A Regimental Affair

by Mallinson, Allan

  Shortly before midnight, when the contented diners were dispersed, if not actually retired, Lord Towcester arrived from London. The adjutant told him of the plans that had been put in hand, and the lieutenant colonel at once exploded with rage. Why was his regiment broken up in this way, he demanded? Why had the dispositions been made so? Who had presumed to choose which troop would go where? He sent for Hervey.

  ‘What in the name of God do you think you do, sir?’ bawled Lord Towcester as Hervey came to his quarters – so loud indeed, that the whole of the White Hart must have heard.

  Hervey explained, in the most composed manner imaginable, that the GOC had stated his intention, and that the consequent troop dispositions were all approved by him.

  ‘Then you should have represented to the general officer commanding, in the strongest terms, that the dispersal of cavalry is contrary to the practice of war!’

  Hervey was now thoroughly on the alert, for the lieutenant colonel’s response was as irrational as it was hostile. They were no more at war than they had been in Ireland. ‘Your lordship, the general believes that the deployment of a troop to each town will of itself discourage trouble, and at the same time permit rapid reinforcement.’

  ‘Well, I do not, sir! It will inflame the population, that is all. And then we shall have trouble everywhere. Who decided which troop should go where?’

  ‘I did, sir. There is little to choose between the towns, so far as the general is aware.’

  ‘And you placed yourself here in Nottingham?’

  ‘Yes, your lordship.’ The inflection suggested he was puzzled.

  ‘You chose to remain close to the general, when the other troops are expected to face the trouble alone? And with your wife here, too!’

  Hervey boiled inside. He wanted to treat the insult as a matter of honour, to have it out once and for all, with pistols, swords – whatever the Earl of Towcester chose. He fought the urge for all he was worth, however, for the voices in his head – Henrietta’s, Armstrong’s, Strickland’s – all begged him not to call out Lord Towcester.

  He told himself that the hour was late, and the lieutenant colonel’s journey had been long and tiring. In any case, the adjutant as the sole witness was not worth the trouble. ‘Your lordship, in your absence I was required to—’

  ‘I think you take upon yourself a very great deal, Captain Hervey! You must have known that I was to arrive this evening.’

  ‘No, sir, I did not. I received no communication whatever.’ He managed, he hoped, to keep the simple statement from sounding like a complaint.

  ‘Well, I tell you, sir’ – Lord Towcester’s voice had risen substantially in both volume and pitch – ‘that I command this regiment, and I say where the troops shall go. The adjutant shall countermand the orders at once and shall issue new ones at first parade. You may dismiss.’

  Hervey replaced his cap, saluted and left. He was tired, confounded, and above all angry at the additional labour which would now fall to the troops – and the inevitable delay and confusion it must cause, so that what might have been the appearance of a regiment under good order would like as not be quite the opposite. Perhaps he overestimated the difficulties they faced with these Luddites; perhaps Lord Towcester’s arrogant disregard of them was more apt. But that was not Sir Francis Evans’s opinion. Hervey stood for several minutes in the White Hart’s empty smoking room wondering how much longer he could tolerate a martinet whose actions seemed calculated to bring the regiment to calamity.

  There seemed no point sending any orders to his troop at that hour. Without knowing what was to be done, nothing could be gained by even a preliminary order cancelling the previous one. He had to know first what was nugatory before he might halt it. The smoking-room clock showed that it was well past watch-setting; his dragoons would be asleep. He decided to let them sleep on.

  The night light was still burning when he went back to his room. Henrietta was sleeping peacefully, her tresses spread on the pillow as if just arranged by her lady’s maid. He stood long looking at her, contemplating – indeed marvelling at – the changes which nature was working within. Henrietta was changed for ever from the girl he had known. She was changed the night of their wedding, as was he, though in different measure. And the quality of his love for her was changed now by what nature was accomplishing. Perhaps he began only now to comprehend truly what John Keble had meant when he spoke of their becoming one flesh.

  He looked about the room. It was a mean lodging compared with Longleat – compared with the vicarage at Horningsham, even. He had brought her to a place no better than a corn merchant might use, although she did not complain. She had made light, indeed, of his concern at the meagre furnishings, and his disdain of the boiled fowl that passed for partridge at the supper brought to her. Caithlin Armstrong might find contentment in such surroundings when she arrived with the sutler’s wagons, and Serjeant Armstrong could have the satisfaction of knowing that his outlay gave her unaccustomed comfort; but he, Captain Matthew Hervey, had failed to honour his wife as her guardian would have expected, and he himself wanted. Would it be ever thus if she followed the trumpet?

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  DUKERIES

  Mansfield, next day

  A Troop reached Mansfield towards the middle of the morning. Hervey had taken his amusement at this substitution silently, for Lord Towcester evidently had great satisfaction in sending him from Nottingham, not realizing that Hervey would be a full three hours closer thereby to Chatsworth, whither Henrietta was driving even now. Indeed, he was a little surprised that the lieutenant colonel had not sent him even further afield, to Worksop for instance, though he supposed that Towcester feared having him at too distant an arm’s length.

  Mansfield seemed a pleasant enough town, its population not especially hostile as the troop rode in. There was a fine church – Norman towers were not a common sight in Hervey’s part of England – and a handsome moot hall. There were curious dwellings carved out of the sandstone cliffs along the Southwell road, where, he was informed by his guide, there were many families still, and there were extensive Roman remains, though only partially excavated. A more peaceful place than Mansfield, in the heart of the once great Sherwood forest, it would have been difficult to imagine. Yet only two weeks ago, an armed mob had attacked one of the new steam-loom factories on the edge of the town, the owner and his night watch only managing to drive off the assailants after killing five of their number and wounding a dozen more. The mob had returned the following night and, after a gun battle in which there were more casualties, succeeded in demolishing the factory. The scarred remains now stood as a stark reminder to the authorities that beneath the tranquil canopy of Sherwood there lurked, as there had so many years ago, predatory bands.

  Who were they, Hervey wondered, and who were the ringleaders? The bench, it seemed, had no idea, and the constable seemed afraid to ask. Hervey soon discovered that his troop was not so much assisting the civil power as obliged to be the power. No sooner had they arrived but Mansfield’s most prominent citizens besieged him in the moot hall to enquire how he intended to pacify the neighbourhood. Hervey was at a loss, and could only assure his audience that he stood ready to answer – and promptly – calls for assistance from the magistrates. The predicament of a number of those living in isolated houses outside the town was brought to his notice, and he had to agree that passivity would save neither life nor property in their case. He asked what measures they themselves had taken, and was surprised by the degree of fortification which some of the houses had undergone, and the extent to which firearms were kept at hand for their domestic staff. But the steam-loom factory had been barricaded and defended, too, they pointed out, and that had not stopped its destruction. Hervey promised he would consult with the senior magistrates at once. And so, Lieutenant Seton Canning having taken the troop out to the grange on the Southwell road, just beyond the town, which was to be their quarters, Hervey rode with just his trumpeter and coverman t
o Clipstone Hall to meet the chairman of the Mansfield bench.

  After the major general’s dire warnings of the inadequacy of the magistracy, Hervey was very pleasantly surprised by whom he found at Clipstone. Sir Abraham Cole seemed neither a scheming Whig nor a baying Tory. He was instead a rather bookish man in his late fifties, with a ready, if slightly anxious smile, and a civilized way with his words. His father had bought the baronetcy half a century before with his stocking-making wealth, afterwards buying and extending the hall, and Sir Abraham had since combined the running of the family business with his other passions – astronomy, collecting Chinese porcelain, and making a new translation of the Old Testament. Hervey sat in the library, admiring the shelves and sipping a fine Montilla sherry.

  ‘Would you tell me, please, Captain Hervey, if you are permitted to do so, what are your orders?’

  Hervey smiled. There was something most engaging in Sir Abraham Cole’s courtesy. ‘Of course, Sir Abraham. Put very simply, I am to answer any call for assistance from a properly constituted authority – the bench, the constables – and to act on my own cognizance as may be lawful for the maintenance of the King’s peace.’

  Sir Abraham nodded. ‘And this means that you may take an active part?’

  ‘It does,’ replied Hervey. ‘But the general officer commanding the district is anxious to avoid prolonged engagement or any appearance of martial law.’

  ‘That is understood,’ said Sir Abraham equably. ‘Have you heard of posse comitatus? It is the means, in common law, by which a sheriff – or now, indeed, the lord lieutenant – may call upon all male members of the county above the age of fifteen years to assist in preventing riot or enforcing process.’

  ‘I do remember now,’ said Hervey, recollecting his Shrewsbury history. ‘And I seem to recall, too, my father’s being amused that the clergy were exempt.’

  Sir Abraham smiled again. ‘Indeed, yes. And peers, too – I shall return to them. Well then, now that we have a force of regular cavalry to fortify the weaker spirits, I intend applying to the lord lieutenant under those powers to raise a body locally for the preservation of the peace. My desire these many years past has been that we should have a stipendiary constabulary. But that will be a long time in the coming yet, and so we must rely on the posse to provide us with special constables.’

  That was as well, thought Hervey, for the GOC had said that he was considering withholding assistance if a town or village had not taken its own measures to preserve the peace. ‘You were going to say something of peers, Sir Abraham?’

  Sir Abraham Cole paused for a moment. ‘You are no doubt aware that we are on the edge of the Dukeries. I am sorry to say that their graces and Lord Manvers take a contrary opinion in respect of law enforcement. They are not troubled in their parks, you understand, and news of any outrage reaches them late, so that the sting is too far drawn. I truly believe they are of the view that broken machinery is a price willingly to be paid to avoid a greater insurrection.’

  ‘And does this make keeping the peace more difficult?’

  Sir Abraham shook his head. ‘Well, it certainly doesn’t make it easier. Their support would greatly assist us raising a special constabulary, for instance.’

  Hervey waited for him to say more, but it was some time before Sir Abraham seemed ready to confide in him.

  ‘I have it on good authority that the Dukeries at night are something of a haven for drilling men. The keepers turn a blind eye.’

  ‘I am astonished,’ said Hervey, frowning deeply. ‘I find it hard to credit that peers of the realm could connive at . . . treason in this way.’

  Sir Abraham nodded. ‘Looked at like that, you are in the right. But what if they did not believe it all amounted to a real threat of insurrection? I’ve heard it related that the Duke of Portland says the business of the Blanketeers proves that fears are too exaggerated.’

  Hervey sighed. ‘Let us pray they are right.’

  Sir Abraham asked if he would take luncheon with him, and although Hervey regretfully declined, he accepted a second glass of sherry, for he wanted to be clear on the bench’s view of the situation, and he still had questions. ‘There are two distinct threats, are there not, Sir Abraham? There is that to the government – the crown, indeed – and there is that to the peace hereabouts, in the form of machine-breaking and food riots.’

  Sir Abraham agreed.

  ‘The one might well sustain the other, however, and we have to proceed on that surmise. Their graces might well be in the right about the real threat to the crown, but if general lawlessness goes unchecked it may generate a greater malevolence. That, indeed, is what some of the political speakers are hoping, is it not?’

  Sir Abraham seemed delighted. ‘Captain Hervey, I very much approve of all that you have said! I confess to having been in two minds about the arrival of the military, for my experience of military officers is solely that of the militia and the yeomanry, and I am afraid that it has not always been felicitous.’

  Hervey’s own experience of both had been limited but equally infelicitous. ‘I thank you, sir. I trust you will find us handy.’ He finished his glass. ‘I believe we should meet later this week to speak of the employment of your special constables.’

  ‘Yes, yes indeed. But before you go, Captain Hervey, allow me to show you – briefly, of course – my collection of Chinese porcelain, and my observatory.’

  Sir Abraham’s invitation was so unaffected in its enthusiasm that Hervey could not but accept. And glad he was, too, for when they went to the observatory on the roof he was put in mind of a simple scheme which had long served the nation well in its darkest times, and which would do the same for the manufacturers.

  The telescope, turned terrestrial, commanded a great tract of country. ‘Sir Abraham, do you think it likely that the machineowners can see each other’s houses – from the roofs I mean?’

  Sir Abraham thought a while, going through the names in his mind. ‘You wouldn’t be able to see Barlow’s place; it’s past the Worksop road. It was his factory that was burned to the ground the day after mine. But the rest? Ay, you might see them.’

  ‘You would see a beacon, then?’

  ‘On the roof? Ay, you should be able to see a beacon, especially at night.’

  ‘There have been no attacks in broad daylight, have there?’

  ‘That is true.’

  ‘So if you were to arrange a chain of beacons, with a watch, then we could send assistance very promptly. I don’t imagine, frankly, that Mr Barlow’s house is in danger any longer.’

  ‘Captain Hervey, that is a capital idea! I am full of regard for your address. I shall begin on it at once.’ Sir Abraham had his fist clenched as if determined to do something disagreeable.

  Hervey hoped his resolution would spread to his fellow owners. ‘Then I shall send my lieutenant here tomorrow, and he can make the finer arrangements.’ He thought for a second, and then judged the moment right. ‘You know, Sir Abraham, it might be worth while setting new hounds on the scent of Barlow’s ruiners – terriers, indeed, since they appear to have gone deep to earth. I have had occasion to see investigators from Bow Street in a case of murder, and from a most unpromising cold trail they were able to dig out the murderers. The outlay would not be small, but—’

  ‘Hang the outlay, Captain Hervey. I have such a strong presentiment of your succeeding in something here, that I shall foot the bill myself for the time being!’

  ‘How is Harkaway?’ asked Hervey as soon as he reached Ransom Grange from Clipstone.

  Johnson took Gilbert’s reins and shook his head. ‘ ’E was forging badly on t’way from Mansfield.’

  ‘Was it just tiredness?’

  ‘There’s summat up wi’ ’im. Some o’ t’others were knocked up when we got to Nottingham, but they were right by morning.’

  Hervey ducked under the bar of Harkaway’s stall. ‘Did you see any blood at his nostrils at any stage?’

  ‘No, sir, not once.’


  Hervey had no doubt that Johnson would have noticed the slightest bleeding. ‘What did the veterinary officer say?’

  ‘Just to physic ’im, which I’d done anyway.’

  ‘Well, let’s give him another mash tonight, with some nitre.’

  Johnson pulled the bar back across the stall as Hervey stepped out. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I just didn’t see anything. ’E’s been in as good a fettle as any o’ t’others up to now.’

  Hervey smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘We’ll have him to rights soon enough.’

  They left the stable and began walking to the officers’ house. A dozen or so jackdaws were picking at the droppings in the yard. ‘They’re pleased we’ve come, at least,’ said Johnson.

  Hervey smiled again as he watched them carefully selecting the uncrushed grains. ‘Oh, there are others, too. I had rather a nice meeting with the chairman of the bench earlier on.’

  ‘What d’ye reckon, then, sir? It’s a lot quieter than I thought it’d be. We’d all thought we’d be on riot duty t’first night.’

  Hervey confided that he’d expected the same, though he was grateful to have been wrong. ‘Maybe it’s just our numbers. Or maybe the ringleaders are biding their time. There’s more machinery being brought from Birmingham in the next week or two, and that might be a cause for trouble.’

  Johnson nodded. ‘We were wondering if we’d be allowed into Mansfield.’

  Armstrong would be asking him that too, no doubt. It would be safer not to let his men associate with the citizenry, for besides the usual fights, it did not do to have the very force sent to coerce the populace drinking with them the day before. But Mansfield was hardly seething, and it was not the populace as a whole that was to be coerced. Hervey imagined there would be more peace caught from the dragoons than sedition caught from the townspeople.

  ‘I’ll have a word with Serjeant Armstrong. In any event, it should help the posse the magistrates are getting up.’