A Regimental Affair

‘Oh come!’ said Sir Loftus, more agitated still. ‘That will be no occasion for trouble.’

‘Don’t you imagine it,’ huffed Dunseath again. ‘I was ’ere last December when those damned Radicals at the Spa Fields marched on the Tower. As close to revolution as I ever saw!’

‘Stuff and nonsense, sir!’ said the Earl of Rotheram, blowing a cloud of smoke ceilingwards. ‘I was at St James’s the whole time. It was all wind and wine. Hunt and his like — rabble-rousers, yes, but I hardly fancy they have the stuff of a Robespierre in them!’ The earl was ever a man in whom the moderation of the shires found a faithful voice.

‘I wouldn’t be so sure, Rotheram,’ warned Dunseath. ‘There’s radicalism seething all about. In some parts the machine-breakers are as active as ever. And there’s a deal too many discharged soldiers and sailors as well. All a prey to jackanapes like Hunt.’

‘On this latter I would not dissent. And where might we seek to lay blame on that account? I think it truly ignoble that this government has discharged its fighting men in so mean a fashion. There are beggars in scarlet in every lane.’

Lord Dunseath’s nose seemed darker still. ‘What would you have had Liverpool do then? Exalt Pitt’s income tax another penny to provide sturdy beggars with pensions? We want done with it!’

Lord Dunseath’s voice was rising in both pitch and volume, but the Earl of Rotheram remained unperturbed. ‘I very much doubt we shall see an end to the income tax now that it is so expeditiously collected. And I should not have thought it too great a burden on men who stand to profit so much from peace — and, indeed, who have profited so much already from war. At least they might rid us of the wretched Corn Laws.’

‘Now that, sir, is radical talk!’ spluttered Dunseath.

‘Gentlemen! Gentlemen!’ pleaded Sir Loftus Wake. ‘I hardly think the Horse Guards is the place for politics.’

The military secretary had moved towards the chairman, meanwhile, and he now whispered something in his ear.

Sir Loftus looked relieved. ‘Well, gentlemen, it seems that, since we are five, there is a quorum. So let us begin without Sir Horace; and if he does arrive…’

At this point Major-General Sir Horace Shawcross, KCB, did indeed arrive, flushed and angry. ‘In God’s name what’s become of this country!’ he boomed. ‘Insolent devils holding up every carriage in the City, and not a constable in sight. It would’ve been the same along the Strand an’ all had there not been regular horse there.’

‘See, Rotheram; The Times warned as much,’ said Lord Dunseath, his nose almost glowing with satisfaction at the news.

The Earl of Rotheram merely raised his eyebrows.

Sir Horace Shawcross ignored the exchange as he half-flung his cloak at an orderly. ‘When in God’s name is parliament going to grasp the nettle? If we don’t have proper police soon there’ll be no peace for the keeping anywhere, and the army’ll be ruined doing the work!’

Sir Loftus, though well acquainted with Sir Horace Shawcross’s choleric disposition, was taken aback by his vehemence, and the strains of the latter’s pronounced Lancashire vowels were permitted, for the moment, to continue unchecked.

‘Damme, I’d the very devil of a job in the Midlands with them Luddites.’ He pronounced ‘Ludd’ to rhyme with ‘hood’.

Sir Francis Evans smiled to himself.

Even had Sir Horace seen it, it would not have mattered, for his hero, Robert Peel, chief secretary for Ireland, pronounced the word in the same way. ‘Now if we had a peace preservation force, as Peel has got himself in Ireland,’ he boomed again, ‘we could stop all this nonsense in a trice.’

The Earl of Rotheram set aside his cigar. ‘Peelers? In England?’

‘Rather them than us having to do the work,’ replied Sir Horace gruffly. ‘Rather would I be under an Albura saw again than chase round doing police business!’ He pulled aside the chair with his right hand, his left having been the object of the surgeon’s blade after that bloody battle, and slammed his hat on the table, setting the cups and saucers atremble.

For what seemed an age, Sir Loftus stared intently at the hat, for it was the old service shako of Sir Horace’s beloved Forty-seventh — ‘Wolfe’s Own’ — rather than a major general’s plumes. Sir Loftus, as Vice Adjutant General, was most punctilious in these matters. Indeed, he seemed quite oblivious now to the growing ruction about his committee.

‘Said there’d be trouble,’ muttered the purple nose from behind The Times.

‘Everyone ’as been saying there’d be trouble,’ growled Sir Horace. ‘But what’s the good of that? If we had proper police we might do something about it.’

The Earl of Rotheram sighed.

‘Ay, Rotheram, well might y’sigh,’ complained the voice of Lancashire; ‘for it’s your party that won’t see sense.’

The Earl of Rotheram had, indeed, spoken against the proposal for such a force when last it had been debated in the Lords. ‘I should sooner trust to the good sense of the magistrates than have some damnable system as they have on the continent. We’ve not fought Bonaparte these past twenty years just to have a score of little Fouches in every town.’

Sir Horace looked startled until he recognized the French. He drank his coffee in one go and held out his cup for more. ‘Rotheram, you’re as good a man as ever walked them broad acres o’ yours, but you underestimate the seething there is, and the dissatisfaction of folk who are a prey to violence every day — in town and country alike. I grant you the odd poacher might disturb your peace, but that’s nothing to having yer livelihood and property — ay, and yer very life itself — a hostage to the mob’s whim.’

The two men looked across the table at each other incomprehendingly, as if it were the great divide of the Pennine range itself, for Sir Horace’s family was cotton-rich and Whig, whereas Lord Rotheram’s was land-rich and Tory. In their own counties the families were as well regarded by the poorest of their workers — be it in factory or farm — as any could be. And these two sons had served England dearly in its late trial, Sir Horace’s hand being matched by the earl’s right leg. Yet each saw the future as differently as might two horses see the same fence.

Sensing exhaustion on the subject of a professional constabulary, Sir Loftus Wake sought to regain his authority. ‘Well, gentlemen, perhaps we should adjourn this debate and be about our proper affairs this day.’

To his considerable relief there was a general murmur of agreement.

‘We all want to be ’ome afore dark,’ added Sir Horace gruffly.

‘Well, therefore, let us begin the proceedings of the twenty-third meeting of the Army Brevets Committee.’ He replaced his pincenez firmly and turned over a page of his portfolio. ‘May I first respectfully remind you that the purpose of a brevet—’

‘We all know what the purpose of a brevet is, Wake!’ rasped Sir Horace. ‘Let’s be having the business!’

Sir Loftus looked pained once more. ‘My dear general, I have no reason to suppose that you are anything but in the right. However, it has ever been my practice to proceed on the supposition that not everyone should be expected to retain each and every detail of Horse Guards administration. In that way we may be sure to avoid any profound error.’

Sir Horace looked unconvinced. ‘As you please, then.’

‘Very well, gentlemen. The purpose of brevet rank is to advance those officers of exceptional merit who might otherwise find their promotion retarded by lack of means to purchase the next higher rank, or indeed by a lack of regimental vacancy in such a rank.’ He paused. ‘It does not carry with it the additional pay, of course, neither is it recognized regimentally, but only in the army as a whole.’ He glanced about the table for confirmation that the purpose was understood.

No one seemed to be paying much attention, but Sir Loftus was pleased he had been able to read through his brief so far without further challenge.

‘These the nominations?’ asked Sir Horace, pulling at the ribbon on the portfolio in front of him.

‘Yes,’ confirmed the chairman anxiously. ‘But do permit me to explain more fully.’

Sir Horace raised his eyebrows a little petulantly and gave up fingering the silk.

‘Our work this morning,’ continued Sir Loftus quickly, ‘is in two parts. The most important is to recommend ten lieutenant colonels’ brevets. But first there is the same number of majors’ brevets. The Duke of York’s military