A Call To Arms (34 page)

‘It almost did,’ said Somervile.

Hervey blinked. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘I said it almost did. Eight years ago, the late Lord Minto, in his last year as governor-general, put a scheme to the Court of Directors in London to make a punitive war on the court of Ava. But that was hardly the best of times, and the government opposed it. I can’t but feel that it might have spared us loss of blood in the long run. And certainly a great deal of native blood – of one sort or another.’

‘You think it will come to a fight, Eyre?’

Somervile paused for a second or so. ‘There is a restlessness about Bagyidaw. He marched into Manipur last year because the rajah didn’t pay homage quickly enough, and I still believe he would have gone on into Cachar had we not sent a force there and taken the place under protection.’

‘That was Eyre’s doing, Matthew,’ explained Emma proudly. ‘He pressed Lord Hastings to it very forcefully, for the Governor-General was yet preoccupied with the Pindaree campaign.’

‘The trouble is,’ continued Somervile, ‘that such … preemption, shall we call it, if successful invariably brings questions as to its necessity in the first place. I made some enemies in Calcutta.’

‘Why was Cachar important to the Company?’

‘You mean besides the moral duty of standing by a neighbour?’

‘I stand rebuked. But who is my neighbour, in the Company’s terms?’

Somervile smiled. ‘You’re quite right. We cannot stand against each and every outrage. The truth is that, from Cachar, Bagyidaw
would have been well placed to attack through the river plains into the Company’s territory. We would have stopped him, of course, but not before he’d had a fair run at Dacca probably.’

‘And was it really likely that he would have invaded?’

‘You of all men should know that capability often spawns ambition.’

There was no disputing it. Hervey nodded.

‘I’m not sure you’re answering my question about its coming to a fight, Eyre,’ protested Emma. ‘Isn’t this fish good, by the way?’

‘It is, my dear. And I was. What I intended saying was that I believe he will move against Assam first. And if he is successful there, Chittagong will appear so much like a salient in his empire that it will then come to a fight.’

‘That is a very ill appreciation, Eyre. I trust there will be a frigate to take us off at once!’

Somervile laid his forks together, and finished his glass of Chablis. ‘Truly, my dear, an
excellent
piece of fish. Shall I make a prediction? In two years, unless Assam seeks subsidiary status of the Company, the kingdom will be annexed. And then Bagyidaw will give the Company an ultimatum, which of course we shall decline, and will then attack Chittagong.’

‘Where he will be defeated,’ said Hervey.

‘Oh yes. But not at once. We shall have to move half the army of Bengal across the bay to evict him.’

‘What do you advocate, then?’

Somervile smiled thinly. ‘The Minto medicine. Unlike many, I do not rate the Burmans so highly when it comes to fighting. They can be brave, yes. But there’s more to it than that, as I don’t need to tell you. They’re so supremely arrogant that a blow at their vitals would stun them. They have a good general in Mahâ Bundula, that I grant you, though not a
great
one as his name suggests in Hindoostani. But Rangoon, their principal port, is vulnerable, and so is Ava, for it’s up a very sluggish river, albeit quite a long way up.’

Hervey was impressed, as ever, by the thought which Somervile had so evidently invested in his ‘eastern question’. Nothing the lieutenant-governor said was in itself remarkable, perhaps; rather was it his masterly uncoiling of the serpentine factors in the appreciation of native affairs. He immersed himself in language
and manners, and then applied the universal impulses of human conduct – both base and noble – and saw what others did not. Of course, such men were not the easiest of associates in the councils of the Honourable East India Company.

‘Have you spoken with the military authorities of this?’ tried Hervey, uneasily.

Somervile was very temperate in his reply. ‘Sir Edward Paget profoundly disagrees with me. He believes we should fortify our borders and take no offensive action.’

Hervey took a deep breath. The commander-in-chief was a fighting general of the Peninsula. ‘What is his principal objection?’

‘That the country would kill an army without the Burmans needing to fire a shot.’

Hervey shuddered at the thought.

‘Shall we have our partridge now, Eyre?’ said Emma, thinking the conversation had reached as far as it should.

Hervey looked across at her. Somervile was indeed a fortunate man.

When they had finished the perfumed curds and candied sweets which the cook had laboured over for a good part of the day, Emma rose and said she would retire. ‘Good night, Matthew. Let us hope that Eyre will find the time soon so that we may ride to Manikpur.’ She stood on her toes and kissed her husband’s forehead. ‘Not too long, my dear.’ And she drew her fingers lightly down his arm, a gesture of intimacy which jerked deep at Hervey’s vitals.

They remained at table for perhaps a quarter of an hour after Emma had gone. Somervile declined more port, unusually, and changed subject three or four times, almost distractedly. At length he put down his glass, and stood. ‘Hervey, my dear fellow, you must excuse me. I have not the appetite for our usual diversions this evening. Stay, though. Take some more of this port. It’s a deuced fine vintage and there’s plenty laid down. And there are newspapers from Calcutta there, too,’ he said, gesturing towards the drawing room.

‘Do not trouble in the slightest, Somervile. It’s exceedingly good of you both to extend such frequent hospitality to me. Retire, do. My day’s been easy compared with the affairs you must address yourself to.’

‘Ay, perhaps. Well then, I’ll bid you good night. Until tomorrow evening.’ Somervile took his leave, brushing the crumbs from his waistcoat.

Hervey let the khitmagar pour him more port and then went to find the Calcutta papers. He saw half a dozen of the
Journal
on a sideboard, and settled himself into a low, comfortable armchair by an empty fireplace. He sipped appreciatively at his wine as he turned the pages of the most recent, a week old, but he could find nothing to detain him. He reached for another, and found the same. Perhaps there truly was nothing of moment – mere gossip only. But perhaps his attention was not to be had for the persistent image of Somervile going to Emma, his friend’s contentment the very reverse of his own agitation. He put down the paper and the glass. It was the
comfort
of the embrace he missed as much as anything. He got up. He could not decently remain there.

Next day he sent a note of thanks to the Somerviles, as he had on every occasion he had dined with them. But this time he also sent a note for the babu, in English, for it was not long and its content was straightforward.

Within the hour, a note came back saying that a boy would meet him at the Suhrawardi gate at three o’clock. Hervey would have preferred the evening, of course, but he would then have had to make his excuses with the Somerviles. He bathed and then dressed, inconspicuously as if intent on a buying visit to the bazaar, and slipped away from his bungalow unobserved except for the chowkidar, who made low namaste but did not speak.

In less than half an hour Hervey reached the Suhrawardi gate and met the boy. It was the sleeping time, and the Paterghatta was uncrowded. He felt awkward, but no one seemed to take any notice as they walked purposefully through the gate and along drowsy streets to a house like any other, distinguished only by a blue door. The boy pushed it open and gestured him on. Hervey gave him a few annas and muttered a thank-you.

Inside seemed dark after the bright sun. An old woman appeared from behind a painted screen, looked at him and then beckoned to a young woman to come from behind it. Even in the dimness Hervey could see she was as promised, a handsome girl, clean and shapely. And he could see what she was not: nothing
which recalled Henrietta, the only thing he had really feared.

They sat awhile drinking tea, speaking a little English and even less Bengali. When there was nothing more to say, they rose and she led him up rickety stairs to a small room with white walls, long muslin curtains at the shuttered windows and a bed with clean white linen. Her skin was lighter than the Madrasi girls he had so admired, but her eyes were darker. And they were big. She was perhaps twenty. He said nothing, though his heart hammered, and she likewise made not a sound. With a modesty that only increased his desire, she began taking the slides from her hair.

Next day

Hervey stood at the front of his bungalow taking in the glories of another Bengal daybreak, fuller in promise, perhaps, than any he had known elsewhere. A sun low but already warming, a mist in the distant hills, the civil lines coming slowly to life – there were gentlemen at home in England, he considered, whose crabbed lives would be made immeasurably the better for just one of these mornings.

He felt better than he had expected to. Maybe the guilt would come later. The girl had been tender to him, and for a while he had not been quite so alone. He wondered how long the feeling would last, how long it would be until he had to renew it, and whether guilt would overtake it before then.

‘Mornin’, Cap’n ’Ervey, sir.’

Hervey returned Johnson’s salute and took the reins from him. He sprang easily into the saddle, compensating for Gilbert’s habitual sidestep as he did so, and collected him onto the bit. How good it was to be able to ride with a simple snaffle, for relaxed though the regimental regime was in comparison with its
predecessor, a bridoon was still the regulation. ‘I thought we’d ride over to see Skinner’s Horse at exercise. I heard they were tentpegging this morning.’

Before Johnson could reply, the orderly serjeant hailed them from across the maidan. ‘Captain Hervey, sir!’ There was just a note of urgency in it. Corporal Mossop was doubling, but that said nothing: an NCO would not keep an officer waiting on any account.

‘Nothing serious, I hope, Corporal Mossop?’ said Hervey with a smile, as the orderly serjeant came to a halt before him.

‘Not that I’m aware of, sir. Mr Somervile sends his compliments sir, and asks if you would call on him at once.’

Serious or not, it was clearly urgent. ‘Very well, Corporal Mossop. Thank you. Come on, Johnson; we’d better see what agitates the lieutenant-governor.’

Somervile did not so much look agitated as troubled. ‘Come in, Hervey, come in,’ he said, hardly looking up from his desk as he wrote. ‘Take a seat, call for some coffee. I’ll be finished in a moment.’

Hervey did as he was bid. There was no sign of Emma, just the babu and a bearer. When the coffee came he took his cup and asked Somervile if he wanted any.

‘No. Later perhaps,’ he replied briskly, waving a sheet of paper about. When the ink was dry he gathered up the other two sheets and put them unfolded into a large envelope, which he sealed with wax and placed in a leather despatch case, locking it with a key attached to his watch chain. ‘The hircarrah, Mohan. He should still be in the cantonments,’ he said simply, handing the case to the babu. Then he rose, dismissed the bearer and moved to the other side of the table to sit in the armchair next to Hervey.

‘I take it that something’s amiss?’

Somervile shook his head and raised his eyebrows. ‘I can scarcely believe it. Bagyidaw must be insane!’

‘He’s marched into Cachar?’

Somervile shook his head again. ‘No. He’s making threats against
here
. He’s sent a letter to the Governor-General demanding we send back all the Arakanese who have fled into East Bengal. And, it seems, laying some sort of claim to sovereignty.’

‘Sovereignty in Chittagong?’

‘Yes. I had a despatch from Calcutta in the early hours by Governor-General’s messenger. He’s taking back my assessment. I just don’t understand why Bagyidaw sees it opportune
now
to make such threats. Assam ought next to be his objective – as I said last night.’

‘Do you think he’s testing the Company’s resolve, then?’

‘That is what I’ve suggested to Calcutta, although we can’t proceed on such a supposition alone. I’ve asked for a brigade at once. We must at least make a show.’