An Act Of Courage

on the quartermaster-general’s permanent establishment. Laming had seen a good deal of action as a subaltern, but none since Waterloo.

The years of his cornetcy came easily to mind, however, as he continued his reacquaintance with Isabella. Her English was fluent, with nothing of the accent of someone who spoke it only occasionally. She was, after all, ‘Mrs Broke’, as well as ‘Dona Isabella Delgado’.

‘Colonel Laming, this is very good of you – to accompany me to Elvas, I mean,’ began Isabella, as the travelling carriage picked up speed. ‘And to have Major Hervey’s corporal, too. We have lost a little time by this delay, but my father says we may journey through the night. He would not hear of it before, when I had no escort.’

From what Corporal Wainwright had told him of the first affair in Elvas, when Hervey and Isabella had confronted the Miguelites in the middle of the night, Laming scarcely imagined she had need of an escort. ‘I am glad you waited, ma’am. This is a more agreeable way to go than posting astride.’

She smiled. ‘I was speaking with my father last night, Colonel, and he seemed to recall that you once shot one of his footmen?’

Laming turned bright red. The mess had never let him forget it. ‘Ma’am,’ he spluttered, ‘I—’

She smiled the more. ‘Do not trouble, Colonel. I merely wanted to know if it were you. I recall that you were very kind to the man.’

‘Kind, ma’am? I had filled his back with shot!’

‘Oh, come, Colonel. It was a very little shot and he made a rapid recovery. I meant that you sent him comforts, and visited him.’

Laming was now more composed. ‘I did what any man should, ma’am. And I must protest, as everyone at the time was quick to point out to me: the footman had strayed far from his line.’

‘Yes, Colonel; my father reminded me of that, too.’

Laming settled back into the plush of his corner again. ‘We were all most grateful for your father’s hospitality. Some of the best sport I ever recall, partridges faster than Congreve’s rockets!’

Isabella nodded, approving. ‘And, now, I recall it was you whose sister came to Belem?’

Laming was at last able to smile. ‘Indeed, ma’am. She spent a very happy winter here.’

‘I believe I recall, too, that your sister . . .’ She inclined her head.

‘Frances.’

‘Yes. That Major Hervey was much taken with Frances.’

It was true. And Laming had been hopeful that the affection might become something more, for although his fellow cornet had not had a penny to his name, he was a man he would have been pleased to call brother-in-law. ‘Yes, there was a strong affection. But we were very young!’

‘Indeed we were, Colonel!’

Laming was discomfited again. ‘Ma’am, I did not mean that—’

‘Colonel, do not trouble yourself. We are none of us in our premiere jeunesse!’

Isabella’s smile was so warm, Laming could not quite catch his breath. So used was he these past few years to fashionably tight lips that her want of inhibition caught him off-guard. He had never married, and such intimacies had been largely denied him. His pleasure now was more than he had imagined.

‘Major Hervey’s wife, Colonel – can you tell me anything of her?’

Laming regained his composure. ‘I can indeed, ma’am. She was a most excellent woman. If I tell you she chose to accompany the regiment to Canada in the depths of winter, while she was with child, that will speak of her quality. It was, of course, that which occasioned her death.’

‘I know a little of it, Colonel. Would you tell me more?’

Laming unfastened the front of his pelisse coat. The carriagewarmer had taken the chill off the air, and he found himself able to relax more. ‘I will tell you what Hervey himself would approve, ma’am, but there are some things which go profoundly hard with him, even after the passage of ten years.’

‘Of course.’

He took off his gloves, looking pensive, then tapped his knee with them, as if signalling for the off. ‘At that time, the regiment was commanded by the most disreputable man I have had misfortune to meet – a coward, jealous of Hervey’s reputation and ability. They were soon at odds. He sent him across the border into America, to co-operate with their army against the native Indians. Henrietta joined him at a later date, leaving behind the child with a nurse, but the commanding officer took objection and sent her away from the fort back to Canada. She was not long gone when her party was ambushed by Indians.’

Isabella’s face betrayed her horror. ‘I did not know the end was so . . .’ She looked out of the window for a long moment. ‘And I imagine that Major Hervey blames himself in some part?’

‘You have it perfectly, ma’am. He cannot quite get it from his mind that had he been either more obliging to the lieutenant-colonel, or else had exposed him for the villain he was, then Henrietta would be alive today.’

Isabella nodded. ‘I can see that it would go very hard with a man like Major Hervey.’

She took off her gloves, revealing elegant hands. Laming found it difficult to picture them holding a foil, as Wainwright had spoken of. He saw the rings that showed she had once been married – perhaps married yet, in her own mind.

‘And what of the child, Colonel?’

‘What? Oh, the child . . . yes – a daughter. I confess I don’t recall her name. Hervey’s sister is guardian.’

‘She lives with Major Hervey?’

Laming raised an eyebrow. ‘There again, ma’am, you touch on a nerve – although you must understand that he and I have not been close these past years. Our duties have taken us different ways, he to India, principally. But those who know him better say that their separation causes him much unrest.’

‘Of course, of course. I imagine Major Hervey is the sort of man who is torn by . . . conflicts, do you say?’

Laming nodded; it was the most apt word.

‘By conflicts of his duty almost every day!’

Laming smiled, ruefully. ‘You are most perceptive, ma’am. I am of the opinion – as are many – that if Hervey were able to find it in himself to be a little more accommodating to those superiors he finds himself in disagreement with, he would by now be brigadier-general.’

Isabella returned the smile. ‘I can suppose it. But then, my own country would now be sorry for it, since Colonel Norris, evidently, was incapable or unwilling to do more than rebuild a few old forts!’

‘No doubt, ma’am. It seems a pity, though, that it should come to this: you and I having to travel to Elvas.’

Isabella frowned. ‘It is no hardship for me, Colonel, I assure you.’

Laming let the remark go. It was no hardship for him either. Indeed, rather the opposite. His worry was that, from all he had heard in London and Hounslow, his old friend’s restlessness was manifest in the situation before them now at Elvas; or, more to the point, at Badajoz. He had seen others the same; not men with Hervey’s capability, that was for sure, but others who had let some deep disquiet in their lives run them hard against everything that ought to have been their support. Ultimately, they had fallen apart, like a horse that would not take the bit. He smiled to himself, for the remedy was plain – even to him, a bachelor.

He looked out of the window at the once-familiar road. It was far from hardship to take it again to Elvas. They had marched this way with Sir John Moore (and in this season), and he had thrilled to the sight of the mountains, the rivers, the forests, and to the call of the eagle – everything that had been so different from the green face of England, which to that date had been his sole experience. Elvas, he fancied, he could remember well: they had rested there a good deal. Badajoz less so. Badajoz had given them comfort after Talavera; that much he could recall perfectly. But Badajoz had also been the place of sheer, bloody murder, and he could scarce bare to think of it.

His eyes began closing – the little stove, the gentle rocking of the carriage. Forget Badajoz the night of the storming; obliterate the memory. Think on Badajoz as it had welcomed them after Talavera. Think on Talavera! What a battle to have shared with his old friend: nothing its like until Waterloo!

CHAPTER FOURTEEN