front of the major’s writing-table — for a second time in as many days. The RSM’s appearance was more than usually imposing, and Hervey felt his habitual unease when in his company. Mr Lincoln had been in the same action as the rest of the regiment two days before, but for all the world he looked now as if he were ready for a review on the parade ground at the Horse Guards, his Hessian boots gleaming like patent. He looked as fit as any rough-rider, only the grey of his half-mutton-chops giving any clue to his real age. Abandoned as an infant in the undercroft of Lincoln’s Inn, raised subsequently on the charity of the benchers and given the customary surname for such foundlings, he had enlisted as a boy-trumpeter at the age of twelve, in the second year of the American revolt, and his attestation papers had long been conveniently lost. Hervey’s gaze fell on the four silver-lace chevrons, surmounted by the crown, on his upper right arm. The effort, the years of duty, which they marked would awe any cornet, and he wondered what Lincoln must be making of his handling of the picket: perhaps the RSM thought it all that could be expected from someone whose rank rested solely on the deposit of ?600 with the regimental agents.
‘Mr Hervey, I will be brief,’ began Edmonds as the three turned towards him, Lincoln saluting briskly. ‘General Slade is pressing charges of gross insubordination against Serjeant Armstrong. He will allow me to deal summarily with the charges if I order him to be flogged, otherwise he will have Armstrong court-martialled and dismissed with disgrace. He knows the Sixth does not flog; I
Hervey glanced at RSM Lincoln, who remained impassive, doubtless thinking that if he, Hervey, had kept calm, then Armstrong might perhaps have kept his temper. ‘Sir, Serjeant Armstrong was insubordinate, but he was my covering-serjeant and it surely might be taken to be mere excess of zeal. Lieutenant Regan was guilty of undermining my authority in front of the picket, and no doubt Serjeant Armstrong felt he should act in this respect.’
‘I do not doubt that, Hervey, but insubordination is a military offence whereas Regan’s conduct was ungallant, and that is not. Do not misunderstand, mind — Regan behaved like an ass by all accounts.’
Edmonds now looked across to Barrow, whereupon the adjutant began speaking in an uncommonly warm tone. ‘There is but one chance, Hervey. You might petition for redress of grievance in respect of wrongful arrest. The prospect might cause the general to abandon the charges.’
Hervey did not hesitate. ‘Then I will do so, of
‘I think it very probably will. We do not know whether it was Slade himself who ordered the arrest or whether it was Regan who was over-zealous. Even if it were Regan’s doing, he has such connections that Slade would not want a squeeze. But the thing is this, Hervey: I am afraid that, whichever way it goes, you will be a marked man so far as Slade is concerned — as, indeed, will I, though that is a different matter.’
‘So be it, sir!’
‘And, if this stratagem is a success,’ asked Edmonds, turning to Mr Lincoln, ‘what should be done with Armstrong then, Sarn’t-Major?’
‘Well, sir,’ began the RSM, ‘you know it is my opinion that a senior rank should not be humiliated for a momentary lapse of good sense. There was to be no punishment before General Slade raised these charges. My mess would not be dismayed if we followed that same course now, and I tender my apologies that one of my mess should fail his officer as Armstrong has done. I have yet to speak to him in connection with this: he will not forget it when I do.’
No-one could doubt it.
‘Very well, then, Mr Lincoln,’ said Edmonds, ‘a rebuke and nothing further. Mr Barrow, I suggest that you make the brigade major aware of Mr Hervey’s intention to petition without delay. With any luck it may never come to a formal submission. That is all, gentlemen; but, Mr Hervey, stay a moment.’
When the others had left, Edmonds motioned him to sit in the chair by his writing-table and he himself sat on the edge, his earlier formality easing. ‘Look Hervey, this is really a deuced tricky business. Slade is a vindictive man, and his reach is long. I do not even know whether approaching Sir Stapleton Cotton would be to any avail. In truth I wish Lord George were here now. We must get you out of Slade’s reach. There is an appointment with the Staff Corps squadron for America, and after the affair of the French battery I feel sure that we could place it for you, for you are aware of General Cotton’s opinion of your action. The last thing I want to do is see you leave the regiment, even temporarily, but I really do urge you to take this opportunity.’
Hervey said nothing, stunned by Edmonds’s pessimism. At length he reached into his tunic. ‘Sir,’ he began, unfolding his sister’s letter, ‘I would have welcomed the prospect of America, but yesterday I received this from home. My brother has died. He was my elder, and I feel that I must at least return home to discover my father’s circumstances and wishes. I am not sure now that I may accept the lieutenancy even.’
Edmonds nodded. ‘Yes, I understand well enough,’ he sighed. ‘There comes a time in this whole wretched business of fighting when the spirit just yearns for something peaceful and decent — yes, and gentle even. And you are aware, as I indicated in the mess, that this news of our returning straight to England may well mean disbandment? Your investment might then be lost.’
‘Yes, sir, though I would hazard all in that respect.’
‘I am glad to hear it. Those loobies in Parliament will make unconscionable reductions in the Army. Mr Pitt’s income tax will be repealed, and there’ll be beggars in scarlet aplenty on the streets. That is what Cotton believes, too. I do not wish to talk about it with the regiment just yet. As long as you understand all the implications of not going to America — there might even be promotion with the Corps, whereas you might be thrown on to half-pay with a worthless cornetcy to sell if you stay. You are a courageous officer, brave, but …’
‘Thank you sir,’ he replied a little uncomfortably.
‘Not just that,’ continued the major. ‘I mean that you have yet to acquire sufficient guile … but, then, so have I, for that matter. It might be a case of crabs for us both if Black Jack Slade has another turn. I will leave the question of the lieutenancy for a while, but I must have an answer on America tomorrow. That is all, Matthew.’
Captain Lankester’s advice was at least unambiguous — and exactly as Hervey would have predicted. Lankester the Corinthian always squared up to difficulties, as he had done to ill-breaking balls on Upper Club at Eton, though always with a sobering realism. He hardly looked up from his journal, which he kept with the same diligence that he would his game-book in Hertfordshire, as Hervey recounted the America option. ‘Petition and stay put!’ he drawled. ‘Slade has been the death of enough good men. Do you want to be shot like a blackcock by some half-breed in a racoon hat?’
Hervey laughed for the first time since the letter from home. He was pleased with the advice, for though he was perfectly happy to take his chance with an American militiaman, the option seemed too much like running. Edmonds’s was without doubt the more prudent of the advice — he knew that full well — and it was all very fine for Sir Edward Lankester, with wealth and rank in his favour, to urge the devil-may-care course. But prudence in a cornet was a questionable attribute — like coyness in whores, Edmonds had once said. What would it profit him to evade this challenge to his self-respect, now, when other challenges would surely follow? He knew right enough that for him there was but one option.
As in some medieval scriptorium, Hervey sat in his cell making a fair copy of the draft petition which Barrow had given him. There was a knock at the door. ‘Come in, Johnson,’ he called absently. But Johnson never knocked, and Hervey looked up to find instead the same sister of the day before. Her habit was no longer bloodstained and her face not nearly so drawn. He might not have recognized her but for the ice-blue eyes which, now less sunken, were more piercing than before. She had cast her overmantle, and he was able to gain a more faithful impression of her figure, as pleasingly slender as any he had seen. Her bosom, too, suggested an aptness for fashion, unlike the Spanish nuns whose amplitude would have challenged the corsetier’s art. Having had the broken sutures replaced by the surgeon only the afternoon before, he was perplexed at her being there — though much charmed. ‘Yes, Sister, can I help?’ he asked in French.
And she replied, to his evident astonishment, in English. ‘Mr Hervey, I have heard that Lord Wellington has said that if King Louis were to be restored we would be treated as if liberated rather than conquered.’ Not only did she convey her sense perfectly, with an admirable mastery of the subjunctive, but her aspirates, as alien to a
