Man Of War

strengthen the opposition to reform.’

‘Astonishing!’

‘That, it may be. But you and I wear uniform; I beg you would think as does a politician.’

Hervey sighed deeply. He did not envy the Duke of Wellington, who had worn uniform for three times as long as he, and yet now must deal with men who would change their coat for the price of . . . ‘So what is to happen?’

‘Sir Peregrine Greville comes to London in a fortnight or so and will begin taking depositions in camera.’

Hervey was further deflated. ‘Then there is no change in that regard.’

‘What regard?’

‘Sir Peregrine’s presiding.’

‘No,’ said Howard, sounding puzzled. ‘Were you expecting some change?’

Hervey shook his head. ‘I had . . . hoped . . .’

A clerk came in. ‘It is close to the hour, my lord.’

Howard rose. ‘Forgive me, Hervey, but I must attend on the commander-in-chief, now. As soon as I hear anything further to your advantage’ (he cleared his throat slightly) ‘or otherwise, I will of course send word at once. Do you wish, by the way, to see the Gazette, or were you able to find the United Service’s copy?’

Hervey had not yet looked for it; neither had he the time this morning to read it at the Horse Guards. In any case, the urgency had passed: Peto was well. ‘I thank you, no. I’ll be sure to find the club’s copy. I must not detain you any longer. I thought I might be required to make some deposition or other immediately, but if I am not then I think I shall leave London for Hounslow this afternoon, or tomorrow perhaps. And then,’ (he brightened the more) ‘for Hertfordshire.’

Howard returned the smile. ‘Why do we not dine together this evening? Palmerston will be at White’s, no doubt, even if but a short time.’

Other than the obvious pleasure of dining with his old friend, Hervey could see no merit in the invitation, and in the circumstances he could not be bent on mere pleasure. ‘You are ever kind, Howard, but I have pressing business.’ He thought to mention the vexations with Elizabeth (his friend had once had a tendresse in that direction, albeit very brief), and then thought better of it. Lord Hill could not be kept waiting, on any account. ‘But I should like very much that we dine when I am returned. In a week or so.’

He rejoined Fairbrother outside, and they walked together across the Horse Guards’ parade towards St James’s Park, Hervey wondering if he might write to Kat to urge her to take urgent action to detain her husband in the Channel Islands.

Fairbrother said something, but did not have a reply. ‘Hervey?’

‘Oh, I beg pardon. I—’

‘I said that the Guards were truly a most arresting sight.’

‘Yes, yes indeed . . .’ It was a useful observation by which to displace anxious thoughts of Sir Peregrine. ‘And, you know, they’re no mere dandies. I recall watching Sir John Moore’s regiments marching into Sahagun through the snow, and at Corunna. The Guards stood like no others. I never saw anything as fine.’

It was not entirely true: he had seen many a thing as fine in the infantry of the Line, but in action, in the face of the enemy; at other times they could be incapable of comporting themselves as soldiers, especially if there were liquor to be had. Somehow the Guards were the same whatever the place. It was their very appearance of superiority that was so heartening in the field. Lord John Howard’s boots had rarely touched other than a parade ground, but Hervey knew he would have served as well at Sahagun or Corunna – or Waterloo. ‘I have a high regard for their officers. They have a saying: the serjeants show a guardsman how to fight, and the officers how to die.’

‘I counted several black faces, too,’ added Fairbrother, with mock wonder.

‘Indeed?’ Hervey knew it had been Lord Palmerston’s desire to grant commissions to men from the Indies, but he had not supposed the initiative had borne such spectacular fruit.

‘Clad in leopardskins, and crashing about with cymbals!’

Hervey returned Fairbrother’s frown. ‘Ah yes, the sable drummers. Something of a tradition with their bands.’

‘Well, I cannot trouble over it. They are better housed and fed, by the look of them, than many a cousin of theirs.’

Hervey lifted his hat in return to a salute from a passing orderly.

‘How do they know to do that?’ asked his friend. ‘He must have passed half a dozen in plain clothes, and not once did I see his hand rise.’

‘It is a mystery to me, as you. And by the way, since you touch on the matter, I have been meaning to ask for some time: your honoured father – he intends holding his slaves still, I imagine?’

Fairbrother looked discomfited, and for the first time since leaving the Cape. ‘He does, and I profit from it. But in truth they are not slaves. They may not in law be free men, but they are not kept at the plantation by force. And they are well provided for, even in old age. My father employs as many hired hands as he has slaves – more, I think. He has not been able to buy these twenty years.’

Hervey wished he had not tilted at his friend. These were deeper waters than were safe to sport in – deeper, even, than the vexations of family. ‘My dear fellow!’ He put a hand to Fairbrother’s arm.

‘Think nothing of it. Where is it we go now?’

Hervey’s face creased, uneasy. ‘See, I fear I must desert you again. I have letters I must write. Could you bear to explore a little on your own once more – a couple of hours, say?’

Fairbrother looked entirely content with the suggestion. ‘Perhaps I may go to parliament and call on Mr Wilberforce?’

Hervey smiled, rueful. ‘You may indeed. I’m sure he would welcome it. But I think, from what I hear, you would find him poor company. He would but preach at you! Nor am I sure he still sits there. See, we shall breakfast early and then leave for Hounslow. I must pay my respects to the colonel and report on the state of things with my troop. And you may look about the barracks, and dine with the mess. You will be prodigiously delighted. Buy yourself a gay neckcloth!’

VIII

THE MESS GUEST

The cavalry barracks, Hounslow, next day

Hervey had been, if not in trepidation, then certainly wary of the return to Hounslow. He had, after all, absented himself, albeit entirely regularly, from the Sixth: as temporary commanding officer, he had taken the opportunity to post his own troop to the Cape, so that he would have a detached command. And he had done so when he might have supposed the new commanding officer – an ‘extract’, a man from another regiment – had most need of him. He fully expected a certain reserve, therefore, on that account. Fairbrother for his part was convinced that there would be some disdain of his colour, despite all the assurance of the past weeks. Lieutenant-Colonel the Lord Holderness, commanding officer of the 6th Light Dragoons, showed nothing but an entirely gentlemanlike disposition to both of them, however.

Hervey had long remarked the phenomenon of patrician command. Sir Edward Lankester had possessed it, his brother Ivo too – an easiness with all ranks, an assumption of equality in which the officer was yet primus, an effortless facility with the tools of the trade, which others acquired only with the greatest industry, a natural mastery of the situation – of ground and events – which spoke of some connection almost otherworldly. Strangely, though, both Lankesters had died at the head of the Sixth and yet few men in the regiment spoke of them now, as if they had been of such pure fire, saintly soldiers even, that none could feel true