Henrietta was surprised to see him return so early, and dismayed to learn the reason why. ‘I will not stay here in Brighton,’ she declared.
‘My love, the very last thing I would wish is to be parted from you another night, but my father would welcome some encouragement at this time, and—’
She looked even more unhappy. ‘Matthew, if you say that I am to go to Wiltshire, then I will. Of course I will. But my thought was to come with you.’
He could not have been happier with any notion. ‘But how shall you stand the journey? And it is not London. What lodgings shall we be able to find?’
‘Oh,’ she laughed, ‘I can stand the journey perfectly well. And we can stay at Chatsworth. William Devonshire has said often enough that he hoped to meet you again.’
‘I shan’t be able to stay there, not with my troop elsewhere,’ he cautioned. Then he brightened. ‘But I’m sure there will be opportunities to visit. It can’t be many miles.’
‘May we travel together, then?’
The prospect of her company, and one of the best-sprung chaises he had known, was a great temptation. ‘I can’t, I’m afraid, my love. Nor is it just the troop. Joynson will have a sick headache, like as not, and Lord Towcester won’t join until Nottingham. The responsibility will be mine to see the regiment there.’
‘But I may travel
‘Yes, of course. Though we shall be a little slow. You are sure you are up to so long a drive?’
‘
It minded him to tease her about Johnson, but he was so full of admiration for her spirit that he could only sit and enjoy her delighted expression. He knew how much the trials of Princess Charlotte’s confinement were troubling her, for the newspaper reports were more lurid by the day; she must inevitably make comparisons with her own condition, however inapt that might be.
Three days later they were in Nottingham, and the troop returns were better than any of the captains could remember after such a distance — testimony to a sound march plan, good discipline on the part of the NCOs, and the quality of the regiment’s horses. This latter was freely acknowledged by all ranks, and Lord Towcester’s name was heard spoken of with increasing respect again. They had gone 157 miles in three days at a cost of only two horses dead — both from colic on the first night — and nine lame. As remarkably, there were no horses off the road with sore backs, an admirable pointer to both discipline and skill. The price was a fair number of limping dragoons, but, as their corporals were only too happy to point out, blisters on the feet were no hindrance in the saddle.
And still the regiment was Hervey’s, for Major Joynson would not be fit to travel for some days yet, it seemed, and Lord Towcester had yet to arrive. They had had word from Carlton House that he would set out as soon as the Prince Regent decided to detain him no longer. Meanwhile, therefore, Hervey had to present himself to the general officer commanding.
Major-General Sir Francis Evans, GOC Northern District, had established his temporary headquarters in Nottingham Castle. Of all the country’s military districts, the northern was the most exigent. It had been so indeed since Trafalgar, after which there had been no longer any threat of invasion. The district ran from the Scottish border, through the north-eastern coalfields, and took in the counties of Yorkshire, Lancashire, Nottinghamshire and Leicestershire. The headquarters were at York as a rule; but the hotbed of trouble in his district at this time was undoubtedly Nottinghamshire, and General Evans was not a man to sit distant and aloof. But he was as crabbed as his reputation had it, and this morning he was belabouring a clerk for the scratchy signatures the man’s pen was making, as Hervey entered his office. His right ear, turned forward so much that the troops called him ‘General Tab’, was almost as red as his tunic, and the redness of Sir Francis Evans’s ear, Hervey had been warned, was a sure indicator of his temper.
‘Captain Hervey, Sir Francis,’ said the DAAG, beckoning the clerk away. ‘Sixth Light Dragoons.’
Hervey stepped quickly to the general’s desk, halted and saluted. ‘Good morning, sir.’
‘Are you the adjutant? When does the regiment arrive?’ said Sir Francis gruffly.
‘I am not the adjutant, sir. I am the senior troop leader, and I am pleased to report the arrival of six troops: three hundred and eighty-one effectives.’
Sir Francis’s ear grew even redder. ‘Where in hell’s name is your colonel?’
Hervey was pleased to have been warned of Sir Francis’s choler, though the warning did not entirely ease its sting. ‘He was summoned by the Prince Regent, Sir Francis. I am given to understand that he will be making his way here at any time.’ He hoped this was not too blatant a distortion of his latest intelligence.
‘And where is the major, then?’
‘He is sick, sir. He will follow from Brighton in a very few days, I am sure.’
‘Mm. I see. This is not a very satisfactory beginning.’
‘The troops are all well-found and officered, sir.’ Hervey felt he was speaking up as much for the Sixth as for his colonel.
‘Yes, but that is all very well, Captain Hervey. I must have a field officer here in Nottingham. The troops themselves I intend disposing throughout the county at the immediate call of the bench.’
‘Very well, sir. I shall take the orders from your DAAG, and hold myself here until Lord Towcester arrives. I trust that he will not be long.’ He braced up for the dismissal. It did not come.
Sir Francis Evans seemed to be eyeing him suspiciously. ‘
Hervey could not think how, for they had never, so far as he knew, seen the same campaign. ‘I have always been with the Sixth, sir, except last year in India.’
Sir Francis nodded. ‘I thought as much. You are brevet major, are you not?’
Hervey was as flattered by the recognition as he was astounded, and tried hard to hide both. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Mm. Sit yourself down.’ He turned to his DAAG. ‘Bring us some coffee, Harry, there’s a good fellow.’ Sir Francis’s ear had regained its normal colour. He leaned back in his chair, studying his temporary commander of cavalry, his chin disappearing beneath the standing collar of his tunic. ‘The duke thinks highly of you, as I recall.’
Hervey was not sure if this was meant to be rhetorical, but the silence demanded some response. ‘Thank you, sir. I was in India on his bidding.’
There was just the suggestion of a smile on Sir Francis’s lips. ‘Then I fancy I might repose in you myself.’
Hervey was not going to presume to sport with the general, even with such an invitation. The arrival of coffee was opportune. ‘Sir.’
‘To begin with, Hervey — and let it be rightly understood — there is no glory for you or your dragoons in aid of the civil power. There’ll be no charging hither and thither, no flashy sword work.’
Hervey had little enough experience of the application of that duty, beyond the squalid business of West Cork, yet he knew enough to be in no doubt as to its nature. ‘Indeed, sir. And I know I may speak for the whole regiment in this. The dragoons are glad of the change from Hounslow and Brighton, but they have a great repugnance for riot duty. We lost an officer killed last March in London.’
Sir Francis nodded. ‘It is the most terrible thing to fire on one’s own countrymen, however grave the provocation.’
Hervey assented silently.
Sir Francis narrowed his eyes and looked keenly at him. ‘Yet there can be no shirking from duty, Captain Hervey. It will have to be done at all hazards.’
‘I know it, sir,’ replied Hervey, with a tone of both regret and resolve which together seemed to reassure the GOC.
Sir Francis now appeared to take his ease entirely. He poured himself and Hervey more coffee, offered him a cheroot, which Hervey declined, though he would ordinarily have enjoyed its taste with his araba, and lit one for himself. It seemed that Sir Francis rather liked this young cavalryman: perhaps because Hervey had shown no trepidation in facing him (he knew his own reputation well enough), and for his general air of assurance. It was not every captain, in his experience, who would look forward to his duties — overmatched as they were for his rank — and with such equanimity. Sir Francis now recalled the brevet committee better. He had opposed Hervey’s cause in the first instance, thinking him nothing more than another Waterloo hand. He recalled how Sir Horace Shawcross
