A Regimental Affair

by Mallinson, Allan

  The Mississaugas came out of the forest like some sudden, mechanical change of scenery on a stage. There seemed no movement, only appearance – a dozen or so warriors at the same instant, in the same attitude, well wrapped in long moosehide coats, full hair to the shoulders, faces dyed red above the cheekbones. They stood, rifle in left hand, motionless and wholly impassive.

  The Cayugas halted – froze. Lord Towcester drew his pistol, pulling back the hammer with his left hand. He lost his grip, grabbed as it fell, but missed. It hit the ground handle first, springing the hammer. The noise was like a cannon in the silence. He spun his horse round.

  ‘Threes about! Threes about!’ he shouted. But there was no room for even files to turn. He barged at Hervey and his trumpeter to make way.

  Hervey was so startled, he grabbed his arm. ‘Sir, they’ve gone, they’ve gone.’

  Lord Towcester turned in the saddle. The Mississaugas had disappeared as suddenly as they had come. He was dumbstruck.

  ‘We should trot on, sir,’ pressed Hervey. ‘Look, the scouts are doing the same!’ He seized the lieutenant colonel’s reins and pulled his horse into motion.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  ORDERS JUST RECEIVED

  Fort York, two days later

  The quarter guard turned out as the patrol neared the gates. Twelve dragoons of the inlying picket brought their carbines to the present, and the corporal brought his sabre to the carry. The trumpeters blew ‘Attention’, and orderlies stood ready to take the reins of the chargers.

  The Earl of Towcester acknowledged the respects without halting. ‘Carry on, Captain Hervey,’ he said, barely audibly, his right leg already out of the stirrup. The lieutenant colonel’s groom took in hand the big black gelding and, without a backward glance or another word, Lord Towcester strode away to his quarters, the adjutant a few paces behind him.

  Hervey fronted to the patrol. ‘The commanding officer would wish me to express his appreciation of your exertions this past week. The conditions were trying and your conduct exemplary. There shall be a rum issue and stand-down of twenty-four hours from watch-setting this evening. Fall out, Mr Seton Canning. Carry on, please, Serjeant Armstrong.’

  ‘I’ll see to stables, if you wish, Hervey,’ said Seton Canning as they dismounted.

  ‘Thank you. Yes.’ How decent of his lieutenant to guess so much of his mind. Henrietta would have claimed him anyway, in her condition, but Canning was not to know how keenly Hervey wanted to relate to her Lord Towcester’s infamous conduct. ‘I shan’t be long. Just an hour, perhaps.’

  ‘As you please, Hervey. There’s no need of haste on my account.’

  Haste or no, it did not take Hervey long to walk to his quarters, even in the two feet of new snow lying about the fort, which fatigue parties were already clearing into neat pathways. Smoke rising from the double chimney of his quarters promised a warm homecoming, but the fresh sleigh tracks outside suggested they would not be alone. He opened the door, expecting to find Lady Sarah Maitland, though it was early for calling.

  ‘Hopwood? What are you doing here?’

  Private Hopwood was carrying a basket of logs to the fire. ‘Corporal Collins sent me to mind the house, sir. Her ladyship was taken to General Maitland’s this morning. She wasn’t feeling well, sir.’

  Hervey’s mouth fell open.

  ‘I’m sure it’s nothing serious, sir,’ Hopwood added quickly.

  ‘Indeed? Did the surgeon say that?’ asked Hervey, impatiently, replacing his shako and turning for the door.

  ‘I didn’t see him, sir. But I know that he’s gone to the general’s with her.’

  It was, of course, an obliging thing for a dragoon to want to allay his captain’s anxiety, but so wholly uninformed an opinion was not of the least value to him. ‘Very well. I shall go there at once.’ But now he found himself wanting to make amends for his impatience by some display of ease. ‘And while I am gone, would you be so very good as to draw me a bath?’

  As Hervey opened the door, a sleigh halted outside. A youngish woman in a black cloak stepped out. ‘Captain Hervey, sir?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I am Janette, sir, Lady Sarah Maitland’s maid. I am come to fetch some things for your wife.’

  ‘Things? What things?’

  The maid looked down awkwardly. ‘Ladies’ things, sir.’

  Hervey fancied he knew the contents of their quarters well enough, but, as with Hopwood, he could not quite bring himself to disappoint someone so evidently intent on performing a good deed. ‘Very well. Do please go inside.’ He nearly said ‘Come inside’, but he had committed himself to stepping out at once for the Maitlands.

  ‘Thank you, sir. Shall you be going back to Government House?’

  ‘I have not yet been there. I am only this minute returned to the town.’ He was tired, the business was beginning to fray, and all he could think about was getting to his wife.

  ‘Oh!’ The maid’s manner changed at once.

  ‘What is it? Why do you say that?’

  ‘You don’t know her ladyship is in labour, sir?’

  Hervey’s mouth fell open. ‘No, no – indeed I do not!’

  His response alarmed her. ‘I think I had better get these things, then, sir.’

  ‘Yes, yes – of course! Tell me, is my wife . . .’

  ‘I trust so, sir. I was given my orders by her ladyship – the general’s lady, I mean – direct.’

  It took him a quarter of an hour to walk to Government House. He walked so fast in the end that he slipped and slid for much of the way. He took the salted steps of the lieutenant-governor’s residence two at a time, and pulled the bell rope.

  ‘Ah, indeed, Captain Hervey, sir,’ replied the footman, stepping aside to let him enter.

  The house was silent. ‘Is her ladyship at home?’

  ‘Her ladyship is at home, sir. I will announce you.’

  The footman showed him to an ante-room. There, Hervey recovered his breath and something of his composure, and tried to clear his mind in order to calculate the date again. But it still came out the same. They’d talked of the beginning of March, surely? There were a full six weeks to run. What was the danger in so early a labour? Was there any danger? Hadn’t Daniel Coates said that a mare carried from forty weeks to more than a year, depending on whether she were a big shire or a pony? Was it the same with humans? Everyone spoke of nine months, but was it more for a bigger woman, and fewer for one more delicately made? Had Kitty Spence, the tiny Longleat seamstress, carried her little girl as long as Annie Patten had carried those rough twins of hers? Sturdy Annie, the Longleat dairymaid who used to pin fast his head in her huge bosom when he was a boy – surely she would have needed longer? How little he seemed to know. Why was Lady Sarah so long in coming? Why did no one come? What was amiss?

  ‘Captain Hervey, forgive me!’ Lady Sarah Maitland was come at last, smiling wide and confidently. ‘I had to put on another dress. Allow me to congratulate you on being the father of a most beautiful daughter!’

  Hervey stood speechless.

  ‘A very beautiful daughter. I never saw such eyes and hair!’

  ‘And . . . and Henrietta?’

  ‘Oh, she is fine, fine – very well indeed! A few minutes more and you shall be able to see her. My husband’s physician and your regimental surgeon attended throughout, but they scarce had a thing to detain them.’

  He shook his head in a sort of disbelief.

  ‘And I may tell you she bore it all with a most noble heart. Dear Henrietta. Oh, but I forget – some refreshment? How was your patrol? Was it very arduous? How is Lord Towcester?’

  He didn’t have to answer, for Henrietta’s maid entered, smiling too. ‘Your ladyship, sir.’ She curtsied to each. ‘Her ladyship is ready to receive Captain Hervey now.’

  ‘Thank you, Ruth.’ Hervey glanced eagerly at Sarah Maitland.

  ‘Come, Captain Hervey.’ She led him to the stairs.

  He had meant to ask how his wi
fe came to be here, and to express the thanks due to the Maitlands for their unusual hospitality, but he found his tongue strangely tied. Sarah Maitland was saying something about his daughter being the first child to be born in York that year . . . or perhaps she said the first girl, or . . .

  ‘Here, Captain Hervey. I shall leave you.’ She opened one door – to a dressing room – and motioned to another.

  He tidied his stock in a looking glass, checked that all his tunic buttons were fastened, then knocked softly on the door to the bedchamber.

  ‘Come,’ came a male voice.

  He opened the door gently.

  ‘Matthew!’

  There was pleasure and pride and relief all together in that single word. But how spent Henrietta sounded, too. Her hair lay on the pillow as it had that night at the Nottingham inn, and he knew again that he had laid privations in her way. She should by rights have been at Longleat, in the great rose bedchamber that had been hers since childhood.

  ‘See, Matthew.’ She turned her eyes to the Maitlands’ nurse.

  He took her hand, and bent and kissed her forehead, but she made a little sound of protest, and he kissed her again, on the lips. The doctor nodded, and the nurse presented their swaddled issue. Hervey stared with pride and wonder in equal measure. He saw what Sarah Maitland had told him, for there were the largest, bluest of eyes, and the most luxuriant shock of dark hair.

  Henrietta squeezed his hand. ‘I’m sorry, my love, for you wanted a son truly very much.’

  Her voice was so tired that just saying the words could not have been without effort. He was wholly at a loss to respond to anything so entirely selfless.

  ‘We must decide on a name,’ she said, raising her head slightly to see better.

  ‘My darling, I never so much as once uttered any thought that I wished for a son. She is quite perfect. I would not have things any other way.’

  ‘Then sit with me a while, and let us speak of it, for I can’t bear to think of her without a name.’

  Stables was done by the time he returned to the troop lines. Indeed, the orderly trumpeter was sounding first post for watchsetting. Hervey complimented him as he passed the guardroom. ‘A pretty sound for so cold a night, Martin!’

  Private Martin saluted. ‘Thank you, sir. But a whole tone flat, I’m sorry to say.’ Martin took his music seriously. He did not quite have perfect pitch, but he had a good memory. ‘I’d warmed it by the stove for a quarter of an hour until its pitch were right, sir. Two minutes later and it’s dropped a whole tone. I thought it’d freeze to my lips.’

  Even to Hervey, his mind so agreeably preoccupied as it was, the cold was uncommonly severe. ‘Has the guard commander shortened the duties, do you know?’

  ‘He has, sir. To half.’

  ‘That’s as well. Very good, Martin. I should begin warming your trumpet for second post if I were you!’

  ‘Ay, sir! Good night, then, sir.’ Something, clearly, had put the captain in good spirits. He saluted again as Hervey turned for the troop office.

  A sound man, Martin, said Hervey to himself. Meet to replace ‘Susan’ Medwell. It seemed strange to think like that, perhaps, but there could be no other way. Once a man was struck off strength – no matter what the circumstances – it was a case of ‘soldier on’ for those who remained. No one was irreplaceable. All else was mere sentiment. That, at least, was what Hervey had always tried to tell himself. Now, especially, must he do so since he bore the additional rank of father. He must soldier on, no matter how difficult his commanding officer made it. The Sixth were strong enough to ride out a man like Towcester, were they not? His real nature would soon become apparent to those in authority, and he would be checked, surely, for wasn’t that the way with the army?

  He was surprised to see Major Lawrence in the troop office. ‘A word, Hervey, if you please.’

  The troop orderly serjeant made to leave.

  ‘Is Mr Seton Canning in the lines, Corporal Sykes?’ asked Hervey, winding his hunter. It still seemed a mean instrument compared with the one it had replaced, but every time he wound it now he felt the want of his old friend’s gay society most keenly. In d’Arcey Jessope he could have confided happily, even if that delightful Coldstreamer’s counsel had not always been practical.

  ‘He’s in his quarters, sir. Shall I fetch him?’

  ‘No. Have him informed that I shall do picket officer’s rounds myself, please.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  Lawrence scarcely waited for the door to close. ‘What in the name of heaven happened at Niagara? There’s all manner of rumour abroad on the reservations.’

  Hervey poured himself coffee, took off his cape and shako and sat down. ‘One of the patrol’s pistols discharged accidentally when a hunting party came out of the woods.’

  Lawrence frowned. ‘No, Hervey – that will never do! I never expected such a thing from you of all men.’

  Hervey sighed. How easy it would be to tell him all, to pretend Major Lawrence were d’Arcey Jessope. And what hard-edged counsel he would have by return. Yes, it would be very easy. But Lawrence wasn’t Jessope. There was no basis for mutual trust – yet – other than instinct. They had not campaigned together, they did not wear the same uniform. Hervey had no right to discuss his commanding officer with Lawrence, no matter what the inducement. ‘I cannot think what you mean. That is the substantive report,’ he said defiantly, though sadly.

  ‘Well, to begin with, I never imagined I would hear you use the word “accidental”.’

  ‘Well, it was certainly not deliberate.’

  ‘Do not sport with me, sir! You know very well that the term is negligent discharge!’

  ‘That would be the term if we were talking of the Mutiny Act, yes. But it doesn’t render my report inaccurate.’

  Major Lawrence’s powers of observation were not to be underestimated. ‘Hervey, who are you shielding?’

  That might well have been impertinent, but Hervey knew it was apt. He supposed the Cayugas had already told him. But much as he was tempted to confide, the circumstances made it impossible, for nothing he told the superintendent could be in confidence. ‘What does that matter, Lawrence? What is the greater problem?’

  ‘The tribes are saying the white soldiers rode through their hunting land without thought for disturbing the little game there was, and even fired to frighten them away.’

  ‘We were on a road that appeared on a map.’

  It was the superintendent’s turn to sigh. ‘The Cayugas say you are a brave man.’

  ‘Do they indeed? How would they know one way or the other?’ Hervey managed an expression of innocence as much as puzzlement.

  Lawrence narrowed his eyes. ‘They told me what they saw.’

  ‘You must have a care that they saw enough.’

  ‘Oh I shall, Hervey; I shall. For it is my duty to apprise the lieutenant-governor of all matters touching on the affairs of the Indian nations. And when he returns I shall give him account.’

  Hervey had not known Sir Peregrine was away. ‘Where is he gone?’

  ‘To Quebec. And he shall be gone another fortnight, too. But on his return I must give him my assessment.’

  ‘Of course you must. And any report on our encounter with the Indians must properly come from Lord Towcester, not from me.’

  ‘So I should hope. Do you know when I might have it?’

  Hervey was puzzled by the persistence. ‘Tomorrow, I should imagine. The day after, at the latest.’

  ‘Indeed, Captain Hervey?’ smiled Lawrence. ‘How so?’

  Hervey looked at him blankly.

  ‘Lord Towcester set out for Quebec by sleigh this afternoon. Did you not know?’

  After first parade next day – a pale affair with all those of the patrol stood down – Seton Canning went to the troop office. ‘It was good of you to stand my picket for me last night, Hervey.’

  His captain smiled. ‘I had rather forgotten myself earlier. I didn’t know it was so l
ate.’

  ‘You have my hearty congratulations, at any rate, sir. St Oswald has gone to find flowers to send to Government House.’

  Hervey smiled again. ‘I salute his gallantry – and even more his optimism, Canning, for where in heaven’s name does he expect to find flowers here?’

  ‘I asked him the same, but . . I had intended coming to see you last night, you know.’

  ‘That was very good of you, but there was really no need—’

  ‘No, Hervey, not about your good news, but rather about our misfortune.’

  ‘I don’t follow.’

  Seton Canning took a deep breath. ‘Look here, sir: how long are we to suffer that man?’

  Hervey quickened, but then gave him the benefit. ‘Which man?’

  ‘Towcester, of course! He’ll be the death of—’

  ‘Mr Canning!’ Hervey’s tone managed reprimand, surprise and disappointment in one go.

  ‘It’s no good, Hervey. We can’t pretend we didn’t see what we saw. The man bolted!’

  ‘That is not true, Canning!’

  ‘Oh, Hervey! Have it that way if you will, but if you hadn’t barred his way he would have fled!’

  Hervey had known this might come. The last twelve hours had merely been an unexpected suspense. But it made it no easier. ‘Sit down, Harry.’

  Seton Canning took off his gloves and laid them in his lap with his forage cap. ‘Please don’t speak of the necessity of loyalty, Hervey. I know full well what you might say on that account. I’m your lieutenant. Like it or not the men look to me when . . . when they feel unease with . . .’

  ‘With their captain?’