Man Of War

‘You’d rather see a police, and all the devil that goes with it, instead of honest men in red? Shame, sir! We fought Robespierre to have none of it, by gad!’

‘I don’t trust Huskisson. It’s he that’ll be the ruin of the country. Free trade – bah! He’d bankrupt every farmer on a principle.’

‘The fellah’s a bounder. So fat he couldn’t break into double time to save his life!’

‘It’s that damned little Lord Cupid who’ll see us ruined. Taking country seats in parliament and giving them instead to the cities! Was at Harrow with ’im, and I tell you, sir, Palmerston’d sell this country to the dogs!’

Fairbrother took a sip of his coffee, made to raise his newspaper, and leaned forward to speak confidentially. ‘The Duke of Wellington, I fancy, is in for another hard pounding!’

‘Oh yes, indeed,’ replied Hervey, sotto voce and with a ruing smile. ‘One must marvel at his sense of duty, laying aside military honours to enter into such a bear-pit!’

But Hervey’s concern was more for himself than the duke: with this degree of foment in the smoking room of the United Service, what was it in the street? At the first mention of Irishmen – tantamount to ‘revolution’ – the gallery at the court of inquiry would be filled with the braying mob, and the pages of every broadsheet and scandal rag alike would parade his name until he might wish it changed to Smith! He wished now, indeed, that he were still in Hounslow, ‘on the strength’, safe behind a barrack wall. Leave of convalescence and occasional light duties with his pen were rapidly palling.

‘Hervey! Well met, sir!’

He turned his head, to see Major-General Sir Francis Evans bearing down on them. He stood, and made a brisk bow. ‘Good afternoon, General.’

‘No need to get up, Hervey m’boy; this aint the Horse Guards,’ said Sir Francis. ‘Good day to you, sir,’ he added, nodding to Fairbrother, who was also on his feet.

The three sat.

‘Have just come from the Commons: a regular to-do, there is, over this business of the country seats. As hot a business as they come. Palmerston may yet burn his fingers.’

Hervey was not greatly concerned – if concerned at all – with the welfare of Lord Palmerston’s fingers. He only wished he would pull them from the Waltham Abbey pie. ‘Indeed, General.’

Sir Francis Evans removed his monocle, polished it, and re-fixed it to his eye with a distinct sense of purpose. ‘Now, Hervey, what’s all this about manoeuvres at Windsor?’

Hervey supposed there must be some resentment at the headquarters of the foot guards. But that could no more be his concern than Lord Palmerston’s fingers. ‘The regiment acquitted itself well, I understand, Sir Francis. The GOC sent them home early.’

‘Mm.’

‘You heard other, Sir Francis?’

‘Of course I heard other, Hervey. What do you take me for? What was the matter with Hol’ness?’

‘Matter, General? His plan, dare I say it, routed the Grenadiers.’

Sir Francis screwed up his eyes. ‘Hervey, do not think me feeble!’

‘I trust I never have for a moment, General.’

‘Colonel Denroche says Hol’ness was nowhere to be seen.’

‘An admirable accomplishment in scouting cavalry, surely, General?’ Hervey smiled the merest touch.

‘Damn me, sir, you are the most impudent officer!’

Fairbrother shifted ever so slightly in his chair.

Hervey’s countenance did not change. ‘I trust, Sir Francis, that you are in no doubt whatever of the esteem in which you are held.’

‘Bah! Have you had your coffee?’

‘We have, General.’

‘Mm. Well, since you are evidently in no mood for conversation, I shall repair to the library for mine!’ Sir Francis rose. ‘I see that old fool Greville’s to preside at your inquiry. The Porcupine ’ll have a field day!’

The Porcupine had been bust these twenty years, but Hervey understood full well the import of the aside. Or rather, he thought he did: Sir Francis could surely not have heard of . . .

The general was gone before there was any opportunity for enlightenment.

A porter came up. ‘Sir, here are your letters.’

Hervey noted the postage to be charged to his account, thanked him and took the ten days’ accumulation of mail. ‘Permit me, Fairbrother. I would just see if there is anything urgent to be attended to.’

His friend nodded, and re-raised his Standard.

There were a dozen or so letters: from the regimental agents, his bank, his tailor and sundry others, from Kat, Elizabeth, Lord George Irvine, from Hounslow, from Lord John Howard, and one in a hand he did not recognize. He opened first that which he judged the most imperative.

The Horse Guards

6th MayMy dear Hervey,The U/Secrty for War and the Colonies wishes to speak with you in connection with matters raised bySir E.S. in his despatch. Would you be so good as to call on him when you will?I am also now reliably informed by the Adjt-Gnl’s staff that the Crt of Inquiry will be convened in the middle of June, previous to which sworn statements shall be taken down. The Presidt of the Ct shall be Genl Greville, his name given by convening order, which shall appear in due course in the Gazette.Ever your good friend &c,

John Howard

Hervey tried hard to look entirely collected. He had supposed Sir Francis Evans’s information to have been simply that of the coffee room, mere speculation. To receive such confirmation from Lord John Howard . . .

He sighed deeply to himself; it could no more be helped (surely Kat could not now persuade her husband to withdraw, not now a convening order named him?). He opened a second letter, from the colonel of the Sixth, Lieutenant-General Lord George Irvine. It acknowledged his own, thanking him for his information that he was returned to London temporarily, and expressed the strongest wish to see him when Lord George returned from his tour of inspection of the northern command in June.

Hervey laid it aside, heartened, as letters from Lord George almost invariably made him, and opened a third, with the stamp of the Hounslow orderly room.

My dear Hervey,I have been acquainted with the facts following from my indisposition at Windsor, of your own exemplary conduct in the matter, and indeed that of Captain Fairbrother. I would that you call on me, when your duties both military and domestic permit, so that I may properly commend your address, and also that of Captain Fairbrother.Believe me &c

Holderness

A handsome communication, thought Hervey, and no easy thing for a proud man to write. What, however, did it change? What ought it to change? He had done his duty, just as he would expect of any man (even unto death . . .). Did he now look to reward for doing his duty? What was become of him . . .? But what manner of system was it that could not promote ability unless it were allied to interest? Why did these things have to be redressed too late, at the price of brave men’s breasts? It had been so in the Peninsula; and ever since peace had come to Europe it had been even more so. He would, of course, call on the lieutenant-colonel, as bidden, but he would not do so with any haste, for it were better that more time elapsed, that sentiments be tempered.

He next read Kat’s, and with some trepidation. He hoped against hope for a line that would overturn Howard’s final intelligence, a sudden announcement of Sir Peregrine’s ‘indisposition’, but the letter was merely an invitation for him and Fairbrother – whom she wished very much to meet – to dine with her as soon as they were