Company Of Spears

know where was Holland Park. ‘Is there anything else, sir?’

‘No, I think not; only the veterinarian.’

The adjutant bowed, sharp, in the regimental fashion, and made to leave, before turning with an afterthought. ‘Once I have the orders out for tonight, I may as well drive for Whitehall … with your leave, sir?’

Hervey nodded, almost absently. ‘Yes, thank you, Vanneck. I don’t mind telling you that Howard’s letter is one of some moment.’

‘It will be in his hand before noon, sir.’

Hervey smiled appreciatively again. ‘And would you have Sarn’t-major Armstrong come.’

He always had a care when he might appear to be favouring his troop serjeant-major, not least because he knew it would do Armstrong himself no good. Not that that would have been of the slightest concern to Armstrong; indeed, he might even have held the notion in contempt. But Hervey knew there were jealousies, and with precedence not in Armstrong’s favour as far as promotion went (with a man his senior, his years left in service might not see him RSM) it was not wise to load things against his interests.

Armstrong came at once and was ushered into Hervey’s office without ceremony. He saluted and bid his commanding officer, squadron- and troop-leader good morning. ‘I was sorry to hear about Mr Coates, sir. A grand man.’

Hervey looked at his old NCO-friend. Armstrong was not a tall man, imposing by his frame alone; rather was there something in his air that commanded an immediate respect. He was compact yet powerful, and his face spoke of long experience and capability. He had a broken nose (not, as many supposed, the work of another’s fist, but of the melee at Salamanca); there was a powder burn on his chin, from a desperate struggle outside Vitoria, and a short but vivid scar on his left cheek from the tunnel’s collapse at Bhurtpore. In time the scar would grow fainter, to be just another mark on the tally stick of his service, but there were others, unseen, which might trouble him more than these mere blemishes. A little patch of grey hair on the back of his head marked the fracture, nine years old, memorial to the forlorn hope of saving Hervey’s wife in the white wastes of North America. Hervey reckoned that Armstrong was the embodiment of the regiment: imperfect, as was any man, yet fighting-faithful.

‘The funeral was a fine affair. General Tarleton showed.’

‘Oh ay, sir?’

Hervey nodded. It was time to cut to the point. ‘We’re taking two troops to Waltham Abbey, the gunpowder mills.’

‘I’ve just heard, sir.’

‘I shall ride with them, and the RSM, but Captain Worsley shall have the squadron.’

‘Ay, sir.’

‘There’ll be a deal of confusion tonight: there’s a regiment of rifles as well. I don’t want anybody dismounting unless it’s an imperative necessity. I don’t suppose there’ll be mounted men against us, so the Rifles can know that anyone on foot is fair game. I shall rely on you to keep things from hotting.’ It would be tricky, since Worsley was F Troop leader and Armstrong would not therefore be acting as squadron serjeant-major. That would be the privilege of Troop Serjeant-major Collins, not long promoted and for many years corporal in Armstrong’s troop. However, Hervey was confident that Armstrong would find some way of asserting himself.

‘Ay, sir. An’ who are these men?’

‘Irish.’

‘Irish?’

‘It seems they are not content with making trouble in the fair isle.’

‘And they’ve come all the way over here to steal powder?’

Hervey knew he had opened a box, but with Armstrong he did not mind. ‘Not especially for that purpose. They’re working on the navigation nearby, apparently. Doubtless the poor dupes have been talked into it on the promise of drink and a few sovereigns.’

‘Talked into it by who, sir?’

‘O’Connell’s party. It seems they’re to force what they couldn’t get from parliament.’

Armstrong grimaced. ‘Well, sir, if you want my opinion, we’ll be in for a long job of it if they start the trouble again. I don’t see as why they can’t give ’em what they want?’ Armstrong considered himself by no means sentimentalized by his marriage to an Irish Catholic, but he fancied he took an interest in these things more as a consequence.

‘You and I know that to be the sound course,’ replied Hervey, shaking his head, ‘but it’s the dread of repealing the Act of Union – a parliament in Dublin again. There are times when I despair. But, that’s not our concern tonight. We round up these gunpowder plotters as sharp as if they were Bonaparte’s men come ashore!’

‘Oh, we’ll do that, sir; never you fear!’

‘And you’ll look sharp for Mr Fearnley.’ Hervey had a special regard for his troop lieutenant: he was not long out of school, but he had the makings.

‘I will that.’

‘There’s one last thing: Johnson. I think this business with the Bow-street men’s no small matter. He won’t say a word. The RSM’s going to send someone there today, but would you see what you can do – here, I mean?’

‘Ay, I will, sir. I heard he’s been fencing.’

‘Fencing?’

‘That’s what the wet canteen says.’

Hervey could scarcely speak, as if a horse had kicked him full with both feet. ‘I can’t believe it!’

‘Neither would I, sir, but word is he’s been doing a bit of running for a dealer in London.’

Hervey rose and went to a window. He looked out at the recruits drilling on the square, a timeless regimental scene. He had begun to think that after all these years he understood everything. But how could he? The secret things belong unto the Lord, said the Book of Moses; and something very like it obtained in the regiment. To each rank ‘the secret things’ were revealed differently.

He shook his head, resolved not to despair even if he did not comprehend. ‘I can’t even imagine he had the opportunity, let alone inclination. He was never averse to “progging”, as he called it, but that was a sight different.’

‘Ay, sir. Well, let’s hope it comes to nought, but if you like I’ll put out the word.’

Hervey nodded, slowly. ‘Yes, if you would, Sarn’t-major … Why would he want to do it? If he were in need of money he knows that all he need do is ask me.’

It was half an hour before Sam Kirwan came to the orderly room, by which time Hervey had written another letter, to Peto postponing his calling on him. There were vexing things about tonight’s commission – not least the probability that it would turn out to be another false alarm. Paying informers was a sure way of gaining intelligence, but it was also a sure way of gaining false information; and, from what he heard, the ratio of true to false was highly unfavourable. Nevertheless, if there were a plot to obtain gunpowder it could surely mean no other than an outrage was intended?

‘I’m sorry, Hervey, I slept long. I didn’t leave the sick lines until the early hours. There are another two.’

Hervey looked alarmed. ‘Mr Hairsine said the sarn’t-majors had reported all was well.’

‘Two from the same troop, but they’d come in from the pay escort, late, which is why the serjeant-major wouldn’t have known, likely as not.’

‘Don’t stand excuses, Sam: they should be able to account for every man and horse.’ He stood up. ‘The symptoms are the same, I suppose?’

‘Not exactly, but the condition is the same, which is what is disposing me to think they have the virus from the others. I’ll know better this evening.’

‘I’ve decided we shall have to destroy them, Sam. There’s no safe way otherwise.’

Sam Kirwan drew in his breath and inclined his head. ‘I really don’t counsel that, sir. Unless I’m able to observe the illness run its course there’ll be no knowing for certain what it is. I’m by no means persuaded it’s glanders, nor farcy.’

Hervey was ever open to persuasion in veterinary matters, and had Sam Kirwan been David Sledge then he