‘Bind the others’ hands, and then I shall question them. They must know a pretty thing or two.’
‘You speak proper French then, sir?’ asked Armstrong cheerily as he beckoned Claridge to do the tying.
‘I trust I do,’ replied Hervey. And trust he meant, for if his French was perfect he could not yet know it; the only native of France he had ever spoken with had been his governess. But she had spoken French with him from an early age; and Alsatian German. Now he would see if French
He looked again at the lifeless bodies. This was his work – one of them at least by his own hand. ‘Death to the French!’ Now he had done it; it was no mere toast any longer. And he could write to Daniel Coates at last:
One of the
Hervey shivered. ‘Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace.’ He checked himself: prayers could come later. For now, there was work to do. ‘Corporal Armstrong, send a man back to report, and two ahead to picket the other side of yonder trees!’
CHAPTER EIGHT
DRAWING THE LINE
‘I like Mrs Delgado,’ said Johnson as he laid out Hervey’s best tunic.
Hervey did not reply, absorbed as he was by his newly acquired maps. His hand trembled a little, so that he had to peer more intently than usual. He liked these quarters in Reeves’s Hotel, but it was just so damnably cold, what with coal in short and expensive supply, and wood seemingly deficient of heat. It had been two days since he had stood before the Delgados’ great chimneypiece, and he had scarcely been warm since. But it had not been on account of inactivity, even in the absence, still, of orders from Colonel Norris. He had scoured the premises of the booksellers and cartographers of Lapa and the neighbouring districts until he had assembled a handy topographical library.
He looked up, puzzled by the lacuna. Johnson’s statement of itself seemed to require no comment, but the absence of a consequential clause rendered his purpose obscure.
‘She’s a nice woman.’
Hervey had not imagined so simple a resolution.
‘You give your opinion very decidedly.
‘Tha saw t’way she were wi’ that kiddlin’ of ’ers.’
Hervey thought the observation fair. He wondered what Johnson made of his own parental efforts. ‘Is there anything else?’
His voice mixed surprise and curiosity, but Johnson apparently heard neither. ‘Ay. She’s not stuck up. She talked to me just like Mrs ’Ervey used to.’
Hervey smiled. It was good to be reminded from time to time – and by so indifferent an authority – of Henrietta’s qualities.
‘An’ she talks English as good as me.’
Hervey raised his eyebrows, smiling still. ‘That would indeed be an extraordinary accomplishment.’
‘An’ tha should see ’er wi’ a sword.’
Hervey put down the map. ‘When did
‘Yesterday. I were takin’ that cheese in tha told me to, an’ she were practising in that courtyard o’ theirs.’
‘With a fencing master?’
‘I don’t know, but ’e looked as if ’e knew what ’e were doin’.’
Hervey had returned to the Delgados’ house in Belem the day after his first call, with a present of Cheshire cheese coloured with Spanish
‘Strange she never spoke of it,’ he mused.
‘She were quick, I’ll say that for ’er.’
Hervey took up the map again.
‘’E’s a general then, ’er father?’
‘He’s a colonel in the militia.’
‘Ah,’ said Johnson, with a distinctly knowing note. ‘I thought ’e were gettin’ on a bit.’
‘I told you before: the baron was getting on, as you say, when first we came to Lisbon. Or so it seemed to us then.’
‘An’ that’s why ’e’s on t’right’n’s side then?’
Hervey stopped to think. He had learned long ago that the more naive Johnson’s questions sounded, the more – on the whole – they contained some worthwhile perception. ‘I believe the baron is a man who considers that a settled order is for the greater good. He has not spoken of the merits of one brother over the other.’
‘But what I don’t understand is why t’oldest brother – Pedro?’
Hervey nodded.
‘Why ’e doesn’t just be king of Portugal as well as Brazil?’
Hervey laid down the map again and shook his head. ‘In truth I cannot tell you, for I believe it is very complex. Mr Canning was making long speeches in parliament on the business as we were sailing. But if there is civil war here then it could go very ill for England. That is the point on which we must determine our efforts.’
Johnson was content for the time being. ‘Is there owt else then, sir?’
Hervey cast an eye at the chair. His uniform for the evening was laid out; he did not need his groom to help him dress. ‘No. No, I don’t believe there is. I expect there’ll be orders tonight though – we’ve gone two full days without any, and Colonel Norris will have to give us something soon – so you had better see me back. You might tell Corporal Wainwright too; if he’s back from the livery, that is. And I shall want to go to Belem again. It seems the baron’s found a nice horse for me.’
Johnson screwed up his face. ‘Not one o’ them Lucythings?’
‘Lusitanos, yes. They’re all right.’
‘They’re too araby. Right vicey little things they can be.’
Hervey had no special fondness for arabs, even after his time in India; he would certainly never describe them as tractable. ‘But they’ve got bottom, have they not?’
Johnson decided to hold his peace, suddenly remembering he had a letter to deliver: ‘Oh, ay – I’m sorry, sir; this came while tha were out.’
Hervey took the envelope expecting a communication from Colonel Norris. His jaw dropped when he saw the handwriting and the words ‘by express’. He broke the seal quickly and began to read.
‘My God!’
‘Bad news, sir?’
Hervey did not answer at once. He looked about the room, as if there might be something to enlighten him, and he scratched his head. ‘Come back in ten minutes with a boy who can run to the Rua dos Condes.’
Johnson left looking faintly vexed.
Hervey went to the writing table and took pen and paper from his morocco case. He made several false starts, screwing up the sheet each time and throwing it at the fire grate, until at last he found his voice:
