Hervey 10 - Warrior

by Allan Mallinson

  Serjeant Henry motioned to the picket to follow. 'Keep your distance, mind. Give 'em room to work. Fifty paces; no closer!'

  'A regular bandobast, Hervey!' Lord Holderness pressed his charger to the walk.

  Hervey nodded. It did indeed have the appearance of a tiger shoot, or a hog hunt. All they needed was the elephant and its mahout and the scene would be complete.

  As the keepers closed on the gorse, the lion at last stirred itself, getting to its feet and turning round to face them, with a look not unlike a boy caught in an orchard.

  'Come, Samson, my lad,' called the chief keeper, with not the slightest trepidation.

  When he got within reach he began gently playing out the pole. The lion raised a paw and swiped at the noose – not violently, more as if it were a mild irritant, like a fly buzzing too close to his face.

  The keeper tried again. The lion swiped at the noose once more.

  But the keeper was patient, and the lion showed no inclination to make off one way or the other. Ten minutes passed in an almost playful attempt to snare the runaway.

  At length, however, the keeper judged he was beat. 'Net, then, lads,' he told the other two.

  The assistants came alongside him, almost as fearlessly, and readied themselves.

  'A good bold cast, mind. Ready?'

  'Ay.'

  He tried again with the noose, to distract the animal. 'Now!'

  They cast high, the weighted corners spreading the net perfectly. But the lion sidestepped and the net fell across its back and quarters.

  The keepers at once knew the game was up. But before they could move, the lion, frighted by the thing that had leapt on its back, sprang.

  The chief keeper jabbed furiously with the pole as the beast tore at the downed assistant's shoulder.

  Dragoons ran in to take aim.

  But Lord Holderness was already out of the saddle, sabre in hand. He ran at the lion, driving the point into its flank. The animal roared in pain, freeing the wretched keeper, and made to leap at its attacker.

  At that instant the chief keeper managed to thrust the noose over its head. 'Don't shoot! Don't shoot!'

  'Don't shoot!' echoed Lord Holderness.

  Hervey, too, was now out of the saddle, sabre drawn. 'Will it hold?' he shouted.

  'It will! Just don't alarum 'im. He's a good old soul.'

  Hervey looked at Lord Holderness. 'Colonel?'

  'Let him be. Let him walk him back to the road. The picket can follow. Such a magnificent creature. I never thought I should come as close to the king of beasts!' He looked at the blood on his sword with evident dismay.

  Hervey, bemused, turned to the savaged keeper. The man was already sitting up, dragoons showing him consideration. His shoulder was badly torn, but he would live – as would the lion. 'Shall we leave the picket officer to carry on, Colonel?' (there was only so much a senior officer should do).

  Lord Holderness appeared reluctant . . . 'Yes, Hervey, I think we might go and tell Captain Prall he may stand down his troop.'

  Hervey was relieved. Care of Lord Holderness was becoming an altogether hair-raising business.

  When they were done with F Troop, Hervey and the commanding officer turned for the barracks. 'Come then, Hervey; we can resume our conversation,' said Lord Holderness cheerily, as if nothing of any moment had occurred. 'I would have your opinion on this Russian business. The talk at White's is that we shall be drawn in.'

  Only the trumpeter accompanied them now as they gave the menagerie a wide berth, and Hervey felt himself free to speak. 'I think that had Lord Palmerston been in the cabinet still, we would be at the Russians' side, think you not, Colonel? But after Navarino, the duke will surely have no truck with interference? He's recalled the troops from Portugal quickly enough.'

  'That much is true, certainly, but I wonder how free a hand the duke might have. This treaty over the Greeks is still a deuced entangling thing.'

  Hervey nodded. And the irony was that the Duke of Wellington had been in no little measure responsible for it, for Mr Canning had sent him to Russia two years before, and out of that visit had come the treaty with the Tsar and with France for the expulsion of the Turks from Greece (during the course of which, at Navarino, Peto had been so grievously wounded). 'I wonder that we appear to know so little of what Austria may think?'

  'Ah, indeed. We should—'

  Lord Holderness ducked to avoid a branch. When he raised his head again he seemed to sway, and began to shake; then he slumped forward.

  Hervey moved to support him in the saddle. 'Close up!' he called to the trumpeter.

  Lord Holderness was now struggling, his eyes closed, his mouth frothing.

  Hervey knew: the exact same as the night of the river crossing.

  Corporal Meade closed on the nearside, reaching for Lord Holderness's reins. 'What 'appened, sir?'

  'The colonel's unwell, that's all. We'll ride straight for Heston.'

  VI

  THE KING'S GERMAN

  London, a few days later

  Georgiana contained her disappointment admirably, thought Hervey, for he had all but promised her their new quarters.

  She had been looking forward to a sea passage. It would, indeed, have been her first sight of the sea. And she had looked forward even more to the mysterious prospect of the Cape Colony, in the company of her father and her new stepmother. But she could not very well go with him alone, even if he were to engage a travelling governess. She had tried her hardest, when first he had told her of the change in the 'arrangements'. After all, the express had hastened her to London for the very purpose of an early passage. She had pressed her case; but if her stepmother could not accompany her father, then it was certain that she could not. She did not fully comprehend why her stepmother could not sail directly; perhaps it was that her half-sister was too young? And then there had been the question of where, in her father's absence, she would stay.

  On the one hand it had seemed to him only right and proper that Georgiana should be at her new family home (though there was none, yet; only that of Kezia's family); on the other, his own absence would be for so short a time that it seemed prudent to continue with the present arrangements. Except that the present arrangements were fast becoming objectionable. Indeed it would be quite impossible for Elizabeth to act as guardian if she were to persist in her design to marry her German.

  And so he had set the question to one side this morning, choosing instead to spend a little of the day with his daughter in the most agreeable way they might – no talk of his going away, no talk of where she might live, no talk of Elizabeth's intentions.

  'Your aunt is engaged for the day, so I am at your disposal,' he said, smiling over a breakfast cup in the dining room at Grillon's Hotel in Albemarle Street, where Georgiana and her Aunt Elizabeth were staying.

  Georgiana had of late grown quite tall for her age, so that she occupied the chair opposite him less as the child he was used to contemplating (or, rather, imagining, for he had in truth spent little time in her company) and more as a replica of her mother. Indeed, seeing her now put him in mind of the portrait which stood at the studio of Sir Thomas Lawrence (and which still awaited his instructions for carriage), with its raven lustre of ringlets, and large and happy eyes.

  Georgiana contemplated the offer very seriously. She was ten years old, yet somehow she presented a picture three times that age (doubtless, thought Hervey, the influence of his sister). 'I think that I should like to see a lion. I should like to know how big is one, and then I might picture in my mind more faithfully your fight with him at Hounslow.'

  Hervey smiled. 'You misunderstand. It was not I who fought him, but Lord Holderness.'

  'But you were by his side, were you not, Papa?'

  'I was, but as I explained, Lord Holderness acted with such address that the lion was quite subdued by the time I was able to dismount. And glad of it I was, too, for I do not in the least mind admitting that a lion is a most troubling beast to be s
o close to.'

  'May we see one, though, Papa? Can we not seek out the menagerie?'

  'That, or another, yes. But first, there's a museum of curiosities only five minutes' walk from here. It has preserved lions and tigers. And there is something else I would show you – a lion hunt.'

  'A lion hunt, Papa?'

  He smiled again. 'A petrified lion hunt.'

  'How so?'

  'At the British Museum there is a frieze, carved out of stone – a lion hunt in Mesopotamia, or somewhere like. It is very ancient. And there are the zoological gardens, not long opened.'

  Georgiana agreed enthusiastically to all his proposals.

  And so for the rest of the morning they roved London in search of lions, first to Mr Bullock's 'museum of natural curiosities', and then to a travelling menagerie in St James's Park, where a lioness paced her cage restlessly, and occasionally snarled, to the squealed delight of the female onlookers; and from here they took a hackney cab to Bloomsbury for their study of the art of lion hunting. The adventure was as thoroughly diverting to Hervey as to Georgiana.

  They lunched at a large and noisy chophouse, took a ride on a 'catch-me-who-can', and then walked back to Grillon's by way of Bond Street, where he bought her some silk gloves, and Piccadilly, where at number one hundred and ninety, Mr Hatchard the bookseller's, he made to hand over a guinea for Mrs Teachwell's Grammar Box, which he had ordered at Kezia's recommendation.

  'It will instruct you in every point of English grammar,' he explained to Georgiana, who was much taken by the woodcuts of various animals which were to serve in the construction and parsing of sentences. 'Such as what is a noun and a preposition and the like.'

  'Oh, but I know what are nouns and prepositions, Papa. And verbs and adjectives – and all the other parts of speech. Aunt Elizabeth has taught me.'

  'Has she indeed,' he replied, with irrational disappointment, and putting the guinea back into his pocket. He was naturally grateful to allay the expense if it were not necessary, but this further evidence of Elizabeth's admirable qualities he found singularly unwelcome.

  Georgiana mistook his manner for displeasure that his generosity and thoughtfulness had been ill received. 'I am sorry, Papa. I did not wish to display ingratitude, only that . . . I am sure a grammar box would serve always.'

  He smiled at her, benignly. 'No; evidently I underestimated your aunt's address in teaching, and your own in learning. Better, I think, that we save the guinea.'

  They browsed instead among the titles in that part of the shop set aside for 'the young entry', settling on Fables in Monosyllables, also by Mrs Teachwell. Hervey felt that Kezia's recommendation of the author boded well, and so they each left the shop contented, if for different reasons.

  They were not long at tea when Elizabeth returned, but accompanied. Hervey rose, and a shade awkwardly.

  'Brother,' she began boldly. 'May I present Major Heinrici.'

  Hervey bristled: Elizabeth had humbugged him. Yet the honour required of one soldier to another demanded nothing less than civility. He bowed. 'Major Heinrici.'

  Major Baron (more properly, Freiherr) von Heinrici zu Gehrden was ten years Hervey's senior, but an inch or so shorter. He braced himself in military fashion (though he had not served with the colours in some time) and returned the bow. 'Colonel Hervey.' The accent was apparent but not pronounced.

  There was a moment's awkwardness, when no one spoke.

  'May we join you, brother?' asked Elizabeth, looking away from him and at Georgiana.

  Hervey cleared his throat. 'By all means.' He nodded to one of the Grillon's waiters.

  They sat down.

  'Have you had an instructive day, Georgiana?'

  Georgiana's face lit up. 'Oh, yes indeed, Aunt Elizabeth. Papa told me all about a lion which had escaped at Hounslow, and how he captured it, and so we have been to see more lions.'

  'Indeed?'

  Hervey cleared his throat again. 'It was not I who caught the lion but Lord Holderness.'

  'I am sure you would have caught the lion, Matthew, if Lord Holderness had not first done so.'

  He was not entirely sure if his sister teased or not. He chose to ignore the remark. 'We have had a most enlightening day: lions carved out of stone, lions stuffed, and lions living – or rather, one lion living.'

  'Though it was only a female lion,' added Georgiana, with just a measure of disappointment.

  Major Heinrici leaned towards her, and with a smile that even Hervey was forced to recognize as most genuinely kind, said in a conspiratorial voice, 'But, meine gnädige Fraülein, it is the lioness who hunts!'

  Georgiana returned the smile, and with obvious warmth.

  Hervey saw. 'Indeed,' he tried, allowing himself a smile too. 'I should not wish to choose between the lion and the lioness.'

  Tea was brought, and Elizabeth busied herself thankfully in directing the waiter.

  'When do you return to the Cape Colony, Herr Colonel?' asked Heinrici, easily, as he reached for a piece of gingerbread.

  Hervey was still uncomfortable with the degree of intimacy which Elizabeth had contrived, yet he could not show it. And besides, it was difficult not to be civil to so patently agreeable a man as Heinrici; especially when he knew him to have been an officer of cavalry in the King's German Legion. 'At the end of next week. There is a steamship leaving Gravesend.'

  'And how long is the passage?'

  'It depends of course on the weather, but nothing in excess of eight weeks – barring calamity.' He realized he should not perhaps have used the word calamity, and he looked slightly anxiously at Georgiana and Elizabeth. But neither of them appeared troubled.

  'Matthew, when we are married, Major Heinrici is to take me to Paris and then to Brussels, and thence to Hanover to see his people, and as we travel to Brussels we shall visit the battlefield at Waterloo.'

  Hervey shifted in his chair. Before he could say anything, Georgiana spoke her mind.

  'Oh, Aunt Elizabeth, how I too should like to see the battlefield at Waterloo! I should find it so much easier to imagine Papa's doings that day. And of course Major Heinrici's!'

  Hervey was now thoroughly discomfited. Whether or not mention of the battle was yet another ploy on his sister's behalf he could not tell, but the appeal to the fellowship of Waterloo was always a powerful one. How ran the canteen ditty?

  Were you, too, at Waterloo?

  'Tis no matter what you do,

  If you were at Waterloo.

  It was not the absolute truth, of course, but many a flogging had been commuted when a man's record of service was read out, and the words 'present at Waterloo'. And many a magistrate had passed a lighter sentence on some beggar in red who wore his Waterloo medal in court. Yes, the fellowship of Waterloo was a powerful one. As, too, was the fellowship of 'the yellow circle', which extended even into the enemy's lines. But Hervey knew also that Heinrici was not just any cavalry: he was of that elect, a light dragoon – and a light dragoon of the King's German Legion. That admirable corps of men from the electorate of Hanover, the late King's German realm, had made their way to England when Bonaparte overran the Rhineland. He began to feel himself ashamed.

  'If only you might come too, Papa!'

  That did it. He cleared his throat, intending, civilly, to take his leave.

  But Georgiana had not quite finished. 'You have never said, Major Heinrici: did you see Papa that day?' And then she turned to her father. 'And you, Papa: did you see Major Heinrici?'

  Heinrici smiled. 'I saw him, yes, but I did not know it was he, not until your aunt told me of what he did. You see, my dear, your father's regiment came into the middle of the field, where my own corps was, towards the end of the battle, and they lost a good many of their officers, so that when it came the time to charge, your father was in command of them – and he but a cornet! I remember their charge most well, and seeing the officer who led them.'

  Georgiana looked at her aunt, and then at her father. 'Papa, Aunt Elizabeth h
as not told me this. It is true?'

  Hervey raised an eyebrow, and smiled very slightly. 'It is.'

  'And did you see Major Heinrici?'

  'I saw his brigade – General Dornberg's.'

  'Ach, ja! Liebe Willy! What a man was he!'

  Hervey was now warmed to his subject. 'I rather fancy that we in Lord Vyvyan's brigade had an easier time of it on the left flank, for when we moved to the centre towards evening, the sight of Dornberg's brigade, and so many others, filled us with foreboding. I never saw such a thing, so many lying dead about the place, and those still afoot or astride as black as their boots!'

  'Black, Papa?'