Rumours Of War

he would have to explain to her his imminent absence, and without benefit of claiming simple obedience to orders.

Joynson rose and held out his hand. ‘I have more to thank you for than you could possibly have to thank me. You have frequently done my duty for me, and never once have you seemed to resent it or to try to obtain recognition. You are a most excellent fellow, Hervey, and an officer with the most marked ability I ever saw. I shall tell my successor so, when he is named that is, and I trust you and he will see the regiment proper proud.’ He did not say that he had already written to the Sixth’s colonel, Lord George Irvine, in these terms.

Hervey took the hand, and smiled. ‘Thank you, Eustace. But I have learned much from you, I do assure you.’

‘A little patience perhaps?’ said Joynson, just a touch droll.

Hervey merely raised his eyebrows.

‘Away with you then. And beware those dons. It would be a rum thing to fall in Portugal now after all those years in the Peninsula without a scratch!’

Hardly without a scratch, thought Hervey; but now was not the time. He replaced his forage cap, stepped back and saluted. ‘With your leave, then, Colonel.’

‘Ay, Brevet-Major Hervey,’ replied Joynson, waving his hand. ‘Go to it. But come and visit with me when you are returned. There are few men whose company I would choose to bear, but I believe you to be one of them.’

‘Indeed I shall.’

The lieutenant-colonel did not add that he wished Hervey could find the prospect of meeting with Frances again half so agreeable, though wish it he most certainly did. Seeing his daughter married was Eustace Joynson’s sole remaining duty, and he had a soft enough heart still to hope for a husband such as his fellow officer. Frances would make him an indifferent wife, Joynson knew full well, but Hervey had such a way that . . .

‘Goodbye, sir.’

Joynson nodded, and Hervey walked from the quarters without looking back, lest either man’s face should betray emotion.

The following day, Elizabeth and Georgiana arrived at Hounslow in a post-chaise which Hervey had hired for them in Wiltshire. They had lodged the night before near Windsor, and the drive this morning had been easy, so that they both looked enlivened by the experience rather than exhausted as the evening before. It was not Elizabeth’s first visit to Hounslow by any means. She had come when her brother and his wife, her best friend, had first set up home there the best part of ten years ago. Never had she seen her brother happier than at that time; nor Henrietta either, a bride in the first throes of wedded bliss. And the last occasion she had visited seemed to her almost an age gone, too. It had been on her return from Italy, when her brother had resolved in his bereaved despair to rejoin the regiment. Then, she had been much flattered by the officers’ attentiveness, not least their new commanding officer, who now lay as cold in the ground as her best friend. Life for Elizabeth Hervey was not full of joy, for even when the Grim Reaper did not take away her friends she saw misery and death in fair proportions in the workhouse and hovels of Warminster. She did not complain, neither did she pity herself, but a face that was once carefree was now perhaps a little more lined than others of her age and standing. Certainly Lady Katherine Greville’s did not bear the same signs of care.

Kat; here was something of a problem. Kat wanted to see him every day before he went to Portugal, and although Hervey had no objection to that (indeed not: he delighted in her company), his familial duties must needs take precedence. Kat’s solution had, of course, been simple and direct: Elizabeth and Georgiana and Hervey should come and stay with her at Holland Park. And to Hervey it had been an attractive proposition from a number of points of view, not least because there was no suitable accommodation at Hounslow. His duties there were done; he was, so to speak, on leave prior to embarkation overseas, and Holland Park was a convenient as well as agreeable place in which to discharge his familial obligations. That said, he had to trust that his sister would have no hint of the ‘arrangements’. But first he had a promise to honour: Georgiana would see his troop’s stables.

Georgiana Charlotte Sarah Elizabeth: each name had been chosen by Henrietta with the utmost care, and each for a very different reason. ‘Elizabeth’ was a foregone choice, hallowing the long friendship with her husband’s sister. ‘Sarah’ marked the intense gratitude she had borne for Lady Sarah Maitland, wife of the lieutenant-governor of Upper Canada, and who had become a godmother. ‘Charlotte’ had been Henrietta’s preference as the given name, for the late King’s grand-daughter was to have been a godmother, but in the circumstances of Princess Charlotte’s death Henrietta had drawn back. And so ‘Georgiana’, a patriotic as well as a fashionable name, and one that would please her good friends the Cavendishes, had been Henrietta’s choice.

Georgiana was rising nine. She had the look of her mother, as once Hervey had feared she would, for he had dreaded being reminded of his loss each time he contemplated her. But his memories now of Henrietta, vivid at times though they were, did not have their old eviscerating edge. There came an occasional ache, a sadness, a feeling that nothing was worthwhile, that nothing mattered ultimately now that she was no longer by his side. It made him careless of earthly things, his own life included. But the ache always passed. And he thought it might even be diminishing.

Georgiana had her mother’s vivacity too. She was in constant activity, both body and mind. Her eyes sparkled, just as Henrietta’s had. No doubt they would tease in their time. And she was dressed for the horse lines just as if she were to ride out from Longleat, boots shining, ringlets tight.

‘Papa, may I at least sit astride your charger if I may not ride him?’ she asked, in a voice that spoke of assuredness in more than just the saddle.

‘I don’t see why not,’ said Hervey, glancing at Elizabeth.

Elizabeth was likewise dressed for the stables, but she had not ridden in a dozen years or more, and she was wary of being ill tempted into the saddle by the hustle of a cavalry line. Besides, she had been here before.

‘Good morning, ma’am!’

The voice as well as the face was familiar to her. She had known it since Waterloo – before, even. ‘Good morning, Serjeant-major,’ she replied, returning the smile almost as broadly. ‘How are you and Mrs Armstrong?’

‘I’m very well, ma’am. And so is my Caithlin. And all the bairns too. You should come and see ’em, Miss Hervey.’

‘I should like that very much, Serjeant-major. Might there be an opportunity, Matthew?’

Hervey was mindful only of the time it would take them to drive to Holland Park, but he was keen to avoid any suggestion of reluctance, for the sake of both parties. ‘I’m sure, yes. We should be on the road by two, though . . . to have the best of the light.’

‘And this must be Miss Georgiana,’ said Armstrong obligingly, saluting as he had Elizabeth. ‘My, miss, you’re a bonnie lass if you don’t mind me saying so. Just like your mother.’

Hervey winced, but no one saw.

‘Ay, miss, she were a bonnie woman all right. And a canny woman, an’ all.’

‘Did you know my mother then, Serjeant-major?’ asked Georgiana, her voice direct and confident.

Hervey’s insides began to twist. Armstrong knew Henrietta as no other. He had been the last to see her alive, save for the savages who had slain her – though they had paid the price before the day was out when Corporal Collins caught them on the Detroit road.

‘I did, miss.’

But Hervey could sense it, the note that spoke of Armstrong’s sadness in knowing her death was needless; that he might yet have saved her had he not become so enraged, and thus unguarded.

Hervey tried to deflect the conversation from where it was tending, that frozen American midwinter almost ten years ago. ‘The serjeant-major was at our wedding, Georgiana.’

Georgiana looked at Armstrong intently.

‘Ay, miss, I was. And a grand affair it were too.’

There was a sudden ringing of spurs, which made all of them look round.

‘Hello, Private Johnson,’ said Georgiana, as Hervey’s groom came to a sort of halt close by.

Armstrong bit his tongue; this was not the time to berate a dragoon’s slipshod foot drill, though he suspected Johnson knew as much and took advantage.

Private Johnson saluted. His forage hat was awry, and his hand did not quite touch the peak.

Hervey sensed the serjeant-major’s perturbation; already the presence of his family was having its ill effects