Hervey 06 - Rumours Of War

by Allan Mallinson

  Hervey was not inclined to take the rebuke. ‘You know how much it will cost to advance by purchase!’

  Joynson shook his head despairingly. ‘Ay, and you know how hard won is any promotion in the field: Bhurtpore brought you nothing. Well, a brevet, for what that’s worth. You have a family, Hervey. Mark what has come to pass with Frances by neglect.’

  Hervey flinched. For an officer more at home with an acquittance roll than a sabre, Joynson could certainly cut deep. ‘I should not trouble yourself too greatly on either account, Eustace,’ he replied, with as much composure as he could muster. ‘Frances has not once dishonoured you.’

  Joynson narrowed his eyes, and admitted the assertion by the merest movement of his head. ‘Then don’t you presume too much of that admirable sister of yours.’

  It was kindly meant, and Hervey knew it. ‘I am most conscious of it, I assure you.’

  Indeed he was. Elizabeth Hervey had welcomed her brother home these three months past in the expectation that she, and his daughter therefore, might see him on a regular, indeed a frequent, basis. That he had not been down to Wiltshire very much so far was understandable; she knew there must be all manner of things to detain him in the first months of a new station. But tomorrow, when she and Georgiana came up to Hounslow for the first time, he would have to explain to her his imminent absence, and without benefit of claiming simple obedience to orders.

  Joynson rose and held out his hand. ‘I have more to thank you for than you could possibly have to thank me. You have frequently done my duty for me, and never once have you seemed to resent it or to try to obtain recognition. You are a most excellent fellow, Hervey, and an officer with the most marked ability I ever saw. I shall tell my successor so, when he is named that is, and I trust you and he will see the regiment proper proud.’ He did not say that he had already written to the Sixth’s colonel, Lord George Irvine, in these terms.

  Hervey took the hand, and smiled. ‘Thank you, Eustace. But I have learned much from you, I do assure you.’

  ‘A little patience perhaps?’ said Joynson, just a touch droll.

  Hervey merely raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Away with you then. And beware those dons. It would be a rum thing to fall in Portugal now after all those years in the Peninsula without a scratch!’

  Hardly without a scratch, thought Hervey; but now was not the time. He replaced his forage cap, stepped back and saluted. ‘With your leave, then, Colonel.’

  ‘Ay, Brevet-Major Hervey,’ replied Joynson, waving his hand. ‘Go to it. But come and visit with me when you are returned. There are few men whose company I would choose to bear, but I believe you to be one of them.’

  ‘Indeed I shall.’

  The lieutenant-colonel did not add that he wished Hervey could find the prospect of meeting with Frances again half so agreeable, though wish it he most certainly did. Seeing his daughter married was Eustace Joynson’s sole remaining duty, and he had a soft enough heart still to hope for a husband such as his fellow officer. Frances would make him an indifferent wife, Joynson knew full well, but Hervey had such a way that . . .

  ‘Goodbye, sir.’

  Joynson nodded, and Hervey walked from the quarters without looking back, lest either man’s face should betray emotion.

  The following day, Elizabeth and Georgiana arrived at Hounslow in a post-chaise which Hervey had hired for them in Wiltshire. They had lodged the night before near Windsor, and the drive this morning had been easy, so that they both looked enlivened by the experience rather than exhausted as the evening before. It was not Elizabeth’s first visit to Hounslow by any means. She had come when her brother and his wife, her best friend, had first set up home there the best part of ten years ago. Never had she seen her brother happier than at that time; nor Henrietta either, a bride in the first throes of wedded bliss. And the last occasion she had visited seemed to her almost an age gone, too. It had been on her return from Italy, when her brother had resolved in his bereaved despair to rejoin the regiment. Then, she had been much flattered by the officers’ attentiveness, not least their new commanding officer, who now lay as cold in the ground as her best friend. Life for Elizabeth Hervey was not full of joy, for even when the Grim Reaper did not take away her friends she saw misery and death in fair proportions in the workhouse and hovels of Warminster. She did not complain, neither did she pity herself, but a face that was once carefree was now perhaps a little more lined than others of her age and standing. Certainly Lady Katherine Greville’s did not bear the same signs of care.

  Kat; here was something of a problem. Kat wanted to see him every day before he went to Portugal, and although Hervey had no objection to that (indeed not: he delighted in her company), his familial duties must needs take precedence. Kat’s solution had, of course, been simple and direct: Elizabeth and Georgiana and Hervey should come and stay with her at Holland Park. And to Hervey it had been an attractive proposition from a number of points of view, not least because there was no suitable accommodation at Hounslow. His duties there were done; he was, so to speak, on leave prior to embarkation overseas, and Holland Park was a convenient as well as agreeable place in which to discharge his familial obligations. That said, he had to trust that his sister would have no hint of the ‘arrangements’. But first he had a promise to honour: Georgiana would see his troop’s stables.

  Georgiana Charlotte Sarah Elizabeth: each name had been chosen by Henrietta with the utmost care, and each for a very different reason. ‘Elizabeth’ was a foregone choice, hallowing the long friendship with her husband’s sister. ‘Sarah’ marked the intense gratitude she had borne for Lady Sarah Maitland, wife of the lieutenant-governor of Upper Canada, and who had become a godmother. ‘Charlotte’ had been Henrietta’s preference as the given name, for the late King’s grand-daughter was to have been a godmother, but in the circumstances of Princess Charlotte’s death Henrietta had drawn back. And so ‘Georgiana’, a patriotic as well as a fashionable name, and one that would please her good friends the Cavendishes, had been Henrietta’s choice.

  Georgiana was rising nine. She had the look of her mother, as once Hervey had feared she would, for he had dreaded being reminded of his loss each time he contemplated her. But his memories now of Henrietta, vivid at times though they were, did not have their old eviscerating edge. There came an occasional ache, a sadness, a feeling that nothing was worthwhile, that nothing mattered ultimately now that she was no longer by his side. It made him careless of earthly things, his own life included. But the ache always passed. And he thought it might even be diminishing.

  Georgiana had her mother’s vivacity too. She was in constant activity, both body and mind. Her eyes sparkled, just as Henrietta’s had. No doubt they would tease in their time. And she was dressed for the horse lines just as if she were to ride out from Longleat, boots shining, ringlets tight.

  ‘Papa, may I at least sit astride your charger if I may not ride him?’ she asked, in a voice that spoke of assuredness in more than just the saddle.

  ‘I don’t see why not,’ said Hervey, glancing at Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth was likewise dressed for the stables, but she had not ridden in a dozen years or more, and she was wary of being ill tempted into the saddle by the hustle of a cavalry line. Besides, she had been here before.

  ‘Good morning, ma’am!’

  The voice as well as the face was familiar to her. She had known it since Waterloo – before, even. ‘Good morning, Serjeant-major,’ she replied, returning the smile almost as broadly. ‘How are you and Mrs Armstrong?’

  ‘I’m very well, ma’am. And so is my Caithlin. And all the bairns too. You should come and see ’em, Miss Hervey.’

  ‘I should like that very much, Serjeant-major. Might there be an opportunity, Matthew?’

  Hervey was mindful only of the time it would take them to drive to Holland Park, but he was keen to avoid any suggestion of reluctance, for the sake of both parties. ‘I’m sure, yes. We should be on the road by two
, though . . . to have the best of the light.’

  ‘And this must be Miss Georgiana,’ said Armstrong obligingly, saluting as he had Elizabeth. ‘My, miss, you’re a bonnie lass if you don’t mind me saying so. Just like your mother.’

  Hervey winced, but no one saw.

  ‘Ay, miss, she were a bonnie woman all right. And a canny woman, an’ all.’

  ‘Did you know my mother then, Serjeant-major?’ asked Georgiana, her voice direct and confident.

  Hervey’s insides began to twist. Armstrong knew Henrietta as no other. He had been the last to see her alive, save for the savages who had slain her – though they had paid the price before the day was out when Corporal Collins caught them on the Detroit road.

  ‘I did, miss.’

  But Hervey could sense it, the note that spoke of Armstrong’s sadness in knowing her death was needless; that he might yet have saved her had he not become so enraged, and thus unguarded.

  Hervey tried to deflect the conversation from where it was tending, that frozen American midwinter almost ten years ago. ‘The serjeant-major was at our wedding, Georgiana.’

  Georgiana looked at Armstrong intently.

  ‘Ay, miss, I was. And a grand affair it were too.’

  There was a sudden ringing of spurs, which made all of them look round.

  ‘Hello, Private Johnson,’ said Georgiana, as Hervey’s groom came to a sort of halt close by.

  Armstrong bit his tongue; this was not the time to berate a dragoon’s slipshod foot drill, though he suspected Johnson knew as much and took advantage.

  Private Johnson saluted. His forage hat was awry, and his hand did not quite touch the peak.

  Hervey sensed the serjeant-major’s perturbation; already the presence of his family was having its ill effects on good order and military discipline. ‘Johnson, would you take Miss Georgiana to see Gilbert. And she may sit him as you please.’

  ‘Right, sir,’ said Johnson, seemingly oblivious to the serjeant-major’s scowls. ‘Come on, miss. Thi father’s best charger is Gilbert. ’E’s just been ’ayed up, so ’e won’t be as nappy as ’e can be.’

  Hervey watched as they walked the length of the standing stalls to the doors beyond, Georgiana stopping every so often to have a closer look at this trooper or that. She had her own eye for horses, he noted, even if at this stage it was more engaged by a lightish mane or a fuller tail than by bone or conformation.

  ‘With your leave, then, Miss Hervey, I’ll send word to my Caithlin that you’ll be calling?’

  Elizabeth glanced at her brother. ‘I think that would be in order, Serjeant-major, don’t you, Matthew?’

  ‘Indeed, yes. I think it would be capital,’ he replied, still intent on Georgiana as she and Johnson left the lines for the charger stables. ‘I’ll order a basket for the chaise,’ he added, his thoughts distant.

  ‘Will you be coming back to Hounslow before you sail, sir?’ asked Armstrong, almost as absently.

  Elizabeth looked at her brother all but open-mouthed. ‘Sail, Matthew?’

  The drive to London that afternoon was muted. Hervey had already told his sister, in a letter, that they would be staying at Holland Park, but he had not divulged his orders for Portugal. It was true that, at the time of writing, the precise date of his embarkation was unknown, but without doubt he had been in a position to give notice, and he wished fervently now that he had. Elizabeth was dismayed, in part angry even; she made no pretence otherwise. Georgiana, too, was disappointed. Neither seemed to him especially saddened (he was wrong in this too), and for that he was grateful. He resolved to make every effort during their time at Holland Park, every effort to be attentive and diverting. But he was not without anxiety about the coming three days.

  In his letter he had explained to Elizabeth that they would be staying at the house of a general and his lady with whom he had become acquainted through the agency of the Duke of Wellington himself. He had omitted any further detail, and this he now sought to supply. He told her that Lieutenant-General Sir Peregrine Greville was absent on duty, but that Lady Katherine Greville would be just as delighted to receive them. She was of the Irish peerage, he explained, and therefore always glad of company. Elizabeth saw nothing amiss. Had she been entirely candid she would even have confessed to being somewhat relieved at not having to deal with Sir Peregrine, who she had imagined would be either port-filled or irascible, or even both.

  It came as a great surprise to her, therefore, when she met Sir Peregrine’s youthful wife. Indeed, it was all she could do to stop herself remarking on her surprise. ‘We are very obliged to you, Lady Katherine. Especially since we learn that my brother is to leave these shores again so much sooner than we had ever imagined.’

  ‘Ah yes,’ replied Kat, affecting a bemused sort of frown. ‘The instant he heard there might be action he determined to go.’

  Hervey felt his heart sinking, but could think of no way to stay the incriminating flow.

  ‘But we must thank Providence that it will be at the nearer side of the Mediterranean Sea instead of at the far distant one.’

  Elizabeth looked puzzled, and there was an uncomprehending silence, until Hervey relieved it. ‘Lady Katherine refers to the Greek war. There are some who think we shall be engaged there too.’

  Elizabeth stared at him as much as to say ‘you will be sure to tell me if you go?’

  Hervey looked uncomfortable.

  ‘Well, it is but speculation,’ said Kat. ‘Though the Duke of Wellington, I think, would own that it should come to a fight. That is the import of his late mission to St Petersburg, is it not, Matthew?’

  Elizabeth thought it was not so strange, perhaps, that Kat should call her brother by his first name, though it implied a degree of familiarity which she had not imagined to be the case. They quite evidently moved in the same circles, which was no doubt understandable, even though her brother was new-returned to England. And there was such a difference in the manners of the country and London. All the same, it made her just very slightly uneasy.

  Georgiana liked her, though. This much was evident in her wide eyes. ‘Did you know my mama too, Lady Katherine?’ she asked blithely.

  Kat smiled, an indulgent smile but a kind one. ‘No, my dear, I did not. And I very much regret it, because your father has told me you are the very model of your mother.’

  ‘Thank you, Lady Katherine,’ said Georgiana, now wholly charmed by the third daughter of the Earl of Athleague. ‘And Private Johnson says I ride almost as well as did Mama too.’

  ‘Indeed? And who is Private Johnson, my dear?’

  ‘He is my father’s groom, Lady Katherine. He went all the way to India with him.’

  Kat glanced at Hervey.

  ‘He has been with me a good age, ma’am. Since Spain, indeed.’

  ‘And shall he go with you there again?’

  It was a detail that Hervey had not thought to share – certainly not here or now. ‘Well, I . . . Yes, I do believe he will.’

  ‘May I go too, then, Papa?’

  Hervey felt the reins slipping through his fingers. He turned and looked at Elizabeth, hoping to hear from her the obvious objections.

  But Elizabeth said nothing.

  ‘I think that an excellent idea, Georgiana,’ said Kat instead. ‘I myself went to Brussels before Waterloo. It was all excitement.’

  Hervey looked at her, obviously puzzled. Sir Peregrine Greville had not, to his knowledge, been with the army in Belgium.

  ‘Oh, we had such levees and balls, my dear. All the officers came to Brussels and danced.’

  Georgiana looked at her father again.

  Hervey was unsure of her purpose.

  ‘Did you dance, Papa?’

  He smiled ruefully. ‘I regret I did not have the opportunity.’

  Kat was delighted both by the airs of this new-acquainted child of her lover, and by the child’s evident approval of her. Seeing the line was run (and nicely to her purpose, too), she decided to check. �
�Now, my dear, I expect you would like to see your bedchamber. And you too, Miss Hervey. Susan, my lady’s maid, shall show you. Ring for her, do, Matthew, when you will. And I shall show Georgiana hers myself. I would explain its prospect to her lest she not appreciate our view towards Richmond. It is very pretty, Georgiana; you may see tall sail on the river.’ She put a hand to Georgiana’s shoulder, and turned to Elizabeth. ‘I have rung for tea.’

  Hervey was glad of the halt. Or rather he was until Elizabeth took up the line again when the two were gone.

  ‘Matthew, why cannot you take Georgiana to Lisbon? I would come too.’

  ‘No,’ he said at once. ‘It would be unsupportable. I could not discharge my duty properly if I thought my own family to be at risk.’

  Elizabeth frowned. ‘Matthew, Georgiana is of an age to admire. She reveres the memory of Henrietta – as it is right and proper she does – and she would revere you too. Indeed, she does, albeit to an unreasonable degree. How could it be otherwise? And then when Private Johnson and the others tell her of your exploits, doubtless all embellished for the hearing, she cannot help but reverence you. Without a mother it goes very hard with her in coming to a right understanding in all these things. I am not her mother, Matthew. I cannot bend her to the right things.’

  Hervey, standing with his head half inclined towards the French doors and the garden beyond, found himself under unusual duress. He had evidently hoped in vain that the drive from Hounslow would draw the sting of the sailing orders. And yet he was adamant. ‘It would not do. I cannot take the one or both of you.’

  Elizabeth now looked vexed. She it had been who had prayed for his return to the Sixth when it seemed that despair would consume him, but never had she imagined so long an estrangement from his family – seven years, and all of them so very distantly spent. ‘Matthew, why did you contrive to go to Portugal, and so soon after returning home? It seems very ill to me, and would the more so to Georgiana were she to know.’

  Hervey felt the sting especially hard in connection with Georgiana. ‘I am a soldier, Elizabeth!’