fraction more elegant than a posting inn. It was, however, as serviceable a headquarters as they might find. The orderly room serjeant began distributing maps — a good start, they all agreed, for the absence of maps was the normal feature of the commencement of a campaign. And what maps these were! Not the old county charts, or the coach-cards which showed only the landmarks along a road, but the new inch-to-a-mile Ordnance Survey: detailed, accurate, and with the novel system of contour lines which gave a picture of the lie of the land. Hervey had asked for enough to give each troop a full set for the county, and a local sheet for every officer. From these he expected the NCOs to make sketches so they could familiarize themselves with the neighbourhoods as quickly as possible. It was a promising start indeed.
At the end of the conference, too, there seemed to be a very fair degree of contentment. Barrow went so far as to say that if this were foreign service he wished they might see it more often, though Rose declared that, for his part, the weather in these latitudes was already taking its toll of his humours. But it was happy banter, and the captains fell out to their troops in good spirits, and looking forward to their meeting together again to dine that evening.
Shortly before midnight, when the contented diners were dispersed, if not actually retired, Lord Towcester arrived from London. The adjutant told him of the plans that had been put in hand, and the lieutenant colonel at once exploded with rage. Why was his regiment broken up in this way, he demanded? Why had the dispositions been made so? Who had presumed to choose which troop would go where? He sent for Hervey.
‘What in the name of God do you think you do, sir?’ bawled Lord Towcester as Hervey came to his quarters — so loud indeed, that the whole of the White Hart must have heard.
Hervey explained, in the most composed manner imaginable, that the GOC had stated his intention, and that the consequent troop dispositions were all approved by him.
‘Then you should have represented to the general officer commanding, in the strongest terms, that the dispersal of cavalry is contrary to the practice of war!’
Hervey was now thoroughly on the alert, for the lieutenant colonel’s response was as irrational as it was hostile. They were no more at war than they had been in Ireland. ‘Your lordship, the general believes that the deployment of a troop to each town will of itself discourage trouble, and at the same time permit rapid reinforcement.’
‘Well, I do not, sir! It will inflame the population, that is all. And then we shall have trouble everywhere. Who decided which troop should go where?’
‘I did, sir. There is little to choose between the towns, so far as the general is aware.’
‘And you placed yourself here in Nottingham?’
‘Yes, your lordship.’ The inflection suggested he was puzzled.
‘You chose to remain close to the general, when the other troops are expected to face the trouble alone? And with your wife here, too!’
Hervey boiled inside. He wanted to treat the insult as a matter of honour, to have it out once and for all, with pistols, swords — whatever the Earl of Towcester chose. He fought the urge for all he was worth, however, for the voices in his head — Henrietta’s, Armstrong’s, Strickland’s — all begged him not to call out Lord Towcester.
He told himself that the hour was late, and the lieutenant colonel’s journey had been long and tiring. In any case, the adjutant as the sole witness was not worth the trouble. ‘Your lordship, in your absence I was required to—’
‘I think you take upon yourself a very great deal, Captain Hervey! You must have known that I was to arrive this evening.’
‘No, sir, I did not. I received no communication whatever.’ He managed, he hoped, to keep the simple statement from sounding like a complaint.
‘Well, I tell you, sir’ — Lord Towcester’s voice had risen substantially in both volume and pitch — ‘that
Hervey replaced his cap, saluted and left. He was tired, confounded, and above all angry at the additional labour which would now fall to the troops — and the inevitable delay and confusion it must cause, so that what might have been the appearance of a regiment under good order would like as not be quite the opposite. Perhaps he overestimated the difficulties they faced with these Luddites; perhaps Lord Towcester’s arrogant disregard of them was more apt. But that was not Sir Francis Evans’s opinion. Hervey stood for several minutes in the White Hart’s empty smoking room wondering how much longer he could tolerate a martinet whose actions seemed calculated to bring the regiment to calamity.
There seemed no point sending any orders to his troop at that hour. Without knowing what was to be done, nothing could be gained by even a preliminary order cancelling the previous one. He had to know first what was nugatory before he might halt it. The smoking-room clock showed that it was well past watch-setting; his dragoons would be asleep. He decided to let them sleep on.
The night light was still burning when he went back to his room. Henrietta was sleeping peacefully, her tresses spread on the pillow as if just arranged by her lady’s maid. He stood long looking at her, contemplating — indeed marvelling at — the changes which nature was working within. Henrietta was changed for ever from the girl he had known. She was changed the night of their wedding, as was he, though in different measure. And the quality of his love for her was changed now by what nature was accomplishing. Perhaps he began only now to comprehend truly what John Keble had meant when he spoke of their becoming one flesh.
He looked about the room. It was a mean lodging compared with Longleat — compared with the vicarage at Horningsham, even. He had brought her to a place no better than a corn merchant might use, although she did not complain. She had made light, indeed, of his concern at the meagre furnishings, and his disdain of the boiled fowl that passed for partridge at the supper brought to her. Caithlin Armstrong might find contentment in such surroundings when she arrived with the sutler’s wagons, and Serjeant Armstrong could have the satisfaction of knowing that his outlay gave her unaccustomed comfort; but
CHAPTER THIRTEEN. DUKERIES
A Troop reached Mansfield towards the middle of the morning. Hervey had taken his amusement at this substitution silently, for Lord Towcester evidently had great satisfaction in sending him from Nottingham, not realizing that Hervey would be a full three hours closer thereby to Chatsworth, whither Henrietta was driving even now. Indeed, he was a little surprised that the lieutenant colonel had not sent him even further afield, to Worksop for instance, though he supposed that Towcester feared having him at too distant an arm’s length.
Mansfield seemed a pleasant enough town, its population not especially hostile as the troop rode in. There was a fine church — Norman towers were not a common sight in Hervey’s part of England — and a handsome moot hall. There were curious dwellings carved out of the sandstone cliffs along the Southwell road, where, he was informed by his guide, there were many families still, and there were extensive Roman remains, though only partially excavated. A more peaceful place than Mansfield, in the heart of the once great Sherwood forest, it would have been difficult to imagine. Yet only two weeks ago, an armed mob had attacked one of the new steam-loom factories on the edge of the town, the owner and his night watch only managing to drive off the assailants after killing five of their number and wounding a dozen more. The mob had returned the following night and, after a gun battle in which there were more casualties, succeeded in demolishing the factory. The scarred remains now stood as a stark reminder to the authorities that beneath the tranquil canopy of Sherwood there lurked, as there had so many years ago, predatory bands.
Who were they, Hervey wondered, and who were the ringleaders? The bench, it seemed, had no idea, and the constable seemed afraid to ask. Hervey soon discovered that his troop was not so much assisting the civil
