An Act Of Courage

Hervey shifted uncomfortably. ‘Just so.’ He wondered who else Kat had written to. These things could not always work to his advantage.

‘And I think, in a month or so, when we are coming out of mourning, I shall ask you to dine here with Palmerston. He may have no prospects in government, but I would not say he will be without influence.’

Hervey nodded politely. He would not be too fastidious if it were to bring him a little favour. ‘If Palmerston does rescind the convening order, shall that decision be final do you think?’

Lord John Howard pondered the question. ‘The warrant bore the late Duke’s signature: he insisted on signing everything to the last, as if to show he retained his faculties. The adjutant-general had already ordered the warrant be held in abeyance until the new commander-in-chief took office. If it is Wellington, I think you may be assured you will have heard the last of it. If it is Cambridge, then I believe the warrant might go forward, for he would not likely contradict his late brother. There again, if Palmerston dismisses the charges quickly, then I do not see by what instrument they could come before the Duke.’ He sat forward again, as if to reassure. ‘But it would be by no means certain that a prosecution would succeed. Not from the papers which I have seen.’

‘The humiliation would be the same!’

‘Oh, come, Hervey! Half the country, at least, would consider you hero! Does, I should say.’

Hervey started. ‘What do you mean?’

Howard saw that he had presumed too much. ‘Then you have not seen The Times?’

‘No!’

‘Two days ago.’

‘Did it say I was made prisoner?’

‘Yes.’

Hervey sprang up. ‘I must send an express. May I do so from here?’

‘Of course. To where?’

‘To Wiltshire, naturally!’

At breakfast the following morning, Hervey received a message from Lieutenant-General Lord George Irvine, colonel of the 6th Light Dragoons, wishing him to call at once at Berkeley Square. He therefore adjourned his scrutiny of the morning newspapers to the United Service’s hairdresser, and an hour later, at ten-thirty, presented himself at Lord George’s London house, expecting censure and worse, and an invitation to contemplate service in another corps. In his choppy progress to Gravesend, and his cold but more agreeable one to London, he had not thought of this possibility, that his own colonel would request his resignation. He should have, and as he walked to Berkeley Square he could not imagine why he had not, for although the most public humiliation would come from the Horse Guards, even official absolution from that quarter might not be enough as far as regimental propriety was concerned. He had not imagined that Lord George Irvine would know of matters at this time, but he ought to have, for as soon as a convening order for a court martial was signed the business would have been as good as gazetted. He believed that Lord George held him in high regard: Spain and Portugal, and then Waterloo, were trials not shared by many. But the colonel of a regiment could afford no excess of sentiment, and only a very little favouritism.

Hervey pulled at the bell, resolutely. He was grateful that he did not have to knock, for it would have sounded all too much like the fateful summons.

He had to wait several minutes, which he did with perfect patience, if not ease, before a footman opened the door (it was morning, after all, when footmen had other duties but to wait to receive visitors). But the delay proved a happy one, for when he was at last admitted, Lord George Irvine was standing at the door of his library, and the warm delight in his expression told him at once that whatever might be required of him it would be with the greatest civility.

‘My dear Hervey! How very good it is to see you!’ he called, advancing with his hand held out.

Hervey bowed as he took it. ‘Good morning, Colonel.’

A footman removed his surcoat, and Lord George ushered him into his library. ‘It’s deuced cold, Hervey; as bad as anything I recall in Spain. Sit ye down by that fire. We shall have coffee directly.’

The bookshelves were extensive, there were portraits of Lord George’s long ancestry on the fashionably striped walls, and the furniture was both practical and elegant. Here, Hervey saw, was the library of a man of affairs and of society, a senior lieutenant-general, and a member of parliament. Above all, however, Lord George was paterfamilias of the 6th Light Dragoons, and he still looked the active cavalryman – lean, vigorous, strong. Hervey was warmed as much by his hale manner as by the fire beneath the graceful carrera chimneypiece – as if he were at home in Wiltshire. It had been quite five times colder in Spain on more occasions than he cared to remember, but Lord George’s cheery dismissal of the memory of those days seemed to speak volumes for his disposition towards him now. Nevertheless, he took his seat near the flames with some apprehension, as well as gratitude: it was still deuced cold out (exactly as he had told Johnson that it would be).

‘Now, I am glad you are come so soon. I know you arrived only yesterday, so there is no need of explanation. I expected to receive your card today, but I wanted to see you at the first opportunity. I’ve to leave for the north in a day or so.’

The footman brought coffee.

Lord George did not wait for him to retire. ‘Now, I have it all, I believe, from that admirable John Howard, and I have had occasion to visit with Bathurst, who is always a staunch ally in such matters, and he has shown me what the ambassador in Lisbon has written. And, of course, we have The Times to give us a faithful and full account.’ He smiled. ‘It appears to me that you did everything I would have expected of an officer, especially one who finds himself under an ass of a staff colonel.’

Hervey breathed a deep sigh of relief, as much surprised as gratified by the candour. Lord George had relinquished executive command of the regiment soon after Waterloo, and had only lately assumed the colonelcy; their dealings hitherto had been those of commanding officer and cornet. ‘Thank you, Colonel. I learned but last night that there was a notice of my detention at Badajoz in The Times.’

Lord George huffed. ‘A notice of little consequence! It was without the usual rhetoric. But I am assured that no ill came to any man?’

Hervey steeled himself to the explanation. ‘John Howard would, I’m sure, have spoken from the deposition I made in Lisbon. A Spanish officer was killed during the escape, and a loyal Portuguese officer. I believe it was reported – and by the Spanish authorities too – that one other of our number was killed, by which I presume was meant my covering corporal.’

Lord George’s ears pricked.

‘He leapt his horse from the bridge across the Guadiana. We managed to cut our way through the Spaniards – they were not the best of men – but it was soon dark and we were unable to find him. The Spaniards turned out the garrison to search up and down the bank, and the Miguelites as well. We had the devil of a job evading them. But he was unhurt, and the horse too, and they made their way back to Elvas the day following. He’s the most excellent fellow – as fine, I think, as was Serjeant Strange.’ He presumed Lord George would need no reminding.

‘Hareph Strange? Excellent man indeed.’ Lord George needed no reminding. Nor that the death of Hervey’s covering corporal would have mirrored the circumstances of Serjeant Strange’s. ‘What happened to his widow? Something of a gentlewoman, was she not? You made arrangements in that regard, as I recollect.’

‘She is mistress of my father’s school in Wiltshire, Colonel.’

‘Ah yes, admirable.’ He lapsed into thought again. ‘Hareph: queer name. I don’t believe I ever heard its like. Abraham’s tribe, I suppose? Strange was a preacher, was he not?’

‘The descendants of Judah, Colonel,’ replied Hervey, only grateful that the long hours in his father’s pews could have such practical benefit. ‘Strange’s people were Baptists. It was Mrs Strange’s father who was the minister.’

‘I compliment you on your recall.’ Lord George looked into his coffee cup, which was empty. ‘But we digress. I hear you met Palmerston last night.’

‘I did, Colonel. He told me he would rescind the court martial order.’

‘Capital! Capital indeed! It had been my intention to call on Wellington today.’ The footman returned and began refilling their cups. Lord George took another sip, and then placed his down very decidedly. ‘Hervey, I may say that I would be obliged if you rejoined the regiment at Hounslow as soon as may be. There’s no lieutenant-