had never been presented, for his gazetting to the regiment had been on the recommendation of the Marquess of Bath, which the earl could not but have found acceptable enough. His absence meant that Hervey would remain ignorant of the contents of Edmonds’s dispatch. He had hoped to discover something, at least, of the nature of the instructions which he was to await in Wiltshire. He now hoped, therefore, that Lord George Irvine might be able to throw some light on matters instead. However, Lord George was not at home, either, his butler announcing with great solemnity that his master was convalescing at Brighton.
The dispatches would have both gratified and appalled him had he but known their contents. Edmonds had been especially pleased to compose them. He had been able to report the momentous end of the war and the honourable part the Sixth had played in the final battle. He had written of the continuing difficulties with Slade. He had been able to commend many of the officers for their distinguished service. He had in particular made one quite explicit recommendation: that Cornet, soon to be Lieutenant, Matthew Hervey be appointed to the staff at the Horse Guards in order to prepare him for the high rank for which he was sure he was fitted. And two sides of manuscript urged the earl to use all his influence with the Duke of York to arrange it.
The third call that morning was more successful. In a large first-floor apartment in Queen Anne’s Gate, overlooking St James’s Park, he found Lieutenant d’Arcey Jessope in the brilliant scarlet of the 2nd Foot Guards. Jessope was ready for his caller; indeed, he had been awaiting him keenly since the arrival of his note the evening before. Two servants in startling canary livery brought in coffee, tea and chocolate, together with sundry sweet delicacies which Jessope recommended effusively: ‘I know the most exquisite Neapolitan confectioner whom the late Sir William Hamilton brought home after his consulship there: he is an excellent fellow, a veritable genius with sugar and spices!’
Hervey smiled as he took, in addition to his coffee, the glass of Madeira proffered by a third footman. It was all so typical a Foot Guards display, he knew, but a generous one none the less.
‘My dear
‘There is not the slightest need,’ replied Hervey, a little bemused. ‘And I am very well. What is more the point, Jessope, how are
‘I am capitally well, and especially so for seeing you: I was becoming affeard that I never would!’
‘I swore that I would visit the moment I could,’ said Hervey, now distinctly puzzled.
‘I meant that I was not certain that I would see you again in this life!’
‘Why, Jessope! the worst of your injuries were over when I left you in Spain. Has there been some complication?’
‘On the contrary, I assure you!’ replied Hervey. ‘I had very careful regard of the French! No, the worst that happened to me was a spontoon thrust into my leg at Toulouse — though I confess it bled and hurt like the very Devil!
‘Yes, indeed — recovered
‘I do wish you would desist from that line. We shook hands in the field hospital at Salamanca, and that should be that. You must not keep making that I did anything exceptional.’
‘Of course not!’ Jessope smiled. ‘Anyone would have fought his way into that throng of frog cut-throats to rescue a man he’d never met!’
‘To what duty have you returned?’ asked Hervey, ignoring Jessope’s persistence.
‘I am aide-de-camp to the adjutant-general at the Horse Guards.’
Hervey nodded. ‘And this brings promotion?’
‘Yes,’ said Jessope, ‘I am lieutenant and captain as of April.’
Hervey smiled again. The Guards and their system of double rank!
‘And, you know, Hervey, I have not been idle,’ he continued. ‘I have arranged for you to exchange into the Second Guards here.’
Hervey laughed, a good-humoured laugh.
And on this, to both Jessope’s surprise and very great disappointment, Hervey proved unshakeable. All the way through the park, as they walked to White’s Club in St James’s, Lieutenant and Captain d’Arcey Jessope extolled the virtues of service with the Guards, but Hervey was entirely unmoved. Only on the very steps of White’s did Jessope give up, whereupon he applied himself instead to the pleasure of luncheon with his saviour-friend, a celebration at which the wine-coolers were employed to capacity in chilling champagne for the dozen or so habitues keen to make the acquaintance of the ADC’s gallant companion.
Hervey stayed three days at Queen Anne’s Gate. It had not been his original intention to remain in London so long, but it did at least allow him a final fitting for his new regimentals and to see something of the society which so enthralled Jessope and his fellow officers. He enjoyed it more than he expected. Jessope’s circle was gay, frivolous, but wholly restorative of the spirits. The two of them dined together at White’s on the evening before Hervey left for Wiltshire, and with the port Jessope produced a velvet-covered case which he passed across the table to him. Inside was a gold Westerman hunter with an inscription on the cover:
‘I wanted it to say so much more, but I could not find the words.’
‘My dear Jessope, it says everything,’ replied Hervey.
CHAPTER FIVE. OLD SOLDIERS
The Saracen’s Head in Skinner Street, Snow Hill, incorporated the office of the Universal Coach and Wagon Company, and at three o’clock each morning the inn was all scurry and noise as mailbags and passengers arrived for their early departures to the West Country, and with them a cloud of hawkers with provisions for the journey. Here and there, preferring the shadows to the light of the oil lamps, lurked a shifty character on the lookout for pickings, honest or otherwise, and a doxy or two on the catch for one last customer before tripping home to sleep. And into this bustle came Hervey and Jessope, who, after White’s and Drury Lane, had suppered with two Italian actresses whose acquaintance Jessope had evidently made some time before. The balloon coach for Salisbury was due to leave on the half-hour and would wait for no-one, however. The Universal, licensed to carry mail, prided itself on punctuality and speed, and at 6 miles per hour its coaches were some of the fastest in England, if not yet quite up to the speed of the Bristol Mails. The last of the bags, brought by gig from the General Letter Office in St Martin’s-le-Grand, were thrown into the boot by the postboys at twenty-eight minutes past three, urged on by the driver with watch in hand (for he would have to answer with his pay for any delay), and Hervey, bidding Jessope a final farewell, took the remaining place inside.
As the carillon of St Paul’s struck the half-hour, the
