A Close Run Thing mh-1
Page 39
‘Yes, Sir Harry; she could leave Chatham on this evening’s tide – about eight, I think.’
‘Then,’ said General Calvert, turning to Hervey, ‘you had better lose no time in making arrangements. Mr Howard will lend you every assistance, I am sure. Now, you must excuse me since I have to attend on the Duke of York. Goodbye and good fortune, Captain Hervey. The Service is indeed favoured to have officers of your faculty. Do not suppose that this peace is an end to the requirement for such aptitude.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ replied Hervey simply, before replacing his shako, saluting and turning for the door.
Howard seized his arm the moment it was closed behind them. ‘My dear fellow, no-one could feel happier with this than do I. I could gladly run through that self-important ass of a clerk who began it all, but for my over-hasty presumption, too, I am truly sorry.’
Hervey smiled and touched his arm. ‘No matter, no matter.’
‘See, then,’ Howard pressed, ‘we have but a few hours to catch that frigate by tonight’s tide. I shall arrange a coach for Chatham. You will need meanwhile to see your tailor and agent, and look for other necessaries until your camp-kit is brought to Paris – though I hardly think you will see hard beds there any longer!’
‘Yes, yes … thank you, Howard; it is all so … But see here, what I must do is write to Horningsham. Is there somewhere I may do so?’
‘Of course: we shall go to the staff office here. But look, write only a brief account, and I myself shall take it for you. The rest I shall say on your behalf. I could do no other in the circumstances.’
‘My dear Howard … ,’ began Hervey, pleasantly taken by this warm act of contrition.
‘No, I will hear no objection,’ he insisted. ‘It is the very least thing that I may do for a fellow officer. And, indeed, I mean to make some amends with your sister’ – he faltered a fraction – ‘I mean your family – with whom I seem to have made a disastrous beginning.’
But Hervey did not fully grasp this other aspect to his altruism, for his thoughts were with Henrietta once more. ‘With the approval of her guardian, we might be married in Paris this next month,’ he mused aloud.
‘The approval of Lord Wellington might be the greater impediment,’ suggested Howard with a smile.
‘“And the child Samuel ministered unto the Lord”!’ replied Hervey, smiling, too.
‘What?’
‘First Samuel, chapter 3, verse 1.’
* * *
His Majesty’s Naval Dockyard Chatham, at seven that evening, was still bustling. Hervey’s chaise and pair stopped at the huge gates, the driver took directions from the Royal Marine sentry and then trotted the team a further quarter-mile to the quay where the frigate was moored. Hervey had expected her to be riding at anchor in the roads, and he was pleased that he would not, after all, have to board her precariously from a jolly-boat. As he stepped down from the coach his eye was caught by the decoration of the gallery window high above the quay on the still-rising tide. A figure stared out at him and then disappeared. The gundeck’s yellow side smelled of new paint, and the sail, even to his untutored eye, was furled to perfection. Efficiency itself, he sighed. The Marine sentry at the foot of the gangway which led to the upper deck presented arms, but Hervey hesitated: the conventions of boarding one of His Majesty’s ships were ever a trap to an unwary landsman. And (he would truthfully admit) of men-o’-war and captains of frigates he was ever in thrall.
But the brevet captain swallowed hard. Fastening on his sword-belt and taking up the scabbard in his left hand, he touched his shako peak to the Marine and strode resolutely up the steep gangway. As he stepped aboard and turned to salute aft (the one custom of which he was certain) the same figure of the gallery window appeared on deck, immaculate in frock uniform. His face was a year or so older than Hervey’s (but not more), and it remained motionless while returning the salute. Then it broke into a quizzical smile. ‘Captain Hervey, we presume? We are glad you have at last arrived. I am Captain Laughton Peto.’
Even in the short time it had taken to exchange these compliments three seamen were down the gangway and bringing up Hervey’s chests. He struggled to find some apt reply in deference to this courtesy. ‘I am afraid my journey here has been in much haste, sir. I confess I do not even know your ship’s name.’
Peto smiled again. ‘Nisus; you may have heard of her. Now, Captain Hervey, the tide will be turning any minute. You may come aft and watch as we get under way so that you will have something favourable to tell the duke of your time with the Service. Have you seen a frigate make sail before?’
Hervey glanced at the epaulettes on the captain’s coat. The left one looked distinctly newer. By which he concluded that, since the 1813 regulations required two epaulettes irrespective of seniority (he did not wish to peer too closely at them to search for the crowns which would have settled the matter), Captain Peto had held the rank prior to Bonaparte’s exile to Elba – when, indeed, Hervey had been but a cornet. Thus, it occurred to him that Captain Peto might have commanded Nisus on their Dover escort a year before, which had made such a show of sail on leaving them. But before he could allude thus Peto spoke again. ‘I should tell you, too, that in my cabin there are sealed orders for you from Paris, to be opened only when we are under way.’
‘Sealed orders – for me? Hervey could scarcely contain his wonder at the change of circumstances: a few hours before and he had been staring oblivion in the face. ‘What do you suppose they say?’
‘My dear Hervey,’ laughed Peto, ‘I have not the beginning of an idea. I am a mere frigate captain; you are aide-de-camp to the Duke of Wellington!’
******
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