Sir Abraham was so alarmed when his manservant brought him the letter just before eight in the morning that he drove at once to the grange. He arrived as first parade was being dismissed, but the speed of his carriage and manner of his getting out arrested the dismissal. His meeting with Hervey was conducted with the entire troop standing, horses in hand, necks craning and ears straining.
‘Captain Hervey, this was pinned to my door in the night. And it was the same at Taylor’s and Arkwright’s too — probably everyone of the hosiers’ association has them, and the bench too.’
Hervey took the letter and read the well-formed hand:
‘The metre is very ill,’ Hervey pronounced. ‘I’ll warrant they’re tedious company.’
The artifice was as reassuring for the dragoons as it was for Sir Abraham, who sighed in some relief. Nevertheless, Hervey lost no time in ordering NCOs’ patrols to the hosiers on the watch-list. Sir Abraham had not specifically requested it, but it was clear that prompt action was needed lest fear turn to panic.
‘It is not for me to suggest it,’ Hervey said to him when the last of the patrols was gone, ‘but now is the time your posse would be of greatest value. I can’t think that undrilled men can have much effect once real trouble has begun, but a large enough picket at each house and workshop might well deter attack.’
Sir Abraham agreed, and, after a restorative, set off as quickly as he had arrived for the moot hall.
It was now that Hervey began to feel keenly the lack of any intelligence as to what was happening outside the borough. Doubtless he would know more by the end of the day, when the ‘usual channels’ conveyed intelligence to the moot hall, but what he really wanted to know was what was happening with the other troops, especially Barrow’s in Worksop and Strickland’s in Ollerton on which he would have to rely for immediate support. He therefore ordered Lieutenant Seton Canning and Cornet St Oswald to ride to the other troops to find out what they could, and then he returned to his map board.
Private Hopwood had made an enlargement of the Ordnance map by ten times, with colour and lettering so careful that it looked as if it were a piece of fine engraving. His skill with pen, ink and brush had come to light only through Caithlin Armstrong’s diligence in visiting the infirmary with comforts (indeed, Caithlin’s attentiveness had done much to hasten the healing of Hopwood’s wounds, moral and physical). Hopwood’s was a skill that not only aided the recovery of his self-respect, but was of real value to Hervey, for after each patrol, the officer or NCO had come to the map to add the human detail gained in reconnaissance. And so by this, the seventh morning, Hopwood had drawn a remarkable representation of the borough — more complete, Hervey supposed, than at any time since Domesday.
‘Would you like some tea, sir?’ asked the draughtsman.
Hervey looked him in the eye. Hopwood held the gaze until Hervey smiled and said, ‘Yes.’ It had only been for a few seconds, but Hopwood could look his officer in the eye again. And he had asked if he would like tea — not waited to be asked, but offered it, and not out of servility, or fawning, but because that was what a dragoon should do. He was ready to
It took him a full ten minutes to make the tea, however. Hervey didn’t notice, for he was rapt in study of the map. Hopwood at last brought in a tray, and poured. ‘Milk, sir?’
‘A little, yes.’
He added the milk, and then turned to leave.
‘Shall you not have any, Hopwood?’ asked Hervey, still peering at the map with a magnifying glass.
Hopwood looked hesitant. ‘Can I, sir?’
‘Of course. Go and get a cup and sit here while I continue to admire your work.’
Hopwood did as he was bidden, but said not a word.
In a few minutes Hervey put down the glass. ‘Where did you acquire such skill?’
‘When I left the workhouse, sir, I was apprenticed to a printmaker. I’d always liked drawing, but I could only do it on the slate before.’
‘If you were going to get a trade, why did you enlist?’
Hopwood smiled. ‘We made a lot of recruiting posters, sir.’
‘And you ended up believing them!’
‘Ay, sir.’ He smiled.
‘Go on.’
‘To tell the truth, I kept seeing soldiers in the town — it were Maidstone — and in the end I kept thinking that…’
‘Yes?’
‘Well, I just kept thinking.’
‘That you’d think the worse of yourself if you didn’t put on regimentals?’
‘Ay, sir, just that.’
Hervey took another sip of the Honourable Company’s pekoe. ‘This tea’s good, Hopwood. I should be careful, or someone will claim you as a groom!’
Hopwood smiled. It wasn’t much of a joke, but he knew Hervey was trying.
‘You were in America, first, with the Fourteenth, weren’t you?’
‘I was, sir. But we didn’t see a lot of fighting.’
‘No. But I’ve learned you saved a man from drowning.’
Hopwood looked abashed.
‘And from a river with sharp teeth in it.’
‘I couldn’t very well leave him, sir.’
Hervey looked at the dragoon with admiration as well as pity. ‘When your time with the colours is up, Hopwood, the thing to remember is that you saved a man’s life, when no one would have called you coward if you hadn’t. Nothing else is worth thinking of, you understand — nothing. It will be the only thing that matters.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘No more “thank yous”, Hopwood. It’s just time to kick on now.’
‘Ay, sir. That’s what I’d like to do.’
‘Good!’ He drained the cup. ‘Then look at your map and tell me what you observe.’
‘More green than I thought I had ink for, sir!’ He smiled.
‘Yes. Green all over the place, and a few roads.’
‘Is that a good thing, sir?’
‘Not at the moment, but I’m trying to think of how it might be. It seems the hosiers and magistrates have all
