Hervey felt so acute a nausea that he thought he must get up at once and leave the headquarters. Why did events take turns so cruelly? His sister’s happiness – his old friend’s too – and then his own expectations so peremptorily dashed. But instead he sat, almost rooted, wanting something familiar to grasp at.
‘Hervey?’ Vanneck’s voice betrayed concern.
Hervey looked at him blankly.
‘Are you quite well?’
The acting commanding officer would have liked nothing more at that moment than to confide his abject disappointment; but it was unthinkable. ‘I am perfectly well, thank you. Does Sarn’t-major Armstrong come?’
‘He does.’
‘Then call him, if you will.’
As Vanneck withdrew a second time, Hervey opened the letter from his superior headquarters.
As the adjutant, with the acting-RSM, came in, Hervey, blank-faced, handed the letter to him. ‘An ill wind indeed. Hairsine earns a commission a dozen times in India, and it takes the smell of powder in Hertfordshire to have it!’
Vanneck raised his eyebrows as he read. ‘The work of cavalry is rarely observed?’
It was the regiment’s constant lament. ‘Just so,’ replied Hervey, the nausea now suppressed by the sudden requirement for action. ‘I shall take the news to him myself. It may speed his recovery.’
He knew he ought also to be taking considerable satisfaction in his own commendation by the GOC, and the implicit promise that more might follow. Hairsine’s reward was singular, but the praise heaped upon Hervey himself was, in truth, fulsome. To his certain experience, such praise was never so quick. He smelled fish.
Vanneck looked up. ‘With your permission, I can publish this in tonight’s orders. I think it would be well received.’
‘I am sure of it,’ said Hervey, nodding. ‘Now, the Johnson business. Or should I be calling it the
‘With permission, Sarn’t-major Armstrong might begin, sir?’
‘Very well.’ Hervey turned to the acting-RSM.
It was not possible to see Armstrong standing there without a moment’s recollection of all that they had been through together, from the early days of subaltern officer and legionary corporal. It felt strange but also somehow fitting that at this time they held the regiment’s good name and efficiency in their hands.
‘I’m afraid you’re not going to like it, sir.’
Hervey braced. ‘Johnson?’
‘Not Johnson, sir: he’s right enough, though he needs the fear of God putting in ‘im.’
Hervey, relieved to hear the exculpation, narrowed his eyes. ‘Doubtless you will be able to do the Lord’s work, Sarn’t-major.’
‘Depend on it, sir.’
‘And the rest: do we have an outpost of the Seven Dials rookery here after all?’
Armstrong glanced at the adjutant.
‘Go on, Sarn’t-major,’ said Vanneck.
‘I’m afraid the bad apple’s Captain Snagge, sir. It appears that he’s been fencing coral and the like, all smuggled in. And half a dozen helpers about the barracks an’ all.’
Hervey’s brow furrowed as deep as Armstrong had ever seen it.
‘I’ve been talking to the Bow-street men, sir, and pretty frank they’ve been. Seems there’s some Italians in Stepney that deal in coral and olive oil and cheese and the like, and’ve been smuggling the coral past the Revenue inside butter and parmijan cheese.’
Hervey looked askance. ‘I should hardly think it worth the effort.’
‘Not at all, sir: there’s a shilling an ounce duty on coral.’
‘And we are talking of a great deal of coral in a great deal of cheese?’ He was still sceptical.
‘The Revenue reckon they’ve lost three thousand pounds in duty.’
Hervey raised his eyebrows. ‘And what exactly is the part played by Captain Snagge? And Johnson, for that matter.’
‘Captain Snagge bought butter and oil and cheese from them for the messes’ (Armstrong glanced at his notebook) ‘from a Signor Guecco and another called Mazzuichi, and this were delivered from the bonded warehouse with the coral inside. Captain Snagge then removed the coral, here in barracks, and passed it on to …’ (he consulted his notebook again) ‘a fencer called Cetti in Holborn. Johnson used to bring the butter and stuff here, sometimes in the back of the regimental coach when you went to London. He thought it was provisions for the officers’ mess, so was all right.’
Hervey was puzzled. ‘But the regiment’s only been under my orders for a few months. We returned from Lisbon only in January. How could Johnson be so materially involved?’ (Snagge had exchanged from the previous regiment.)
‘First it was Major Strickland’s man who carried it, and then when you took command Captain Snagge told Johnson it was now part of his duty.’
Hervey sighed. ‘And Johnson did not think to question it!’
‘In fairness, sir, Captain Snagge said it were just a duty that went with the job, just bringing rations for the officers.’
Hervey began shaking his head. ‘I don’t understand why Johnson didn’t say anything to me. After all this time.’
‘I wouldn’t fret if I was you, sir; he wouldn’t say ought to me either.’
‘Yes, but—’ Hervey thought better of it. He knew it was a conceit ever to suppose he might have gained so completely the trust of a private man, however much they had shared their lives in the twelve years past. But, no, Johnson was different. He was not merely a private man – not any more, not in essentials. ‘Well,’ he said, and heavily, ‘we shall have to deal with Johnson’s delinquency in due course. Where is Captain Snagge now?’
‘He accompanied the detectors to Bow-street last night,’ replied the adjutant.
Hervey nodded. There was some propriety in the sound of that at least; it would not have done for there to have been any sort of ‘scene’ in barracks. ‘I despair that it is ever those officers from the ranks – Barrow in Calcutta, and now Snagge.’
