An Act Of Courage

been absent from them. I do not yet know how this is to be accomplished, for there are certain questions which the Horse Guards shall require answer of me when I return, neither do I make any particular proposals in respect of Georgiana . . .

He made no particular proposals, but he knew what was the right course. A governess, which in part Elizabeth was, would without doubt satisfy the requirements of a daughter who, by maternal right at least, would at some time enter good society – indeed, very high society. But a governess (even he was aware) did not satisfy the natural needs of a child. In truth, he knew that none could but the actual mother. However, a new wife, if she were good and loving (and why should a man choose otherwise to be his wife?), would better serve Georgiana than any hired woman might. His course, therefore, was very clear. How he would set it was another matter.

He wrote on, several pages of inconsequential ‘sketching’, letting his sister down lightly after the portentous beginning – a record of Nature, of architecture, of the manner of the people, anything which might convincingly fill a letter to someone he must own to using very ill indeed. For if he might contemplate marriage, and with considerable expectations, he knew that his sister’s prospects were meagre – a meagreness largely of his making. At length he reached a point at which he considered he might decently finish, and signed his name in the most affectionate manner he was capable of.

Then he sealed the letter, addressed it, and poured more wine. He was not diverted by any book, even Folque’s, for without the password to encode it was the dullest volume in the world. Instead he drew close to the fire, wrapping his cloak about his shoulders and giving his wine-warmed thoughts over to the course he would set – the course for Georgiana.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

VEILED SPEECH

Next day

‘But how, Major Hervey? Why?’ Dr Sanchez was despairing: he had been given the new password and had come at once.

Hervey shook his head, trying not to betray the despair to which he was tending. ‘I don’t know. They came this morning, shortly after breakfast. They’ve never searched before. They took every book – sparing my Prayer Book, that is. They had that long enough before.’

‘I will go at once to speak with the captain.’

Hervey sat down. His boots wanted polish, the silver and brass about his tunic was dull, and his shirt was no longer white. These things he had attended to as best he could, but he was daily more conscious of the decline. That the means of his deliverance should be plucked from him now, so close to his triumph, was a cruel blow: the sea of despair was once more stretching before him – perhaps even wider than before.

But he would fight it. So close . . . there must be a way! ‘I’ve been trying to imagine what they might make of Folque’s signalbook – if they’ve found it. Would it be apparent what I was about? I think not.’

‘It might raise a suspicion, not least because it’s part-written in English. But see, when I go to the captain, if the books are simply collected, without examination, I can secrete your book and return with it.’

Hervey was fighting despair, but he kept his reason: if the authorities had grounds to remove his books, they would be suspicious of any ‘friend’ of his. And if they discovered him with the book, the game would be truly up. ‘Easier said than done, I think, doctor. But what agitates me as much is the thought they might stop the correspondence with Elvas.’

‘Exactly so. I will go at once.’

Hervey held his cloak for him. ‘What is the parole?’

Sanchez glanced at the door. ‘Napoleon,’ he whispered.

Hervey sighed. ‘It is all the more dismaying for its being so simple. I suspect it might even be in Folque’s vocabulary – no need to spell it out at all. Concealment would have been easy.’

‘Vexing in the extreme.’ Sanchez put on his hat and turned to go, but then he changed his mind. ‘See, Major Hervey, might you not be able to convey the word in another way? So singular a name is surely susceptible to allusion?’

The same thought had just occurred to Hervey; also the peril. ‘I could veil my words, yes; but the consequences of conveying the wrong meaning would be disastrous.’

Sanchez looked disappointed. ‘I see the danger perfectly; I had not thought—’

‘No, wait!’ said Hervey, his face now animated, and happily. ‘Laming – I do believe that self-regarding scholar may be our deliverance! Doctor, you recall I spoke of cornets trading epigrams?’

‘I do.’

‘Well, one of those – and deuced clever – conveys exactly the parole, no doubting it! Laming will not have forgotten, for it was his own.’ He sat down and snatched up a pen. ‘Doctor, go to the authorities, if you will, and ask if they will take a letter on the usual terms. Do not trouble them for the return of any book: it could only rouse suspicion, and we have no need of Folque now.’

Sanchez needed no urging. He clapped a hand on Hervey’s shoulder, as much to reinforce his own resolve as his friend’s. ‘Very well! We shall succeed!’

When Sanchez had gone, Hervey began to write. He had said it, and he was as sure of it as may be: Laming, even after so long a time, would not have forgotten such an intriguing acrostic. It remained only to insert the obviously contrived phrase.

He did not have to ponder long: Joshua would serve him. He smiled at the thought of the great spy-master continuing his work here. Joshua would not bring down the walls of a fortress, but he might yet ‘let him down by a rope’!My dear Laming,How very good it was to learn that you are here, to pursue some classical purpose – study of the Roman bridge at Elvas, perhaps? Or is it something of greater antiquity in the bishop’s library? I myself had not the time when of late in the palace, but then my Greek, as you may imagine, is now very poor. Do you recall our efforts when we were younger? I try, however.I am very well treated here and await my release agreeably, although I am not able to read and write as I should wish. Nevertheless, I content myself with the recollection of our former studies, and believe I may give you my word in this. I have been reading so much of the Book of Joshua, whom you will know to be a childhood hero of mine, perhaps as much to me as to the people of Israel. Indeed, to those who know, the word is thus: with but one remove, Joshua, the destroyer of whole cities, was the lion of his people . . .

He filled two pages with thoughts on Joshua, with emphatic underlinings in insignificant places, so that the pertinent phrase did not stand out by its curious sense. He was especially careful not to refer to Jericho, or indeed to any other city which a sharp-eyed censor might connect with Badajoz. It would be a cruel irony, he mused, to have the letter withheld for an unintended parallel.

When it was finished, he asked the guard for the letter to be conveyed to the castle authorities, as usual. The guard took it without hesitation, as he had the others; and Hervey breathed a silent sigh of relief.

It was much troubling Dom Mateo that the Spanish were being so punctilious in maintaining the posts and couriers. Colonel Laming was less inclined to puzzle over it since the French border had remained open in the days before Waterloo, and the mails had moved freely between Paris and Brussels. Closing a border was no small thing, he declared. As often as not it was prelude to a formal declaration of war. Were Spain to do so, it could only be regarded by Lisbon – and now London – as a hostile act.

‘I pray you are right,’ said Dom Mateo. ‘I fear, though, that the present arrangements greatly favour the Miguelistas.’

‘They favour us too, General; at least in respect of Major Hervey.’

Dom Mateo nodded. ‘Indeed, they do, Colonel. But, I hope, for not very much longer: not half of one hour more, I think.’ The semaphore had already signalled the crossing of the Badajoz courier.

Dom Mateo picked up his copy of the code-book and turned its pages. He looked pleased with himself, at last.