An Act Of Courage h-7

by Allan Mallinson

  Hervey was intrigued by the change in his table companion in the space of an hour. When they had been introduced he had observed a stiffness, a remoteness, as if she were of a world very distant from his own. Henrietta had never been stiff or remote, even during the years of waiting, when he fancied she thought him but a dull country son without the refinements of high society. Henrietta had teased him with mock haughtiness, and when they had met again, after an absence of seven years, she had teased him greater still, until he had been man enough to defy her and declare his passion. Then she had returned it, and it had grown ever stronger during the brief span of their marriage. But Kezia Lankester he did not imagine was of the same fire. Perhaps it was her situation as widow and mother; perhaps it was her position (the county gentry frequently had a more elevated view of it than did the Whiggish nobles). Perhaps it was nothing at all. Perhaps he himself had been absent from English society for too long. Was not Lady Lankester smiling easily now, and making jokes at her father’s expense? He had been away too long: Kezia Lankester was a fine woman. She had enchanted Sir Ivo Lankester, and that was recommendation enough.

  When the ladies had withdrawn, there was a quarter of an hour’s conversation – mainly on the Corn Law bill and who would be next commander-in-chief – and then, when the gentlemen in their turn withdrew, Strickland took Hervey to one side, the first opportunity of the evening.

  ‘It is very good to see you, Hervey. What a trial it must all have been. I am grateful for your communicating with my sister; she writes that you managed to visit twice.’

  ‘I wish it had been more, I assure you. Your sister was the most engaging of company, and the convent a pleasant place. I’m sorry not to have been able to carry back any correspondence, but my last days in Lisbon were . . . shall I say, constrained.’

  ‘Quite. Think nothing of it. Now see here, when do you return to Hounslow? I should be much obliged for your support.’

  Hervey shook his head. ‘My dear Strickland, I should return tomorrow were it my decision. Lord George has told me to take leave for one week. He wishes the business of the court martial to be settled. Settled publicly, as it were.’

  Strickland nodded. ‘I can see his reasoning, though I think it not necessary. However, if I may count on your coming in a week’s time then I am content. The Duke of York’s funeral will be over, and there’s much to do before the season’s drills.’

  ‘You may count on it.’

  Strickland drained his glass and looked left and right before beginning again, his voice lowered. ‘I tell you, I shall be deuced glad when this funeral is done. There isn’t a moment’s peace between the castle and the Horse Guards. I didn’t think I would be able to attend in time this evening. I shan’t stay long, forgive me. The weather’s damnable.’

  ‘I have a short walk only, I’m glad to say.’

  Strickland took a glass of brandy and seltzer from a footman’s tray, and lowered his voice another degree. ‘What did you make of the widow Lankester?’

  Hervey glanced at the door. ‘I was thinking how very different things were since the meeting in Calcutta. Had you seen her before this evening?’

  ‘Yes, a month ago. I took some of Lankester’s effects come up from the depot to her in Hertfordshire. I thought her one of the coldest women I’d ever met – in Calcutta, and the same in Hertfordshire. I’d thought to invite her to dine at Hounslow, but it would be the sorest trial.’

  Hervey frowned. Strickland was not given to quick judgement, but . . . ‘My dear fellow, considering what she had just learned when we met her in Calcutta it’s hardly surprising. And she could not have been long returned when you went to Hertfordshire. I confess I found her agreeable enough. Very agreeable.’

  ‘I could understand it, perhaps, if she were my senior, but she’s a full ten years younger!’

  Hervey smiled. ‘I confess I found that fact rather appealing! She warmed very markedly during dinner. Perhaps she is shy. Did you meet her people?’

  ‘Yes, and they were agreeable enough. It took half an hour to drive through their park, and the house was as big as Blenheim – well, perhaps a little smaller. Sir Delaval Rumsey is of some consequence in that county. But I was not greatly at my ease, I tell you.’

  Hervey smiled again. ‘Perhaps they smelled the papist!’

  Strickland’s eyes widened. ‘Do not joke of it, Hervey: Emancipation’s flushing out Tory bigots faster than a spaniel springs partridges!’

  ‘You will admit, I suppose, she is a very handsome woman?’

  ‘If you like that cold sort of countenance.’

  Hervey placed a hand on his old friend’s shoulder, his smile turning wry. ‘Strickland, I am wondering if you protest too much. You have not been rebuffed, have you?’

  Strickland would not take the bait. ‘Hervey, mark my words; that is all. And now I think we should attend on our hostess.’

  Hervey left Berkeley Square at eleven with Strickland, who was posting back to Hounslow and who took him in his chaise to the United Service Club en route. It was a cold, foggy night, and they both agreed that, whatever the vexations, Calcutta was infinitely to be preferred to London in a month such as this. When Hervey alighted, Strickland was already swaddled in travelling blankets and fortifying himself with brandy. ‘One week, Hervey, and then I shall have your best support!’

  ‘You may depend upon it, Strickland,’ he replied, raising his hat and smiling at what he saw. ‘One week! I bid you goodnight, then!’

  Strickland raised his flask, Hervey closed the door, and the chaise pulled away.

  Hervey felt strangely invigorated, despite the damp night air. He knew he had drunk too much coffee, but as a rule that was little but a hindrance to sleep. He fancied he had found the company of Lady Lankester really quite agreeable. Despite being ten years his junior she had given every suggestion of being his equal. Sir Ivo must have fancied the same, for he had been his age too, and Hervey did not suppose that such composure as he had seen this evening was acquired in the space of eighteen months – not even with motherhood and widowhood. As he entered the United Service he was turning over in his mind what occasion there might be for further acquaintance.

  ‘A message for you, Major Hervey, sir,’ said the hall porter, more than usually sombre in his black-buttoned mourning coat, handing him an envelope.

  Hervey recognized the handwriting at once. His stomach churned. ‘Thank you, Charles. Is there brandy?’

  ‘The Coffee Room waiter is still there, sir.’

  Hervey found a chair between two good oil lamps in the corner of the Coffee Room, ordered his brandy, and opened the letter.

  Holland-park,

  14th JanuaryMy dearest Matthew,I heard from Lord Palmerston this very day that you are returned and in great good spirits. I am myself returned these several weeks past, for Madeira was not so agreeable as I had supposed, and there is so much to be done here. I have dined with the Duke on three occasions alone, and even with the Duke of Cambridge, though the Court’s mourning has moderated such parties of late somewhat. We all wonder who shall be the new Commander in Chief, though it surely must be the Duke, think you not? I greatly hope so, for I have always found his company the most vigorous, and I fancy he is of the same mind as mine. I long to see you and to hear your news, though I believe I know it in great part already from Lord P and the Duke. Please call on me without delay. If you are dining this evening please come on to Holland-park afterwards, for there is music and cards until late.Your ever affectionate Kat

  He read the letter a second time. He could only marvel at Kat’s art. In the space of a few lines she had reminded him of her intimate connection with the Secretary at War (the acting commander-in-chief), the Master General of the Ordnance (the commander-in-chief apparent), and the royal duke, the only rival to Wellington for the appointment. Could there be any more complete prospectus? And then there was the music and cards – the perfect, decorous invitation to arrive late. Except that Holland Park was not
around the corner, and on a night like this it might be long past midnight before he arrived – even if he could engage a carriage.

  He rose and went back into the hall. ‘Charles, do you know how may be had one of these hackney cabs?’

  ‘Certainly, sir. At this hour there will be a line of them just around the corner in Regent’s Street. Shall I send for one, sir?’

  Hervey thought deep. ‘No, Charles, I . . . I will engage one myself if need be.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  A NEW ORDER

  Next day

  Hervey returned to the United Service Club late in the afternoon. The hall porter looked relieved to see him. ‘Major Hervey, sir, there is a most urgent letter for you. It came an hour ago. I told the messenger I did not know where you were or at what hour you would return, sir.’

  Hervey took it, anxious. If it was not an express it could not be bad news from Wiltshire, but rats were scrambling in his stomach again, and he was certain it must be a reverse in the matter of the court martial. He withdrew from the porter’s lodge to the middle of the hall and, expecting little less than the worst, opened the envelope:

  Berkeley-square

  3.30 p.m.My dear Hervey,I should be obliged if you came at once, on a matter of very real urgency.Geo Irvine.

  The rats in his stomach were now racing: the letter was so peremptory. He had been ready for a summons to the Horse Guards, and that he could have borne defiantly; but to his colonel, whose judgement in matters of the regimental good was infallible . . .

  His head began to swim. Last night things had been so promising. A week’s ‘quarantine’ and he would be back with his troop and all the family of men who bore the numerals ‘VI’ on their appointments, a family of saints and sinners just as any other, but a place a man could always redeem himself.

  He ought to change his clothes before presenting himself to his colonel. But did so imperative a summons allow him the time? He approached the porter’s lodge again.

  ‘Charles, I am going to Berkeley Square, to General Irvine’s, should any further messages arrive. I will return directly, but I am engaged this evening.’

  ‘Very good, sir. Did you find a cab last night as I indicated, sir?’

  ‘What? Oh . . . yes, I did. Thank you, Charles.’

  ‘Very good, those hackney cabs, all the members say, sir.’

  Hervey buttoned his coat and replaced his hat. ‘Indeed, yes; quick about the place, very.’ He smiled, dutifully, then stepped into the darkening street again.

  It took him ten minutes to reach Berkeley Square. It would have taken less at the brisk pace he set, but he had to walk a good way along Regent’s Street to find a clean crossing. The door opened almost the instant he rang, and a footman showed him into the library, where the colonel of the 6th Light Dragoons was reading the London Gazette.

  ‘Hervey, I am sore relieved you are come,’ said Lord George, and sounding every bit as if he meant it. ‘I thought perhaps you had gone to Wiltshire.’

  Hervey was at once partially relieved – it was perfectly evident that he was not to suffer summary punishment – yet equally dismayed by Lord George’s uncharacteristic discomposure. ‘No, Colonel, I have been abroad in London all day, and received your letter but a quarter of an hour ago.’

  ‘Then of course you have not heard?’

  He had heard nothing other than from Lady Katherine Greville, and nothing of that would have occasioned his colonel’s present state. ‘No, sir?’

  ‘Strickland was killed last night.’

  Hervey’s mouth fell open. ‘Killed?’

  ‘On the King’s New Road, not a mile from the Piccadilly bar. It seems his chaise ran full tilt into the Oxford Mail. He was brought to St George’s infirmary, which was nearest, I suppose, but by then he was dead.’

  Hervey could hardly speak. Strickland, who had been through the Peninsula, and Waterloo, and Bhurtpore – dead in a carriage smash on the best road in the country! The haphazard of it all was never so shocking. ‘Colonel, I barely know what to say. What would you have me do? Take the news to his people?’

  Lord George nodded. ‘I have written the letter. I thought to send an express, but it’s a damnable way to learn such news. An officer deserves better than that. And you will know his people, I imagine.’

  ‘I could try to catch tonight’s Ipswich Mail, but—’

  ‘No, I would that you post with my chariot. I shall delay my return north until after the Duke of York’s funeral. If you set out at six in the morning you can be back the evening following.’

  ‘I am certain of it, Colonel.’

  Lord George fixed him keenly. ‘And then I would have you go at once to Hounslow and take command. I told you yesterday: it will be three months at least before there’s a new lieutenant-colonel. And frankly, Hervey, with things the way they are here and abroad, a very great deal of trouble there may be during that time.’

  Hervey stood silent. Only days ago he faced court martial; now he was to take command of his regiment. The fortunes of soldiering were ever changing, and rarely predictable – but never so surprising.

  A very great deal of trouble there may be during that time: he knew it as well as did Lord George. As a Christian man he would pray for peace in the months ahead, but as an officer with ambition he might hope otherwise.

  HISTORICAL AFTERNOTE

  Lieutenant-General Sir William Clinton’s intervention force, which began landing at Lisbon on Christmas Day 1826, comprised four squadrons of cavalry, four companies of artillery, two battalions of Guards, seven battalions of Foot, a company of the Royal Staff Corps (engineers), and a detachment of the Royal Waggon Train – around five thousand men in all – with a naval squadron under command of Nelson’s famous flag captain, Rear-Admiral Sir Thomas Masterman Hardy. Meanwhile, the Miguelites had mounted another invasion of the northern provinces of Minho and Tras os Montes, and so in the middle of January 1827 Clinton marched north to the Mondego river – as the Duke of Wellington had almost twenty years before – and with this strong force to underwrite their counter-offensive, loyal Portuguese troops were able to eject the invaders. Then at the end of April, sixteen hundred of the two-thousand-strong garrison at Elvas mutinied, subverted by Miguelites at Badajoz and encouraged by a whole corps of the Spanish army mustered menacingly at the frontier. The mutiny was put down smartly, however, by the fortress commander, the admirable General Caula, and the country began to quieten once more. Clinton was able to withdraw to the area of the old Lines of Torres Vedras, although the fortifications were in a very poor state, and there his force remained until the late summer, when they moved into quarters in Lisbon, Belem and Mafra – all without firing a single shot.

  On 20 January 1827, the Duke of York’s funeral took place at Windsor. The day was so bitter chill, and the proceedings so prolonged, that several of the mourners succumbed: at least two bishops are said to have died on their way home. The Foreign Secretary, Mr Canning, caught a severe cold which turned to inflammation of the lungs and liver. When in April therefore, after Lord Liverpool died of a stroke, he became Prime Minister, Canning was already a sick man. He lasted only until August, when he too died. Viscount Goderich succeeded him. Goderich, however, could not hold his cabinet together, and resigned the following January, whereupon the Duke of Wellington became Prime Minister. The duke, never having been much of a believer in the Portuguese intervention, and as former commander-in-chief knowing the strain which it placed on the army, soon recalled General Clinton’s five thousand. The Miguelites seized power not long after, Dom Pedro brought an army from Brazil, and there began the protracted – but in truth remarkably unbloody – ‘War of the Two Brothers’.

  The British intervention was testament to the efficacy of a bold and timely foreign policy, but also to the ultimate futility of intervention without the military means to sustain it. Then, as now, the British army simply did not have enough soldiers.

  THE GREEK ACROSTIC

  Here is a
brief explanation of the Greek acrostic used by Matthew Hervey to communicate the password ‘Napoleon’ to Colonel Laming. Taking the Greek transliteration of Napoleon and removing the initial letter for each subsequent word, the sentence is formed: ‘Napoleon, the destroyer of whole cities, was the lion of his people.’

  NAΠOΛEΩN AΠOΛEΩN ΠOΛEΩN OΛEΩN AEΩN EΩN ΩN

  Written in lower case, with full accents and breathings:

  transliteration of Napoleon accented on the analogy of .

  strictly speaking the future participle of – I destroy, hence about to destroy. But future participles are sometimes used with no real future sense; as a participle it ought to be followed by an accusative, but the genitive could be justified on the grounds that the participle has effectively become a noun – destroyer (of).

  genitive plural of – city.

  a fudge: it should really be (feminine genitive plural of – whole). The ending including an epsilon might be possible as a dialect form, but the word is readily recognizable, and it would be easy to parallel the general phenomenon of variant endings or the assimilation of an ending to that of an adjacent word.

  nominative singular – lion.

  masculine genitive plural of – his own (as in Latin, supplying people is a very common idiom).

  present participle of – I am, hence being, but very common as idiom for is/was.

  I am grateful for the erudition of Dr John Taylor, head of classics at Tonbridge, author of Greek to GCSE (Bristol Classical Press/Duckworth) and New Testament Greek: A Reader (Cambridge University Press).

  FB2 document info