Nizams Daughters mh-2

by Allan Mallinson

  Peto nodded, favourably. ‘They say the Sercial derives originally from the Riesling grape, so there is an affinity with the region.’ He paused, his mind seeming momentarily to be elsewhere, before clearing his throat and returning to his original intention. ‘Captain Hervey, you had better, I think, give me some account of what you are about so that I can best order my ship’s affairs. Start, if you will, at the beginning, for I must know it all.’

  Hervey waited first for Peto’s steward, a Suffolk man who had been almost twice as long at sea as his captain had been on earth, to finish laying the table, and then he began to explain, though not without some misgivings. ‘I am bound by confidentiality in this matter,’ he warned; ‘or, at least, by discretion.’

  Peto looked at him indignantly. ‘You do not suppose that I, myself, am without discretion in such matters?’

  ‘No, indeed — forgive my incivility,’ he stammered. ‘In truth I am as yet uneasy with the circumspection required.’

  Indeed he was. He was also unsure of his capacity for such an assignment. He had been wholly — headily — flattered, as would any officer, when the Adjutant General had made the offer on the duke’s behalf of his becoming an ADC. But all his service had been with the Sixth, and though he knew the elements of staff practice he was by no means confident of his aptness for employment beyond regimental duty. But there was, immediately, the question of secrecy. He looked at Peto resolutely: ‘I see no good reason, sir, why I should not tell you all, for I shall be much in want of counsel these coming months. How long is our passage to Hindoostan?’

  ‘Four months at best; six at most.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Hervey, sounding a touch discouraged; ‘I had imagined half that time.’

  Peto frowned again. ‘Captain Hervey, do you know anything of navigation — of sea currents and trade winds?’

  Hervey confessed he did not.

  ‘I imagine you suppose we shall merely cruise south, round the Cape of Good Hope and then make directly for India?’

  Hervey’s smile, and the inclination of his eyebrows, indicated that that was exactly what he had supposed.

  ‘Well, to begin with,’ sighed Peto, ‘we are making this passage at the least propitious time. To have full use of the south-west monsoon, which blows from October until April, we should have set out in the spring. Come,’ he said, rising and indicating the table on which there were spread several charts. ‘See here’ (he pointed with a pair of dividers): ‘we shall pass about ten leagues to the west of the Cape Verde Islands and continue westward, almost crossing the Atlantic to the coast of Brazil to get the south-east trades on the beam. Then, at about three degrees south of the Equator, we shall pick up the westerlies to bring us around the Cape. And in the Indian Ocean we shall need to stand well to the east of Madagascar to find what remains of the monsoon.’

  Hervey apologized for his nescience as they returned to their chairs. But of greater moment was the disclosure of his assignment, for he was again seized by doubts as to what discretion he legitimately possessed in the matter. He had not been sworn to secrecy — quite — but in everything that had passed between Colonel Grant and the duke’s new aide-de-camp, there had been the very proper presumption of it. And yet Hervey knew too that he had been appointed to the staff principally because of what the duke himself had referred to as his ‘percipient exercise of judgement’ at Waterloo. He had neither experience nor training in work of a covert nature (though his present commission scarcely, to his mind, gave him the appellation spy). He would therefore have to trust his instincts, and these now told him that he could trust in Captain Laughton Peto — trust absolutely. ‘Then if we are to spend so long in each other’s company it is the very least I should do to apprise you fully of my business,’ he said, with a most conscious effort to avoid any further semblance of condescension. ‘I shall tell you each and every detail — though as yet they are few.’

  The door opened and in came Flowerdew again. ‘Beg leave to bring a pudding, sir,’ he said, in a voice that called to mind Serjeant Strange’s mellow Suffolk vowels. Hervey shivered at the remembrance.

  Peto eyed his steward gravely. ‘It is the Welsh venison pudding?’

  ‘Ay, Captain,’ replied Flowerdew, equally solemnly; ‘and there is a redcurrant jelly with it, and your cussy sauce.’

  This news was received with evident satisfaction. Peto took both the greatest pride and the greatest pleasure in his table. It was, perhaps, unsurprising since he appeared to take the greatest pride in everything about his ship. Hervey knew enough about Admiralty to know that a ship in the hale condition that was the Nisus — with her fine fittings, new paint and gold leaf — was not found by chance: Peto would have had to go to endless pains to flatter the dockyard commissioner into providing that which was routinely denied to other, less persuasive, captains. Or else — and he suspected it was this latter — it was Peto’s own purse that had embellished his ship. As to his taking pleasure in his table, albeit somewhat self-consciously, Hervey was likewise not in the least surprised, for in his experience men exposed as a matter of course to great privation rarely persisted in a taste for frugality in times of plenty — and Peto had, more than once in his service, been reduced to a diet of biscuit and water.

  When Flowerdew was gone the captain conducted his guest to the table and bade him resume his explanation.

  ‘It seems that the Duke of Wellington expects at any moment to be appointed governor-general in India,’ he confided.

  Peto merely raised an eyebrow in disbelief — or in dismay.

  ‘He has been given to understand that Lord Moira will soon be dismissed,’ he continued, ‘since that gentleman apparently has little appetite for reversing the policies of Sir George Barlow — which, it is commonly supposed, were too feeble with the native princes. You will know, of course, that the duke’s own brother prosecuted a most vigorous policy before Sir George.’

  Peto’s brow furrowed. ‘And yet, from all I read and hear, the Court of Directors do not appear to be developing any appetite for intervention. Quite the contrary, in fact.’

  Hervey sighed briefly, but aptly conveying his own frustration with the limited intelligence imparted to him in Paris. ‘The Company, perhaps — yes. But I am to suppose that the government — the Board of Control, that is — takes the opposite view.’

  ‘And do you share these opinions?’ he asked, leaning across the table to replenish Hervey’s Sercial, a distinct challenge in the tone.

  ‘I confess for my own mind I know only what I read in the newspapers and the Edinburgh Review, and these are frequently contradictory accounts. I am the duke’s aide-de-camp and it matters only at this time that I understand perfectly what is in the duke’s mind,’ he answered resolutely.

  ‘And what is his need of you in Calcutta?’

  ‘I am to go in advance to India and to make certain appreciations of the situation.’ Hervey’s reply lacked just a measure of his former resolution.

  Peto now had about him a decidedly disapproving air, though he said nothing.

  ‘I am sorry, Captain Peto, but you appear to object to this assignment,’ countered Hervey, puzzled.

  ‘The Honourable East India Company, sir,’ began Peto, ‘is neither honourable nor a company worth the name, for its monopoly has perverted trade. It is a body which maintains armies and retails tea.’

  Hervey hesitated. ‘You speak as someone with a very singular grudge.’

  ‘My father might not have lost what little he had by way of stocks — his sole provision for the future — if, during the late blockade, the East Indies markets had been open.’

  ‘But the opening-up of trade — has not the Company’s monopoly of the eastern markets been repealed?’

  ‘The reform of the charter was only two years ago. It came too late to save my family’s interests.’

  ‘I am sorry to hear it,’ sighed Hervey, ‘for heaven knows the country has need of every enterprise now to repay its war debt. Your father
— he is a merchant still?’

  ‘No, Captain Hervey, he was never a merchant: he had merely invested what little capital he possessed in an ill-starred joint-stock company.’

  ‘I fear that my father might have had the same story to tell had he not already purchased a modest annuity with his capital. Well, there is great need of enterprise nevertheless: the duke says we have spent eight hundred million fighting the French, when before the war it was scarce eighteen a year.’

  ‘Then there will be more slaughter in the east to pay for it. It will be the very devil of a business. That is why, I suppose, your principal is to go to India — to pay his way these past dozen years and more!’

  Hervey frowned.

  ‘Do you know much of India, sir? I have made something of a study of that continent,’ Peto challenged.

  ‘I confess I know little, sir. I have with me a new history of the enterprise but I have yet to make more than a beginning with it.’

  ‘Well, I tell you that no good will come out of our enterprise there. I have read extensively of the trial of Warren Hastings, and of Mr Fox’s speeches in parliament on the East India Bill. What is our object in India, Captain Hervey? It is too ill-defined, I tell you. We shall be drawn ever greater into the wars that are endemic in that place, and our outlay will vastly exceed any receipts.’

  ‘So I may take it,’ smiled Hervey, ‘that you are not greatly enamoured of the activities of the Company?’

  ‘Hervey, mistake me not: we are a mercantile nation. But our business overseas is trade, not conquest. Read your book and then speak freely with my secretary, who was once a writer in Calcutta, and then we may talk of it with more felicity. And he may be able to teach you one or two words which might be of use — how to get a palanquin or a clean girl or some such. But come,’ he added, and with a lighter touch, ‘have some burgundy with that pudding.’

  ‘Thank you; it is an excellent pudding,’ replied Hervey, taking another large piece of dark meat on his fork. ‘Welsh venison, you say? I had not supposed anyone might be so particular in choosing their game.’ And he took a large gulp of wine.

  Peto smiled — not triumphantly, for that would have been to overvalue his success, but certainly with a degree of satisfaction that alerted Hervey to another imminent revelation of his innocence of the ways of the ‘wooden world’. ‘My dear Hervey, know you not that prime eight-tooth mutton — wether mutton — fuddled and rubbed with allspice and claret, may be ate with as much satisfaction as the King’s own fallow deer?’

  It was not as disconcerting a revelation as might be supposed, and Hervey professed himself most pleasantly surprised by the discovery. ‘Especially so since I come from a county with a great many more sheep than people. I have scarce dined so well, ever, as I have aboard your ship,’ he concluded.

  Peto seemed more than happy to leave weightier matters aside for the moment. ‘I have, I fancy, one of the best cooks in the fleet. He was in the service of the Duke of Northumberland until there was some… misunderstanding. My coxswain found him adrift in some alehouse on the Tyne. He has been with me over a year and seems content. But here, some more burgundy: what do you think of it?’

  ‘I think very much of it,’ he replied, feeling its warmth reach the extremities.

  ‘I am glad, for it is one of my best — a Romanée-Conti. So much so-called burgundy has been passed off during this war. Any old sugared red wine laced with brandy seems to take the name. And nauseous it is — frequently poisonous, too. Ever to be avoided, Hervey — ever.’ He took another large draught. ‘But I am careful of its taking: it is a very manly warmth that a Nuits-Saint-Georges brings — invigorating, whereas claret merely… enlivens.’

  Hervey chuckled. ‘I am astonished that, with such good provender, you avoid any tendency to stoutness. I fear much for my own figure these coming months.’

  They both laughed, vigorously.

  ‘But what of this commission of yours?’ demanded Peto, though his manner was now thoroughly congenial. ‘Why must you go in advance of the duke to India — before, indeed, his appointment has been made?’

  Hervey was wondering how best he might explain, when the door opened again. The silence continued as Flowerdew cleared away the remains of the pudding, returning at once with an even larger tray, from which, with considerable ceremony, he placed on the table a greengage tart, an almond cheesecake, several custards and a bowl of figs. Hervey made more appreciative — and despairing — noises, and Peto again reached for the decanter of Madeira. But before he could remove the stopper — or Hervey begin his explanation of his early passage — there was a knock at the door.

  ‘Come!’ called Peto, as Hervey sliced large into the cheesecake.

  The first lieutenant entered, his fresh face and fair curls making an even greater impression of youth than before. ‘I beg your pardon, sir: I had not thought you were dining. The carpenter is knocking up a stall for Captain Hervey’s horse in the waist. Might I ask him to approve the dimensions when it is convenient?’

  Peto looked at Hervey.

  ‘If you will permit me, sir, I shall do so at once,’ he replied, rising (and none too steadily). ‘My groom should be here with her before the evening.’

  The Marines sentry at the doorway presented arms as Peto emerged. Hervey took the opportunity to speak to the first lieutenant, whose acquaintance he had made only briefly during the crossing a week before, while Peto bantered with the sentry about some amiable business of the shore. ‘Mr Belben, we have not yet been able to exchange more than formalities. I hope I have not made impossible demands. No doubt it would have been better for me to seek passage for my horse on a ship of higher rate.’

  ‘Not at all sir: unusual demands, perhaps, but not impossible. Nor indeed would a first-rate have been any more commodious — quite the reverse, in fact.’ Hervey looked at Peto, puzzled by the notion that a frigate offered as much space as a ship-of-the-line. ‘That is so,’ the captain affirmed. ‘The biggest first-rate is two thousand and three-fifty tons, with a complement of nigh eight-fifty. She has less than three tons per man, whereas we are a thousand tons and two-fifty.’

  ‘It sounds as though I might have brought my second charger,’ tried Hervey, and he was pleasurably surprised to see Belben smile.

  ‘Captain Hervey, we are at your disposal,’ said Peto from behind, smiling equally. ‘However, in the event of our having to clear for action then I am very much afraid that your charger will go overboard!’

  At this Hervey looked plainly ill, and said no more. Lieutenant Belben led them along the waist towards the forecastle and stopped between the third and fourth gunports on the larboard side. ‘I thought we might construct the stall here, sir, between numbers three and four guns,’ he said to the captain.

  Hervey looked worried. ‘Between the guns, Mr Belben? But that will give about eight feet at most.’

  The lieutenant looked puzzled. ‘I cannot very well move the guns, Captain Hervey. How much room does your horse need?’

  ‘She must have twelve feet square, with a good strong bar to shorten it into a standing stall if the sea gets too high.’

  ‘Twelve feet!’ said Belben with dismay; ‘I only get eight, sir!’

  ‘Yes, but you at least have freedom to exercise over the rest of the ship. My mare will be confined thus for six months.’

  ‘Mr Belben,’ said Peto, wishing to bring the issue to a resolution, ‘dismount number four gun and be ready to remount it if we clear for action. The crew can take turns to exercise on another.’

  ‘Ay, ay, Captain!’ replied the lieutenant. There was no dissent: he was not responsible for the captain’s decisions, only for implementing them.

  ‘And might some padding be fastened here?’ asked Hervey, touching the beam above. ‘Her head will be—’

  ‘Mr Belben, canvas and straw, if you please,’ sighed Peto. ‘We addle enough men’s brains with timber; let us not have a cavalry charger strike its head too.’

  And wi
th stabling thus arranged, Peto and Hervey returned to the cabin and the table — and began on the plum tart with renewed appetite. However, Hervey was still troubled by the captain’s warning of Jessye’s fate should they clear for action.

  ‘Do not distress yourself,’ replied Peto reassuringly as he took another slice of the greengage; ‘the most that could disturb us is a pirate or two, and we shall be standing too far to the west to encounter those who swarm from the Barbary Coast. And in any case, there is not a pirate afloat who — in his right mind — would tangle with a frigate!’

  Hervey was now reassured.

  ‘So, as we were saying, what is the imperative behind your early despatch to the Indies?’ Peto was not to be deflected from any course, once set.

  ‘Well,’ sighed Hervey, ‘as you recall, the duke expects that the government will shortly replace Lord Moira and appoint him in his place to carry through the policies of his brother in the decade before. The duke is especially keen to know the condition of the forces of the state of Haidarabad, which he regards as crucial to any enterprise by the Company. I am therefore to make a tour of that place in order to be able to report to the duke immediately on his arrival in Calcutta.’

  Peto’s brow furrowed again. ‘Do not mistake me, Hervey, but is there not an official of the Company’s in Haidarabad? Would he not be infinitely better placed to render such intelligence? I hazard a guess that at this moment you would be hard pressed to point to where is Haidarabad on a map!’

  Hervey nodded and simply raised his eyebrows. The ancillary duty in Chintal was not something he intended to divulge, for it was in his judgement of little moment to the mission as a whole.

  ‘Doubtless the duke knows his business,’ tutted Peto, ‘but treating with Mussulmen is a risky enterprise at the best of times.’ He poured himself another glass of wine.

  ‘You have experience?’

  ‘Indeed I have — at both ends of the Mediterranean! But that is of no consequence. The material point is that the nizam’s religion is alien to the continent of Hindoostan. The importation of the Mughal invaders — and not so many centuries ago at that. As I understand, it does not go well with the native Hindoos, and there is ever a restiveness. You must be at great pains to avoid its worst effects, Hervey.’