Later that morning, without notice, Lord Towcester arrived at the grange. Hervey’s heart, lifted by the independence of his situation, fell at once as it became clear that the lieutenant colonel was not come for any supportive purpose; rather, indeed, the opposite. He had spent the past three days at Welbeck and then Clumber, where their graces had left him in no doubt of their disapproval of the intervention of regulars. They were strongly of the opinion that events should be allowed to take their course, with the yeomanry called out only when the trouble threatened the peace of the county as a whole. ‘As, indeed, am I, Captain Hervey. I understand you have had patrols all over the north of the county.’
‘We have been patrolling the jurisdiction of the magistrates, your lordship – to discover the lie of the land and to show a deterrent force. I have been in close liaison with the chairman of the bench, Sir Abraham Cole.’
‘Liaison, Captain Hervey? Liaison? Your business is to respond to a properly constituted request for assistance. Nothing more. Where is your troop?’
Hervey explained.
‘And did a magistrate request this?’
‘Not exactly, your lordship.’
‘What do you mean “not exactly”, sir? There has to be exactitude in this business or else it will be the assizes for you!’
‘I mean, your lordship, that the association members received threats during the night, and I thought it best—’
‘Association be damned, Captain Hervey! Upstart tradesmen and Jews! I’ll not have my regiment ruin its appearance and name by chasing round after halfwits who put a torch to a few hosiers’ shops and their pretentious residences!’
Once again, Hervey boiled inside. He had seen more learning and good manners in one week from Sir Abraham than he had seen from Lord Towcester in six months – and he longed to say so. ‘My lord, these are honest men deserving of our protection. Sir Francis Evans said just that.’
‘Do not presume to tell me what is my duty, sir!’ hissed Lord Towcester. ‘Do not presume that you know what is the district commander’s mind better than I do!’
Hervey clenched his fists, bringing them instinctively to the stripes of his overalls so that, at the position of attention, he might better master his rage. He knew he had overstepped the mark, but he did not want to concede the fact. The trouble was, it was perfectly evident that Lord Towcester’s sole object was to get back to Brighton at the first opportunity, and with his regiment in as pretty a condition as possible. He cared not one jot for the peace of the boroughs or the safety of the manufacturers. ‘Your lordship, it was certainly not my intention to presume anything. But Sir Abraham Cole has told me in great detail of the fearful eruptions of violence in the borough not five years ago. If the Luddites got the upper hand, there is no knowing where they would stop, for the opinion is that their grievances go beyond frame-breaking. There is talk of general insurrection. And their graces in the Dukeries are members of parliament – the nearest ones at hand. They might well be the first objects of the mob.’
Lord Towcester remained silent.
Hervey pressed his point carefully. ‘And the militia, sir – they have not been embodied these last two years. You could scarcely count on them. The yeomanry is true, but—’
The lieutenant colonel seemed to calm himself a little. ‘I see.’ He turned towards the big coloured map. ‘What is this?’
Hervey explained. ‘It was drawn by Private Hopwood, sir.’
Lord Towcester looked at the dragoon standing to attention next to the board. ‘Indeed, indeed. It is very good, my man.’
‘Thank you, my lord.’
‘Have you been with the regiment long?’
Hervey rolled his eyes in disbelief. Hopwood remained steadfastly eyes-front. ‘Three years, my lord.’
‘Good. Good. Now, Captain Hervey,’ he said, turning back, ‘let it be strictly understood: I want no heroics. You are to withdraw your troop to these lines and await the properly constituted request of a magistrate. And it shall be for limited assistance, mind. The appearance of regular troops about the area is bound to fuel violent feeling. These hosiers must get up proper watches, dig into their Jewy pockets and pay for constables. I will not have the hosiers of Nottingham kept at my expense!’
‘I’m obliged, your lordship.’
‘A Tory of the most boneheaded sort,’ wrote Hervey that night in his journal, though he could not claim the words as his own, for they had been Barrow’s one evening in Brighton. ‘The sort who believes the Garden of Eden was inferior to any English estate,’ Barrow had scoffed, in his cups – and Barrow was a man known for his forthright contempt for the Whigs, too. Thus could Lord Towcester unite opposites, rued Hervey.
Fortunately, Lord Towcester had not specified when exactly the troops were to be withdrawn to the lines, though it was perfectly obvious he intended it to be at once, Hervey confided to the page. He had therefore calculated that he could get away with sending orders for recall at first light next day, which would at least reassure the hosiers and magistrates during this crucial first night. Thereafter, the paid watches and the posse, properly stood-to, ought to be able to give some measure of reassurance and – he prayed it would never come to it – protection. Each house had at least three firearms, Sir Abraham told him, and as long as the others in the beacon chain were prompt and brave in relaying the alarm, it ought to be possible for each householder to ward off an attack long enough for Hervey’s men to arrive.
Three days went by without any further threats made to the association or the bench. Indeed, they were a very agreeable three days, for the autumn sunshine was warm, there was no rain, and the tradesmen of the town appeared welcoming of the dragoons’ custom, especially the innkeepers and owners of the public houses.
The Bow Street men had arrived – the same as had come to Longleat – and had begun their investigations at once. First they questioned the known witnesses to the attack on the steam-frame workshops, discovered there were more, took statements, compared them, began questioning the proprietors of the drinking places, and their taverners, and slowly but resolutely, like an industrious spider, they extended the range of their investigation until they reached the town limits. In this way, they explained, they hoped to establish what method there was in the Luddite activity, and the degree of support, active or passive, which they enjoyed in the various parts. They would then go into the villages of the borough depending upon the results of this preliminary work.
But their work, methodical though it was, had not been proving easy. They had encountered, they told Hervey the second evening, a shyness which quite baffled them – a shyness far beyond that which they encountered in London in the investigation of crime. They had not had a single piece of information ‘on the usual terms’, although the senior of the two, the former artificer of engineers, was hopeful still of one of the pot-house owners. They went unmolested in their work, however, requiring no escort, although both of them carried pistols and looked well able to have a care of themselves. Mansfield was not one of the rookeries, they said, smiling.
Henrietta had driven from Welbeck each day to see her husband. She had not been at the abbey when Lord Towcester had visited, staying instead at nearby Woodhouse with the dowager, and though the duke had been kindness itself, she declared she felt unsettled by the distance, and when the Portlands left for London a few days later, she determined to lodge at the grange – no matter what the objections were.
She and Hervey had dined at Sir Abraham Cole’s the evening before, and he had delighted them for an hour afterwards with his celestial globe, and professed himself much disappointed when they insisted they were unable to stay to see the heavenly bodies in their reality. They had driven back to the grange late, for a wheel pin sheared soon after they left Clipstone; and finding the other officers had retired by the time they returned, they were able to retire too and enjoy an intimacy denied to them for a whole week.
Towards watering parade next day, Hervey found himself sea
rching for Private Johnson. ‘Where in heaven’s name is he, Serjeant Armstrong?’
‘I saw him at reveille, and he was there on first parade, but I haven’t seen him since. Do you want something doing?’
‘No, not especially now. I just wanted to tell him I was intending to drive to Clipstone.’
‘I’ll send someone to find him,’ said Armstrong. ‘Lingard!’
Seton Canning’s groom came doubling. ‘Sir!’
‘Have you seen Johnson since first parade?’
Lingard looked sheepish.
‘What’s happening, Lingard?’ growled Armstrong.
‘Sir, I . . . Johnson’s in the feed store.’
Hervey took over the interrogation. ‘What’s amiss, Lingard?’
Lingard shifted awkwardly, evading Hervey’s eye.
‘Answer up, man!’ barked Armstrong.
‘Sir, Johnson is very upset.’
‘About what?’
‘Sir, if you please, I think it’s better that he tells you.’
‘Lingard!’ barked Armstrong again.
‘It’s his mother, sir.’
Hervey looked at Armstrong, puzzled. ‘But he doesn’t have a mother.’
‘No sir,’ said Lingard. ‘Sir, it’d be much better if it came from him.’
Hervey sensed he was right. ‘Very well, I’ll go and see him.’
‘I’ll keep the store clear,’ said Armstrong quietly.
Hervey found Johnson sitting on a bag of barley, head in hands. He sat down next to him and took off his forage cap. ‘Do you want to tell me what this is about?’
Johnson sat up. There were tell-tale streaks on his face. ‘M’mother.’
‘Yes. Lingard said. I thought—’
‘No, sir, that’s what I’d always thought an’ all.’ He wiped his nose with his sleeve. ‘I al’s thought she were dead. That’s what I were told, I’m sure it were. But she’s ’ere, in t’town.’
Hervey tried to keep a rein on his disbelief. ‘But how have you found this out? She wouldn’t have known any of the troop’s names.’
Johnson merely shook his head.
Only then did it occur to Hervey that tears were a strange reaction to such a discovery. ‘Have you seen her?’
‘No I ’aven’t. I don’t want to. I were ’appy enough as I were.’
Hervey stayed silent for several minutes. ‘But Johnson, even now, to know your mother is . . .’ He stopped when he saw the tears in his groom’s eyes, and on his cheeks.
Johnson gave a deep sigh and seemed to brace himself. ‘Sir, some o’ t’men met ’er in one o’ t’pot-’ouses.’
‘Yes?’
‘Sir, she’s been gooin’ wi’ ’em for over a week!’
Hervey felt a knot in his own stomach. Even the idea appalled. He put his arm round him. ‘I’m so very sorry.’
After a while, he got up and told Johnson to stay where he was for as long as he liked. ‘I’ll tell Serjeant Armstrong, and we’ll try to sort something out. Is there anything you want me to do?’
‘No, sir,’ replied Johnson, sniffing. ‘I’ll stay by meself for a bit longer, and then I’ll go and do Gilbert.’
‘All right then, but only when you’re ready.’
As Hervey left, Johnson stood up and turned his head after him. ‘Thanks, sir. I’m sorry.’
Hervey told Serjeant Armstrong Johnson’s news. ‘But how in heaven’s name he came to find out, I can’t begin to think.’
Armstrong had already questioned Lingard robustly. ‘He sang like a little linnet, did our Lingard. Seems they’ve all been lifting a leg in that part of town since we came. Anyway, one of these women gets talking and says how she’s got a son in the army but she’s never seen ’im since he was a bairn. She put ’im in a workhouse in Sheffield twenty-odd years ago, and never saw ’im since.’
Hervey frowned. ‘But that’s not very convincing evidence of motherhood.’
‘She knew he was called Johnson, and she’s got half a page from a bible that’s the testificate, or whatever it’s called.’
Hervey had heard Johnson speak of that before. ‘But even so…’
‘Even so, sir. What she needs to do is get that page matched up with the bit they keeps at the workhouse, and quickly.’
Hervey agreed.
‘Meanwhile, I’ll put this busy little doxy out of bounds. There’ll be no more ascension days for the troop with her!’
Henrietta learned of Johnson’s unhappiness soon after, and was very grieved for him. She knew at once what must be done, and reported as much to her husband.
‘But you cannot possibly go to that place and see her!’ Hervey protested.
‘I doubt she’ll be about her business in the morning. You said she lived in a cave. I shall go and see her there.’
‘Going to a hovel dug out of stone? To visit a . . . ? It is insupportable!’ He admired her pluck, though he hesitated to tell her so.
‘Matthew, I have moved in society a very great deal, and in principle I should be doing nothing that I have not done before!’
It was a riposte so disarming that Hervey at once gave up any further protest.
Henrietta returned an hour later with the carriage blinds drawn, and told her husband that she was driving to Sheffield.
‘Why? Why must you go to Sheffield?’ demanded Hervey, so incredulous as to sound angry to her.
‘Because the sooner the testificate is verified, the sooner Private Johnson will know what to do. Mrs Stallybrass – his so-called mother – is inside the carriage.’ Her tone defied further protest, for the second time that morning.
When Hervey told Serjeant Armstrong at watering parade later, both men found themselves smiling. ‘Apparently Mrs Stallybrass would not give up the piece of paper, and so my wife had to take her with her. Then she went to tell Johnson, and he insisted on going too because he said he couldn’t allow her to travel with a woman like that!’
‘What a merry party they will be,’ said Armstrong, shaking his head. ‘How far is it to Sheffield?’
‘Twice as far as Nottingham.’
‘They’ll not be back before night.’
Hervey raised his eyebrows. ‘She spoke of returning via Chatsworth!’
Armstrong shook his head in equal dismay. ‘I’m not even sure as my Caithlin would have taken a fence like that!’
Hervey smiled again. ‘Oh, I think she would, Serjeant Armstrong. I think she would. When’s Caithlin coming, by the way?’
‘Tomorrow, all being well. I’ve found clean lodgings five minutes away, by the Southwell road.’
‘I’m glad of it. The latest from Nottingham is that the Prince Regent’s pavilion has closed for the winter already. So there’ll be no pull from the Prince to get us back to Brighton. We might well see out the winter in Nottingham garrison.’
‘Well, there’ll be plenty of firewood at least,’ said Armstrong with a grin. ‘I’ve never seen so many trees in all my life!’ Then he looked more serious. ‘If ever it comes to a chase, though, we’ll lose every time.’
‘But what a place it is for ambushing!’ enthused Hervey.
Armstrong nodded. There was no doubting that.
‘Come and have a look at Hopwood’s map. It’s given me an idea.’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ATTACK
Mansfield, 1 October
‘Sir! Sir! Beacon’s lit!’
Hervey woke slower than usual. He heard the banging on the door rather than the report. ‘Come in!’
The orderly serjeant held his lantern high. ‘Corporal Evans, sir. We’ve just seen the north beacon light.’
‘Have you roused the out-picket?’
‘Ay, sir, and Mr Canning.’
Serjeant Armstrong was at the door a few seconds later. ‘I’d just begun my rounds. I’ve told Lingard to saddle up for you.’
Hervey pulled on his boots and overalls, cursed as he broke the bar of a spur ramming it into the housing, fastened his jacket, wedged his shako
on tight, took his gloves, seized up his swordbelt and carbine – almost forgetting the ready cylinder – and took the stairs at a run. In the grange yard dragoons were already leading out horses under saddle (both outlying and inlying pickets slept dressed), and the lance-corporal was numbering them off.
‘Mr Seton Canning!’
The lieutenant hurried across the yard. ‘Ready, Hervey.’
‘Stand-to second division, and follow on as soon as you can. Have St Oswald stand-by third. I’ll take the picket with Serjeant Armstrong.’
‘Sir!’
‘Trumpeter!’
‘Susan’ Medwell came doubling, followed by Hervey’s coverman.
‘I think this is it, Corporal Troughton. Stick close. Medwell, I’ll want “charge” when we’re near. It could scatter them without a shot.’
‘Sir!’
‘Well done, Lingard. Put this in the bucket.’ He passed the carbine to his stand-in groom as he took Gilbert’s reins and checked the girth.
‘Picket ready, sir,’ called Armstrong from the saddle of his big dapple bay.
‘Very well. Threes advance, at the trot!’
In fewer than ten minutes from first alarm, fifteen dragoons, their captain, coverman, trumpeter and serjeant were leaving the billet for the besieged house.
Hervey’s beacon system was in two lines, one for the houses north of the town, and one for those south. When a house was attacked, the watchmen on the roof were to light the beacon, and the watches on the other houses would relay the alarm by lighting theirs. Videttes, set at last light, observed the centre house of each line, and galloped the alarm back to the grange. The centre house had two beacons, so that if a house on the left of the line were attacked, and later one on the right, it could signal the subsequent attack. But the picket would not know whether the attack were left or right until reaching the centre house.
There was a three-quarter moon, giving enough light to the road to allow the picket a good canter for most of the mile and a half to Warren Hall, centre house of the north beacon line. There were men with torches at the gates as Hervey came up.
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