Words of Command (Hervey 12) (Matthew Hervey)

by Allan Mallinson

  She pulled the bell, and the footman came. ‘Colonel Hervey will take supper this evening, George. There is no one else, is there?’

  ‘No, m’lady.’

  ‘Very well.’

  ‘M’lady.’

  ‘You have no establishment to return to at Hounslow then,’ she asked – suggested – when George was gone.

  ‘I … well, that is … for the moment, at least, we put up at the Berkeley Arms at Cranford. We – that is – Fairbrother and I. He did me great service, you know, in Bulgaria last year – and before that, of course, at the Cape.’

  ‘And you are to take a house soon? The Hol’nesses’ perhaps?’

  ‘I … I think not, for the moment … There is much to be about. The Low Countries …’

  He supposed she knew the situation at Hounslow as precisely as she did that at Houghton, for she was a patroness of Almack’s: All on the magic list depends / Fame, fortune, fashion, lovers, friends. And their business was everybody’s.

  ‘But lonely, it must be,’ (she said solicitously) ‘the exercise of command, without one to share its trials and tribulations – and, of course, its delights.’

  ‘You speak as one with experience.’ He regretted saying it. It was unkind, for it was true. But it was as near as he intended acknowledging her enquiry.

  ‘But I entered upon my contract knowingly, my eyes wide open, Matthew, and Sir Peregrine likewise.’

  He said nothing.

  ‘You, however, entered upon yours honourably. I do not say that I did otherwise, for mine was not “taken in hand, unadvisedly, lightly, or wantonly”, as the Church cautions, and most definitely not to satisfy “carnal lusts and appetites”; but it was not, I freely admit, for the causes for which matrimony was supposedly ordained, except perhaps in the extreme of the meaning of “help and comfort in prosperity”.’

  Her recall of the Prayer Book was quite exact. Indeed, he found her quite reverent for once – almost earnest.

  ‘But you, Matthew – you wished, did you not, in all sincerity, to embrace those causes?’

  ‘Kat, I …’

  ‘And, as I understand it, those causes are now denied you.’

  But how did she understand it? By whose word? Was it, in any case, true that the causes were denied him? And how had he exerted himself in those causes? And were not these early days, still?

  What nonsense! He deluded himself; had he not walked from Walden Park knowing he would never return?

  ‘Matthew, I make no judgements, I merely speak as I find. And I find you … if not unhappy, then less happy than you have a right to be. And in being less than rightfully happy, others about you must be less so.’

  This, however, was a proposition he could find no warrant for in his own experience. He was sure of it. He had always been able to leave behind whatever melancholy beset him as soon as the trumpet sounded.

  And yet he owed her more than simply pretending now, as they spoke, that indeed he heard the trumpet. They had for too long been one flesh.

  ‘Kat, I …’

  She smiled compassionately as his words petered out. ‘There is so much to speak of, Matthew.’ She laid a hand on his reassuringly. ‘And there is time this evening.’

  In Rules, which had now become quite his favourite place to entertain his growing circle of Garden acquaintances, Fairbrother was dining too, and with not one but two pairs of fine eyes. And so charmingly and wittily attentive he was to them that neither lady could have noticed how from time to time he glanced about the room, and to one, empty, table in particular – a table which of late had become the property, so to speak, of a considerable swell; a table commanding the room – the street, for to gaze within by any window would be to see this table d’honneur beyond any other. Indeed each Saturday since his friend had left for Norfolk, and several other evenings also, Fairbrother had observed at that table the noisy consumption of champagne and the exaltation of its provider. He was, indeed, a little disappointed that it remained so quiet this night, but was consoled by the thought that it was kept for the arrival of the generous pockets. Meanwhile he’d bought champagne himself, for he’d come a little late, and his ladies were already seated. He arrived, however, with nosegays of spring violets, explaining that he had gone to the flower market and been detained speaking with two of the porters – ‘excellent fellows’ whom he had met on several occasions – and that he trusted the posies would explain his discourtesy, and the wine make up for it. And they replied that they’d made nothing of it, for the maître d’hôtel had told them that he had come in earlier to reserve especially this table before going in search of flowers. So their dinner was as agreeable as on previous evenings, with Fairbrother now all attention – so agreeable indeed that they did not notice the arrival of the swell at the table d’honneur an hour or so later.

  ‘Ladies, would you permit me to leave you for a moment, so that I may have words of business with one who is lately come?’

  How could they refuse him? Especially when he had beckoned the waiter to bring them more champagne.

  He left them to the popping of the cork, and slipped outside unobserved, the curtains by the door as good as the tabs and legs that masked the wings on the stage that his charming companions had not long quit that evening.

  ‘Ronald?’

  A man of broad shoulders and few teeth emerged from the pool of darkness that was the entrance to Bull-inn Court. ‘Aye, sir.’

  ‘And Billy?’

  Ronald indicated that Billy was in the shadows behind him.

  Fairbrother beckoned them to follow.

  They crossed the street and stopped short of one of the windows a little way along (Rules was as well-lit outside as in). Fairbrother took a look and then bid his accomplice do the same.

  ‘See, the table I pointed to you earlier – the man with the yellow neckcloth?’

  ‘I see ’im, sir.’

  ‘Sure of it?’

  ‘Never surer, sir. Never forget a face.’

  They withdrew along the street, back into the shadows.

  ‘Very well. Use what threats and devices you will, but no bones broken, no bruises to see.’

  ‘Don’t you worry, sir.’

  ‘Then here’s the sovereign, and the other to follow when your powers of persuasion have proved effective.’

  ‘Aye, sir. You can depend on it.’

  ‘I bid you good night then, Ronald. I’ll leave with my guests presently. You, I’m afraid, will have a rather longer wait.’

  ‘Don’t you be worrying about us, sir. We waits all night anyway, us porters. That’s the Garden.’

  Fairbrother shook Ronald’s hand, and Billy’s, and made back for the door of Rules, content now in his stratagem. ‘Condemned battalion’ his Royal Africans may have been, but their ways weren’t always inferior. Less law, maybe; but more justice – unquestionably.

  Next morning, having bathed and changed clothes, Hervey called on Lord George Irvine after church. He had not thought to do so at first, but a most agreeable development of the evening before made it no longer necessary to call on General Gifford.

  It had been a most uncertain plan in any case, but the only one he could conceive of that avoided felony. He had no scruple regarding such a felony, only a concern not to implicate others – not least because it would compromise his own integrity in command. ‘Will no one rid me of this troublesome priest?’ – it was all, indeed, that he need have said, and Collins’s – his – problems would have been at an end. Except that, actions having consequences for ill as well as for good, who knew what would happen after the riddance? And so he had resolved on action by his own hand, intending to call on General Gifford and explain the situation, asking his advice – it was not unheard of for an officer to ask counsel of a senior; and in the course of their conversation, though he had no very clear idea how, he might suggest that Lieutenant Kennett be appointed to his staff, with the free promotion that such an appointment would carry. On condition, of course �
�� as Gifford himself would have to make plain – that all proceedings with respect to Collins were dropped; for it would not do for an aide-de-camp at the Horse Guards to be embroiled in an affair that might excite the public interest (such a reason was surely plausible?). He had hoped that he would not at any point have to allude to the circumstances in which his friend Fairbrother had discovered the wounded general, but had been perfectly prepared to do so.

  But all this was now unnecessary. He would be spared – the general too – the indelicacy of such an interview. Kat had insisted she would arrange matters. He had not thought at first to speak of it, but she herself had raised the ‘terrible affair of Bobby Gifford’ (she knew him well – of course). And Hervey had told her of the connection with Fairbrother, and then as the evening wore on the story of Kennett and Collins, and so much more (how good it was to be able to speak freely), and somehow the plan had been revealed, and Kat had said, ‘But Matthew, Bobby is such a dear man. Were I to tell him all this he would at once do as I ask. You must permit me. I can call tomorrow. It will be the easiest thing. Believe me.’

  And all he’d been able to say, for such was the hour and his relief that here was Collins’s deliverance – and his own (for who knew how Gifford might react to his implied threats) – was that she was the very finest of women, her goodness to him knew no bounds, and he was ever in her debt.

  fn1 ‘He found a city of bricks and left a city of marble.’

  PART TWO

  THE COCKPIT OF

  CHRISTENDOM

  For the Netherlands have been for many years, as one may say, the very cockpit of Christendom, the school of arms and rendezvous of all adventurous spirits and cadets …

  James Howell, clerk in the diplomatic service,

  Instructions for Foreign Travel (1642)

  THE ARTICLES OF LONDON

  1. The union shall be intimate and complete, so that the two countries shall form but one State, to be governed by the Fundamental Law already established in Holland, which by mutual consent shall be modified according to the circumstances.

  2. There shall be no change in those Articles of the Fundamental Law which secure to all religious cults equal protection and privileges, and guarantee the admissibility of all citizens, whatever be their religious creed, to public offices and dignities.

  3. The Belgian provinces shall be in a fitting manner represented in the States-General, whose sittings in time of peace shall be held by turns in a Dutch and a Belgian town.

  4. All the inhabitants of the Netherlands thus having equal constitutional rights, they shall have equal claim to all commercial and other rights, of which their circumstances allow, without any hindrance or obstruction being imposed on any to the profit of others.

  5. Immediately after the union the provinces and towns of Belgium shall be admitted to the commerce and navigation of the colonies of Holland upon the same footing as the Dutch provinces and towns.

  6. The debts contracted on the one side by the Dutch, and on the other side by the Belgian provinces, shall be charged to the public chest of the Netherlands.

  7. The expenses required for the building and maintenance of the frontier fortresses of the new State shall be borne by the public chest as serving the security and independence of the whole nation.

  8. The cost of the making and upkeep of the dykes shall be at the charge of the districts more directly interested, except in the case of an extraordinary disaster.

  The Eight Articles of London,

  also known as the London Protocol of 21 June 1814,

  homologated by the Final Act of the Congress of Vienna

  on 9 June 1815

  XVII

  A CLOSE RUN THING

  Waterloo, 18 June 1830

  ‘Show me a man’s horse and I will tell you what sort of man he is!’ said Fairbrother triumphantly.

  Hervey acknowledged, ruefully. Jessye was long gone – Jessye the ‘covert hack’, as his richer fellow cornets had called her, fit only to ride to the meet, not to hunt. But she’d carried him the better part of the battle that day, when Nero had fallen to French shell (and he with him – and escaping a coup de grâce by the closest of shaves), and not once had he wished for another.

  ‘Handsome is as handsome does.’

  ‘As you have often said,’ replied Fairbrother, with a knowing smile.

  But Ajax – or ‘Greater’ Ajax as Hervey insisted – was indeed a handsome horse: liver-chestnut, sixteen hands, seven-eighths bred (with Cleveland for strength), rising nine and gelded as a yearling, he possessed every quality required of the battle charger of a commanding officer of light dragoons. And although Hervey had paid a good deal more for him than he’d hoped, the price was a good deal less than General Gifford would have got in Leicestershire. And Dolly, a nice-looking bay mare bought from his new brother-in-law, the baron, served him very well as second charger. Both had done the seventy miles from Ostend without casting a shoe. The beautiful grey Orlov, however, which Princess Lieven had sent him, remained in the care of the riding-master at Hounslow, for he’d not yet discerned whether he might keep him. An inkstand was one thing, but a stallion of that quality …

  What a coming they’d had of it compared with before – fifteen years before – when they’d had to push the horses overboard to swim for the beach. This time they’d sailed from the very heart of London, the new St Katharine Docks, and in steamers, bringing them on the tide and with a fair wind to the Belgic coast in just twelve hours, every trooper able to disembark by gangway like a foot passenger. It pleased him greatly to watch the regiment – his regiment – assemble with all the regularity that had eluded that first hasty reinforcement, when Bonaparte had slipped his leash on Elba, crossed to the mainland of France and marched to Paris gathering his followers as he went. Les Cent Jours, the prefect of Paris had called it – ‘the Hundred Days’, from the time the Great Disturber reinstalled himself in the Tuileries to the time of his surrender to the captain of HMS Bellerophon, ‘Billy Ruffian’ to her tars. Waterloo (so strange a name, yet as English now as Agincourt): the battle that had stopped Bonaparte in his tracks, wherever those tracks were meant to be leading (it was most uncertain – and, in truth, probably to nowhere); the battle to end all battles. With what memories he might now conjure, and the soldier’s rhyme – Were you at Waterloo? / I have been at Waterloo. / ’Tis no matter what you do / If you were at Waterloo.

  Malet rode up and saluted. ‘Colonel, a galloper from the crown prince’s suite. There’s delay in their leaving Brussels. The parade’s now to be at two o’clock.’

  Hervey took out his watch – an hour and a half to wait. ‘Very well; the regiment to dismount and loosen girths.’

  These things were not uncommon. An hour or so’s ease would do no harm – would be welcome indeed, though the day was by no means as hot as it had been fifteen years ago.

  ‘Have the Prussians arrived yet?’ he asked, hardly able to contain his mirth.

  ‘I understand so, Colonel.’

  ‘Then I’ll go and see them.’

  The Netherlanders were already on the field – a regiment of cavalry which at a distance looked much like his own. He could see that they were already messing. He supposed that they themselves would have the canteen waggons brought up sooner or later – Mr Lincoln would make the arrangements in due season. He congratulated himself again on making a regiment of it rather than a detachment. He fancied that his report from Norfolk had disposed the Horse Guards to be generous when he demanded the extra shipping.

  And generous they were certainly being, for at first they’d said the horses were to be had from the Belgics, but he’d argued that it would scarcely be to the prestige of Great Britain and the House of Hanover to send a demounted regiment of cavalry (nor, indeed, much of a compliment to their royal colonel-in-chief), and the King had been of that opinion too when somehow (and it was as well that these things were privy) he’d learned of the proposed economy. And then once it had become known that a
regiment of cavalry was to be sent to the United Kingdom of the Netherlands, the foreign secretary, Lord Aberdeen, had asked that their stay might be prolonged to take part in the summer manoeuvres, for the French and Prussians had been invited to send regiments too, and he thought it no bad thing that ‘we might keep watch on what Talleyrand and the King of Prussia are up to’. And so Hervey had found himself in the office of yet another minister of the Crown, being entrusted with the ‘safeguard of what we gained at Vienna’ – though in truth his lordship’s words were so Delphic that he wondered if anyone in the Foreign department truly knew what was in the mind of anyone else.

  ‘Let us go and pay our compliments to the Prussians,’ he said to Fairbrother as Malet turned away. ‘And I’ll show you the place we stood for most of the day waiting for them.’

  His original design had been to ride the whole of the battlefield with the regiment the day before, and he had engaged as guide an officer – an expert in survey and topographical drawing – whom Lord Hill had commissioned to make a model of the battle (for the French had such a one at Les Invalides), but a thunderstorm even worse than that which had soaked them in 1815 kept all in their billets, and it had been only that morning that they had been able to see the field, but from atop the ridge of Mont St Jean; they would ride the rest tomorrow.

  Hervey cursed again. ‘That damned mound!’

  A hill perfectly regular, unnatural, and not at all in keeping with the country around, stood now in the middle of the battlefield (that part of it where the day had been decided); and atop it a huge bronze lion, its front paw upon a sphere, signifying victory – the Butte du Lion.

  ‘Well, I fancy it’ll afford a fine view at least,’ said Fairbrother, inclined to regard monuments as the privilege of the victor.

  ‘I wonder if they consulted the duke before piling up so much earth.’

  ‘You don’t think that would have been to elevate him to a status inconsistent with protocol?’ replied Fairbrother, with a hint of mischief. ‘A king need hardly ask leave to pile up earth in his own realm.’