Warrior

extended to their religion, which somehow seemed both the cause and the effect.

But then in Rome, whither his sister had taken him to interrupt the melancholy of Henrietta's death, he had found his way to the English seminary, where the rector himself had greeted him with a warmth that was at once welcoming and yet disturbing. On his knees in the Martyrs' Chapel, tears had welled up at the thought of what he had lost – and what his daughter had lost – and he had found something comforting in that place.

Yes, he would seek out the headquarters of the English Mission in London, and he would do it without hesitation or distaste. He would speak to its chief priest – the bishop, whatever was his style – and ask him how the Sixth might bury the wife of one of its most esteemed soldiers, with all the proper ceremony of her religion. And with all the proper ceremony of the regiment.

'What is that you said, Johnson?'

'Ah said, sir, t'serjeant-major were a good man.'

' 'Were a good man'? He is still.'

'Ah know, but wi' Mrs Armstrong gone an' all . . .'

'I don't see . . .'

'Ah reckon it'll go bad wi'im.'

'Of course it will go badly with him. How . . .'How did Johnson think that Henrietta's death had gone with him?

Johnson could usually be relied on for the blithest of outlooks, but in this case it was not so much insensibility as the conviction that Hervey bore misfortune in some other way. 'Ah reckon 'e'll chuck it for them kinder of 'is. 'E were right soft on 'em.'

Hervey would have reminded his groom that he too had once 'chucked it' – had resigned his commission – except that that was not the material point (Johnson's prognosis somehow stirred guilt in him). 'Then we must pray that he does not. See to it that he does not, for his best place is in the regiment; the best place for his children, indeed.'

Johnson had no argument with that. He owned that his own long life to date – half and more of the allotted span – was on account of his wearing regimentals. Corunna, Talavera, Salamanca and many another Peninsula scrape, Waterloo, countless affairs in India: these were nothing compared with the vicissitudes he would have faced in his native county – the silted lungs, the broken back, the roof-falls, the fire-damp . . .

''E'd a'been a right good RSM.'

'Johnson, I don't think I make myself plain. Sar'nt-Major Armstrong's prospects are not diminished. He will return here on long leave of absence, and in due course he will return to his troop – our troop.'

'Bet 'e won't if 'e comes back from t'Cape. Them kinder of 'is—'

'He'll return, I tell you.'

'Who's gooin' to do 'is duty at t'Cape – Quilter?'

'Serjeant Quilter.'

Johnson huffed, not so decidedly as to require a rebuke, but sufficient to register his opinion.

But Hervey had no need to check the delinquency, not when he could pretend he had not heard, and it was not anyway to be Quilter. 'Sar'nt-Major Collins will do duty.'

Johnson sucked in air sharply. 'That'll go bad wi' t'sar'nt-major. Them's rivals an' all.'

'Rivals? Collins—' (he checked himself, crossly) 'Sar'nt-Major Collins is his junior. If you're thinking which of them would replace the regimental sar'nt-major there would be no question but that it would be Armstro— Sar'nt-Major Armstrong.'

'That's not what they says in t'canteen.'

'The canteen!'

'One o' t'clerks from t'ord'ly room—'

'Damn the clerks! Enough of it!'

Johnson made a 'please yourself' face.

Hervey said nothing.

They sat for some time, the silence broken only by the ticking of the long-case clock in the otherwise empty headquarters room to which they had retreated while the chariot was fetched.

'T'adjutant 'ad a lot o' letters for thee, sir,' tried Johnson, softer, after a while.

Hervey reached into his pocket. 'I have them.' He began sorting through the bundle absently.

There were a dozen and more, some in unfamiliar hands (he would attend to those later). But one, he noted, was from Kat, which pleased him unexpectedly.

'Shall ah be gooin, sir?'

Hervey hesitated. 'No. Stay, if you would.' He opened the letter.

Holland-park, 19th June

My dear Matthew,

(It was written the day after his wedding, and Kat had moderated her salutation, as was only appropriate to his new state. He supposed, too, that it was the correct form for an erstwhile lover to adopt if she were to continue in correspondence.)