Rumours Of War

before Hervey noticed and came to her aid for a time by exchanging some more general notions in French, though evidently the general found it difficult to follow. When the plate of cheese was removed – queijo da ovelha, the bishop had said; from his own flock on the green hillside above the tinkers’ encampment – the footmen brought a rich pudding, yellow-green.

‘We may indulge ourselves without too much reproach, I believe,’ said the bishop, smiling at his niece.

Isabella returned the smile. ‘My uncle knows his niece well, Major Hervey. Batatada – it is a favourite of our family.’

After so unvarying a dinner, Hervey too was enlivened by the prospect of a good pudding. ‘I well recall your Elvas sugar plums, sir: ameixas d’Ehas?’

‘You recall them very well, Major Hervey,’ said Isabella. ‘But batatada is most certainly not a dish for a penitent.’

Hervey inclined his head, inviting a fuller explanation.

‘Sweet potatoes, sugar, egg yolks, cinnamon and cream.’

‘Let the sky rain potatoes!’

The bishop inclined his head.

‘Shakespeare, sir.’

‘And let the band play “Greensleeves”,’ added Isabella.

Hervey caught a glimpse of a smile he recognized – a childlike smile, confident, content, relishing. It was the same he had seen in Georgiana; and, by extension, her mother.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

OPENING SHOTS

Elvas, early next morning, 16 October 1826

Musketry woke him while it was still dark. Hervey sprang from his bed and made for the window. He could see nothing outside but an empty courtyard lit by torches. He pulled the window open to hear better. The shooting was sporadic rather than volley-fire, the number of muskets difficult to gauge – a goodish number though, not an affair of watchmen and footpads. It seemed to come from the west, not the east; and from inside the walls.

He began hauling on his breeches and boots.

There was another welter of firing. Johnson came in, and began helping him fasten his overall straps.

‘Something of a surprise, I imagine,’ said Hervey. ‘The general thought it would be a month and more.’

‘We’ve ’eard that before, sir!’

‘True. You were quick out of the burrow?’

‘I couldn’t sleep for that bell all night.’

‘What bell?’

‘Ev’ry quarter of an hour, it were.’

Hervey fastened the last button of his tunic, and picked up his sword and pistols. ‘I didn’t hear a thing. Is Corporal Wainwright roused?’

‘I’ll go and see.’

‘I shall find Mrs Broke to see if all’s well. Then I’ll come down to the courtyard; you and Wainwright meet me there.’

‘Ay.’

Hervey had a vague notion of where Isabella’s rooms were, but the palacio was pitch dark save for his candle. He half stumbled his way up stairs and along interminable corridors, with no sign of a servant (but why should they come out when there was firing?), until Isabella herself obliged him by opening a door as he passed. She was dressed and carrying an oil lamp.

‘Major Hervey, the watch have been and say to remain here.’

The watch: at least somebody was active. Hervey relaxed a little. ‘Very well, if they say that you and your uncle will be safe here. I’m going to the courtyard. I want to see what the firing is.’

Isabella checked the impulse to entreat him to caution. ‘The watch is at the south gate during the night, Major Hervey.’

He nodded; she had an admirably cool head.

‘You will need me to speak to them. I will get my cloak.’

She gave him no time to protest.

They met Corporal Wainwright and Private Johnson in the south courtyard, both in regimentals, and armed.

‘Horses, sir?’ asked Wainwright, hardly sparing Isabella a second look.

Hervey thought. Horses might be a liability, but once outside the walls they would not be able to do much without them. ‘Yes, but we’d better lead to begin with.’

They went to the stables. The musketry continued for the five minutes it took to saddle up, but it got no nearer. Hervey wished they had been able to see more of the town before evening had come. He was thankful for Isabella at his side, at least until he was set off in the right direction; she could not stay once they closed on the musketry.

He was thankful, too, that Wainwright was with him. The Horse Guards had said one servant only, but he had long learned not to take a quill driver’s word for gospel. ‘I’ll try to get one of the watch to take us to the citadel,’ he said, tightening the little Lusitano’s girth.

‘I can do that, sir,’ said Wainwright. ‘I had a look about last night.’

Johnson took Hervey’s reins. ‘Shall I lead ’er then, sir?’

‘If you would,’ said Hervey, turning then to Isabella. ‘Senhora, it looks as though I shall not have need of your services, since my corporal knows the way. I think it better that you stay here.’

‘Thank you for your concern, Major Hervey. But I caution you not to go abroad without the facility of speaking with those who may intercept you.’

Hervey had no time for sentiment; there was danger, but he was glad of her help. ‘Very well, madam; I am obliged. Johnson?’

‘Ay, sir.’

There was no need of words: Johnson was now Isabella’s coverman.

‘Take a torch apiece, if you will,’ said Hervey. ‘There’s no advantage in disguising our approach.’

The watch let them through the gates with blessings and expressions of gratitude, as if three Englishmen were somehow more capable than they.

The street was empty but for a barking dog, the artisan shops which crowded the quarter shuttered and silent. Wainwright, point, set off at a trot, his gelding’s shoes striking on the cobbles, the bridoon jingling, his spurs ringing and his sword clanking in its scabbard. Would it be terror behind the shutters, or relief, wondered Hervey.

Round the first corner Wainwright ran into a lone but resolute sentry – or one startled into resolution. The challenge came in thick Portuguese, but a challenge without doubt.

‘Inglese,’ answered Wainwright confidently.

‘Inglese?’

Hervey turned the corner in time to catch the sentry’s disbelief. He sympathized; nobody would have told him the English had joined this war. ‘Onde esta os generale?’

The sentry seemed vaguely to comprehend, but looked relieved as his officer appeared.

Hervey saw a lieutenant as smartly turned out as the picket at St James’s, in a long, blue greatcoat, white cross-belt and crimson sash, and shako bearing the number 5 – the Fifth, ‘1st Elvas’, regiment of infantry.

Corporal Wainwright saluted.