Longleat
11th August
Dearest Matthew,
Be not in the slightest troubled by duty taking you from me once more, for the relief – and excessive pride – which I and all your family feel on learning of your circumstances quite outweighs our dismay at your temporary estrangement from us. We read daily of the difficulties under which the Duke of Wellington labours in bringing a just peace to France, and if your special facilities might be in any way supportive of those efforts then your absence is more happily to be borne.
He sighed, with considerable relief. Here, indeed, was a handsome understanding of his hasty departure for Paris. That much boded well for when she received the letter he had yet to write explaining that their nuptials must be postponed sine die. His stomach had scarcely stopped churning since Colonel Grant had revealed the immediacy of his mission, and only the urgency of his domestic arrangements had kept him from complete seizure. He read on, cheered by this beginning.
I know of nothing, however, which indisposes my being with you in these labours, and I shall therefore make haste to Paris as soon as I have my guardian’s leave. I send these brief presents to you now by the speediest means so that you might be assured of our great love and my wish to join you at once. Lord John Howard, who has been all kindness in bringing this news, believes that with a fair wind in the Channel I might be in Paris before the third week in this month is out. Pray that it should be so, dearest!
Your most affectionate
Henrietta
His mind was racing even faster than it had at the Horse Guards. He must make himself compute it properly: what was the earliest she might arrive in France if the marquess gave her leave at once? He had to try his fingers to keep count of the stages. Longleat to . . . Dover? A day and a night? The crossing – a day, a night? And if she left on the twelfth, early? . . . Great heavens but it could be done: she might arrive in France this very evening! He rushed from his room to summon the best man for what he had in mind, and then set pen to paper to explain to Henrietta where his new orders were to take him, and their immediacy. Writing at great speed, without time for circumspection, he found himself penning endearments so direct that he blushed as he reread them, unlike some of the lame affairs he had tried hitherto. By the time the knock came at his door, he was positively fired with excitement. ‘Corporal Collins, how is your big French charger?’ he asked, still writing hurriedly.
The NCO looked at him a trifle askance. ‘In hale condition, Captain Hervey, sir.’ The news of his promotion, as any news of note, had not escaped the admirable Collins.
‘Good, I want you to gallop him to Calais, intercept Lady Henrietta Lindsay and escort her to Le Havre, to His Majesty’s Ship Nisus, and by first light on Wednesday! Oh, and I wish you to give her this,’ he beamed, handing him the letter.
Corporal Collins remained as unperturbable as he had been the day of Hervey’s arrest in the middle of the battle at Toulouse. But he did have questions. ‘I take it, sir, that you do not know by which ship her ladyship will arrive?’
‘You are correct, Corporal Collins; I am not even sure that she will arrive at Calais.’
‘I see, sir. Nor, I presume, when exactly she might arrive?’
‘Just so,’ replied Hervey briskly.
‘You wish me, in essence, sir, to patrol the Dover straits and intercept Lady Henrietta?’
‘You have had less agreeable scouting missions, Corporal Collins!’
‘Indeed, sir.’ Collins’s blithe enquiries could hardly conceal his amusement, though not even Hervey’s broad smile could tempt him from his picture of correctness: with a third stripe, maybe, but he still had to secure that precious piece of tape, and correctness meanwhile would be his order of the day. ‘And I presume that at first light on Wednesday your ship will set sail for wherever she is sailing?’
‘India – yes, perhaps even earlier, but not, probably, later.’
‘I shall do my best, Captain Hervey, and, if that is all, I shall take my leave and put my gelding for the coast.’
‘Thank you, Corporal Collins: this may turn out a deuced more important ride than the time you galloped for me at Toulouse.’
Collins allowed himself the suggestion of a smile. ‘I shall at least receive more than a glower at the end of it, sir, unlike with the major!’
Hervey sighed. ‘That you will, though I miss the major’s scowls right enough.’
‘There is not a man that doesn’t, sir. I never imagined we would finish that day in June with so few left in the saddle, but never did I imagine we would see such a battle – just pounding all day.’
‘Well, Bonaparte is on his way to the south Atlantic, so we are told. There’ll be no escape from there.’
‘If I might just say, sir – it’s nice to see you back, and Captain Hervey. I hope you will not be long away, wherever it is you are going.’
‘Thank you, Corporal Collins,’ he replied; ‘I am truly very touched.’
And with that, and the most punctilious of salutes, his erstwhile covering-corporal made off for his gallop, leaving him to the first pangs of regret at promotion away from the family of the Sixth.
Having put his trust in the best NCO-galloper in the regiment, Hervey now followed with military prudence to set in place a plan should Collins fail in his mission. He would seek out the picket serjeant-major, whose name for duty that day he had read in regimental orders with a smile. First, though, he must apprise his commanding officer – for such Lord George still was until formalities were completed – of all that had happened, and next he must inform the adjutant of his despatch of Corporal Collins and the possible arrival, after he himself had left for Le Havre, of Henrietta. And then he would look for the man most likely to serve him aptly, for although Lord George Irvine would be all emollience to any wound, Serjeant Armstrong might have a mastery of Henrietta that no officer was likely to gain.
Hervey found him where in camp he habitually was at that time of the afternoon (whether picket serjeant-major or not), the day’s work largely done, the dog hour before evening stables. The wet canteen was doing brisk trade, and Armstrong sat outside smoking a long meerschaum (the King’s German Legion had made them all the fashion), reading his orders and making entries for such duties as had been completed at this stage of his picket. It was the first they had seen of each other in the best part of a month, and the shared pleasure in the reunion was as much that of friends as of officer and serjeant. Hervey wished first to know how was his arm, for it had taken the glancing point of a lance at Waterloo, and three weeks later – when he had left for England – the wound was not fully closed. Armstrong took off his jacket, pulled up his shirt sleeve and showed him the vivid but dry scar, greatly amused that it was in the shape of a chevron. Which meant, he reckoned, that promotion to serjeant-major was imminent, or – more likely, he sighed – demotion to corporal. Either way, the surgeon had told him that his sword arm would soon regain its full, formidable, power. Hervey told him of his own good news – the promotion and appointment to the duke’s staff (though Armstrong, like Collins, knew of it already) and his India orders. At once Armstrong insisted he be allowed to accompany him.
That was not possible, said Hervey: he had no authority to engage a serjeant.
‘Aw, Mr Hervey, I’d rather gan wi’ ’ee any day than stay ’ere faggin’ aboot like Miss Molly!’
Hervey laughed. How he could lay on the Tyneside for effect! ‘Geordie Armstrong, let me remind you of scripture – “I have married a wife and therefore I cannot come”!’
Serjeant Armstrong had recently drawn quarters by ballot for Caithlin to join him from Cork, and he looked sheepish at the reminding of it. ‘But don’t you preach at me, Mr Hervey!’
‘I should not dream of it,’ he laughed once more: ‘not now that you’re a good Catholic!’
‘Now there’s a rum snitch for you! You know I had no choice!’
‘No, indeed,’ replied Hervey, smiling still. ‘Caithlin
was worth a mass!’
‘Bugger the Pope!’
Hervey frowned in a sort of dutiful disapproval.
Two passing dragoons lost step as they saluted, bringing a blistering rebuke from Armstrong and sending them doubling away as if the sutler were after them at pay parade. ‘This new draft from Canterbury – can’t even walk in a straight line. I sometimes wish I had that depot squadron!’ He took another long draw on his pipe, spat with impressive force and direction into a gutter, and all but emptied his tankard. ‘How are things at hind-quarters? Still pushing out horse-shit are they, sir?’
Hervey smiled at the old joke. ‘The duke looked well, the little I saw of him. He had a very handsome young lady on his arm – that much I can tell you.’
‘Ah,’ exclaimed Armstrong knowingly; ‘that’d be Lady Shelley. She’s hot-arsed for him!’
‘How do you know that?’ he asked, quite taken aback. ‘Is it common knowledge?’
‘Because I did a stint as brigade orderly serjeant last week and saw ’em every day in the Shamsel Easy. He lets ’er ride that chestnut of his.’
‘Well, doubtless it’s all innocent enough,’ Hervey shrugged. ‘He’s earned a little recreation, has he not?’
‘Ay, no-one would deny that. But there’s many as wish that he’d put pen to paper again and do his cavalry justice for yon battle. Have you read his despatch yet?’ He pointed to the old canteen copy of the Times. ‘A lame affair if you ask me: you’d think there’d not been a British horse within a dozen miles of the place!’
‘No, I have not yet read it – but I have heard say that the duke regrets he did not give more praise. Besides, we know the truth, and that is what matters in the end, does it not?’
‘Ay,’ he sighed; ‘and some of it is best not come out, I suppose.’
Silence followed. At length, when Hervey had forced himself to stop thinking of Serjeant Strange and the French lancers (for he could still not wholly rid himself of guilt in allowing Strange to pay with his life so that he might reach the Prussians in time), he steeled himself to his other purpose. ‘I have a favour to ask. It may not come to it, but I have to be prepared.’
Serjeant Armstrong looked intrigued. ‘Ay, anything sir.’
Hervey recounted the long, involved story – the leaving of Horningsham, the business at the Horse Guards, the frigate, Henrietta’s letter, Corporal Collins’s dash to the Channel . . . He was beyond being abashed at the muddle and misunderstanding, as once he might have been: life could not be regulated as if it were a handy troop. He sighed and raised his eyebrows, though, for the muddle was unedifying. ‘So you will see that things are explained to her, and seen to, if she arrives after I’ve gone?’
‘Of course, sir. And as soon as you can fix for me an’ Caithlin to come out and join you—’
‘There is nothing I should like better.’
‘Ay, enough said, Mr Hervey – Captain, I should say. I ’aven’t even said “congratulations” yet. It’s grown-up stuff being an ADC. You’ll be colonel one day soon. Everybody’s pleased for you, but sorry you’re not staying.’
‘I’ll be back right enough, Serjeant Armstrong; don’t you worry. It’s for the best. I know that’s what Lord George says. Grown-up stuff, you think? There has to be a time to leave the regimental nest, at least to flap around for a while.’ He did not sound wholly convinced.
‘Well just don’t shite on the Line, as some of them staff seem to like doing when they fly about!’
‘No indeed, Serjeant Armstrong,’ he laughed; ‘I shall be sweetness itself. And I shall be back!’
‘Ay, well there are going to be too many new faces for my liking – and all as ugly as them two greenheads from the depot just now. So long as Lord George stays commanding we’ll be all right, I suppose. But if he goes I’ve a mind to hand in me bridle.’
‘I should be more than sorry if you did that. And in any case, there’s bound to be promotion soon.’
‘Troop serjeant-major? By God I’d roust some of them corporals about!’
‘Just so, Serjeant Armstrong! I’ll wager you’ll have your crown by the time I get to India.’
‘Maybe, but I hear we’ll be dropping to four troops soon enough, and that’s not a bonny prospect. There are a few ahead of me still.’
‘In seniority, perhaps.’
‘Now as it’s peace, that’s the way things will go,’ he muttered, cocking an eye: ‘seniority tempered by merit, don’t they call it? Seniority tempered by dead men’s boots more like!’
‘Well let us pray not: that’s one lesson that has been learned these past six years, surely?’
‘Ay, perhaps so. At least it’s not seniority tempered by arse-licking, like in some regiments! To dead men’s boots, then,’ he added, thoughtfully, raising his tankard.
‘Yes,’ agreed Hervey, nodding and lifting his own. ‘To absent friends!’
Armstrong tapped it with his: ‘To ’Arry Strange.’
‘To Harry Strange,’ repeated Hervey, his voice muted; ‘and Major Edmonds.’
‘Ay, an’ all the others.’ Armstrong emptied his tankard, rose and placed it carefully on the table outside the canteen door. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, Captain Hervey, sir, I’ll get along to evening stables.’ He fastened the button of his collar flap, replaced his shako and saluted. ‘Good luck, sir. And don’t you worry about Miss Lindsay. She’s as good as on the strength now.’
* * *
The Duke of Wellington entered Colonel Grant’s office without formality and sat in the same chair that Hervey had occupied that morning. His face was a little flushed, as it always was when he had taken leave of Lady Shelley, and he had on a dark blue coat rather than uniform, for he was ambassador as much as he was commander-in-chief. ‘Well, how went things with young Hervey?’
‘Favourably, I believe, duke,’ replied Grant, pouring a glass of hock for him.
‘How much did you have need to tell him?’
‘He has his general mission and cover with the nizam
– he was much taken with it, too. As to the Chintal business, I told him only what he needs to know at this time.’
‘And you can trust this agent of yours in Calcutta? Bazzard, his name you say?’
‘Well, duke, you will not let me go there in person, so Bazzard shall have to do. And I’m sure he will: he has served me well in the past.’
‘You do not think Hervey is in any danger by not knowing all? He did us damned fine service at Waterloo: he doesn’t deserve to end as tiger bait – unlike a dozen I could name three-times his rank!’
‘I don’t see him in any danger, duke. All he has to do is go to Calcutta, and Bazzard will arrange the rest.’ The duke took a sip of his hock, and grunted. ‘Who
in heaven’s name would have thought a bit of dusty land in a place you’ve scarcely heard of should be such a thorn in the side! Those damned Whigs will have me if they possibly can, and since Warren Hastings’ impeachment there isn’t anyone safe who’s made the slightest profit in India!’
Grant raised his eyebrows in sympathy.
‘They’ll block any appointment of me to Calcutta however they can. And once I’m back from Vienna they’ll want me out of the way here too. Finding me with estates in India will be just what they need.’
‘Don’t be too cast-down, duke,’ said Grant, frowning. ‘The mood is swinging against the present administration in India. The calls for you to go back are being heard, I believe.’
The duke grunted again. ‘Well, perhaps so. But, in any case, I’m still unconvinced that anything can be done there without Haidarabad wholly in our pocket. And it will hardly do if I am seen to be in any way beholden to Chintal because of those jagirs – which, I might add, have barely kept me in decent claret these past five years!’
‘I have always believed that were Chintal in the Company’s pocket too, there would be greater room for manoeuvre as regards the nizam.’ Grant poured more hock and lit a cheroot. ‘A small place – yes – bu
t the rajah sits on commanding ground. The nizam could scarcely forbear to take note.’
‘Just so,’ agreed the duke. ‘I should never wish to see Chintal fall to any but the Company. But then neither should I wish to undertake any enterprise against the country powers without the nizam at hand. We need both of them.’
Grant concurred.
‘And you are confident – even though we have not told him all – that Hervey will get those damned jagirs disposed of, and without trace? And will come to no harm?’
‘There is no cause for disquiet on either count, duke,’ replied Grant, shaking his head. ‘The fewer who know these things the safer it must be: that has always been the principle on which I have worked. All he has to do is take a pleasant enough cruise to Calcutta, and then Bazzard will arrange things.’
The duke took another sip of hock before standing and making to leave. ‘And he knows he must make contact with your man before he begins beating about the country?’
‘Sir, he has his orders. The reason we chose him for this mission is that he has proved himself devoted to his profession. In any case,’ he smiled, standing to open the door for his principal, ‘Nisus is under orders to join the East India Squadron, and their station is Calcutta. I do not think we should have any fears about Captain Hervey’s aptness for this.’
II
A STAR IN THE EAST
Le Havre, two days later
‘Captain Hervey, in my twelve years or more in one of His Majesty’s ships I have never heard the like!’
There was no reply.
‘Never before have I been asked to give passage to a horse!’
Still there was no reply.
Captain Laughton Peto, RN, struck the taffrail with his fist in a theatrical gesture of exasperation. ‘Confound it, sir, she is a frigate, not a packet!’
The Nizam's Daughters Page 3
