‘Who shall command the cavalry, Colonel?’
‘Not Paget,’ whispered Cornet Laming to Hervey. He had come down from London that afternoon, but too late to tattle before they were assembled, which vexed him somewhat, for although he had beaten Hervey to the troop by but a month, he enjoyed the superiority it gave him.
‘Do you know who, Laming?’ whispered Hervey in obliging awe, but incurring a frown from the adjutant.
Lord George finished his studied sip of wine. ‘Sir Stapleton Cotton, I believe.’
When they were dismissed, Laming was able to relay his intelligence fully. ‘Paget has eloped with Wellesley’s sister-in-law! Run off with her in a whiskey from clean under his brother’s nose!’
Hervey hardly knew what to say. Lord Paget had seemed so . . .
‘A damned fool, they say in Brooks’s – throwing away his chance of command thus. But you must concede, Hervey, with what cavalry style did he do it!’
‘London must indeed be scandalized,’ said Hervey, dryly, though he must picture it only, for he had yet to visit.
‘Hah! That is not the half of it. The Duke of York is resigned. There’s a fearful scandal about his mistress selling promotions.’
Hervey shook his head. He knew little of affairs, though he knew that the Duke of York was held in some regard for his efforts in respect of the soldier’s welfare. But a mistress selling promotions? Was that how so many men of evident incapability obtained their advancement? He sickened at the thought. The commander-in-chief with feet of clay: it did not serve.
Hervey retired to his quarters as soon as he could. As picket-officer of the day before, he had been up half the night, but, also, he knew he must order his accounts quickly now that Lord George had put them on notice for Portugal. There would be the devil of an extra expense equipping himself, for his losses at Corunna had been more than he had first supposed, and his uniform had seen such hard service that he knew he must replace the better part of it. The regimental tailor had come down from London the month before, and then again a fortnight ago, and the account would be due rendering at the month’s end. He looked at the list, dolefully:
To this he would have to add, perhaps, another seven pounds for a Tarleton helmet. His boots would serve, but for other necessaries he calculated he would need to lay aside a further ten. He had already paid fifty pounds for a second charger, and its appointments.
He had no idea what government would finally allow to make good his losses; there was much speculation, none of it optimistic. His year’s pay did not amount to a hundred and twenty pounds, and he had laid out four hundred on commissioning. His father allowed him three hundred a year; how, he had no idea, for the living of Horningsham was a poor one by any standard. The proceeds of the Mameluke he had taken from the French general at Benavente had been mortgaged to Messrs Greenwood and Cox, the regimental agents, in the interest of Etoile du Soir – ‘Stella’. The mare had been, perhaps, a prodigal buy, but Hervey reckoned she had saved General Craufurd’s brigade two hours’ marching when he had galloped after them with Sir John Moore’s order for the recall, such was her speed and handiness. Jessye would have done as well if she had not stood quarantined in England; but not his others. Two hundred guineas to save the Light Brigade two hours’ marching! He smiled wryly: if he had taken up a subscription from the ranks that night he would have had ten times the sum. And then to be parted with her for a few dollars at Corunna . . .
No, all
He resolved to take the subaltern’s course. He closed the book and pushed it to one side. He would honour all his debts – that went without saying – but it would have to be when fortune allowed. He had the King’s business to be about, after all. He opened his journal and picked up a pen.
CHAPTER FIVE
GHOSTLY COUNSEL
