might subsequently be adjudged dubious in law. Every landlord in the country would then be in the very devil of a position.’
‘But’, began Henrietta, grasping well enough the proposition but remaining unconvinced, ‘you have said that there seemed but little chance of Matthew’s being acquitted?’
‘Indeed,’ smiled the duke wickedly, ‘but in the question of rights of eviction none of them would wish to wager, even against such long odds. None would ever want to see it subjected to a judicial ruling. I think it is time that I wrote to Sir Dearnley Lambert and went to see Mr Magistrate Gould, and perhaps the agent, too.’
‘Oh, William, you are cleverness personified!’ gasped Henrietta as she threw her arms round him.
‘Let us just say that honour and self-interest are for once in accord.’
A Cavendish, and a descendant of the great Boyle, if only through marriage, was enough to put the Ballinhassig magistrate into a state of mild panic. For his part, he declared on hearing the duke’s proposition, he would be content to leave things entirely to the military and, on second thoughts, he would also rescind his submission to the Lord Lieutenant. William Devonshire was especially relieved at this latter since it saved him the journey to Dublin to argue his case at the Castle.
Fitzgerald, the agent, was altogether less pliable. Only the threat of using the Cavendish name with his employer shifted his stubbornness. At first he protested that there were no grounds on which to press for his removal: the wider implications of the legality of forcible evictions were not his concern, he argued. Whereupon the duke simply smiled and agreed, adding that, although it would give him no pleasure to use his title to coerce a baronet, he would have no hesitation in doing so on this occasion.
These two, were, however, the easier of his antagonists. There remained one enterprise of especial delicacy, for if this business with Hervey did indeed comprise an element of vindictiveness (and his instincts told him it did), then he would have to make sure that General Slade abandoned any proceedings when the magistrate withdrew his complaint. Buoyed by his success at Ballinhassig, the duke therefore journeyed to Fermoy to pay what he announced as an introductory call on the startled general, and invited him to dine at Lismore the following evening. He then left Fermoy as soon as he decently could, but would have been heartened to learn that, such was the enthusiasm for dinner at Lismore, Slade’s staff spent the rest of the day sending messages throughout the county to cancel the invitations which the general had issued to dine at his own headquarters that same evening.
Henrietta took much persuading to be at dinner the following day, and Elizabeth even more. The duke insisted, however, that in his scheme of things their being there was of the essence. For he had surmised that a ward of the Marquess of Bath would tend further to overawe Slade, and that, when he learned she was in Ireland at the express invitation of Matthew Hervey, the seeds of doubt as to the wisdom of proceedings against him would be sown. Elizabeth’s connection need not be revealed until it was propitious, he added, and if the general possessed the least degree of acuity there might be no mention at all of the …
And so, at the end of that dinner into which Slade had entered as an unwitting enemy enters an ambuscade, Henrietta and Elizabeth retired with the general’s lady. The Duke of Devonshire poured out his best port (as Slade was quick to recognize) and broached the question of the charges laid against Lieutenant Hervey. Slade professed but an imperfect knowledge of them but looked disconcerted by the volley. The duke bade a footman bring cigars, thereby allowing the general a little more time to appreciate the extent of the danger he was in. Though no soldier, the duke was now warming to his work and judged it the moment to fire a volley from, as it were, the second rank: ‘Oh, by the by, General, you know, I presume, that Lady Henrietta Lindsay and Mr Hervey are to be married?’
Slade reeled visibly at this intelligence.
Now was the time for ruthlessness, the duke knew, and his third volley was decisive — a model of artfulness, of fox-cunning, even. The words were so deft that, later, Slade would not be able to recall them with any precision. Yet firmly in his mind, now, was the awful notion that he was laying charges against the brother of the future duchess. He could barely hide his discomposure. ‘If this magistrate is to withdraw his complaint,’ he began, his voice transposed by half an octave at least, ‘then there is no reason whatever why this young officer should be kept in anguish a moment longer. I shall send instructions, first thing tomorrow morning, that all charges against him (if indeed there be any) be dismissed. I am right grateful to you, Duke, for advising me of the matter.’
Now, if the Duke of Devonshire had any reservations as to his stratagem, any doubts as to Hervey’s integrity in the matter, any fears that Slade might be too much maligned, they were largely allayed by the general’s quite evident disingenuousness. And when they joined the ladies the doubts that remained were entirely dispelled by Slade’s great show of discovery that Elizabeth was the brother of ‘one of my officers — a most active and engaging young man!’
The duke raised an eyebrow as he glanced across to Henrietta and Elizabeth. And in that he managed to convey the intense satisfaction of a man who had comprehensively outmanoeuvred a knave of the blackest kind.
Serjeant Armstrong hitched up his sword and fell into step beside Lieutenant Hervey. Picket duty came round frequently when there was but one troop in barracks — and only one officer and a handful of Serjeants. But there were worse things on a cold January morning than inspecting the lines.
‘Will Miss Lindsay and Miss Hervey be paying another visit to Ireland, then, sir?’ he asked with a distinct twinkle in his eye.
‘I hope so, but not before the summer, I should think,’ replied Hervey, non-committal.
‘It was good that they were able to stay longer to make up time for your confinement.’
‘Forgive my lack of learning, sir,’ Armstrong retorted with heavy irony.
Hervey returned the fire-picket’s salute as they passed the hay store. ‘Learning be damned! You were fishing!’
‘I was no such thing! I merely asked if we were to see the ladies again.’
In the feed store Hervey checked the quartermaster-serjeant’s ledger to compare it with the figures he had been given at the orderly room. Armstrong began counting the sacks of oats, opening several at random and prodding the contents with his whip.
‘Sixty-seven, sir,’ he called at length.
‘Thank you. All correct, then, quarm’serjeant,’ said Hervey, signing the ledger.
Taking up the conversation again as he and Armstrong left the store, Hervey decided there had been enough beating about the bush. ‘You will see plenty of Lady Henrietta because, as you very well know, we are to be married — that is, if her guardian consents.’
‘Now, how did I know that, sir?’ was Armstrong’s almost convincing protest.
‘Because Johnson told me you had already collected your winnings from Serjeant Harkness! Really, Armstrong! Betting on your troop lieutenant’s marriage stakes!’
Serjeant Armstrong was momentarily, and uncharacteristically, silenced, giving Hervey further opportunity to discomfit him. ‘Tell me how in heaven’s name you learned of it,’ he pressed.
‘I can’t say, sir.’
‘What do you mean, you can’t say? This isn’t a game of charades!’
‘Would that be like brag, sir?’
‘Armstrong!’
‘Well … all right,’ he began reluctantly, halting in mid-stride. ‘Miss Lindsay told me ’erself.’
‘She what?’
‘She came to riding school just before leaving for England — while you were away in town — and told me.’
‘Whatever for?’
‘She’s
‘Serjeant Armstrong, if she confided in you that day there must have been something earlier. What had you been saying to her before then?’
‘Nothing.’
