her rooms. So after making sure Mrs. Loveystock would find someone to deliver her letter, she complained about a headache and retreated back to her little room upstairs.