“Get covers addressed for each and sent off. Today. Dismiss.”
As the pair departed, Bentinck reached across for the next bundle of orders, bound in red tape, congratulating himself that a nuisance job had been quickly dealt with.
Outside in the Office, Tavender and Templemere looked at each other, the letters now on a desk beside them. Tavender looked at the three, looked again at Templemere and then selected the letter destined for General Perry. He picked up a pen, inked it, and wrote above the seal “assume other copies lost in the post”. He signed his own name, then he folded a cover, sealed it around the letter and wrote on the address. He picked up the remaining two, crossed to their blazing fire and casually threw them in, then he looked at Templemere for both to share a satisfied grin.
“Shocking state the post is in these days! Must be the war!”
The red wax melted and spluttered as the thick paper was consumed by the flames.
***
A week passed, then two, both of routine, both filled with orders and scheduled duty. As each day passed Carr grew more apprehensive, whilst Perry sat ensconced in his office, gloating that “no news was good news”, and that soon Carr would be gone abroad, for the whole affair to be buried under bundles of paper. Carr himself called into Lacey’s office, twice daily, to ask of Bryce the same question and the conversation was very repetitive.
“Anything?”
“No Sir. Nothing today.”
Cecily and Drake were hastening on with arrangements for their marriage, which thoroughly occupied all the spare time of Drake, leaving Carr to wrestle alone with his own worries, one at least being that Jane remained still at her family home. Relations were frosty, to say the least, but, at least, there was no resumption of outright hostilities over Carr or Tavender, such that when Carr saw Jane, everyday, in a variety of meeting places, the troubles of both seemed to melt in the company of each.
The issue was also troubling Lacey and O’Hare, both sat in Lacey’s Office. It had been a subject of discussion for more then one occasion and now Lacey raised it again at their morning meeting, voicing all the concerns that both had identified.
“We need to know who our Officers are! We cannot set out again to take on the French with only one and a half Majors. What if a refusal for Carr comes whilst we are out there? If it’s refused, then we need another Major, from where, God Knows! Could be Horse Guards send one, or could be a purchase, but I want someone whose heard the sound of gunfire more often than a few times and from more than hearing distance. If there is someone of such, then Carr goes back to Captain. If he gets it, then it’s a new Captain we need!”
O’Hare looked up over the fingers of his hands poised thoughtfully together.
“Easier to find a Captain than an experienced Major!”
Lacey nodded.
“This needs to be resolved! Send another letter?”
O’Hare raised his eyebrows and tilted his head sideways, his shoulders and hands gesturing in common; a “what else?” gesture.
Lacey looked out through the open door.
“Bryce!”
The reply was instant.
“Sir?”
“In here, if you please.”
Bryce rumbled in to come to the attention.
“That letter which you sent to General Bentinck. Do you have a copy?”
Bryce nodded.
“Yes Sir. We always keep a copy.”
“Right. Re-copy and send again.”
Concern came over the face of the old Sergeant.
“To General Bentinck, Sir?”
Lacey looked puzzled.
“Yes! Who else?”
The concern increased.
“Well Sir. I’ve just been looking through the latest Movements and General Orders and I read that General Bentinck and his Brigade have been ordered to Lisbon, Sir. Reinforcements for General Cradock, Sir. They sail day after tomorrow, Thursday.”
Lacey looked at O’Hare.
“We’ll have to send someone. Deliver the thing by hand! Who?”
O’Hare’s eyes widened.
“Who else, but Carr? And that’s a serious ride, here to Plymouth in two days, but the man deserves his chance. To get it out of Bentinck, either a yay or a nay!”
Lacey nodded, then looked up at Bryce.
“Send for Carr.”
Bryce saluted, confident that Carr would not be too far away; him awaiting the morning delivery. He was correct. Carr came in, just as Bryce was leaving to look for him.
“Sir. I’m afraid there is nothing again, Sir, but the Colonel is writing another letter, as we speak and he would like you to take it, in person, Sir. To General Bentinck, to see that it gets there.”
Carr was nodding vigorously, all the while, but then came the vital question.
“Where is Bentinck?”
“Plymouth, Sir.”
The nodding lessened.
“Plymouth, right, not too arduous. I’ll see about a horse and come back. The letter’s being written now?”
“Yes Sir, but there’s one further thing.”
Carr turned back. Bryce’s tone spoke of problems.
“General Bentinck sails day after tomorrow, Sir, to the Peninsula. You’ve not much time.”
Alarm crossed Carr’s face and he turned away, calling back as he went on his hurried way.
“I’ll be back, soon as I can.”
He ran, almost all the way, making his calculations. He knew the maths, that on horseback thirty miles a day was an achievement, which meant two and a half days to Plymouth, when he had but two, and only from that moment. Once in the billet of himself and Drake, he found, exceptionally, Drake alone and reading a newspaper.
“Nat! I need a horse, a good one, one that will get me to Plymouth come morning of Thursday.”
The newspaper hit the table.
“Thursday! Plymouth! Is it vital?”
“Yes, I’m to carry another letter to Bentinck and get a reply, one way or the other, about my Majority. Now I need a horse, one that will get me there and not give up halfway. Any ideas?”
Drake exhaled all the air out of his body in both thought and exasperation.
“The Colonel and O’Hare, do they have decent mounts?”
Carr shook his head.
“Neither! I know that for a fact. Neither has yet replaced what they lost in the retreat.”
Drake looked at his newspaper, but saw nothing, then some light came into his face.
“I recall, even before we left for Sicily, Royston D’Villiers sounding off about his horse. It threw him during a hunt or a point to point, or something, but he was cracking on that it had a lot of racehorse in him. Perhaps he still has him, and perhaps he will ……… you know, give you the loan. It’ll take something like him to get you there on time.”
Carr was galvanised.
“Where is he? Is he in his room?”
“Yes, I heard the pair of them stomping down the corridor, not an hour ago.”
“Definitely coming?”
“Yes. Definitely not going.”
“Tell Morrison to pack me a bag for four days.”
“Four days! That means you’ll miss the wedding!”
Apprehensive both regarding that fact and what he was about to ask; and looking it, Carr left the room and paced along the corridor. He came to the appropriate door and stopped, to listen to Carravoy’s voice, complaining about the standard of the latest tranche of recruits. There was no halt in the invective, so he knocked anyway, his anxiety for his own affairs paramount.
“Enter!”
It was D’Villier’s voice. Carr went in and found both in a state of thorough relaxation, especially D’Villiers, examining with some glee a newly purchased brace of pistols, definitely new, for both box, green beige and pistols were wholly unblemished. Carravoy, on the other hand was eating pastries, but, were it not for the presence of Carr, an observer would think that he had just bitten his tongue. Carr felt moved to speak
first.
“Good afternoon to you both and my apologies for the disturbance.”
He drew a deep breath, this could be make or break.
“Royston, I have a great favour to ask of you.”
D’Villiers returned a pistol to its place in the box and gave Carr his full attention, but nevertheless he looked puzzled as Carr continued.
“I need to ride to Plymouth to be there on Thursday. It’s vital, but I have no horse, not of any kind, never mind one that could undertake such a journey.”
Both D’Villiers and Carravoy sat forward, as Carr continued.
“I seem to remember you talking about a horse of yours. One that had some quality, some ‘racehorse’ in him as I recall.”
D’Villiers sat back; it was obvious what was coming next, but he said nothing.
“May I borrow him? If there’s a question of payment for hire, I will understand and pay what you think, but it is vital that I get to Plymouth close to dawn on Thursday.”
Carravoy also sat back, somewhat languidly. This was good, Carr clearly in some difficulty and only they could help. This should be explored, for which he used his most aristocratic tone.
“And the reason why you have such need of such an animal?”
At this point D’Villiers sat bolt upright and interjected before Carr could begin his explanation, which he was about to give.
“Take him! No payment required, nor explanation. Take him. He’s down below in the stables. A good run will do him good.”
He picked up a pistol again.
“His name’s Junot, by the way. I renamed him after our opponent at Vimeiro!”
Carr looked at him, a smile of gratitude clear on his face.
“Thank you, Royston. I am in your debt.”
Carr took a deep breath of relief; the first part of the plan was in place.
“May I take him now?”
“Of course, things seem urgent with you.”
“They are, and thank you once again.”
With that Carr was gone from the room, but as D’Villiers sighted down the barrel, he could not fail to notice the displeasure that was plain on the face of Carravoy, at which point something stirred inside the good D’Villiers, possibly brought on by the joy of his latest acquirement, or possibly his new and growing inclination to speak and do as he saw fit.
“He’s never been anything other than straight with me!”
Carravoy could only stare straight back, as D’Villiers continued.
“I count him as a decent comrade and a brother Officer!”
Carravoy, pastries now consumed, reached for a newssheet and lifted it, to cut the space between them.
***
Carr at last was on the road. Precious time to him, for every minute was precious, had been taken up with tearing the bags away from the fussing hands of Morrison and obtaining the letter from Bryce, but now Junot was out on the good turnpike from Taunton to Wellington, this being the first part of the main Bristol to Exeter road. Two bags were bouncing behind the saddle and, under his right leg, in the holster of the dragoon saddle, was a huge dragoon pistol, placed there by Morrison as Carr mounted.
“You never know who’s about, Sir.”
Carr had realised instantly that he was mounted upon a special quality of horse. Junot, immediately on seeing the open road, sprang into a loping canter that began to eat up the miles, but the sun was inching into a space in the first break in the cloud to the East as it moved inexorably in the Heavens to quit the thankless task of illuminating an overcast late February day. Carr allowed Junot his head, allowed the reigns to go slack and left Junot to simply take the road as he would. Carr had now some thinking to do, now that he had the time to do it. Holding Junot back to conserve him, they could ride through the evening and night, but a stop was inevitable, for him, if not for Carr. If they rode through the night, it meant a stop during the day, when neither would gain satisfactory rest. So, it made some sense to stop in Wellington, give Junot rest and feed, then push on with the daylight, but Junot would have thirty miles stored in him, or thereabouts, whilst Wellington was barely ten. Therefore, Carr decided to take the chance and push on into the late evening and hope for some kind of inn with a stable. Depending on progress, he would decide what was to happen on the following night.
So, they rode on, through the growing gloom that soon became full dark. Carr pulled out his watch, and he could just make out that the hands were set for just after 7.00. However, even if he could see little of the road ahead, Junot could and soon they were passing between the candle-lit windows of Wellington High Street. Back out on the open road again and for what seemed a good hour Junot cantered on, then he slowed, then stopped. Carr peered ahead; Junot had stopped at a turnpike gate. Carr leaned over and rang the bell for the keeper, but it was more than three minutes before he appeared and ill-naturedly took the four pence, double the day rate, and opened the gate, to close it behind what he hoped was the last traveller of what was now a full, dark night. Carr enquired the time, but the door closed upon any answer, even if there was one. However, the keeper had re-lit the gatelamp and Carr used it to discover from his own watch, that it was well past 8 o’ clock, pushing up for 9. Carr patted the horse’s neck.
“We’ll need somewhere soon, boy, but I’d say that you’ve just about done your thirty.”
To confirm, Junot had slowed to a trot, which Carr allowed. He was well content with progress so far. Carr judged an hour, but nothing came that even resembled an Inn, and he was hungry. Morrison had included little more than bread, cheese and apples, but Junot needed rest, so Carr halted in a small stand of trees and decided to make a camp. He unharnessed Junot, wiped him down, and then replaced the thick horse blanket, tying it under his body. The horse, on a long tether, wandered off to munch some grass, which was the only sound that Carr heard as he consumed his own food. He sat for a short while before rolling into his own blanket, when straight away he heard a sound, which could only be described as a loud whisper which sounded as though it included “up in the trees.” Carr froze to listen more carefully, then came a rustling sound as though someone was approaching, He rolled out of his blanket, pulled out the pistol from the holster and cocked it, then he looked for human shapes. He soon saw two and up came the pistol.
“Stop! Stop there and come no further, or I’ll blow your bloody head off!”
Then, amazingly, came a female voice.
“’Tis alright, Jim, that don’t sound like Father!”
Carr kept the pistol erect, but certainly he felt more secure.
“That’s right, Jim, I’m not Father but come to me slowly and no-one gets hurt.”
Out of the gloom came a young couple, holding hands, but she with her free hand was reaching across to take the muscle of ‘Jim’s’ nearest arm. Even in the gloom, Jim saw the yawning muzzle of the pistol and felt an immediate need to say something.
“There’s no need for that gun, Sir, ’tis just me an’ Bethan here, we bin out, … ah ….. courtin’, an’ now we’n movin' back on our way home. Least back to Bethan’s.”
Carr lowered the pistol and released the hammer, but Bethan was more than curious and not the least afraid.
“But what be you doin’ here, Sir? You’m miles from any place as’ll give you shelter.”
Carr peered at the girl. Even in the dark he could see she was quite pretty.
“That’s your answer. So I’m making the best of it here, for the night.”
Perhaps she was the more intelligent of the two.
“You must be on some urgent journey, to come so far past Wellington on such a dark night.”
Carr smiled and so did they, when they saw his white teeth through the gloom.
“It is, you’re right. I need to get to Plymouth by Thursday morning.”
He decided to appeal to their sympathies as kindred spirits.
“If I get there on time, then I can be married!”
Carr saw her move in the dark
“We hopes to get married soon, don’t we Jim, but my Father’s determined to keep us apart, till then, strict Methodist, you see, Sir.”
Then Jim’s voice.
“Which is why you finds us out yer, Sir, at such a time.”
Carr could see Bethan’s head turn towards her swain, after she had elbowed him in the ribs.
“You’ve got a decent barn. Warm hay and some oats for the pony, there.”
Jim’s head nodded.
“We have, Sir, an’ you can spend a night there. ’Tis better than here, for both of ’ee.”
Carr laughed.
“You are very kind, but only if I’ll not cause any problem between you both and Bethan’s Father.”
“No fear of that, Sir. Our barn is but two doors down from Bethan’s an’ after we gets her back in, then I’ll get the doors open for you.”
Carr smiled in the dark, sincerely moved at their kindness. Five minutes later he was leading Junot down a track where stood a rank of buildings of various shapes, but Bethan was still curious.
“You’m a soldier, Sir. An Officer?”
“Correct.”
“Well, we’ve just ’ad one from our village come back, without half his leg. Says he lost it at a place called Vimeero.”
“I was at that battle.”
“You was, Sir, what Regiment? His was the One Hundred and Fifth.”
“My Regiment.”
“Well, that’s amazin’, Sir. He come back last Autumn, an’ is always goin’ on about his Regiment what beat two French attacks and tipped the balance against a third.”
Carr laughed in the dark.
“That’s putting it a bit high, but we were involved in all of that, certainly. What’s his name?”
“Spencer. Bill Spencer.”
“I’m afraid I didn’t know him.”
Then came Jim’s voice.
“He came back with all sorts of stuff, as fetched a tidy sum of coin.”
Instantly, from Bethan.
“Now don’t you get no ideas, Jim Darley, of takin’ the shillin’, ’specially with a baby likely sooner not later, the way you carries on!”
Close to the Colours (105th Foot. The Prince of Wales Own Wessex Regimen Book 2) Page 63
