ground, and she knew it; it was one thing to ask for patronage from a senior officer, quite another to meddle in the affairs of a campaign.
The charge’s reply when it came surprised her, not least for its forthrightness and its admitting her so completely to his confidence. ‘I am not entirely convinced, no. I had imagined that Colonel Norris might have a more forward policy rather than making a fortress of Lisbon. But he has explained, and plausibly so, that his orders are to uphold the constitutional government here, and that this is best done by denying an uprising in Lisbon any assistance from outside – hence the lines of Torres Vedras, which he sees as much a wall to those inside Lisbon as without – and by having troops on hand to assist in putting down such a rebellion.’
Kat was deflated by the logic, but her nerve held. ‘Is that the Duke of Wellington’s opinion do you think, Mr Forbes?’
It was an intuitive shot, and into the dark, but never could she have taken aim to better effect. The charge’s brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed. ‘Lady Katherine, that has been my particular consideration these several past days. You will understand to where my despatches travel, and from where I receive instructions – to Mr Canning, I mean – but I am well aware that the duke has his interests in this sphere. And, I might add, they are bound to increase, from all that I observe, and I fear an unhappy outcome to any intervention where one part of government holds a different perception of its purpose than does another.’
Kat was trying hard to conceal her astonishment, and incomplete understanding. ‘Exactly so, Mr Forbes.’
‘And yet, I had imagined that Colonel Norris would know the duke’s mind perfectly, he having been so lately on his staff. So I have been proceeding on the assumption that his scheme would indeed meet with the duke’s approval.’
Kat became anxious again, but she had resources yet. ‘But do you know in what capacity Colonel Norris serves, Mr Forbes? You might find that Major Hervey has more particular knowledge.’
‘Major Hervey?’
‘I happen to know that he was appointed by the duke
The charge appeared to believe he had learned a considerable secret; as a gentleman he could not contemplate being deceived by the wife of Sir Peregrine Greville. ‘Perhaps, then, I should speak with Major Hervey. I am most obliged to you, Lady Katherine.’
Kat curtsied, lowering her eyes, though not without seeing the charge glance admiringly at her, precisely as she had intended. She watched as he looked about the room, seeing Hervey and then making for him. She watched as he took him to one side and began a very private-looking conversation; and she saw her lover’s face as it registered satisfaction at hearing the charge give leave to make a reconnaissance of the border.
CHAPTER TEN
THE MAKINGS OF AN OFFICER
Together, women and donkeys meant trouble. That was the common opinion of the wet canteen, and had been since the Sixth had first gone to the Peninsula. Private Johnson had shared that opinion – had voiced it often enough, to Hervey’s certain recollection – so why he thought he could master both was quite beyond Hervey, who cursed now as he dodged the brickbats, trying to extricate with dignity both groom and baggage from the tinkers’ camp.
‘We wasn’t gooin fast enough,’ explained Johnson. ‘All that stopping and starting wi’ t’bishop’s men. I thought we’d never get ’ere. And then these lot came along, and they looked right enough, and said I could spread me things about cos they ’ad spare donkeys . . .’
‘But I distinctly said on no account were you to leave the bishop’s baggage train,’ countered Hervey, in disbelief still. ‘What did you say to Senhora Delgado?’
‘I couldn’t find ’er when we stopped yesterday in t’middle o’ t’day.’
‘Well, you have succeeded in arriving in advance of the bishop’s party, but without one of the trunks. I call it a poor trade.’
Johnson said not a word, for once disposed to concede his delinquency.
Hervey sighed as they rode in the shadow of the great aqueduct towards the west gate of the fortress-city’s walls, but the foray at least afforded him a better perspective of the fortifications. It had been dark when he came this way the evening before, and only now did he see the true extent and standing of the curtain, and the thickness and glacis of the bastions. Only now, since arriving the night before; twenty years ago, the better part of, he had had ample opportunity to see them, to ride their full circumference indeed, and he had formed the impression then, even allowing for his scant experience of anything beyond the printed page, that Elvas was a fortress of uncommon strength.
Twenty years ago, as near as made no odds. And now he was before the walls once more, with the enemy perhaps a few leagues only to the east, just as they had thought the French were that first time. And he not blooded then, not yet shot over. Except that women threw things at him, as they had just now; and not all that many miles from here. Women with donkeys; what was it that possessed them? It was not just gypsy women either; that first time it had been the regiment’s own. Sods and stones they had hurled at him then, and, worst of all, abuse. Cornet to major in twenty years (no, to be fair to himself, it was only eighteen): he had risen respectably, that was for sure, even if not as quickly and easily as the rich and connected had. But women still threw stones at him when he troubled their donkeys, just as if he were a cornet still.
They had had a pitiful time of it, the Sixth’s women all those years ago; he knew full well. Worse, even, than the dragoons. The regiment had had its skirmishes on the way to Madrid, but these had never been more than a bit of a bruising, as Corporal Armstrong had put it. They had managed something of a respite near the Escorial – a roof, decent straw, bread and cheese bought from the Spanish peasants – and then on again across the mountains dividing Old and New Castile, when the women had been hard pressed to stay with the columns, losing some of their precious donkeys in the process. When they had limped into stations in front of Salamanca in the second week of December, it had been a true mercy, for the frosts were so hard of a night that the odd man had died during his watch.
It had been at Salamanca that Hervey had first heard the name Corunna.
The whole regiment had heard it; and been indignant. Not two dozen men had fired their carbines, and even fewer had crossed swords, and now they were to run for the sea! It was not Sir John Moore’s fault, of course; it was those damned Spaniards – feckless all, to a man. They’d said they would defend Madrid, and then they’d surrendered their own capital without a shot!
The Sixth fulminated for two days, even the officers.
But then as suddenly came the news that Sir John Moore would not be turning for Corunna after all. He declared he would not abandon even those who had abandoned him: the army would strike north! They would threaten Marshal Soult’s communications and draw off the French from the capital of Britain’s half-hearted allies; and every man in the army seemed to be cheering.
Hervey’s troop was on picket when they heard. And the Sixth would lead the movement! The news thrilled the ranks, a promise at last of true action.
At muster the following morning, Sir Edward Lankester issued his orders. ‘Mr Hervey, you are to take two sections of threes under Corporal Armstrong and bar the pass behind us to all followers.’
The other officers and NCOs looked at Hervey pityingly.
‘If they are let through they will hinder the movement north of the entire army,’ said Lankester gravely.
‘Very good, sir.’ Hervey supposed he ought to know how to hold a pass against regimental women, though it escaped him for the present.
