Born To Privilege (A Poor Man at the Gate Series Book 3)

by Andrew Wareham

  “Not wholly reliable, in fact, Captain Wolverstone.”

  “No, sir. May I suggest, sir, that I could take my squadron forward in a scouting role, sir?”

  Lord Jack thought for a few seconds, shook his head.

  “No. If it is an invasion then there might be a chance to slow them, blunt the spearhead as it were, with an attack by the whole regiment, snatching an opportunity, cutting up a battalion that strays a little too far afield. There would not be time, probably, to call us up. Remain here and we will form on you. When the regiment is to hand you will lead to the ridgeline there and we will see what may be seen.”

  Major Dimmock listened to his orders, sent his own orderly to pass them on to each squadron.

  “A pair of gallopers, sir, to inform the Prince that the French are out?”

  “Not yet – we know nothing of their intentions, of their line of march, even of their actual numbers yet. Time to raise the alarm when we know more, Major.”

  Dimmock agreed that they did not wish to be alarmist, but felt that Brussels might like to know that something was happening, just as a preliminary alert.

  “I think the Duke will prefer hard information, Major Dimmock, a prisoner or two, perhaps. It will show the regiment in a better light as well.”

  Major Dimmock had been warned that his new colonel would be more inclined to value glory than military common-sense. He hoped that the Duke would agree with his priorities. There was no gain to argument – the colonel gave the orders and he must obey. He wrote a quick note that they were south of the River Sambre, east of the road from Charleroi to Philippeville, passed it to his galloper with instructions to get it to brigade if they became involved in any major action. Quentin, notorious as a coward, would undoubtedly order an immediate retreat which would serve to raise the alarm.

  The ridgeline looked down towards the River Meuse across a countryside of small pastures and thick woodlands, steep in places, more gentle mostly but too thickly timbered to be ground for cavalry. The road ran beside the river and was being used by the first troops of what seemed at a guess to be a full division, all three arms visible.

  “Cavalry, infantry of the line, eight or nine-pound cannon, not the heavy twelves, would you agree, Major Dimmock?”

  “Yes, sir. Flanking troops, sir, securing the army’s left wing?”

  “Probably, major – might be the spearhead, but more likely as you say. Marching into the gap between the Prussians and the British, in all probability. Is that a side road coming off the hill up there to the north?”

  They trotted northwards, located the lane, decided that it would be possible to launch a charge down it. There were no ditches and the verges were short grass for at least fifty yards on either side of the unmade roadway.

  “Turn to your right, to the south as you reach the road, Captain Wolverstone, and take your troop into the infantry. They seem to be in fours in column of route and you should be able to break their first battalion at least. I will lead the second and third troops to the north, into the cavalry and will scatter them so that you will be able to retreat along the main road. You will pull back immediately you come upon formed infantry, Captain Wolverstone – we are not here to fight a battle, sir! Major Dimmock will hold the reserve and will commit them if he deems it necessary and at his own discretion. If they choose to call a halt, or retire, then we will know that they are part of a raid rather than a formal invasion. If they push forward then it will be fair to assume that Bonaparte has made his move.”

  “Yes, sir. Scouts to the west of us, sir?”

  “No. Logic tells us that they are all here and to the east – this must be the western edge of their push, I believe.”

  Dimmock could not discover what the logic was that came to that conclusion, but he could not do other than salute and take his position with the reserve.

  Wolverstone charged and destroyed the first half-battalion before they could think of forming a square. The light cavalry screen to the fore heard the attack and turned to the rescue, galloping instantly back without bothering to delay to form up and Lord Jack’s two troops rolled them up almost without loss to themselves, scattering the survivors over the whole valley. Wolverstone retreated as ordered, came back with only six empty saddles. Major Dimmock never moved from his position uphill. It was a brilliantly successful skirmish, one that would delay the division for at least two hours and would cause it to march much more cautiously thereafter.

  “They are holding their ground, sir, and seem to be reforming their troops. They intend to come on, it seems. Message to Brigade, sir?”

  “Not yet, Major Dimmock – we have bloodied their nose, let us see whether we cannot repeat the exercise and bring them to a halt for the day at least.”

  Dimmock nodded and instructed the reserve to load carbines. He suspected they would be needed.

  The French were expecting the next attack, had a screen of voltigeurs out in the hedgerows, light infantry who were better than average marksmen. The infantry on the road ran into company square and the snipers in the hedges knocked down twenty troopers inside a minute. Heavy dragoons came galloping from the rear and the lights closed from the flank. The regiment lost another forty men before cutting its way clear and the invading column resumed its advance with a bare ten minutes delay.

  “Weather is closing in, sir – rain in an hour or so, I would guess.”

  Dimmock thought this would provide reason enough to go home. Lord Jack decided it would leave the infantry with wet priming, unable to fire their muskets. He ordered the regiment to retire to the ridgeline and to show itself there, a permanent threat.

  The river took a bend a mile or so further on, the land open, flat pasture, ideal for horses. Lord Jack led another charge, drove in the French cavalry screen, slowed the column again, lost another dozen troopers. Major Dimmock brought the reserve into action in a precisely timed onslaught on the flank of the heavy dragoons as they came to the rescue, rolled them up, scattered them beyond reform as a fighting unit that day; he was caught by two troopers, went down to a sword thrust through the chest.

  “Captain Wolverstone! You are acting-major, sir! Take over the reserve troop, sir. Your squadron to follow me. Where are your officers?”

  “Gone, sir.”

  “Tell your troop-sergeant to sit up straight and bring the men to hand, sir, formed up in a single line to my right.”

  “The horses are very tired, sir.”

  “They should have another charge in them. Pull all three squadrons together, Major Wolverstone, ready them to retire as soon as we have created a breathing space.”

  Wolverstone saluted, watched as his men were forced into line, sixty effectives in total, all of them aware that they were about to charge infantry in square or fresh cavalry on their tired horses. The trumpeter called the trot and the line moved unevenly forward, the colonel outpacing the reluctant troopers, turning in his saddle to wave them forward. He could just hear the colonel’s shout.

  “Five hundred in the morning for any man who hangs back! Sergeant, take that man’s name!”

  Two troopers spurred close to the colonel as he leant forward, standing in his stirrups and shouting as he flourished his sabre towards a formed squadron of hussars. A second later and he was down, tumbling from the saddle, a furlong away, just too far to see clearly what had happened. The troop-sergeant called the halt, ordered a volley from their carbines and pulled them back. Wolverstone was almost certain he had seen two of the carbines pointing groundwards towards the colonel where he lay, but he would never be able to swear so on oath before a court.

  “Colonel is dead, Sergeant Smithers?”

  “Yes, sir. Not much doubt about that, I’d say, sir.”

  Wolverstone led his men north and west, walking slowly to preserve the horses, bivouacking early. They returned to their camp near Ghent and then he reported to brigade, late on the following afternoon, his information thirty hours out of date.

  The Brigadier was
not present, having been forced to lead his command towards Quatre Bras, which he did not reach in time to join the fighting, and then taking his station behind the ridge at Waterloo. He was wounded at a very early stage in the battle, retired to the surgeons, reappeared in the evening, an arm very prominently bandaged. Major Wolverstone held his men outside Brussels, as ordered, protecting the lines of communications and listening to the guns in the distance, bitter that he had lost twenty per cent of his troopers for nothing and wondering whether his acting rank might be converted into the promotion he could not afford to buy.

  Wolverstone was the senior man left in the regiment and so had the task of personally explaining to Wellington why they had made contact with the French some twenty-four hours before he was made aware that they were moving. He did not enjoy the experience and came away knowing that his promotion was the last thing the Field Marshal was likely to recommend. The regiment was not selected as part of the Army of Occupation and Wolverstone remained in command temporarily whilst he returned them to barracks in Hertford, very close to London and an expensive posting, one where officers were obliged to be socially active, and one which his small private income could hardly stretch to.

  He had been in barracks barely a week when Lord Andrews’ card was brought to him in the Mess.

  “Lord Andrews? Who is he? Why does he wish to see me?”

  Connolly and Ffolliot were present, both into their second glass of the morning.

  “Lord Andrews, Major? They call him the Iron Master, in Town – he is wed to Lord Jack Masters’ sister, daughter to the Marquis of Grafham, and is worth more than a million, they say. Deadly with a pistol, too!”

  His letter, written as senior officer, would have reached the Grafhams a couple of weeks before – Andrews’ purpose was now fairly obvious.

  “Thank you for seeing me, Major Wolverstone. I wonder, sir, whether you could give me any more details of the colonel’s death. My wife is distressed, of course, and would like to know more. It seems that he met his end the day before the battles, sir?”

  Wolverstone explained, tried to gloss over the unwisdom of a single regiment of cavalry making repeated attacks upon a superior and alert enemy, expanded on the success of their first onslaught.

  “Should not the information that the French were out have been sent immediately to the Duke, Major Wolverstone?”

  “Probably the colonel delayed until he had more detailed knowledge of what the French were doing, my lord. Had the column been a diversion, then the Duke could have been duped into pulling the army out of position.”

  “And why, do you suppose, did the colonel make further attacks rather than simply watch the enemy?”

  Wolverstone could not imagine what had been in the colonel’s mind.

  “Very little, I suspect, Major Wolverstone!”

  Wolverstone was surprised into a laugh, rapidly suppressed.

  “I presume the colonel was killed in the last charge, Major?”

  “Leading it, yes, my lord, and about to make contact with the infantry.”

  Tom noted the intentional imprecision of the Major’s statement, decided to ask no more.

  “Quite, sir. Do you become colonel now, or will you remain as major, sir?”

  “Neither, my lord – the purchase is beyond me and the regiment is in some slight disgrace with Horse Guards so there will be no promotion for services in the field. I suspect, in fact, my lord, that the Colonel of the Regiment will very much wish me to transfer to another, less visible, regiment so that the Mess can be filled with newly purchased and promoted field officers while its name is remade.”

  Tom rather liked the look of the major and his initial enquiries had told him much that was good of the young gentleman – he was in his mid-twenties, he believed. Lord Jack had evidently made a fool of himself – he would have been hard pressed to make anything else, when all was said and done. There was a minor degree of obligation upon the family.

  “If you find that you prefer to sell out, Major Wolverstone, I have a wish to employ a man of your experience overseas. John Company is being forced to relax its monopolies in India and there is room for my enterprises to make an entry there – coal and iron, especially, are of interest. An officer who has campaigned hard and is a man of some degree of self-reliance could travel parts of the country and identify coal and iron mines and buy the rights to them for Roberts Iron Founders. I need not say, I trust, that the remuneration would be substantial and you would as well be able to trade on your own account.”

  “I had not thought of ever selling out, my lord – I had expected to perhaps exchange with a regiment in Ireland or Canada, but I suspect that I will be seen as a marked man now, my career effectively finished. Could I perhaps have a few days to consider your offer, my lord? As well, my lord, while you are here, there is the matter of the colonel’s household – the horses, grooms and personal servant - to be dealt with. Easier done face-to-face than by letters, in the particular circumstances, my lord.”

  “Send them to me. I can find places for them at Thingdon Hall or in the neighbourhood.”

  Wolverstone looked a fraction discomposed, his air of quiet, competent certainty deserting him. “Ah… my lord, I do not know how well acquainted you were with the colonel, but one of the grooms, the second – and why one needs two additional civilian grooms for four horses in the field I do not know – as I was saying, the second groom seemed, perhaps, to be on personal terms with the colonel, and I am not sure how well he would, ah, fit in, as it were, in your residence.”

  Tom smiled as comprehension dawned, as he realised why Wolverstone had not wished to write to him.

  “Oh! You mean he was the colonel’s bum-boy?”

  Wolverstone, who had perhaps led a somewhat more sheltered life campaigning with the regiment, blushed brightest scarlet and nodded, making strangling noises the while.

  “Would you send him to me now, Major Wolverstone? I shall pay him off immediately. Is he English? He will not wish to be sent home to Spain, for example?”

  “I think he may be Welsh, my lord, in fact.”

  “Ah, well, perhaps they learn strange habits in those mountains, major. Lots of sheep there, I am told!”

  Major Wolverstone failed to understand that reference, he decided to enquire in the Mess.

  “I will send the young man to you, my lord. For the other matter, I intend to take a short furlough with my parents, I shall in fact be going next week, will be here again at the beginning of October. Could I give you my answer then, my lord?”

  “Certainly, sir – there is no hurry at all. You would wish to familiarise yourself with the iron and coal industry before you left the country so would expect to join an Indiaman going out in the middle of next year – if you went at all. Have you a soldier servant who would go with you or would you wish me to hire one or two men for you if you decided to enter my employment?”

  “My batman would certainly remain in my service, my lord, and I believe there is a sergeant who would be pleased to find a place as a civilian.”

  The young groom knocked on the door ten minutes later, smiling at Tom, to Tom’s disgust - evidently, he thought, hoping that the family might share certain habits. It did not occur to Tom that he might be a polite young country boy.

  “Your name is Williams, I believe? I am Lord Andrews; your colonel was my wife’s brother. If you wish I can find a place for you in a stables in Northamptonshire – your keep and thirty pounds a year while you behave yourself. If you would prefer, I can pay you off and you may return home or go to London or overseas if you want. But, if you choose to go, then I will expect never to hear of you again, Mr Williams; I will pay you one hundred guineas in gold, here and now, and you will leave the barracks today. I am aware that you enjoyed a certain relationship with the colonel, and have nothing to say on that matter – there is no law to interfere in such matters even though some parts of society violently disapprove. Should you choose to threaten to make the affair
public knowledge unless you are paid more, then I will see you taken up for extortion and sent to Van Diemen’s Land.”

  Williams, a pale, delicate-seeming lad, had evidently had no such intention; he burst into tears and said he had loved Lord Jack and would never have betrayed him. He took his one hundred guineas and left the barracks, Tom feeling rather ashamed of himself – it had not occurred to him that there could be a question of love in such a relationship.

  Tom continued on his way to London, walked into Michael’s office next morning to inquire of his illegitimate soldier-son.

  “Thomas Burley, Mr Michael – have you news of him?”

  “Yes, my lord. He stood at Waterloo and survived the day, leading his company in the best fashion, has been named by his colonel for gallantry; he is now senior captain of his regiment – casualties were very high, as you know, my lord, including both of the battalion’s majors. The Dorsets are now for a home posting, Dorchester in all probabilities, and he could well purchase a majority and might then wish to establish himself – ‘majors should marry’.”

  “Make the purchase, of course, Mr Michael. Do you have any information on his mother’s health? You mentioned to me a year or two back that she was not so well.”

  “I have heard nothing further, my lord, but can make enquiries.”

  Book Three: A Poor Man

  at the Gate Series

  Chapter Three

  A first letter came from Robert, dated from Charleston in early June and telling them that he had decided not to go to New Orleans – they had made insufficient allowance, it seemed, for the outrage done to American opinion by the years of war.

  The American merchant fleet had lost perhaps one half of its tonnage, prized or sunk and most of the remainder had spent the war at anchor, losing money and crews and too often bankrupting their owners. As well, a number, how many was unknown, of American seamen had been forced into the British service, few of them yet returned to the States.