The Nizam's Daughters

by Mallinson, Allan

  ‘You know, of course, of the Duke of Wellington’s service in those lands – of his signal success in the Maratha war a decade ago?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ smiled Hervey: he had read accounts, of Assaye especially.

  ‘Well, the duke expects to be appointed governor-general in Calcutta when his duties at the Congress in Vienna are concluded.’

  Hervey was not altogether surprised, for the duke’s elder brother had occupied that office at the time of the Maratha war.

  ‘Just so, Captain Hervey, and it has been the reversal of Lord Wellesley’s policies these past ten years that has brought about the enfeeblement of the British interest in Hindoostan today.’ Colonel Grant paused before resuming, seeming to want to plant some notion in Hervey’s mind. ‘It is highly probable,’ he continued portentously, ‘that the Board of Control will soon relieve Lord Moira of his office and press the duke to accept it.’

  ‘And shall he?’ asked Hervey, unsure of the honour that such an office held for a man who was now, without dispute, the first soldier of Europe.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Grant emphatically, and then, a little less so, added that the duke would first wish to be assured of certain preconditions. ‘But I have no doubt that all these may be accommodated, and so we proceed on the assumption that the duke shall relieve Lord Moira in the new year.’

  Hervey was uncertain, now, of his own tenure of appointment. ‘Shall the duke want me with his staff in India, sir?’

  ‘Indeed he will, Hervey; indeed he will. So much so that he wishes you to proceed there in advance of him. What say you to that?’

  What might any officer say? India – the place that had made the young Arthur Wellesley’s reputation! He supposed he would soon tire of Paris in any case, for garrison duties were always irksome, even in aiglets. He presumed he would be given leave in a month or so to return to England to marry Henrietta, and they would have the best of the autumn together in this fair city before balmy days cruising in a comfortable East Indiaman. He would be some distance from his beloved regiment but . . . ‘I am all eagerness, sir, for I never supposed I should see Hindoostan. I imagine that the duke wishes me to arrange for his arrival in due course – is that so?’

  ‘In a manner of speaking,’ replied Grant, glancing down again at the papers on his desk, seemingly unwilling to answer the question direct. ‘Tell me, Hervey – what do you know of the country powers in India?’

  ‘That they are very largely at odds with each other, and at various times with the East India Company too. Beyond that I have no especial knowledge.’

  ‘Have you heard, say, of the kingdom of Haidarabad?’

  ‘Of course, sir: the nizam, as I understand it, rendered the duke considerable service in the war against the Marathas.’

  ‘Just so, Hervey; just so,’ nodded Grant approvingly:

  ‘—our faithful ally.’

  There was another period of silence, during which Hervey wondered if he were to be given any more tests of his scant knowledge of the subcontinent.

  ‘The point is,’ said Grant at length, seeming to search carefully for his words, ‘India is far from being in the condition now that it was when the duke and the Marquess Wellesley, his brother, left there ten years ago. There has been fearful mismanagement. Cornwallis, Lord Wellesley’s successor as governor-general, died within months of getting to Calcutta. His successor, Sir George Barlow, was nothing short of a booby, and thereafter it was Lord Minto – and he would do nothing that might result in any additional cost to the directors of the company. The Earl of Moira, who has been in Bengal for the best part of two years now, is, it seems too, a man in the same mould.’

  ‘And so the duke is chary of what he might find there,’ suggested Hervey.

  ‘Yes indeed. And he is firmly of the opinion that the predisposition of the nizam towards us is of the essence. And, too, the condition of his army. Our agents report variously on this latter.’

  Our agents – Hervey could not but be impressed by the duke’s interest and reach.

  ‘Which is where, Captain Hervey, your immediate duties in respect of your appointment will lie.’ Grant was emphatic but still a shade elusive.

  Hervey’s look conveyed both keenness and curiosity.

  ‘To put it baldly, Hervey, I wish you to go to Haidarabad and to make an assessment of the service-ableness of the nizam’s forces, paying especial attention to his cavalry and artillery. And if you are able to gauge anything of the nizam’s feelings towards us then such might be of inestimable value to the duke.’

  If Matthew Hervey had had a moment’s disappointment when, earlier, the duke had seemed dismissive, his self-esteem was now wholly restored, and with interest, for here was a mission of substance, a pivot on which the duke’s entire policy in India might turn – and entrusted to him, a captain of but a few days. Heavens but there were rewards for Waterloo! He felt his cheeks aglow. He could hear his heart beating. He had a sense of floating, even. He began imagining how, with Henrietta, he might tour the kingdom of the nizam. They would see sights of which they would never dream – perhaps riding with the nizam’s cavalry, and hunting all manner of beasts.

  Grant called him back to the present. ‘There must be great circumspection in this mission, Captain Hervey,’ he added; ‘it would not do for the nizam to believe that the duke had sent a spy. You will thereby travel to Haidarabad on a pretext.’

  Hervey nodded. It need not dull any of the thrill. ‘Is that pretext decided, sir?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Grant firmly. ‘The nizam’s cavalry are renowned for their skill with the lance. The duke has already set in train certain measures to form lancer regiments in our own army, consequent on witnessing the great effectiveness of the French lancers at Waterloo.’

  Hervey winced at his own memory of that weapon’s effectiveness. He was pleased to hear that it was at last to be put in the army’s hands.

  ‘And you will therefore be engaged in an ostensible study of the employment of that weapon,’ continued Grant. ‘Here is a letter of introduction to the nizam, conveying the duke’s respect, and so forth, and here is another to the authorities in Calcutta requesting them to make all arrangements for you to travel to Haidarabad. When you arrive in Calcutta you will make contact with a Mr Josephus Bazzard, a writer at Fort William – head-quarters of the Honourable East India Company on that continent, as you may know. He is our agent there and he alone knows of this mission. He will render you any additional assistance necessary.’

  An uncomfortable thought now occurred to him. There was a certain immediacy in the tone of Colonel Grant’s instructions. ‘When would the duke wish me to leave for India, sir?’ he asked, but with as little concern as he could manage.

  ‘Not quite at once, Captain Hervey, but within the next day or so. The frigate which conveyed you here will at this moment be dropping anchor at Le Havre with instructions to await your rejoining her.’

  Much of the colour drained from his face.

  ‘Does that present you with difficulties?’ enquired Grant sceptically.

  ‘I am to be married, sir.’

  ‘I see. Do I take it that you therefore wish to decline this assignment?’

  If only he might have a fortnight – ten days, even. Something might be arranged . . .

  ‘I am afraid that is not possible, Captain Hervey. This enterprise is already some weeks past due. There was some misunderstanding at the Horse Guards about your appointment to the duke’s staff, was there not?’

  Hervey would have wished not to be reminded of that unhappy business, and Grant was insinuating that his predicament was of his own making. What could he say?

  ‘Very well then, you will leave tomorrow on the frigate Nisus,’ said Grant briskly but airily: it saved him the distaste of issuing a direct order. ‘Now, there is one more thing, Captain Hervey.’

  He was beginning to think there was always one more thing in staff affairs. How straightforward was regimental life by comparison. ‘Sir?’ />
  Colonel Grant cleared his throat and glanced down at his papers again. ‘You are acquainted with a Mr Selden, I believe – lately veterinary surgeon to the 6th Light Dragoons?’

  No other name could have come as quite such a surprise. ‘Ye-es,’ he replied cautiously.

  ‘Selden had to take his leave from Ireland owing to . . . ill health,’ said Grant, looking up at Hervey for confirmation of this apparently official rendering of events.

  Hervey would not confirm or gainsay it. Rather, he returned Grant’s gaze in anticipation of what was to follow.

  ‘And he has gone back to India, where he spent the early part of his service, as I understand it?’

  ‘I did not know he had gone back, sir,’ replied Hervey, now wholly intrigued.

  ‘Mm,’ nodded Grant; ‘our agents report that he has an appointment at the court of the Rajah of Chintal.’

  There seemed no end to Colonel Grant’s information. Hervey, again, made no reply.

  ‘Chintal is a very minor princely state to the east and contiguous with Haidarabad. It would be an entirely regular thing for you to make contact with Mr Selden during your travels, would it not? Chintalpore, where is the rajah’s palace, is close to the Godavari river, downstream of the nizam’s territories.’

  ‘Make contact for the purposes of acquiring his assessment of affairs?’ asked Hervey.

  ‘That might be helpful,’ nodded Grant; ‘but there is another matter – a matter of some delicacy.’ He looked down again and rearranged the papers. ‘At the conclusion of the Maratha war the duke was given title to certain jagirs – estates, if you will – which lie within Chintal. It is now prudent that these jagirs be . . . alienated.’

  Hervey did not at first know what to make of this.

  ‘And I am to be an instrument in alienating them?’

  ‘Just so, Captain Hervey. But it is a trifle more complicated than that. You see, it were better if the duke had never had title to these jagirs in the first instance. It were better if all trace, in terms of deeds and the like, were . . . no more.’

  Hervey understood right enough, but not why. Colonel Grant lowered his eyes and his voice. ‘Captain Hervey, it is one of the precepts of intelligence work that if it be not necessary to know, then a person should not be made privy.’

  Hervey looked suitably chastened.

  ‘Well then – let us address ourselves to the particulars of your mission.’

  ‘Hell and confound it!’ cursed Hervey, startling even Private Johnson. ‘How long has she been like this?’

  ‘A week, sir. She came down wi’ it last Saturday after drill.’

  Jessye was, it seemed, feverish. She had been coughing a good deal and was off her feed. ‘You didn’t get her into a muck sweat and then just put her away?’

  ‘No ah didn’t, Mr ’Ervey!’ Johnson was deeply offended, his broad Sheffield vowels stretching to twice their usual length.

  ‘Oh, I . . . I beg your pardon, Johnson. I said the first thing that came into my head.’

  There was no-one else about in the infirmary stables, just a couple of box-rest cases. Jessye need not have been there, strictly, but Johnson had been pleased to remove himself from the supervision of the riding master and to give her a bigger stall and more straw. These were fine stables, thought Hervey – the best he had ever seen. ‘The King of France’s horses are better housed than I.’

  ‘Eh, sir?’

  ‘I was just thinking on something the Elector of Hanover is supposed to have said,’ he replied absently. ‘It was a good move of Lord George’s to get this billet. I’d rather her sweat out the fever here than in the first place we had.’

  ‘It’s nowt but a chill, anyroad,’ said Johnson confidently. ‘Not as bad as that one she got in Ireland last Christmas, either.’

  ‘No,’ sighed Hervey, ‘I can see that now, but I had a mind to ride her to Le Havre.’

  ‘Where’s that? Ah wouldn’t take ’er nought but a mile or so.’

  ‘On the coast.’

  The coast. Johnson looked at him searchingly. ‘Is tha gooin’ t’tell me abaht it then Mr ’Ervey?’

  He had wished for a better moment, but . . . ‘How would you like to go to India, Johnson?’ he tried bluntly.

  ‘Wi’ thee, Mr ’Ervey?’

  Hervey smiled with some satisfaction. ‘You mean that going half-way round the world would be conditional only upon the officer you groomed for?’

  ‘Mr ’Ervey, outside Sheffield it’s all t’same t’me!’

  ‘Then I take it you will come with me?’

  ‘I’m thy groom!’

  Hervey smiled again, with much relief: there would be one familiar face at least, but above all a man he could trust in what was bound to be the occasional tight corner. ‘And you have heard that it is “Captain” now?’ he added rather proudly.

  ‘Ay, I keep forgettin’. It’s a bit of a bummy fer me, though, since I’ll now ’ave to stand in t’front rank at stables parade.’

  Hervey’s smile widened yet more. ‘You may not be here that long!’

  Johnson scooped up a fresh pile of droppings with the clapboards and threw them into a wicker skip.‘When do we ’ave t’go?’

  ‘Tomorrow. And we take Jessye with us. Do you think you’ll be able to lay hands on a horse ambulance?’

  ‘In France?’ gasped Johnson in astonishment; ‘they eat their ’orses ‘ere as soon as they go lame!’

  Hervey frowned, unsure if this half-truth were to Johnson’s mind a serious objection. ‘There must be an ambulance at the duke’s headquarters – or sprung tumbrils for racehorses somewhere in the city.’

  ‘All right, sir: I’ll ask one of t’other grooms to go ’n ’ave a look. I’d go meself but tha’ll want all thee kit gettin’ ready. If there is one we’ll find it.’

  ‘Thank you, Johnson,’ Hervey replied softly, gripping his shoulder; ‘I would not have split the two of you, and I would not wish to go to India without her.’

  ‘Well,’ said his groom with a shrug, ‘it’s nice te know which of us counts fer most!’

  ‘You know very well what I mean,’ replied Hervey, not inclined to flatter him any more.

  ‘And can I ask why we’re gooin’ t’India, sir?’

  ‘You may ask, yes, but I would rather you didn’t.’

  Johnson whistled beneath his breath.

  ‘Don’t make that silly noise. It’s just that I am not able to speak of it at present.’ He had no wish to deceive his own groom (though he recognized what an inauspicious beginning to covert work that was).

  ‘Right enough Mr – Cap’n – ’Ervey, sir! I’ll not say another word abaht it.’

  All this had been conducted from either side of the bar of Jessye’s stall, and Hervey now ducked under it to take a closer look at her. She gave him a snuffling welcome which flecked his jacket, and then proceeded to rub her nose dry on his sleeve. ‘Her eye is bright enough,’ he concluded: ‘she’s certainly on the mend. Have you been giving her anything?’

  ‘Mothballs and nightshade for ’er cough to start with. Then iron tonic.’

  Hervey nodded. ‘Has there been anything else?’

  ‘No, she’s been as right as rain. An’ if yer ’ave a look, them windgalls ’ave got no worse.’

  He felt down each fore cannon to the fetlock joint. The swellings which had been so prominent after they had reached Paris – as with so many of the regiment’s horses after the work they had been forced to do in the preceding weeks – were, if anything, less pronounced. ‘See,’ said Hervey, with a mild tone of triumph, ‘I told you blistering wouldn’t be necessary. Windgalls generally look after themselves if you leave well alone.’

  Johnson smiled thinly.

  Hervey recognized the admission. ‘Come, then, man:what have you been doing with them?’

  Johnson spoke boldly again. ‘Tha knows that iodine stuff that Mr Selden were always on abaht?’

  It was strange how Selden’s name should crop up again so soo
n. ‘Ye-es?’

  ‘Works a treat.’

  ‘How did you find iodine?’ asked Hervey, dubiously. It had never been freely available before: Selden had had his smuggled from France as if it were brandy.

  ‘Them Frenchies use it all t’time.’

  ‘You have been . . . progging – in the French lines?’

  ‘Ay.’

  Hervey smiled as he shook his head.

  ‘An look at ’er shoes: they’s saved ’er a lot of strain.’

  He picked up her near fore. ‘Calkins! You know I don’t trust calkins.’ But he was much taken by the workmanship. ‘Who made them? I’ve never seen neater!’

  ‘Oh . . . a farrier.’

  Hervey’s ear was attuned enough to Johnson’s Yorkshire to alert him at once to the purposeful absence of the definite article. ‘Which farrier?’

  ‘You don’t know ’im.’

  ‘Johnson!’

  ‘Well, when ah were gettin t’iodine—’

  ‘You don’t mean that you have had Jessye shod by a damned Frog!’

  Johnson admitted his delinquency.

  ‘Well, I have to say these shoes appear to do their job well,’ he conceded with a heavy sigh, ducking under the bar again. ‘She’s unlikely to see a set put on so faithfully where we are going.’ There was hardly time, anyway, to be talking about the finer points of farriery. ‘Now, I shall have to be about some pressing matters. Come to my quarters after evening stables, if you will. And try any stratagem to get a box on wheels for her meanwhile!’

  The last thing he expected to see when he returned to the Sixth’s mess that afternoon was an express from Longleat, and it was all he could do to escape the curiosity of the half-dozen other occupants of that superior billet to find a private corner in which to discover the condition of his engagement to Henrietta Lindsay. That message from London, composed in half-bewildered haste in the ADCs’ office at the Horse Guards after he had learned of his appointment, might so easily have been received with ill favour. Before breaking the seal he made a rapid estimate to assess whether it could have been written after receipt of his own, but his calculation was inconclusive, and he therefore opened it with much uneasiness.