Fire and Folly (Man of Conflict Series Book 3)

by Andrew Wareham

  “Always a fear, that one, sir!”

  “Not for you, my boy! You have been looked after in the Will. Can’t have a poor general officer, after all!”

  “Thank you, sir. I do, very much, appreciate that kindness. What of Perceval – did he take to gambling to build a nest-egg? Easy enough to make money in a hard-gambling Mess, I am told; no need even to fuzz the cards – all a man needs do is stay sober and take the guineas the drunks throw away.”

  “That is perfectly true, my boy, and I have known more than one officer to pay his Mess bill that way. It piles up only a very few thousands, however, and slowly. Perceval chose to make his fortune with his prick – been done before, after all. There is any number of old men who marry young wives and then put the hard work out to contract, as it were! Perceval chose to keep a young lady exercised and was very happy to accept her gifts – a diamond pin or two; a gold watch; a dressing set embellished with rubies; his tailor’s bill even! But then disaster struck in the form of a heart attack for her seventy years old husband just at the time she found herself increasing. All was an open secret, of course, and the lady’s family invited him to become her new husband quite soon after the funeral.”

  “Ah, I see, sir, and he felt it wiser to ruralise after the wedding, to remove himself from the sight and gossip of Society for a year or two?”

  “Not damned likely, me boy – he refused! Said he was quite certain, and who could be more so than he, that she was a whore and he was not to be in the way of marrying one of her persuasion!”

  “I say, sir!”

  “I agree – beyond the pale! Quite ungentlemanly! And the words said insufficiently privately as well. He was told by his Colonel to sell out of the Regiment, and to waste little time in so doing. His father and brother found themselves to be humiliated by his misconduct and coughed up the price of a majority, provided it was to be taken in a far distant locale. Winchester is sufficiently deep in the sticks, one presumes. He has his income, guaranteed for life and not ungenerous, provided he is not to be seen in Society until the scandal has died down.”

  Captain Taft was shocked; there were certain things one did not do or say, or so he understood.

  “I am surprised it was not a matter for pistols, sir.”

  “Much frowned upon now, my boy. It is uncommon to go out in London these days, and, not perhaps unimportantly, he has a name for being a shot with a handgun.”

  “Rather like my colonel, sir. Mr Pearce killed his man very tidily in Bombay, fellow named Edgeworth who had been sent out from England a few years ago for putting up a black of some sort.”

  General Taft raised an eyebrow – he knew the Edgeworths; the whole of Society did, and that they would be inclined towards vindictiveness, he had no doubt.

  “Better to keep that quiet, my boy – not something to talk about, I think! Good sort of man, your Colonel Pearce?”

  “A very fine sort of man, sir! Not quite one of our people. Born to a merchant, in fact, but a gentleman nonetheless, and one who likes nothing so much as to stand in front of the men, calling them on and daring them to match him. The men respect him very much and are more than a little afeared of him as well. I think that I am too, sir!”

  “Good. It is time that you thought to respect something, my boy! When do you intend to purchase your majority?”

  “I do not know, Father, but would look to learn the trade a little first. Not for another two or three years, I would think.”

  “Yes, you’ll be what, twenty-four, say, quite old enough. You’ll have to serve another couple of years after that before you purchase the lieutenant-colonelcy – then it’s all seniority, of course. With a little of luck then there will be a brigade for you before you are thirty!”

  A glittering career in prospect – Taft was rather thrilled.

  “I’ll give your brother the word to start looking about – though I expect it will be his lady wife who makes up the list… You’ll need a wife as soon as you become major, could marry as a captain if we put our hands on a good one. Better be a lady useful to your career – we’ll see to that between us! Be very careful in Winchester – you would be a catch to many of the County types; some of them are wealthy enough and have their contacts, but most won’t do!”

  A wife – tended to tie one down a bit, but it was part of the price of promotion – no such thing as something for nothing when all was said and done. Taft managed a smile and thanked his father for his concern for his interests.

  Septimus showed suitably grave when Captain Taft returned with his news.

  “Not exactly all that one expects of a gentleman, Captain Taft. Thank you for giving me this information – all to be kept strictly on the quiet, of course! We really must not prejudice the Mess against him before they have met the man.”

  In the privacy of his office Septimus allowed himself a slow grin; if the man showed as much initiative in the field as in the boudoir he would be a useful addition to the battalion.

  Perceval arrived in proper form, driven in his father’s chaise and with three chargers trotting behind in the care of a personal groom. He was living in the Mess while he remained single and the Mess Sergeant had allocated him the best rooms they had, immediately next to Major Carter, as was only right.

  “Bedroom, sir; dressing-room; study, sir. It may be the case that you will have confidential papers, sir, sent from Horse Guards, which need to be kept in the security offered by the Mess.”

  Perceval was taken aback by the concept of a study – he had not come to literacy easily and his reading had taken him little further than Mr Gard’s ‘Guide to the Turf’, and he had found the arithmetic in that rather difficult. He supposed it was all part of being a field officer, though he hoped he would not have to do too many sums. He had brought his batman with him and wandered down to the anteroom while his trunks were unpacked and stowed away. The Mess Steward stood to attention with his tray and begged to be of assistance.

  Perceval had determined to be cautious in his approach to his new battalion; he was sure that the story of his come-down in the world would be known and that they would be expecting the worst of him. A wise man would play his cards very cannily for a month or two while he settled in.

  “Oh, I don’t know… What’s normally to hand at this time of day?”

  The Mess Sergeant stepped in to suggest that they had a palatable Madeira which many of the officers found acceptable at this early hour.

  Perceval nodded his acceptance of the hint – the Hampshires drank very little before dinner.

  “That will do me well, thank’ee, just to wet my whistle while I’m waiting to change into proper dress to report to the colonel.”

  That was perfectly correct – one would not expect to report covered in the dust of travel.

  “The officers dine-in on Mondays and Thursdays, sir. Tonight will be the ordinary dinner for those officers who live in the Mess – evening attire but not formal dress, sir.”

  Outside of the Season his last regiment had done the same; during the late spring they wore the most formal uniform every night. Their batmen dreaded those months.

  “Major Perceval reporting, sir!”

  Perceval had deliberately remained covered so that he could offer a salute, properly returned.

  “Do sit down, Major Perceval. Welcome to the battalion, sir.”

  The normal small talk was followed by a brief address by Septimus on what he was looking for from his battalion.

  “Fighting soldiers of the line, sir. No more, no less. We have very little of parade ground duty, Major Perceval. We attend at the Castle when the Lord-Lieutenant indulges in a High Day, which is not very often, fortunately, but mostly we do not play the tin-soldiers game.”

  Perceval had not really been aware that soldiering had any other nature. Life in the Capital consisted of four or five parades a week and the occasional ceremonial duty at a City function or, less commonly, in the presence of Royalty. Route marches and musketry were to be
indulged in for the two weeks of camp in summer, which most officers endeavoured to avoid. He said nothing.

  “You will have the left-hand companies and will take them out three times a week. Our marching is not all that I wish it to be and we must improve upon it. You will, of course, take pains to ensure that musketry is well up to standard, firing powder and ball at least twice a week, the Light Company more frequently. Other than that, the men must know their drill, of course, and will be able to perform the seventeen manoeuvres quickly and precisely, but not too much of the extremes of pipeclay and polish, I beg of you! During the working day the men wear their working uniforms – comfort being more important than appearance while they are working at their trade. The stock, particularly, will not appear except at parades and formal occasions, funerals and suchlike affairs.”

  The whole concept of relaxed dress was appalling to Perceval – the man would next be suggesting they strolled around half naked with feathers in their hair like savages. He wondered as well about these manoeuvres and what was significant about the number ‘seventeen’.

  “You may be quite sure, Major Perceval, that I shall make every effort to ensure that the Hampshires join any campaign that may be to hand. We are to make our names in the field, sir!”

  “Oh! Very good, sir – I shall of course look forward to that.”

  “Britain has an alliance with the Swedes of course and there is talk of an expedition to Swedish Pomerania or to the North of the Germanies. I have talked with our General Officer Commanding and he has assured me that he will not forget our names. For the while we expect to march out whenever the cry of invasion is raised. It will be good exercise, especially for the boys. There is as well some talk of insurrection in the villages – haystacks being burned, that sort of thing – and we may be called to aid of the civil power. It will give us something to do!”

  “Ah, ‘the boys’, sir?”

  “The ensigns, Major Perceval. We have six more to join us over the next few weeks, I believe. Other than that, the Mess is up to complement. I have to say that in common with almost every other battalion of the Line, Major Perceval, we are finding it difficult to discover all of the officers that we need. The expansion of the Army over the past few years has led to a shortage of what is commonly referred to as the ‘right sort’ of officers, and we need men to do the work more than we need the proper family background, sir. Many of our younger men come from the middle sort of people, the doctors and the country lawyers and their associates, and not always from the uppermost stratum of them.”

  “Good God, sir! Am I to rub shoulders with that sort at table?”

  “You are, sir, and you will assist them to learn how to go on in the Mess. Major Carter is President of course, but you will, as an order, exert your best endeavours to aid him. As well, Major Perceval, many of the boys will have almost no income of their own, so play at the card tables will never be permitted to rise to anything more than chicken-stakes. They can lose pennies and learn, but I will come down my hardest on any example of men losing guineas.”

  Perceval left the office wondering what he had done to deserve his fate – he had strayed into the company of barbarians, of utter primitives. The colonel’s parting words had been the most horrifying of all – they were frequently in the company of the County, must attend their Assemblies and dine with them at least weekly; as well squat to eat in the gutter as join with the squirearchy!

  “Not at all sure about this new fellow, Perceval, my dear. I suspect he will experience difficulties in fitting in with us – he is one of those such as Colonel Walters was, all spit and polish and very little of common sense. I know for sure that he has never smelt powder, and suspect he has small wish to!”

  Marianne had nothing to say – she knew that Major Perceval came from a higher order of society and that he had been forced into the company of those he must regard as his inferiors. She did not believe that she was in a position to judge him.

  “When must we dine him, husband?”

  “Next week, my dear. He must dine-in at the Mess first, and will meet you then, which will break the ice, as they say. Better we should have Carter with us as well, and a few others to make up the table. A nuisance that Carter is not married either – we are short of wives in the battalion, you know. Perhaps I should remind Carter of the fact that ‘majors should marry’. Bearing Perceval’s recent history in mind, I doubt that I should speak to him on the matter! The next Assembly is on Tuesday fortnight, is it not?”

  “Will Major Perceval wish to attend a provincial Assembly, sir?”

  “He will after I have addressed him on the topic – and he will damned well dance, my dear! We must keep on terms with the local people, the more particularly as we are liable to be called out to aid the civil power at any time.”

  Septimus himself faced a series of dinners through the autumn and winter, invitations arriving from every County worthy within practical reach of Winchester. It seemed that the County had adopted him as one of their own, and he was not at all sure why, though he suspected that Bonaparte might claim much of the credit. Every dinner conversation was dominated by invasion and revolution quite equally – none of the squirearchy knew which would come first or was the more to be feared.

  “The world is goin’ to the dogs, Colonel Pearce, and I’m damned if I know what’s to be done about it.”

  The port decanters continued their rounds as Septimus framed a reply to his red-faced host.

  “I believe that we will find that the destruction of the tyrant Bonaparte will solve most of our problems, Sir George.”

  Sir George was a Foreman, one of a clan of cousins to be found in manor houses across the whole of Hampshire, all of them distinguished by doing nothing out of the ordinary other than existing. They did not produce soldiers or politicians, or even judges or bishops – they simply sat and watched while their agents farmed their lands and made them an income.

  “Easier said than done, it seems, sir.”

  “Britain relies on its navy more than the army, sir. The French are less adventurous on the sea and we meet them but rarely. We must have a land campaign before we can accomplish our ends.”

  “It seems we may well have a land campaign on our own shores, Colonel Pearce.”

  “Invasion? I trust not, sir. I suspect as well that even if the French put a first army ashore they will find themselves quickly cut off from reinforcements and supplies. They will do much damage in the weeks it takes to destroy them, but they will not conquer us, except, of course, they are able to organise the greatest of coalitions against us.”

  “Will they do that, do you believe, Colonel Pearce?”

  “I do not think so, sir, for we have more money and can buy more friends.”

  There was a snort of disapproval from all of the gentlemen gathered round the table – they did not like friends whose sole motivation was gold. They accepted however that any sort of friend was better than none.

  “What are we to do about these fools in the villages with their demands for more money, Sir George? They are forever shouting whenever they see me!”

  Mr Perkins was a thousand-a-year squireling, one step up from a yeoman farmer and conscious of his dignity and status. He had children and was determined to marry them properly and was not certain he had the cash to get his girls wed at all. His farms paid the lowest wages in the whole of the county and his haystacks were the most likely to catch fire of a bad-tempered night.

  The obvious answer was that he must pay at least the going rate for farmhands, but it might not have been tactful to make that reply after dinner with the port circulating round the table.

  “Call the militia to march through your village, Mr Perkins, to serve as a reminder that they may shout but will be very ill-advised to do more than that.”

  “What of your Regulars, Colonel Pearce? Could they not act?”

  “We could perhaps arrange that a route march might cross your lands, sir. I will speak with my majors, M
r Perkins, to examine the possibility that your acres might feature once or twice in the next months. It cannot be more as we have to spend the bulk of our days learning the roads down to the coast.”

  “Am I right in believing that neither of your majors has a wife, Colonel Pearce? Unusual, I believe.”

  “Major Carter came to his rank very recently, on our return from India – I am of the opinion that he has yet to meet his lady, having had slight opportunity in Bombay, after all. As for Major Perceval – I am given to understand that he met some sort of romantic misfortune in Mayfair and is very little inclined towards female society just at the moment.”

  Septimus was quite certain that none of the County gentry present would have heard the tale – they did not mix with the fashionable set.

  “While the wars are active, as they are about to become, it seems, and our battalions may be called to campaign overseas at any time, then it is perhaps in any case wiser for the officers to remain single, sir.”

  The gentlemen had not heard the rumours, looked to Septimus to explain further.

  “I am told, and how accurate my information may be, I do not know – I am not to be found in the corridors of Horse Guards, as you know – there is some fear that the friction between the Ottomans and Russia may lead to war over the European possessions held by the Turk. Russia sees itself as the protector of Orthodox Christians, many millions of whom languish under the despotism of the Turk; it is felt that they would much prefer the despotism of the Tsar. War would inflame the whole of the Balkans and in such a case Britain and France will be pulled into the struggle, willy-nilly. As well, there is the alliance with the Swedes to consider, which will lead to questions of what, if anything, is to be done about Denmark. There is, in fact, every prospect of a land war, at last!”

  As a soldier, Septimus was much in favour of a war on the Continent. Glory was only available in battle, and that was in short supply for the while. One good victory under his belt, the Hampshires playing a prominent role of course, and he could look for his knighthood – which would be a useful mark of recognition for him. From that could come his brigade, and with a good campaign under his belt and a mention or two in the despatches sent home and that knighthood became a baronetcy and his son would benefit from the hereditary title. He had no hope of making the heights of a barony – Lord Pearce was almost certainly out of his grasp, his family was too lowly and his wealth was insufficient to compensate for his birth – but he could establish his boy and marry little Sarah off well indeed. More than one of the larger landholders of the County had no son, would be succeeded by a daughter whose husband would become master of her broad acres; the eldest son of a distinguished baronet would have more than a little to offer, could rightly have pretensions to such a damsel.