‘I do not,’ replied Fairbrother, sounding intrigued.
‘The Conversion of St Paul. I recall a childhood rhyme: “If Paul’s day be fair and clear / There shall be a happy year / But if it be both wind and rain / Dear will be all kinds of grain.”’
‘It didn’t mention snow, I suppose?’
Hervey shook his head. ‘I don’t recall its saying anything of snow, though I’m sure there was always excess of it in Horningsham at this time.’
‘There were no such rhymes in Jamaica. The weather followed a very settled design.’
Hervey took a peaceful sip of cordial.
‘O for a beaker full of the warm South,’ tried Fairbrother.
‘What?’
Fairbrother merely raised his glass.
‘Strange the things one remembers,’ continued Hervey. ‘“Dear will be all kinds of grain.” What’s the end of burning barns in winter – and the worst winter in memory, it’s said? A bad business, a bad business. I wonder what Worsley’s making of it.’
‘I fancy he’ll be surprised to see you tomorrow – so soon on taking command.’
Hervey shook his head. ‘I’d wager he’d expect me to come sooner than later. What else should detain me when there’s a troop on active duty? But it won’t trouble Worsley either way. A most even-tempered man. Besides, Malet’s sending him word at first light tomorrow. It would have gone this evening, except there was no reason to hazard a man in this weather and the moon so new.’
‘Quite.’
‘By the bye, did I say he was now wed?’
‘No.’
‘A marriage of some happiness to Yorkshire, evidently – neighbouring estates. Mrs Worsley is installed at Richmond now. Richmond here, that is. I look forward to receiving them as soon as he’s returned.’
They had strayed from the weather, but not into perilous country. Fairbrother smiled to himself. It was the first he’d heard his friend speak of entertaining, except that he knew he favoured Worsley highly – a quieter, more bookish sort than the usual cavalry captain, but one who’d shown his mettle in the affair at Waltham Abbey a year or so ago, when it looked as if Hervey and his party might all be blown to kingdom-come in the powder mills … And yet, to speak of new marriage must be bitter-sweet, given his friend’s own standing in that regard. He supposed himself a poor substitute for the person who by rights ought to be sitting with Lieutenant-Colonel Matthew Hervey on this of all days – the culminating day of his good friend’s – his only true friend’s – service. All that had gone before, to which he, Fairbrother, had come late (but not, he trusted, too late), was but past preparation. Command of a King’s regiment – and not just any regiment, but that in which his friend had been first commissioned twenty years before as an ink-fingered boy from school; and not a command bought like some piece of acreage from a dealer in these things (or for that matter like men at a slave market), but an appointment without purchase, in recognition of long merit, at the instigation of the commander-in-chief himself – this was the cornet’s dream, not the proverbial field marshal’s baton in his knapsack. And so where were the admiring eyes, the gently caressing hands, the bosom promising more intimate contentment? How could it be that with this new half-colonel of cavalry sat not his wife but a man born the wrong side of a plantation blanket?
But how well did his friend conceal his disappointment: his composure did him the greatest credit. It was not for him, Fairbrother, to dampen now the spirits of this man apart, on this of all evenings. On the contrary …
The parlour-maid was gone; he could at last engage his friend in careless banter. ‘So, you are a man now set in authority, having under you soldiers, and you say unto one, “Go”, and he goeth; and to another, “Come”, and he cometh; and to your servant, “Do this”, and he doeth it.’
Hervey frowned good-humouredly. ‘You are determined to quote Scripture at me, even if you quote it ill. I am a man set under authority.’
‘I do not quote it so ill. What I would know is to whom you have said “Come” and to whom “Go”.’
Hervey smiled. ‘I had perfectly intended telling you, though in truth I’ve made no decisions – or rather, I’ve not made them known. The most pressing will be the new sar’nt-major. Rennie’s to have a commission elsewhere, by Hol’ness’s arranging.’
Fairbrother looked at him almost askant. ‘Armstrong – surely?’
‘Armstrong – of course. But I must tell you frankly that having supposed – hoped – for so many years that Armstrong would one day be my sar’nt-major, I am now of a mind to test that supposition.’
‘Test?’ Fairbrother was frowning as if in pain, but suddenly seemed to recollect himself. ‘You don’t mind my speaking in this way, do you? It really is not my business.’
‘On the contrary. I value your opinion greatly, as well you should know. It’s not given to every man in command to have one with whom he might speak indifferently … Respica te, hominem te memento.’fn1
Fairbrother inclined his head. ‘I knew you not to be a sentimental man, as the saying goes – not decidedly, at least – but I’m surprised by your having doubts in Armstrong. What more might you wish of a man than he has proved these past two years alone? How do you intend testing your supposition?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Hervey confidently. ‘A little more time, perhaps.’
‘That is reasonable, except that once Mr Rennie’s commission becomes known, will not any delay in appointing Armstrong be an affront?’
‘Armstrong will perfectly understand: the exigencies of the service … But your point is well made. Indeed I should not wish to delay for one moment more than I thought entirely necessary the just deserts of such a man. We have served together since my earliest days in Spain.’
‘I know it, of course. I’ll not press you on who might have the better claim.’
‘I’m perfectly happy to tell you. Indeed you might tell me.’
‘Collins?’
‘Naturally. And there’s a fine man with C Troop, with whom I never served – Robertson.’
‘You told me once that the custom of promotion in the Sixth is seniority tempered by rejection.’
‘And so it is. But the policy merely defines the practice hitherto.’
Fairbrother sighed. ‘That is a little obtuse, if I may be so bold. I meant that Armstrong being the senior – which I know him to be – he has a right to the rank unless he is unfit in some way, which unfitness cannot be because there is a better man his junior. Am I not correct?’
‘You are exactly correct. I am not so much endeavouring to choose between Armstrong and Collins, only to discern whether Armstrong is truly meet. He has been through much these past five years.’
‘What is it, then, that you require of your serjeant-major?’
Hervey smiled, being back on safe ground. ‘That is very easily stated,’ he declared, rising and taking from the writing table a small, bound volume – The Standing Orders of His Majesty’s Sixth Light Dragoons. He turned the pages until he found the words he was looking for – the wisdom of the regiment’s seventy years of peace and war: ‘“The Regimental Serjeant-Major, being the senior-most of the non-commissioned ranks, and forming, as he does, the link between the non-commissioned officers and the officers, and in the legitimate position for advancement, is placed in a position of great importance and responsibility; he should at all times be devotedly zealous for the reputation of the regiment, and immediately report to the adjutant when its discipline or good order is at all affected, or likely to be so by any individual; and never permit the existence of any improper familiarity towards him on the part of his inferiors.”’
‘“Devotedly zealous”; that’s a fine thing.’
‘Indeed. But let me finish: “On him, in a great measure, depends the general smartness of the regiment; he must be a perfect master of all drills, instructing every recruit most perfectly in all his exercises, et cetera, before he dismisses him; and he is never, upon any accou
nt, to pass over anything he may observe unsoldierlike in any man belonging to the regiment. He must be an example by his activity, soldierlike conduct, and dress, and must instantly correct any irregularity, want of spirit, or exertion, he may observe in the non-commissioned officers of the regiment.”’
‘And to all that must be added “an unfailing belief in his colonel”.’
Hervey frowned. ‘That cannot be required of a man. Loyalty is deserved by rank and appointment – that is sure. But respect, belief … that can only be earned. Besides, in adhering to that which I have just read, a sar’nt-major acts with confidence in the system of which the lieutenant-colonel is a part. The system, like the much-vaunted constitution of our American cousins, is one of checks and balances.’
Fairbrother smiled. ‘I don’t doubt it, though I maintain yet that there must exist some special feeling between the two, else it is otherwise merely a contractual sort of business.’
Hervey nodded conditionally. ‘If I understand you correctly, you are saying that a regiment will be better found when the lieutenant-colonel and sar’nt-major enjoy a particular mutual regard. Of that there can be no doubt. It does not, however, assist in my choice of men, for each would answer – or rather, both Armstrong and Collins would.’
If Fairbrother had any further opinion on the matter it was stayed by the return of the parlour-maid, with a steaming tureen, and a second girl with a plate of warm bread.
‘Soup, sir? An’ Mr Ellis is coming with wine.’
Hervey smiled his thanks. She was indeed a handsome girl, and might pass for quality if she were mute and rightly got up. And she wished to please, which was ever appealing. There was something so agreeable in female company at this time, when the business of the day was done and … He recollected himself. ‘Thank you …?’
‘Annie, sir.’
‘Thank you, Annie. We shall serve ourselves.’
They bobbed and made to leave, and the landlord came with two bottles. ‘Good evening, gentlemen. I’ve presumed to bring burgundy, if that’s to your liking? I thought as you mayn’t prefer the white with your soup and fish at this time of year.’
Hervey nodded. It was a peculiar presumption, for he had not known these things to be regulated by the seasons so, but he was not fastidious when it came to wine (Fairbrother had enough fastidiousness for both of them). ‘Perhaps you’ll be so good as to decant it.’
The landlord had anticipated the request, with two plain decanters brought by a potboy. ‘And everything else is to your satisfaction, sir?’
‘It is indeed. Your arrangements are most excellent, Mr Ellis. I think we shall be in no hurry to quit them.’
‘The rooms are at your disposal, sir,’ replied the landlord, backing his way to the door, and closing it behind him.
‘I think he took me at first for your valet,’ said Fairbrother when he was gone.
Hervey smiled. ‘A very gentlemanlike valet.’
‘I do not mean that he was in the least condescending – quite the opposite – rather that he seemed perplexed by a dark skin and a plain coat in an otherwise very military retinue.’
‘You could scarcely call Johnson very “military”. And besides, neither your skin is dark nor your dress very plain. I am all envy of that collar, which the landlord must have seen when you came.’
Fairbrother had acquired a swatch of curly black wool from the Cossacks with whom they had ridden in the Levant, and had lost no time in having a coat of his trimmed with it (and a riding cloak too), though he joked that when his collar was turned up he looked like a Hottentot in want of a barber – which vexed Hervey, for it seemed to him that it was a device to claim that his friend was ever the stranger, when in truth he was more genuinely a kindred spirit than any man he knew. Fairbrother’s complexion was not that of a man who had spent his years in a library at Oxford, it was true (though neither was his own); but it was no darker than that of any man who had spent his years in the sun. Neither were his features anything like the Hottentot’s – only, perhaps, his hair, which tended to the tight curls of the lambskin, though it was brushed long and pomaded. No, there was nothing of the stranger, not to speak of; not to his eyes anyway. Indeed, if only Fairbrother could be induced to wear the King’s coat again, there would be no occasion for doubt.
‘Tomorrow I shall inspect the cellars,’ said the ‘Hottentot’ as he began ladling the soup.
‘A wise precaution. And I think I shall ask Malet to dine with us tomorrow – or the day after, if we’re detained at Maidenhead.’
‘Capital.’
‘I’m pleased Malet’s content with my scheme for keeping him at his desk for the time being. The business of the major’s leave of absence will take some resolution.’
‘How so?’
‘I fear he is of, shall we say, the country party.’
‘The “country party”?’
‘Forgive me. I meant that the major was evidently not on terms with Lord Hol’ness, and is perhaps not quite … biddable, as Johnson would say. In Walpole’s day the country party were ever agin the court – would do all manner of things to contest the King’s authority. It would be tiresome.’
Fairbrother raised his eyebrows. ‘A misfortune indeed.’
‘But one that might be overcome were you to purchase the majority from him.’
Fairbrother laid down his spoon and looked very directly at his friend. ‘Hervey, I should be content to be your valet, but not your major – as I have told you more than once. Even if your captains were to welcome it.’
Hervey smiled wryly and took a sip at his soup. ‘I will leave the matter for now.’
Fairbrother shrugged and picked up his spoon again. ‘Tell me instead of the regimental staff. Are you pleased with what you find?’
Hervey conceded the diversion. ‘In the main, yes, I am, though I met with only the paymaster today – Marciandi, come from the Maltese Regiment, who appears to have his doubts about the supper fund …’ And Fairbrother found himself suddenly trying to follow the peculiar economy of the Sixth’s institution of a third meal at public expense – an initiative of Lord Holderness’s and one that had brought warnings of ‘No good will come of it’ from all quarters beyond Hounslow.
Of the others of the staff, whom Hervey had met in passing at mess, he gave his friend the merest of pen pictures: the surgeon, Milne – a fine Aberdeen physician who had joined the 2nd Dragoons after his wife had died; the riding-master, Kewley, lately of the 7th Hussars – full of the gospel of St John’s Wood; and Lincoln of course – quartermaster sans pareil – of whom Fairbrother knew well already; and the veterinarian, Gaskoin – ‘not of the stamp the regiment has known of late, but I suppose he will serve.’
‘And you said there was a matter of distaste to you?’
Hervey sighed. ‘I fear so. The senior captain, Tyrwhitt, is in arrest – in Dublin, seemingly on charges of bigamy, or something very much like. I confess I never much liked him, and notwithstanding the presumption of innocence until proved otherwise, I can’t but think that the accusations are in keeping with his character. Did you meet him? I don’t remember.’
‘Nor, I confess, do I. You dislike him because he made easier play with the fair sex than Scripture approves?’
‘No,’ replied Hervey, insistently. ‘Because I always thought him a stranger to the truth.’
‘Ah.’
‘Quite.’
Fairbrother shook his head. ‘“An officer may be forgiven anything but cowardice and want of candour”?’
‘What else is there to be troubled with?’
Fairbrother smiled. ‘You are a very contrary fellow, Hervey. You give all the impression of severity, and yet you take what I could only say is a most reductive view of men.’
Hervey, finishing his soup and taking a good sip of his wine, smiled too. ‘I have no objection if an officer, so long as he attends to the welfare of his men, and his horses, takes his ease rather than exerting himself to further effort. Only th
at such a man cannot expect advancement.’
Fairbrother gave him a dry look. ‘Except of course that he can, if he has the money.’
Hervey was spared a reprise of the iniquities of purchase by the reappearance of the parlour-maids with a dish of turbot.
When they had gone he returned to his subject, but at a remove. ‘Tyrwhitt, it appears, has married one woman under Scotch law and then another under Irish.’
‘Let me speculate,’ said Fairbrother, deftly filleting his fish. ‘The first is pretty but penniless, the second less comely but rich – a widow, perhaps.’
Hervey raised an eyebrow. ‘I have asked for an attorney to come to explain the circumstances, and written to the Horse Guards for advice.’
‘Then there is nothing more to be said of it the while. Not worth your consideration.’
‘You are right.’
‘And it can have no bearing on the success of your command.’
Hervey smiled again, but ruefully. ‘My dear friend, I do not for once suppose that anything I do here at Hounslow – save for something scandalous – shall have any bearing on what the Horse Guards are minded next to do with me. We are a nation at peace. It is money therefore that secures notice.’
‘That is uncommonly despondent of you.’
Hervey shook his head. ‘Bingham buys the Seventeenth for a fortune, and there’s an earl’s son in the Eighth – Brudenell – who’s bought his way from cornet to half-colonel in six years. No doubt he’ll have a regiment soon.’
‘And yet you’ve frequently spoken for purchase.’
‘Yes, it served the country well in the late war with France. But in war there is a moderating process, a winnowing. The musket and the cannon decide these things. I fear that without such an arbiter …’
‘And yet you have no truck with Reform!’
‘What has Reform to do with it? A few more Whigs in parliament will make no difference to the prospects for advancement!’
Words of Command (Hervey 12) (Matthew Hervey) Page 5