Rumours Of War h-6

by Allan Mallinson

  ‘Damnation!’ cursed Lord Paget, loudly, as he dug his spurs into his own gelding’s flanks. ‘This ain’t a tourney!’

  And off went the field again, headlong for the bridge. The ‘rally’ and the call to surrender had lost them time, and Debelle was making good use of it.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  THREATS

  Reeves’s Hotel, Lisbon, 27 October 1826

  Hervey woke from a fitful sleep, with cramp in his right leg and his neck stiff. The low chair in his sitting room was comfortable enough for its usual purpose, but the candle had burned down to an inch and the fire was nothing but a few embers; three hours sleeping thus was not three hours’ repose. He pulled his cloak tighter about his shoulders, and wondered what delayed Kat so long at the residence.

  He sat up, eyes open but seeing little, contemplating his condition. He had hurt her, of that there was no question. She had rallied, and they had spent the rest of the night as close, seemingly, as before, but there was a care about her the following morning despite her efforts to conceal it. She said she was to dine with the Forbeses that evening, that she would speak to the chargé again and press Hervey’s design on him, and alert him to the refusal of Colonel Norris to consider it properly, and to the prodigious cost that Norris’s own design would occasion. But Hervey had drawn back. Whether somehow fearing the obligation it implied, he dare not imagine. And then he had given in, wanting, more than his fears were worth, what Kat alone seemed able to deliver.

  His thoughts returned once more to Sir John Moore’s time: how green he had then been, the trusting, faithful, guileless cornet. He knew nothing about the ‘web’ and how it was woven, allowing one officer to advance while trapping another. Now he could use the strands to his own advantage, where before they excluded him. Now he used cunning, and not just to deceive the enemy. Sometimes it seemed he was even partial to it. And all this because Lady Katherine Greville was his patroness. No, not all because; he could neither blame nor hail Kat for his own condition now, for their acquaintance had not been so long, whatever its gestation. Eighteen years ago, when first he came to the Peninsula, Hervey had said his prayers daily. Now his observance was next to nothing, and the seventh commandment he broke almost daily. Life in Sir John Moore’s day may have been uncomfortable and dangerous, but it had at least been honourable. No, he did not open his Prayer Book very often these days, but its words haunted him: And there is no health in us.

  He wondered if Johnson were still there. As he got up there was a loud knocking at the door.

  The landing outside was still well lit, the figure consequently in silhouette.

  ‘Senhor, se faz favor.’

  The man was so much swaddled against the cold that it would have been difficult to gauge anything of his purpose even had the light shone on his face. But he held out an envelope.

  ‘You had better come in. Entra por favor,’ said Hervey, beckoning.

  The man stepped inside, taking off his hat, and stood attentively as Hervey broke the seal and began to read, holding the letter close up to the stump of the candle. With the light outside, it was just possible to make out the neat, small hand.

  When he had finished reading he folded the letter and placed it in the inner pocket of his tunic. ‘Obrigado, senhor.’ Then he contemplated the difficulty of finding the words for his reply.

  ‘I speak a little English, senhor.’

  Hervey nodded. ‘Return, if you please, and tell the senhora I will come at once.’

  He rang for Johnson as the man left.

  Johnson came at once, still dressed, with boot-black on his hands.

  ‘A note from Senhora Delgado just came by messenger,’ began Hervey, as Johnson lit an oil lamp. ‘Her father has received word from the bishop in Elvas, intelligence that the rebels will try to cross the frontier again in a week’s time.’

  ‘What’s tha gooin to do?’

  ‘I told him I would come to the baron’s house at once.’

  ‘Does tha want me to come an’ all?’

  ‘No; I want you to stay here. Lady Katherine said she would come by when the Forbeses’ party is ended.’

  Johnson merely nodded.

  ‘To tell me what she learned,’ he added quickly. ‘If she does come, then please give her my greatest compliments, and explain that I have been called away.’

  Johnson said nothing as he adjusted the flame in the oil lamp.

  Hervey hesitated. ‘There is no need to say where exactly I am gone.’

  Johnson stepped back from the lamp and wiped his hands on his apron. ‘Right.’

  ‘And perhaps while you’re waiting you might assemble my kit. We may need to leave for Elvas again.’

  Johnson kept his eye on the lamp. ‘And to say nothing about that either?’

  Hervey cleared his throat. ‘I think not.’

  *

  When he arrived at the house in Belem, a little after one o’clock, Hervey found both Isabella and her father awake, and in some agitation.

  ‘Major Hervey, how good it is that you come,’ said the barão, beckoning a footman to take his cloak, and pressing a glass of warm punch on him. ‘And how very relieved I feel at seeing you.’

  The barão did indeed look troubled, thought Hervey; Isabella not quite so dismayed. Her eyes shone, and she had a defiant air, her head raised, as a fighter tempts with the chin.

  Hervey bowed to them both. ‘I am flattered, barão.’

  ‘That is surely not my intention, sir. If the intelligence we have is true, then I am very fearful.’

  Isabella whispered something to her father.

  ‘Ah, forgive me, Major Hervey. Please take your ease. What would you have me send for?’

  Hervey smiled as he took a high-backed chair, as near to the fire as he could manage without appearing to suggest he was excessively cold. ‘Coffee, barão, would be most restorative.’

  And warming too. It was not as cold a night as many he had spent in these parts, but he believed his blood was thinned by seven years in the tropics, and this north wind went ill with him.

  Isabella gave instructions to the footman.

  ‘Captain Mateo de Bragança,’ continued the barão, pulling his chair closer to Hervey’s, ’is made brigadier-general now.’

  Hervey raised his eyebrows involuntarily at the remarkable acceleration in promotion. The most unscrupulous regimental agent could hardly contrive as much with the Horse Guards; not without an indecent amount of money, at least (that was if the grand old Duke of York’s mistress was still in the business).

  ‘Ah, yes; you are surprised by such a thing,’ replied the barão, raising his hands. ‘But if such a thing is necessary then I am proud that my country finds the means of accomplishing it.’

  Hervey felt humbled at the simple logic. ‘Forgive me, sir; it did surprise me, yes.’

  ‘I know it would not be so in your army.’

  ‘Sir, it is no matter.’

  A footman brought him coffee, a useful punctuation point to an awkward line of discussion.

  The barão collected his thoughts. ‘And so, Captain Mateo – General Mateo – de Bragança is now governor of the fortress of Elvas. He asks that you join him there at once. My brother, the bishop, has received word from certain . . . conventuals, in Spain, and he is certain the rebels will attack within the week, the moon being favourable. Perhaps even with Spanish regulars. He writes that the previous incursion was how do you say? a reconnaissance in force, to test the garrison. You, I think, Major Hervey, know perfectly well there is scarcely a sufficiency of men to hold the fortress against a determined attack.’

  ‘I do, sir. Forgive me; you have communicated this to the Negócios Estrangeiros e Guerra?’

  ‘My brother did so by the same hand that brought the intelligence on to me.’

  Hervey wondered for a moment what the bishop’s purpose had been, other than the obvious. ‘Barão—’

  Isabella sensed his misgiving. ‘Major Hervey, my uncle has long w
ished us to seek haven in Brazil.’

  Hervey nodded. He turned back to the barão. ‘Do you know what are Dom Mateo’s intentions, sir?’

  ‘To call in every one of the militia and ordenança who will answer. But of course, by so doing, the country thereabout would be free for the rebels to make their mischief in.’

  ‘His options are those of difficulties, it is to be sure,’ said Hervey, laying down his cup.

  ‘In Portugal we esteem greatly the bullfighter, Major Hervey, though not, as I think you know, in the brutish way of the Spaniards. At Elvas, General Mateo fights his bull too, but it is argumentum cornutum – you understand? The bull which will toss whichever horn is laid hold on.’

  ‘I understand, Barão,’ said Hervey, nodding. Then he smiled. ‘But I am no Hercules, I assure you.’

  ‘You will go to Elvas then, Major Hervey?’ asked the barão, brightening, and beckoning the footman to bring more coffee.

  Hervey smiled again. ‘Sir, it is not for me to give such an undertaking. I must ask my colonel. And he, no doubt, shall have to ask His Majesty’s envoy.’

  The barão looked disappointed. ‘Time does not permit of too lengthy a process, Major Hervey. When do you suppose that permission shall be forthcoming?’

  When indeed, thought Hervey. His colonel would first need persuading that Forbes might approve; he was certain that Norris himself would not sanction it. ‘Barão, I cannot tell, but I believe I may say this: until such time as the government of my country decides to send troops, my work is largely done here, and if General Mateo considers that I can be of any use to your government then I am eager to place myself at his disposal.’

  He rose and made to leave.

  ‘I thank you, sir,’ said the barão. He looked intensely relieved.

  Isabella, too, looked as if she believed Elvas was already more secure. She rose and took her father’s hand. ‘I place myself at my country’s disposal too, Major Hervey. You shall need a faithful interpreter again. I shall leave for Elvas as soon as it is light.’

  Hervey was at once troubled, for a dozen and more reasons, and doubtless many of them conflicting. ‘Madam, it may not become necessary that you fly to Brazil, but Elvas will scarcely be the place by these accounts to give your uncle peace of mind. I could not conceive of such a thing.’

  The barão said nothing, placing a hand instead on his daughter’s, as if to close the matter.

  Isabella bowed submissively.

  Hervey forced himself to smile, knowing that his better judgement was foreign to his true instinct.

  She smiled by return. Her eyes burned, indeed. For a moment Hervey wondered what fire they might raise if circumstances were different.

  ‘Very well, sir.’ Hervey bowed formally, replaced his forage cap and looked to the footman as he brought his cloak. ‘I shall inform my colonel of all we have spoken of. I will send you word just as soon as I have it.’

  Hervey saw decency and honour in infinite measure as he took his leave of the Barão de Santarem and his daughter. And not a little courage too. It would not be difficult to steel himself to the fight with Colonel Norris with such exemplars.

  When Johnson opened the door to him, a little before four o’clock, it was with a finger to his mouth.

  ‘Lady Greville’s ’ere,’ he whispered.

  Hervey nodded towards his sitting room.

  Johnson shook his head, pointing instead to the bedroom. ‘She said she were tired. I didn’t think it could do no ’arm.’

  Hervey sighed. On the contrary, it could do all manner of harm. But there was no point in giving voice to any of it. In any case, he knew that Johnson would have had a hard time keeping Kat from laying down her head if that was what she had determined.

  Four o’clock – another three hours, perhaps four, before he could decently approach Colonel Norris. Not that the state of the sky would make any difference to his interview, but he judged that to broach the matter any earlier would not go in his favour. Norris was a man of regularity in his daily routine, as well as in imagination.

  ‘Did Lady Katherine have anything to say?’

  ‘No. Only that they were playing whist ’alf t’night.’

  ‘She said nothing more?’

  ‘She asked where tha were.’

  Hervey could not bring himself to ask what had been Johnson’s reply. ‘Very well, I think I will take three hours’ ease in that chair again. Would you wake me with water?’

  ‘Right. An’ are we gooin to Elvas?’

  Hervey shook his head, unclipping his cloak but keeping it about his shoulders. ‘It depends on Colonel Norris.’ He sat heavily in the low chair. ‘I have to close my eyes and think what’s best to be done.’

  Just before seven, Johnson shook Hervey’s shoulder. ‘Tea, sir.’

  It was an age ago, but the words could still take him back to that rain-soaked dawn on the ridge of Mont St-Jean, when they had risen to face the ’emperor’ and his Grande Armée. How Johnson had found a flame in that night’s downpour was one of the minor miracles of life in the Sixth, and Hervey had never sought to comprehend it. Tea at dawn ever since had been one of the sustaining rites of the day, cosily familiar when all else was uncertain.

  They had been together for a long time; as officer and groom longer than any in the Sixth could remember. Johnson had refused all promotion and preferment, knowing his defects perhaps even greater than did Hervey, but also because he had been devoted to Henrietta, and that devotion, he somehow felt, endured indefinitely. Yet he did not revere her memory to the exclusion of all other company. He had held Vaneeta in real affection, for she had nursed his captain back to health after the affair at Rangoon. He liked Lady Katherine Greville, for she was clever, and there was something about her that could make any man turn. Above all he liked Isabella Delgado, because he saw in her a proper respectability, the sort that would make a mother for the daughter they left behind too often.

  ‘What is the parole, Johnson?’ asked Hervey, with just the wriest of smiles.

  ‘Aw, I ’aven’t ’eard that in years!’

  Hervey sat up and took the canteen of tea (he did not suppose to ask why a canteen instead of china). ‘Indeed you have. And only this year too. What about Bhurtpore? I asked you every morning there.’

  Johnson was laying out brush and razor by the bowl of steaming water. ‘Were that only this year? Seems like an age.’

  It did – a simpler age too.

  ‘Does Lady Katherine stir?’

  ‘I ’aven’t ’eard owt. An’ she didn’t say as she wanted wakin’.’

  ‘Well, I must speak with her before I go to see Colonel Norris. I’ll shave first, and then take her some of your tea.’

  ‘All thi kit’s ready. ’As tha any idea when we’s gooin?’

  ‘Thank you. But no, I don’t have any idea, not until I’ve spoken to Colonel Norris.’

  ‘Will Lady Greville be gooin?’

  Hervey looked surprised. ‘I don’t imagine so! Why should she?’

  ‘An’ Mrs Delgado?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I like Mrs Delgado. Brave as a lion she is.’

  ‘Yes, Johnson. A fine woman indeed. But if we go to Elvas it will be because a siege is expected, and I can’t say that either Lady Katherine or Senhora Delgado would bring peace of mind to the defenders there, no matter how skilled they are with words or dressings. Or with a sword, for that matter.’

  When he had finished shaving he put on a clean shirt, one of his Indian cottons, then his tunic, and then Johnson brought Kat’s tea – a tray laid with a white cloth, silver teapot, milk jug and sugar basin, and a cup and saucer that looked like Pinxton, the provenance of which at that hour Hervey could not even begin to imagine. He certainly had no intention of enquiring.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said simply.

  Johnson opened Kat’s door for him. Although it was now full daylight, the curtains were heavy and drawn, and Hervey edged his way cautiously to the bedside. He put the
tray down on a table, and then he pulled open one of the curtains just enough to light the room to his purpose.

  Kat did not stir. She lay in her clothes of the evening before, the blue velvet cloak ridden up above the hem of her dress, and her hair loose on the pillow. A little of the daylight fell onto the left side of her face, and to effect: Hervey once again observed a woman of marked beauty – the high cheekbones, porcelain complexion, generous mouth, elegant neck. Kat was as engaging in repose as she was when animated. It was not fair she should be married to an old fool like Sir Peregrine Greville.

  He shook her shoulder gently. ‘Kat.’

  She sighed; groaned almost.

  ‘Kat.’

  She sighed again, then opened her eyes. ‘Matthew.’ She smiled and sighed at the same time.

  ‘Kat, I’m sorry I was not here when you came. I—’

  She lifted a hand and tugged at his forearm before he could finish.

  He leaned over and kissed her on the lips, and she raised her hand to his neck to pull him closer.

  When they parted, he sat on the edge of the bed and stroked her hair. At Elvas he had begun to think he must end the liaison; and he had thought so since Elvas too. Now it was unthinkable.

  ‘Do you love me, Matthew?’

  Why did she ask? And why now? She had never made his love – in the sense she now meant it – a condition of their association, and he certainly had never protested it. There could be no other answer but yes or no.

  ‘No, of course you don’t. Matthew Hervey could not love another woman.’

  He frowned. ‘Kat, you cannot say that.’

  She merely raised an eyebrow, quizzically. ‘So, what do you suppose you deserve to hear of my essay on your behalf last evening?’