An Act Of Courage

He shuddered at the thought. And would Isabella Delgado have come with him, if she had accepted his offer of marriage? Would her father, the baron, have permitted it? No father ought to! How could he have even contemplated asking her, or taking Georgiana?

He shuddered again. He shuddered at the disarray which was his life, things more disordered than ever – and only a fortnight ago he had been full of resolution to put all to right! A black-draped name was a powerful memento mori: he did not have for ever to master his life. Memento vivere had been Cornet Laming’s dictum all those years ago, and Colonel Laming was certainly grasping life to advantage now! Hervey knew his duty (or thought he knew) – to family and to those he counted his friends (which in a sense included every man of the regiment). And to himself, too: duty was not a matter of mere abasement. That, however, was the order of his priorities now, and he must keep it thus until he could truly declare his affairs in order.

Nothing was possible, however, unless the charges against him failed. That was his immediate objective; the rest might then just follow.

He managed to get an outside seat on the three o’clock up-mail, and settled as best he could for the four- hour journey to the General Post Office in Lombard Street, his thoughts on nothing but the tactics of his grand, improving design. When he arrived, and had himself and his travelling baggage transferred to the United Service Club in Charles Street, he wrote at once to Lord John Howard and sent the letter by messenger to White’s Club. By return he received a reply saying that Howard was dining with Lord Palmerston and would be pleased if he would come at nine.

Hervey bathed and put on undress, leaving the United Service on foot at ten minutes to nine, and reaching St James’s Street as the watchmen were calling the hour. Inside, he was shown to a small ante-room, where, ten minutes later, Lord John Howard and his party came, all wearing mourning bands, including Lord Palmerston.

Palmerston, though seven years his senior and Secretary at War for almost twenty, had to Hervey all the appearance of a blade, of a man not yet tired of the diversions of mess, dance or field. He was tall and uncommonly handsome, even by the standards of the army’s fashionables, and there was something about his eyes that spoke of a certain waywardness, as well as of high intellect. Hervey could not help but warm to him at once. He knew right enough of the quarrels and petty jealousies that had subsisted between the Horse Guards and the War Office, but he imagined that the fault lay at least half-way with the Duke of York, for it could not have been easy for the old field marshal to defer to an independentminded and brilliant young politician – all be he a Tory one.

Palmerston nodded upon Lord John Howard’s introduction, and with an easy expression. ‘You are well, I trust, in spite of your ordeal?’

Hervey knew he should not have been surprised by the Secretary at War’s knowledge of his ‘ordeal’, yet he had not actually imagined his name spoken of in Whitehall, certainly not outside the Horse Guards.

‘Perfectly well, sir.’

Palmerston saw his confusion, and enjoyed the tease. ‘I have been very well informed of events. You have most zealous friends at court.’

Hervey glanced at Lord John Howard, who shook his head, denying the honours.

‘Lady Katherine Greville has been a most assiduous agent, Major Hervey. I believe I may have learned as much from her as from any official source.’

Hervey coloured slightly. Lord John Howard smiled.

‘Do sit down,’ said Palmerston, as he perched on the arm of a chair.

Hervey was, indeed, wholly taken aback by the revelation of Kat’s unimagined intervention. Did he owe, therefore, these benevolent circumstances to her? He could only wonder at the change in them. On the Gravesend coach he could imagine only a frosty interview with the adjutant-general at the Horse Guards.

‘Tell me first’ – Hervey’s ears pricked at ‘first’, the promise there would be more – ‘how were the troops received at Lisbon?’

‘I did not see them arrive, Lord Palmerston, for I was at the frontier as they did so, but what little I was able to observe on return was perhaps disappointing. There was something of a sullenness, I should say, though that may well have been as much a reflection of the unhappy situation in Portugal as of anything else.’

‘But no flags were put out for us, so to speak?’

‘I would say not.’

Palmerston nodded thoughtfully. ‘Mm. But few of us expected any different. These things are never quite as ambassadors’ eloquent entreaties have it. Well, Major Hervey, I am sorry not to be able to examine you more on the expedition, but the House sits late this evening and I am required there directly. However, I would know one thing. In your happy escape, was any countryman of ours left for dead?’

‘No.’

Lord Palmerston inclined his head. ‘You are certain of it?’

‘Yes. A Portuguese officer was killed, no other.’

Lord Palmerston turned to Lord John Howard.

‘Colonel Norris’s despatch spoke of a corporal, Hervey,’ said his friend.

Hervey was at once angered. ‘My covering corporal was lost for a day after he made his escape jumping into a river, but he is perfectly well, and on his way to Hounslow barracks as we speak.’

Lord Palmerston looked at him intently. ‘I am relieved to hear it. It would not serve to have a soldier killed by the Spaniards. It would give rise to a very proper indignation.’ He rose.

The rest of the party followed, Hervey wondering where might be this indignation (the death of a soldier was not usually cause for much notice).

‘On the basis of what you have informed me, Major Hervey, I shall issue instructions to rescind the convening order for general court martial.’

Hervey bowed. ‘I am very much obliged, Lord Palmerston.’

‘Very well, I hope there may be opportunity to speak further with you on the situation in Portugal, but for the present I bid you good evening.’

Hervey bowed again. ‘Goodnight, Lord Palmerston.’

Lord John Howard motioned him to wait as he accompanied the Secretary at War to his carriage.

When he returned it was with a distinctly breezy air. ‘Hervey, it is uncommonly good to see you! What an affair it has all been; I was very glad to have your account of it. Norris has been writing in vitriol. But he’s a fool. He doesn’t understand there could be communication other than official.’

‘But he was the Duke of Wellington’s man,’ replied Hervey, eyebrows raised. ‘It is very strange.’

‘I cannot explain it, but so is Sir William Clinton the duke’s man. And his despatches have not been favourable in regard to Norris’s mission, I assure you.’

Hervey accepted a second glass of champagne, though his stomach was very empty.

‘In truth, the Duke of York was vexed by the whole enterprise. He was set against sending troops in the first instance, as at heart was the Duke of Wellington.’

‘The duke will be commander-in-chief ?’

Howard raised his hands. ‘There are all sorts of rumours. The King is supposed to be of a mind that he himself should be, or failing that the Duke of Cambridge.’

Hervey’s jaw dropped.

‘I know, the notion is absurd. They are rumours, that is all. Nothing is decided.’

‘But how, then, may Palmerston give instructions to the Horse Guards in respect of me?’

Howard sat back. ‘Ah, perhaps I should have explained. Until the King appoints a new commander-in-chief, the Secretary at War assumes the position.’

‘That is very singular.’

‘Yes. I think no one was more surprised to discover it than Palmerston himself.’ He smiled. ‘But he is greatly diverted by it.’

‘I am only surprised he should be acquainted with so trivial a thing as a major’s court martial, let alone that he should presume to act so decidedly in the matter.’

‘Oh, I would not say it was trivial, not in the circumstances – sending troops to Lisbon, I mean. Palmerston works prodigiously hard, too, for all his casual air. And The Times has it, of course. Portugal is of great moment, indeed.’ He smiled again. ‘Nor would I underestimate the influence of Lady Katherine Greville.’