Fire and Folly (Man of Conflict Series Book 3)

by Andrew Wareham

  The squires assembled round the table had other priorities in mind – they did not much fancy paying for a land war and the expanded army it must demand. There was already an Income Tax, which they bitterly resented, and they feared worse.

  “What of Spain, Colonel Pearce?”

  “Very close to declaring war, sir, or so we are told. There is every expectation that the Spanish fleet will join with the French by the New Year. The sole word I have on that matter was from the Admiral at Portsmouth who told me that Lord Nelson welcomes the prospect as providing more ships of war to add to the fleet without all the bother of having to build them ourselves.”

  “The Spanish are said to build the finest of line-of-battle ships, Colonel Pearce. My third boy is lieutenant on Swiftsure, 74, and tells me that the Spanish may be twice her size on occasion.”

  Sir George offered the comment in almost despondent fashion, was rapidly corrected by another naval father, unknown to Septimus – this was the first time they had met and he had forgotten the man’s name.

  “My boy assures me that it ain’t the size of the ships that counts, Sir George, but the men to be found on them! While we have Nelson commanding ten thousand British tars then we need fear nothing on the world’s oceans!”

  There was a roar of agreement accompanied by emptied glasses: Britannia definitely ruled these waves.

  Home by moonlight, the carriage crawling over the pot-holed chalk track that made do as a road on the Downs.

  “Damned Squires who will not put their hands in their pockets to meet their responsibilities to country or to their fellows in the county! These roads are a disgrace!”

  “Agreed, my love – but there is no gain to complaining – you know what they are! Could a Turnpike Trust not be formed? Would government contribute to a military road? I am sure I have heard of such things.”

  Septimus had not – he would speak to brother George.

  “It is not an impossibility, Septimus. A road that ran northwards from Southampton to join the Great West Road that leads from London to Bristol would have much in its favour. There is already a turnpike from Portsmouth across to Southampton and through the New Forest to Poole. The road from Southampton to Winchester is not formally turnpiked as such, but is kept in good condition nonetheless. There are merchants living in most of the parishes from Southampton along the Itchen, and one or two other rich gentlemen who will pay their share. A turnpike to the north would have any number of advantages. I shall speak to the Member for the County.”

  Septimus knew, vaguely, that George contributed significantly to Tory party funds, both openly in Winchester and more clandestinely in London, to the fund for indigent and careless Members who must be rescued from scandalous debt and unwise liaisons. The investment had paid off in the award of highly profitable contracts for rations for the fleet and the supply of fodder to cavalry regiments across the whole of Southern England, and also allowed for the begging of the occasional favour.

  “From a military point of view, George, a highway that connected Bristol to Portsmouth, usable in all weathers other than deep snow, would have much to commend it. I know that coasters trying to round Land’s End in winter can have a hard time of it and it would be much easier to march regiments overland or to bring supplies by wagon, was there but a road.”

  It would also keep the name of Pearce before the politicians, and that was necessary now; commands for promising colonels and major-generals depended on influence more than merit.

  Man of Conflict Series

  BOOK THREE

  Chapter Three

  “Afternoon, colonel! What’s this I hear about you and the Edgeworths, sir? Just got a letter from an old pal of mine, says they’ve got a down on you. Don’t know just how it came up, but he said that I was in Winchester with the Hampshires, and young Johnny Edgeworth asks if that was under the ‘bloody butcher’ Pearce. My old friend Charlie wrote direct to me to ask if it was so, and what was you in the way of butchering?”

  Six months in Perceval’s company had led Septimus to revise his initial unfavourable impression of the man. A mixture of persuasion and nagging pressure had turned him into the imitation of a competent soldier: he did not know what to do or why he must do it, but he had discovered that if he imitated Septimus then he enjoyed a quiet life. Perceval’s companies were as effective as Major Carter’s and Septimus had no doubt that when, eventually, they went to war they would perform equally well. He had discovered, however, that Perceval had no concept of tact or discretion and would often ask the most indiscreet of questions or comment aloud on matters best left undiscussed.

  They were in the Mess, enjoying a glass and a chat in the early afternoon, both majors and Septimus in the habit of sitting down unofficially once or twice a week and setting the world, and the regiment, quietly to rights. Carter winced and Septimus bridled, but calmed when he saw the lack of malice in Perceval’s face.

  ‘Pleasant enough chap, but not quite bright’ was Septimus’ assessment of him, and he saw no reason to change that.

  “In Bombay, more than two years ago, major. This Edgeworth fellow was a John Company officer, sent out for putting up a black in London – I do not know what he did but he was forced to sell out of the Guards and the family pushed him out to India and into the Company’s army.”

  “Did they now! Rather a harsh thing to do – they did not want him ever to come back! Well, he could not, could he? A Company officer? In Mayfair? Not at all the thing! I shall write to Charlie, ask him to put the word around – don’t suppose he could ask Johnny, tact and all that, but bound to be people who know the griff on that!”

  Major Carter signalled to the Mess Steward; a rare second glass appeared beside each.

  “Whatever the cause, he came out to Bombay and made himself a bad name – forever pushing insults until he was challenged and then coming down for swords, with which he was very skilful, and then pinking his man. Not killing him, swords stop at first blood, but playing with the man and humiliating him first, in front of an audience always.”

  “Never been out meself – well, one don’t, not in London any more, except it’s out of the ordinary way of things. But, that sounds bad, colonel!”

  “It was. He pushed at me one evening and in the end I called him out, and then young Mr Taft came into the affair. He was present so I had asked him to act for me, which he did with great aplomb. Edgeworth’s people said swords, and, from all I have been told, he laughed at them, said it was what he expected, they did not have the balls to face me pistol in hand. Company officers all the same, Taft said, not got what it took to stand up like men; they bit and offered to send their principal against me with whatever I wanted. Taft demanded the pistol and we went out next morning. I put an end to his bullying, to the approbation of damned near every man in Bombay, I would add.”

  “Killed him, colonel?”

  Major Carter raised his voice. “Put him down like a rabid dog, major. Good thing, too! Nasty man, if ever there was one!”

  Perceval shook his head gloomily. “Family won’t like it though, I can see that. Never at fault, the Edgeworths – lords of Creation, they are. You know what they say, ‘they may have faults, but being wrong ain’t one of them’.”

  Septimus shrugged – he would put up with their malice, there was very little they could do to him.

  “You ain’t likely to be seen in Town in the Season, colonel, so they won’t have much chance to get at you. They ain’t much in the military line – might be they would poison a few ears in Whitehall but that won’t do much harm down here.” Perceval shrugged. “Going to the Assembly tomorrow, Carter?”

  Major Carter smiled quietly, said that he would be; no doubt they would observe him to be in the company of Miss Reeve.

  “A handsome young lady, major!”

  “Thank you, colonel. You may, by the way, gentlemen, wish me happy, though I believe that strictly speaking I must ask your permission, colonel?”

  “Lord, so you
must! I can only grant it, with my very best wishes, sir!”

  “And mine, Carter! I hope I may meet up with a lady as handsome and as gently-mannered as her one day, sir!”

  Carter expressed his thanks, said they hoped to marry before the summer was out.

  They turned to a discussion of where best to live in Winchester – Miss Reeve’s parents proposed to purchase them a house within reason close to the barracks.

  “The Reeve family, Marianne. We have not dined with them, I believe?”

  “No, they have only been invited to the Assembly in the last year, my love. The man himself is something from London, made a mint there, married a lady of Kent, I believe, and bought a small estate down towards Owlesbury three or four years ago, while you were still in India, just before I returned. He has a daughter who is out and a much younger son, twelve or so.”

  “Major Carter has begged her hand and been accepted.”

  “A very practical match – her father will lavish money upon her. I am surprised that Major Perceval did not attempt her first!”

  “I doubt it occurred to him – he would not have known her to be rich for never having asked. The thought of marriage outside of Mayfair would not have penetrated his skull, ma’am. A pity in some ways – he should take a wife.”

  “Then I must introduce him to Miss Mitchell tomorrow, I believe?”

  Septimus scratched his head, trying to place the young lady.

  “You danced with her last month, you will remember, husband. You said she was, ‘very sensible in her remarks’.”

  “Oh, yes! Not unattractive, but so badly dressed!”

  “Her mama has no taste at all, but the father made a vast amount of money in Canada, of all places. His ships bring quantities of timber to England, and something called ‘naval stores’, and furs, I am told. He has no son and just the one girl.”

  Septimus casually commented on Miss Mitchell’s wealth next day, saw a twinkle of avarice appear in his major’s eye.

  “No family, of course – you would not take her to the Season, but the father has bought two thousand acres, they tell me, and owns one hundred times as much in the wilds of Canada. I am sure he wishes his girl to climb in the world.”

  The Percevals were an old family and even a younger son had a pedigree to offer. With money in the background and his father willing to exercise a little of influence then it would be possible to establish himself, even if it was in the Provincial wilds. All scandal would be forgotten in a few years and then he could return to a proper way of life, bolstered by his own money, or his wife’s, which was much the same thing.

  He dressed his very best that night, the splendour of Mayfair, the air of the lounger about Town all about him, adding to the fragrance of best lavender water and Castile soap. Strictly speaking, the military officer did not wear a pin in his stock, but a pair of diamonds glinted subtly in his, adding just that touch of distinction. He danced early with Miss Mitchell, not pursuing her but happening to be at her side as the second pair was called; he made it clear he was taken with her when he stepped up later in the evening to offer his arm again. Two months later and he accepted an invitation to dinner from her father, said he was certain his colonel would love to attend as well, pulling the Mitchells a little further into the circle of the elite of the County.

  Septimus was not too displeased – County and Army must march shoulder to shoulder, wealth on the arm of gunpowder and leading the way in their own little world.

  Where he was upset was in the wider military world. There was a war, a great war, but there was no role for the Army, except in India and he was damned if he was going back there again.

  “No campaigns at all, or not worth talking about, gentlemen! What are we to do?”

  Unknown to Septimus, the Edgeworths in London were taking a hand in his affairs.

  The Honourable John Edgeworth – Major Perceval’s friend Johnny and brother to the disgraced but now dead Edgeworth of Bombay – mentioned to his father that he had heard that the Hampshires had returned to Winchester with the man Pearce as their colonel.

  “Settled down in comfort, lording it among the squires, I don’t doubt, sir.”

  Lord Edgeworth was a man to cherish a grievance; he may have regarded his second boy as a vicious wastrel who was better dead, but no jumped-up shopkeeper’s son had the right to kill him. He looked up a number of acquaintances in Horse Guards; Lord Maitland, a junior member of the government gave him an ear.

  “Can’t send them out to garrison in Gibraltar or Malta, Edgeworth – not at all the thing, not when they have just done their time in India. Same for the Sugar Islands. Add to that, we need experienced regiments on the Home Establishment if this damned Bonaparte chap is set on invasion. Could always shift them over to Ireland, I suppose – that’s Home as well, and there’s a sniff of an uprising again around Londonderry. Do this fellow Pearce some good, perhaps, chasing about the bogs in the fogs and rain for a year or two. I’ll see what can be done… What was the reason for it, by the way? I might have to mention the matter to his General Officer Commanding.”

  “A duel, my lord, in Bombay – a minor affair that was to be a passage with the swords, no more. This man Pearce pushed his seconds to mock my son’s people, implied he was yellow for not wishing to go out with pistols. Then he killed my boy when he took him up on it.”

  “Ah, yes, I see. I had not heard… Bombay was it, the young man went to when he was invited to withdraw from the Brigade of Guards?”

  “Yes, my lord. You will remember there was no question of a court-martial and I preferred to avoid the scandal that even an acquittal might have created.”

  “Quite. Just so! I will speak to the Duke of York, I think, and suggest that the Hampshires should be sent to Ireland – he has already mentioned the need to increase the garrisons there, not least for fear of another French incursion onto their shores. They are a good regiment, a sensible choice to make, and they can recruit there…”

  Lord Edgeworth withdrew, pleased enough with the effect of his words; Maitland went to his daily meeting with the Commander-in-Chief, the Duke of York. Despite being second son of the King, who had turned sane for the while, the Duke was hard-working, efficient and honest in his job – though he was careless in his choice of a mistress who was a hand at forgery and put his name most profitably on a number of documents.

  “This business in Ireland, Your Highness – not getting any better, I fear. It could do with a regiment or two added to the establishment there. Perhaps one of cavalry and another of the line, sir?”

  “Can’t withdraw them from the Channel Coast, Maitland! Don’t want to pull them out of Yorkshire or Lancashire, or any of the coal mining places either. Got to keep the reds down, you know!”

  “Of course, Your Highness! What of the county towns? Perhaps the Hampshires down in Winchester, sir. Quiet enough there.”

  “There are the Devons, down in Exeter. Must be even quieter there, Maitland.”

  It was necessary to be open, to be honest with the Duke. A nuisance, it was not good to tell him too much of what was going on in the world.

  “Edgeworth put a word in with me, Your Highness. The colonel of the Hampshires killed his son in a duel in India not so long ago and he wants to kick him into the Irish bogs for a year or two, just to annoy him.”

  Edgeworth had occasionally sided with the Whig Opposition in the House of Lords. Do him a favour now and he could easily be persuaded to vote the right way in future.

  “Edgeworth’s son… in India? Is he that nasty piece of work who was part of that bad business down by the River three or four years back?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Couple of girls killed in a brothel, was it not? Some sort of vile conduct, I recall – none of the details let out but it was supposed to be very bad. Ernest was there, as well, was he not?”

  The Duke’s younger brother was supposed to be of a particularly vicious tendency, enjoying some very perverse pleasures
.

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “And this fellow in the Hampshires put a bullet through the man? Sounds a good thing, to me!”

  “Yes, Your Highness. A Colonel Pearce, sir – not a name one might know, sir. Edgeworth is rather upset that his son might be casually killed off by one of that sort.”

  “He should be bloody thankful!”

  “We do need to ensure a proper majority in the House, Your Highness.”

  “Of course, can’t let that damned fool Wales have his Whigs in office.”

  There was little love lost between the Duke of York and his eldest brother, the Prince of Wales.

  “Two years, Maitland. You can send the Hampshires out for two years, but then they are to get a plum. This man Pearce is to take them out on the next good campaign, sir, and he is to be looked after, sir.”

  Maitland made his promise, knowing that the Duke would remember and would check on it.

  ‘A pity he’s not as mad as his father – life would be easier without all of them!’

  The order reached Winchester three weeks later and caused outrage.

  “More than six years in India and back home less than a twelvemonth before being pushed out to the bogs? Very wrong, Colonel Pearce!”