He ate no lunch. He walked instead for mile upon mile, at turns angry and despairing, yet not knowing precisely what was the true root of the anger, nor of the despair, which did not help his recovering the composure he considered necessary for returning to the United Service Club. Until at about six o’clock, in St James’s Park, a Guards band playing gentle Irish tunes he recalled from the Peninsula began to calm his savage breast.
He sat on a bench listening, observing two ducks from the lake making affectionate display, until he started wondering at his own judgement, which he knew, in his wholly rational moments, to be distorted still by the image of Henrietta and that short but perfect consummation of all his childhood longing (and that of his cornet years – the uncomplicated time, the
He rose, replaced his hat, dusted off his coat, and, suppressing a sigh that might have been deep enough to make the ducks give flight, strode peaceably at last towards the Horse Guards Parade, and thence to the United Service.
There he found Fairbrother in the coffee room, looking more uneasy than ever he had seen him. ‘My dear fellow, are you quite well?’
Fairbrother, holding a large measure of whiskey and soda, which looked as if it might already have been replenished at least once, shook his head, as if doubting his ability to give an answer.
‘I am sorry I was not returned at our usual hour,’ continued Hervey. ‘I imagined, though, that your interview with Mr Wilberforce might become an extended affair.’
His friend nodded, and then shook his head again, seeming to correct himself. ‘No, it was of no very great length.’
‘What is the matter?’ Hervey sat down opposite him and nodded to the steward.
Fairbrother scratched his forehead. ‘How was your sister?’
Hervey looked away and cleared his throat. ‘I think the least said the better on that account.’
‘Why? What transpired between the two of you?’ Fairbrother was now sitting upright.
Hervey was first inclined to think it was no business of his friend’s, but . . . ‘She is adamant she will not marry Peto, and that she will marry instead this German.’
Fairbrother frowned. ‘He has a name, has he not?’
‘Heinrici.’
‘Yes, I know it is Heinrici. If you would use it rather than “this German” you might become better disposed towards him. In any case, I rather thought you approved of Germans.’
‘Of course I approve.’
‘The most faithful fellows, by all accounts.’
‘Yes, indeed, though—’
‘Well perhaps you might admit that Elizabeth may admire that quality too.’
Hervey took the glass from the steward, and a long sip of it to gain a little time: his friend was distracting him with superficially reasonable propositions. ‘Why were you looking so discomposed when I returned? And still do.’
Fairbrother stifled a sigh, biting his lip and fair rolling his eyes. Hervey knew at once he was steeling himself to something.
‘I went to Mr Wilberforce’s this morning, and he received me very civilly, but abed. He had a severe chill. I had not thought that he was such an age, which was remiss of me of course. I stayed only a little while; we resolved to meet again when he was better. And then I went to Greenwich, instead of tomorrow. I told you that I’d learned that Admiral Holmes’s papers were there, and I wished to see them.’
Hervey nodded: he recalled the intention well.
Fairbrother breathed in deep before resuming. ‘Well, in the course of that visit I was shown the hospital – I never saw such a noble place – and on the door of one of the officers’ rooms was the name of your friend, Peto.’
Hervey’s face at once betrayed alarm.
Fairbrother’s changed from resolution to sadness. ‘It was pitiful, Hervey. So active a man as I heard you so often describe, yet reduced to . . .’He fell silent.
Hervey, gathering his own strength for the question, was some time before he could reply. ‘What is it? Are you able to say precisely? He is wounded, is he, or is it an infection – something from the east?’
Fairbrother nodded. ‘He is wounded, really very grievously. He has lost an arm, and the left is still badly shattered. And he has not the use of his legs. The surgeons do not know why.’
Hervey groaned – a long, hopeless sigh of despair. He made to rise. ‘I must go at once.’
‘No, Hervey,’ said Fairbrother, reaching out a hand to grasp his friend’s knee. ‘He was dosed with morphium as I left. The surgeon said to give him a peaceful night.’
Hervey sat back and emptied his glass. ‘Was the surgeon able to say what had happened? Why have we not known before now?’
Fairbrother sat back, too, and beckoned to the steward for more whiskey. ‘It seems he made his lieutenant keep his name from the casualty returns until the following day, by which time Codrington had sent his despatch. The ship’s surgeon thought he would not live more than a day or so. He removed the arm and filled him with laudanum, and after ten days or so, though he was still very fevered, he was transferred to a brig and taken to Malta. He was brought to Greenwich not ten days ago.’
‘Were you able to speak with him?’
‘I was, yes. I told him of our acquaintance . . . and Elizabeth.’
Hervey groaned. ‘What did he say of her?’
Fairbrother’s voice almost broke in the reply. ‘He asked to see you, so that he might tell you he wished to release Elizabeth from the engagement.’
Hervey sighed, loud, and shook his head. ‘Was there ever such decency as in that man? Oh, God!’
‘The very greatest nobility.’
Hervey gritted his teeth. ‘I
Fairbrother looked troubled. ‘Hervey, I don’t think—’
‘No, Fairbrother: I am utterly determined on it!’
XIX
RAIN ON SAIL
Hervey engaged a chaise for Greenwich, which proved a longer and more trying journey than he had imagined. Scarcely a word was spoken between brother and sister in the two hours that it took to drive there. Even Fairbrother fell quiet after his attempts at generating conversation failed, so that he resolved instead to be their good supporter, though as a silent buttress.
Hervey looked severe but composed. Fairbrother perfectly understood: he knew that his friend had scarcely slept for thinking of the consequences both of Peto’s wounds and of the reunion. Elizabeth, on the other hand, looked as gentle a woman as ever she was, but most ill at ease. Fairbrother wondered that her certainty in her new-found love (he hoped very much to be able to meet Heinrici soon) did not arm her more for the ordeal that was to come. But he had not been privy to the meeting of brother and sister the morning before, and certainly not in the evening, when Hervey had taken her the news. He could only imagine what effect his friend’s commanding assurance had on a sister who deferred to him as, in most respects, paterfamilias.
When they arrived, he conducted them to Peto’s quarters. There was a rank smell to the place this morning – stale urine, faeces, and something Fairbrother fancied was suppuration. Perhaps it was because the presence of the
