Lismore Castle, set high on a crag over the River Blackwater, had nothing of the elegance of Longleat, but that was not its original purpose. William Cavendish, the same age as Hervey and recently succeeded to the dukedom of Devonshire, had spent most of the crossing from Bristol explaining just this to Henrietta and Elizabeth, together with his plans for embellishing the castle now that peace had come to Europe and circumstances in Ireland were more settled. An ancestor by marriage (Richard Boyle, first earl of Cork) had built Lismore in the seventeenth century to withstand attack. And while, the duke explained, the earl had laid out some fine gardens, with yew hedges and topiary, and woodland trails of rhododendrons, it was not yet a place of gentlemanly leisure.
A steam barge, a novelty to both women, had brought them up the Blackwater from Youghal (to where a brig had ferried them from the Cove of Cork), and a carriage had taken them the remaining half-mile to the castle. Here they had expected to find Matthew Hervey, but instead they found letters addressed in his hand. That to the duke was formal and brief, explaining that military duty had detained him and that he thought it unlikely that he would be able to accept the invitation to stay at Lismore. Those for Elizabeth and Henrietta were longer and, except in a few intimate details, each said the same. Both women felt the contents needed to be brought to the duke’s attention immediately.
‘William,’ began Henrietta in perfect calmness but with an edge he had not seen in her before, ‘Matthew is in arrest. You may read the details for yourself but it seems that he has refused to obey the instructions of a magistrate and is to face a court martial by that odious man General Slade.’
‘Let me first read of the exact circumstances,’ said the duke sceptically. ‘But why do you describe this general as odious — do you know him?’
‘Not other than by reputation, but Matthew has told me of the animosity that there was between the two of them in France, and I enquired of someone who is acquainted with the Horse Guards, and they affirm that the general is not thought well of in London.’
‘So they send him to Ireland,’ he smiled.
‘Duke, I believe this is very serious,’ Elizabeth interrupted. ‘In France, Matthew was placed in arrest by this general, who believed he had abandoned his post — which of course he had not. Matthew was later congratulated for his conduct by Lord Wellington, and this caused bad feeling on General Slade’s part. There was also some trouble over a serjeant whom Matthew stood up for against the same general. I fear that, whatever the rights or wrongs of the case, this general will be seeking retribution for the earlier affront.’
‘Forgive me, Miss Hervey, but does your brother have an habitual difficulty with authority? He seems to have had a remarkable share of tribulation for so junior an officer!’
Henrietta motioned Elizabeth to say nothing. ‘William, he is a very fine officer — everyone will tell you so. But he is no “yes man”, and when he believes something to be wrong he will say so. I want you to go to Cork today and do all you can to have him released from custody.’
‘Today! But we are only just arrived—’
‘Yes, today, now!’ insisted Henrietta. ‘And I shall come with you!’
‘And I,’ said Elizabeth.
And nothing that William Devonshire said could persuade either woman that accompanying him would do no good. Only the most explicit threat that he would refuse to leave until the morning finally induced them to relent, and against all his better judgement he left Lismore for Cork, a journey by road of some fifty miles, before noon was out.
The arrival in Ireland of a descendant of Richard Boyle, even so distant a one, was already cause for remark in Cork. The two centuries that had passed since his ancestor had landed in these parts, almost penniless, to become within an uncommonly short time one of the richest men in the realm, had done little to dull the reputation of the first earl. And, whether the reputation were admired or reviled, William Devonshire now sought to use it.
‘Well, Duke,’ began Edmonds, who knew nothing of the Boyle connection but enough about the Cavendishes, ‘I can assure you that we are not being idle in the matter. He is being advised by a local attorney in whom he — we — have great confidence: a Mr Nugent, who is also the chapter clerk here and an acquaintance of his. I will not hesitate to bring a man from Dublin, though — or London — if necessary. Do you wish to meet them? They are conferring at this moment here in the mess. Mr Hervey is confined to the barracks themselves, you understand.’
The duke did indeed wish to meet them. And when he had heard what the attorney had to say he was not entirely discouraged. ‘Well, your Grace,’ Nugent had begun, ‘the law is not quite so precise in these matters as many seem to believe — and I include Magistrate Gould and General Slade in that category. It is without question the absolute duty of an officer summoned by a magistrate to do all in his power to prevent a breach of the peace, or to restore it. The means by which he disposes his forces is, however, his business and his alone. He can neither be ordered to do something which in his judgement is militarily unsound, nor for that matter can he relinquish his duty in this respect to the magistrate — whatever indemnities he is promised. He is answerable for that judgement, in respect of any breach of the civil law, to the civil courts, but in respect of his military judgement he is answerable only before an appropriate military authority. Do I make myself clear, your Grace?’
‘Indeed, perfectly clear, Mr Nugent, but as I understand it there was no difference with the magistrate over military matters. It was rather more fundamental, was it not?’
‘So it might seem. I wanted, however, to lay out the relative positions of the civil and military with respect to this frequently misunderstood point.’
‘You have also, if I may say so, Mr Nugent, laid out a remarkable knowledge of the law relating to these matters for someone whose work is with ecclesiastical business,’ said the duke approvingly.
‘That is because, sir, I have studied the history of this country from a legal aspect. You would be surprised by how many grounds for appeal there are in an average parish hereabouts.’
‘We will not pursue that,’ replied the duke with a further smile.
‘So let us return to the question at hand. You will recall that I said the military have a duty in the maintenance of the peace. This does not extend, however, to enforcing the law as such except where not to do so would lead to a breach of the peace. So Mr Hervey’s troop at Kilcrea were not there to
‘But any magistrate knows that,’ began the duke, ‘and Hervey, here, refused even to allow them to go about their business.’
‘Not so. The first tenants were evicted without incident,’ insisted Nugent, ‘except that one of the crowbar men struck the tenant for no reason.’
‘And Mr Hervey struck the man in return,’ countered the duke.
‘That, I believe, would be most unlikely to result in charges against the officer — a blow for a blow is what it amounts to. And, indeed, it could be argued that the action was anticipatory, there being good reason to suppose that the assault might continue. No, the significance of the foreman’s assault is its indication of a predisposition to violence on the part of the agent’s men, a factor of which Mr Hervey would take account in forming his judgement. In all, it seems to me that the evidence would suggest that Mr Hervey was at the outset perfectly prepared to carry out his duty in respect of the evictions. Indeed, the evidence of the parish priest would corroborate this — Mr Hervey said as much to him.’
‘Then how will you account for his subsequent obstruction of the eviction process?’ asked the duke doubtfully.
‘The agent gave an unlawful instruction to his men to collapse the second cottage on the heads of the occupants. The agent himself was thus about to precipitate a breach of the peace, even perhaps an unlawful killing. His men were already shown to be violent, and the magistrate took no steps to restrain them. As I said, Mr Hervey had an absolute duty to act at that moment, in the same way that he would have had a duty to ignore an unlawful order from the magistrate. It is the very devil of a position for an officer to be in, your Grace — damned if he does, and damned if he does not!’
Silence followed as William Devonshire contemplated the import of what the attorney had said. ‘There is therefore only one question, Mr Nugent,’ he suggested eventually. ‘This is clearly your interpretation of the law — will it be that of others? Will it come to trial?’
