On His Majesty's Service

capital sport. But it fair makes my rheumaticky come on. ’Ave you come far, sir? I ’aven’t seen you in a while.’

‘Quite far, yes. Are there, do you know, any letters for me?’

The porter gave a little laugh. ‘I’ll say so, sir! We’ve ’ad to put ’em all in a cupboard.’

Fairbrother sat down on the fender-seat, his shoulders hunched.

Hervey looked at him anxiously.

‘Too cold. Made me light-headed. It’ll pass.’

‘The baths we’ve been promising ourselves: that’s what’ll do it. And a good dinner,’ (he turned to the porter) ‘unless, that is, the boiler’s broken and the larder’s bare.’

‘Oh, the boiler goes like the Rocket, sir. Plenty of ’ot water. But I’m afraid the committee’s closed the kitchen for a week to put in gas. There’s the galley for coffee and such like.’

Hervey remained cheery. ‘Then we’ll have to go to Rule’s.’

Fairbrother smiled weakly and nodded. ‘Confounded ordeal, but I shall bear it manfully.’

Hervey braced himself for the last furlong. ‘Meadwell, would you have our dunnage brought in? We’ll find our rooms and draw the baths. And would you have brandy sent up?’

‘Of course, sir. And your letters?’

Hervey shook his head. ‘No, they can wait a while longer.’

When he came down an hour later the letters were arranged in three neat piles on a writing table in the smoking room. He called for coffee, lit a Turkish cigar and, quite alone, began contemplating the year’s correspondence before him. But to one side was a copy of the London Gazette with a card bearing the royal arms attached to it. He picked it up, curious, and even with some apprehension (the Gazette was the government’s instrument of record – every sort of official announcement, for good or ill).

The card read: Herewith the Gazette to which I referred. V. Y.

So Valentine Youell had written to him referring to the Gazette – but when, and to where?

He removed the card and began to read:

The London Gazette – ‘Published by Authority’

Tuesday, October 27, 1829.

At the Court at Windsor, the 12th day of October 1829, PRESENT, the KING’s Most Excellent Majesty in Council, WHEREAS by an Act, passed in the sixth year of the reign of His present Majesty, intituled ‘An Act to regulate the trade of the British possessions abroad’, the several sorts of goods enumerated or described in a certain table therein contained, denominated ‘a Table of Prohibitions and Restrictions’, are either prohibited to be imported or brought, either by sea or by inland carriage or navigation, into the British possessions in America, or into the Island of Mauritius …

Dull officialdom. Was he meant to read through the whole paper? He shook himself and turned the page.

The next was sidelined in red ink half-way down:

War-Office, 26th October 1829.

6th Regiment of Light Dragoons, Lieutenant-Colonel Matthew Paulinus Hervey to command, vice Holderness, who is promoted Major-General. Dated 12 October 1829.

Hervey leaned back in his chair, scarcely able to take it in. Indeed, he did not know whether to rejoice or despair.

Then he smiled. Of course he rejoiced. It didn’t matter if it were a single troop or even a single dragoon: it was the object he had held in his mind since Spain and a cornet. ‘To command’, said the Gazette; all else was mere detail.

But had his letter not reached the Horse Guards? Had Lord Hill revoked his earlier offer of the Fifty-third? Somewhere in all these letters there would be the answer – but where to start? He thought of going to see Valentine Youell, at once, but he could hardly turn up at the Horse Guards on a matter of but his own position. He supposed he would have to report in person to Lord Hill to account for his time with the Russians, in amplification of his despatches, but that was not pressing enough reason to go now, unannounced. He must trust that there was answer beneath one of these seals. Or would Lord George Irvine be at home?

He began looking through them. Several were in hands he recognized, and he carefully placed these to one side. Some bore the impressions of coronets and other recognizable devices – congratulatory, no doubt, and these he laid aside separately too. There were three that bore the seal of the Horse Guards, and one from his agents; these he placed separately again, and would read first. The rest formed a fourth pile, which he would attend to last. There was none in Kat’s hand.

The silent smoking room came abruptly alive. ‘My dear Hervey!’

He turned.

‘Howard!’ He rose and took his old friend’s hand, never happier to see him. ‘When did you return?’

‘A month ago.’

‘The Cape pleased you?’

‘Very much. But I believe I am restored to my proper station.’

Hervey’s smile increased. Lieutenant-Colonel the Lord John Howard was back at his desk at the Horse Guards, where for twenty years, with brief interruptions for service with his regiment on the parade ground outside, he had exercised sound judgement and wielded a sharp pen in the service of the duke and then Lord Hill. They were unlikely friends, perhaps, but their acquaintance went back many years, and each saw in the other the qualities that they perceived lacking in themselves.

‘What extraordinary good chance you should come. I’m returned little more than an hour.’

‘Not in the least good chance, I assure you. As soon as your letter reached us from Constantinople I left word here that I must be told immediately you arrived. And reminded them every week.’

‘That’s exceedingly gratifying. And Youell – is he replaced?’

‘No. We share the duties. They’d become too much for one man. But see, tell me what occurred in Roumelia. I was very sorry to hear, by the way, about Agar-Ellis.’

Hervey sat down again, deflated somewhat. He nodded to acknowledge the sympathy as Howard pulled up a chair. ‘We were trying to outrun a pack of bashi-bazouks on the way back to Adrianople – just the three of us. We galloped straight into an ambuscade – a rope across the road, which I didn’t see, nor Fairbrother. They caught us square – toppled the three of us. Agar, so far as I can make out matters, was pinned beneath his mare, and Fairbrother broke an arm. I myself was so completely stunned I scarce knew a thing. I managed to shoot one who’d come to finish me off, but not dead, and he would have done for me had not Fairbrother at that moment shot him. But then the others began to shoot and hit Fairbrother in the back. Poor Agar must have struggled free and somehow used his pistols, but he was shot horribly through and died where he lay. We’d all be dead had it not been for a patrol of Cossacks who drove them off. They said that Agar was standing with his sword drawn. Fairbrother would have bled to death where he lay, too, had it not been for the Cossacks. They stemmed the bleeding – heaven knows how, but they say they never have a surgeon when they’re ranging, so must learn to look after themselves – and got him to Adrianople, and there the surgeons worked their miracles. I thought he was dead for sure. He himself thought so.’

‘And you remained there until he was fit to return?’

‘Yes. The parleying started not long after. The Sultan sued for peace, which in truth was the best the Russians could have hoped for. I don’t think, now, they could have taken Constantinople before the Turk reinforcements arrived.’

Howard nodded. ‘Your despatches have made a considerable impression on Lord Hill. They’ve been copied to