Words of Command (Hervey 12) (Matthew Hervey)

by Allan Mallinson

  Meanwhile a dozen guardsmen were herding the bloody and fearful captives back towards the Winkfield road at the point of the bayonet. Hervey and Calthorp congratulated each other: even if the other birds had flown, the authorities should soon discover who they were.

  In the lane, dragoons were now braced like lurchers waiting for the slip, Kennett taking post half-way along, where the hedge thinned and lowered a little to give a view of sorts.

  Serjeant-Major Collins had come up too, from the far end of the line. He drew his sabre and stood in the stirrups to see where the Guards had reached …

  And it was as sudden as any venery – a figure darting, fox from lair, hare from form. Across the lane before any could turn. Into the hedge – to cover once more.

  But the hedge, though nothing to that he’d just worked through, was yet too thick to let him pass without struggle. Kennett saw and dug in his spurs, Collins likewise.

  The brown-clothed figure thrashed frantically, but Kennett was too quick. Out from a pocket came his ‘man stopper’ and into the aim.

  ‘No, sir!’

  Collins’s sabre flashed, driving down the pistol with the flat. It fired into the ground, startling Kennett’s charger, so that it was all he could do to keep his seat.

  ‘What the deuce do you mean, man?’ he yelled, with swearing worthy of the army in Flanders.

  Two dragoons galloped up. Collins shot them angry looks. ‘Get back to your posts! Look to your front!’

  He grabbed hold of Kennett’s reins. ‘Sir, that was murder but for a split second.’

  ‘Unhand me, Serjeant-Major. You have no knowing that I was to fire, only to threaten.’

  But Collins was having none of it. He cursed, sprang from his horse and launched at the blackthorn captive, dragging him out roughly and demanding he say where the rest of the band was. ‘Or you’ll feel the touch of cold steel.’

  Kennett turned away and called back the two dragoons, and an NCO who had come up, saying calmly, ‘This felon’s for the magistrate, Corporal, when he’s told us where his accomplices are. Make ready to take him to the court – the manor in yonder place.’

  ‘Sir!’

  Collins pushed the man towards them. ‘He’s neither armed nor does he have any notion where the others are, only that they struck off northwards after dark. Doubtless he’ll be able to recall who and what their dwelling, once the JP’s told him his fate otherwise.’

  ‘Sir!’

  The dragoons returned swords and grabbed the man by the shoulders, kicking off down the lane at a brisk trot, half dragging him between the horses to the encouragement of the corporal’s ‘Step sharper, you gallows-fodder, you!’

  Hervey now came up having heard the shot and breasted the hedge further down the lane, Malet, Fairbrother and Serjeant Acton close on his heels.

  ‘Good morning, Colonel,’ piped the escorts in a greatly satisfied unison.

  Seeing the man was evidently without injury, Hervey merely acknowledged and cantered on to where Kennett was standing in his stirrups speaking with the Guards ensign on the other side of the hedge.

  ‘Good morning, Colonel,’ chirped the lieutenant as he came up, saluting sharply. ‘We have taken a prisoner.’

  Hervey acknowledged the salute, and that of Collins standing a length or two away. ‘Yes, I saw him. Well done, Mr Kennett. What was the shot?’

  ‘The man was half-way through the hedge, Colonel. I fired at the ground and he gave up the struggle to escape.’

  Hervey looked at him keenly. Collins said nothing. ‘A warning shot?’

  ‘I did not fire to hit him, Colonel.’

  That much was the truth, but by no means the whole truth, and there was just something in his way of speaking that suggested it thus. ‘Then it was fortunate the man was not between the bullet and the ground,’ replied Hervey cautiously. ‘Well, there are six of them now for the bench. The others, it seems, have made clean their escape.’

  ‘The prisoner said they’d taken off northwards during the night, Colonel.’

  ‘Indeed? Did he say how they had become separated?’

  Kennett looked at Collins.

  ‘Colonel, he said they’d split into two parties to make it easier to evade the constables they thought had come. His lot headed west but reckoned they couldn’t get across the lane here because of all the torches, so they went back to lie up till they were sure the coast was clear.’

  ‘You spoke to him yourself?’

  ‘I did, Colonel.’

  ‘And he said no more?’

  ‘No, Colonel. He said he couldn’t peach on his friends. We reckoned the magistrate’d be able to explain his best interests to him.’

  ‘Just so, Sar’nt-Major,’ he replied, quietly confident in Collins’s judgement. He turned to Malet, who had been very pointedly silent. ‘I think our work here is done.’

  VI

  RENDERING IN WRITING

  Later that day

  On return to Hounslow, Hervey had gone at once to the orderly room to write an account of ‘the affair at Windsor-park’ – just as the Duke of Wellington had himself sat down after the battle at Waterloo to write a despatch to Earl Bathurst, the Secretary for War. The duke’s example – doing the business of the day in the day – had never been lost on him. That the duke’s despatch, written in the most tumultuous of circumstances, had contained errors – and, said many, apportioned praise unequally, even unfairly – mattered less than its promptness, and as Hervey would have to send a copy in his own hand to the general officer commanding the Home District, and the clerks would have to make copies for the record, all other business of the day was suspended. It was, in truth, a trifling affair in comparison with the many in which he had been engaged since that day in 1815, but a command by his sovereign had to be addressed with proper diligence and ceremony – and there was always the question of the Law: who knew what trouble a pettifogger might stir up?

  When it was done, he gave Malet the Windsor copy – ‘by hand of officer’ – and that for the general officer commanding the Home District also, which was to be delivered by one of the orderlies of the War Office party. And then, his immediate task complete, as darkness fell and one of the clerks put more coal on the fire, he asked if Lieutenant Rennell were in barracks, and if so, for him to attend presently.

  In fact it took less than a quarter of an hour for Rennell to report to the orderly room, for unlike most of the officers of an afternoon when there was no field day he was indeed in barracks. ‘I have a very great deal of Latin to acquire – reacquire,’ he explained, as Hervey chaffed him amiably.

  ‘Let us sit in these comfortable tubs, for I’ve had nothing but the saddle and the writing chair since before the break of day. And coffee?’

  ‘Thank you, Colonel.’

  ‘You’ve heard of the business at Windsor, with Worsley’s troop?’

  ‘I have, Colonel. I wished I had been there.’

  ‘Well, the business is concluded, save for the justices – the Assize court, I suppose – and I wished for the diversion of speaking with you on the matter of your resignation. Thank you for the courtesy of requesting an interview.’

  Rennell bowed.

  ‘I shan’t press you on the matter; I neither stand in loco parentis, nor can I claim that the exigencies of the service require you to reconsider; we are, after all, in an army of retrenchment. I merely wanted to ask what will be the course of things after your leaving. But first, I might ask … your people – they are quiescent in this?’

  An orderly came with coffee, which eased the course of the comradely enquiry.

  ‘They are, Colonel. I have two brothers and a sister – and already two nephews and a niece.’

  Hervey smiled to himself. Rennell had chosen to address the lesser question of geniture (though doubtless it was of much moment to his mother); the greater question was of religion, for his father was dean of Winchester. But if Rennell chose apostasy (not a word he liked, but …), then it was not for h
im to question. Besides, he would in due course learn from his own father what was the dean’s opinion, for the two had received their ordination at the same time and place, and remained correspondents ever since.

  ‘And you will go to Rome.’

  ‘I shall – to the English College, and in five years or so will be ordained priest there.’

  ‘I have seen the college, a place of great peace. The city itself is not without its vexations, however.’

  Rennell smiled. ‘I have been told so, Colonel, though I fancy that in five years one becomes accustomed to the vexations.’

  ‘Indeed. I was there but a month.’

  ‘Where you met with Shelley, I understand?’

  ‘I did,’ replied Hervey, faintly intrigued as to who might have done the telling. ‘I liked him, too, for all his reputation – and occasionally his manner. But it was a short acquaintance. You will not be in want of good company in Rome, I’m sure – English company, I mean. There’s a whole street of English – I forget its name – and constant visitors, of course. And not too intolerant of your religion, I think. “A paradise of exiles” did not Shelley call it? But I hope you will remember with advantages your fellows here.’

  ‘Oh, indeed I shall. They are fine men, all. Well, almost all.’

  Hervey would have liked to enquire of the exceptions, though it was impossible that he should, or Rennell reply. Instead they chatted, not entirely inconsequentially, until Hervey thought better of it and rose to suggest he had work to attend to. ‘So, I shall enter in the officers’ book your intention to write to the colonel and to send in your papers to the agents.’

  ‘I’m obliged, Colonel.’

  ‘We shall shake hands on your leaving, but I give you mine now, and my good wishes. Yours is a noble endeavour, if I might say it. Will you write to me from Rome from time to time?’

  Rennell looked mildly surprised. ‘By all means, Colonel. With great pleasure.’

  They shook hands, and Hervey watched him out with a powerful sense of having beheld a man – and a man scarcely a dozen years his junior – possessed of a rare and singular conviction of purpose. He found it strangely disquieting.

  Malet came in. ‘You were not able to change his mind, Colonel?’

  ‘I didn’t try. Did you expect me to?’

  Malet smiled. ‘I knew it would do no good – begging your pardon, Colonel: I meant not to suggest that you had no powers of persuasion!’

  ‘That is understood,’ said Hervey, smiling too and warming his hands at the fire. ‘As I can offer him no inducement – and damnation is not open to me – what line of persuasion is there left? By the bye, Rennell is, I suppose, on good terms with his fellow officers?’

  Malet frowned slightly. ‘As far as I can observe, yes – very well, I should say. Though I don’t suppose he would number Kennett among his closest friends. He’s cursed him as a papist more than once.’

  ‘Has he, indeed?’

  ‘It’s never come to pistols, but I can’t think it goes without annoyance with him. It would not with me. And Kennett’s haughtiness is so marked on occasions that I wonder he isn’t called out by someone or other.’

  ‘Mm. What do you make of his firing – on reflection now?’

  ‘Oh, sheer arrogance. And – I scarcely dare say it – pleasure in putting a ball so close to a man. Mark, Colonel, I hold no brief for any of that gang of felons.’

  ‘That is understood … Well, I think my time at office is done for today. Those despatches will reach their destination this evening, I trust?’

  ‘They will. St Alban has that for the King in his hand as we speak.’

  ‘Very well. I shall go to my quarters. Would you have any papers I might see got up for me?’

  ‘Of course, Colonel.’

  When he asked for papers to be got up for him, he had not expected there to be quite so many. They filled a small dressing case, which Malet had somehow found and adapted for the purpose – the ‘business of the day’ in the body of the case, and, in the pocket of the closure, a number of letters addressed to him personally. Resisting the natural inclination to read these first, Hervey sat down at the writing table in his rooms at the Berkeley Arms, without changing, and worked his way through the documents that so minutely regulated an army in peace, the very same as had detained him only two days earlier – reports and returns, reckonings, states, orders both routine and particular. Each demanded his careful attention before at last (for the most part) revealing their lack of consequence. Each he duly signed, as required by the appropriate sub-branch of the War Office, or the Commissariat (in its turn, a subordinate of the Treasury), or else the Board of Ordnance. In several cases he certified – as he knew must countless other commanding officers – returns that he could have no expectation of verifying even if he were to give his entire day to the matter. There was, of course, a daily round of counting and checking at the hands of the officer of the day – the picket officer – and, monthly, a more thorough examination of specific accounts by the captain of the week; and indeed, annually, an entire audit by a board of officers – but ultimately the lieutenant-colonel must confide in men who had been raised in regimental ways straight and narrow (though not too narrow as to preclude the procurement of necessaries denied by the letter of the regulations). In Lincoln he had a quartermaster he might trust with his own last penny; the others he simply did not know well enough. Malversation was a constant – and very proper, and even necessary – concern for the commissioners of public accounts; but to a man set under authority, having soldiers under him, its prevention could not become an all-consuming business. And obsessive scrutiny started with the smallest thing – like a corn on a hoof. Corns, untreated, grew, suppurated, and at length rendered the animal lame. For as the saying ran, ‘No foot, no horse’.

  No foot, no horse. He laid down the veterinarian’s casting list. He had no certain recollection of the number of horses routinely cast – and he had appended a note asking to see the figures for past years, inasmuch as they remained in the regiment’s records (he realized that he did not know the policy for the retention of any records, but supposed there must be a regulation, whether War Office, Treasury or Board of Ordnance, and had also asked Malet in the note for advice), but his sense, from the experience of his own troop these past years, was that the figure was unduly high. Perhaps if he had formed a higher regard for the veterinarian he might not be so … uncertain; the veterinarian’s manners and appearance were not those of a gentleman, which was only to be expected, for the occupation of veterinary surgeon was not one that commended itself to a gentleman; except that of late years the Sixth had been fortunate in having veterinarians who had acquired the attributes (and even, at times, the appearance) of gentlemen, whereas Thomas Gaskoin had the air of the ostler’s yard, or the corn-market; indeed, he looked more like an old-fashioned farrier than a modern practitioner of the ‘science’ imparted at the college in Camden whence he was licensed. Hervey sighed as he pushed the figures away; he could, he supposed, reconcile himself to the unbecoming appearance of one of his officers, if only he could be sure of his capability – but he could not help deploring that he might have to do so.

  He sighed again, and took a long measure of claret. The remaining papers were but routine orders, easily read – indeed, some affording wry amusement – and then at length he was free to attend to his letters.

  As was his rule, he read first those that were evidently of the nature of business – from the regimental agents, his bank, his tailor and so on – and then those that bore a more personal seal. Of these latter, two were in a female hand – but neither one from Hertfordshire – and only when he had read the others (a dozen or so of felicitation on learning of his return &c), did he turn to them.

  His sister’s looping hand was unmistakable:

  Heytesbury,

  25th January

  My dearest brother,

  I received your letter only yesterday on return from Lyme Regis and on
going to Horningsham, which events I shall try to explain, though I scarce know how to begin. I am wed at last, and so very happily I cannot but daily count God’s blessings upon us. Heinrici is the best of husbands, and our house is full of laughter and merriment from breakfast until the last candles are put out. Heinrici’s children are a constant delight to me, and they call me Mama without the least formality or abashment, for they called their true mother Mutti. We are living at Heytesbury, where Heinrici took a long lease on the park, and Georgiana is with us. Indeed she has been with us since our marriage in September and accompanied us to Lyme, though as a rule she attends Miss Havelock’s school in Warminster. She is very well and daily grows in everything that is admirable in a child. I am so glad that you are returned, and safe returned, and that we might see you presently. It grieved me that you were not here to witness that joyous day in September, but such are the constraints of your life that I could never bear on them for such a selfish purpose. There is so much to speak of when you visit, but you may rest easy that it is all of the most agreeable nature. Indeed, one of the most agreeable pieces of news is the preferment of our father to a canonry in the Close. We are all to go to Salisbury these seven days to see the house and to make the arrangements. Our father has already engaged Mr Williams to be curate at Horningsham, for he is to keep the living as well, but all this news and other should rightly keep for your visiting us, by which time the arrangements will be more definite, though it is probable that Mama and Papa will move to Salisbury in the latter weeks of March to be lodged by Easter, for our father is to have charge of some of the worship of the Passion Week, so it would be for the best, I think, if you were to stay here at Heytesbury unless you are to come very soon.

  Your ever affectionate sister,

  Elizabeth Heinrici zu Gehrden