Hervey 08 - Company Of Spears (24 page)

I am, sir, your obedient servant,
James Fanshawe,
Lieut colonel.

As the adjutant, with the acting-RSM, came in, Hervey, blank-faced, handed the letter to him. ‘An ill wind indeed. Hairsine earns a commission a dozen times in India, and it takes the smell of powder in Hertfordshire to have it!’

Vanneck raised his eyebrows as he read. ‘The work of cavalry is rarely observed?’

It was the regiment’s constant lament. ‘Just so,’ replied Hervey, the nausea now suppressed by the sudden requirement for action. ‘I shall take the news to him myself. It may speed his recovery.’

He knew he ought also to be taking considerable satisfaction in his own commendation by the GOC, and the implicit promise that more might follow. Hairsine’s reward was singular, but the praise heaped upon Hervey himself was, in truth, fulsome. To his certain experience, such praise was never so quick. He smelled fish.

Vanneck looked up. ‘With your permission, I can publish this in tonight’s orders. I think it would be well received.’

‘I am sure of it,’ said Hervey, nodding. ‘Now, the Johnson business. Or should I be calling it the
Snagge
business?’

‘With permission, Sarn’t-major Armstrong might begin, sir?’

‘Very well.’ Hervey turned to the acting-RSM.

It was not possible to see Armstrong standing there without a moment’s recollection of all that they had been through together, from the early days of subaltern officer and legionary corporal. It felt strange but also somehow fitting that at this time they held the regiment’s good name and efficiency in their hands.

‘I’m afraid you’re not going to like it, sir.’

Hervey braced. ‘Johnson?’

‘Not Johnson, sir: he’s right enough, though he needs the fear of God putting in ‘im.’

Hervey, relieved to hear the exculpation, narrowed his eyes. ‘Doubtless you will be able to do the Lord’s work, Sarn’t-major.’

‘Depend on it, sir.’

‘And the rest: do we have an outpost of the Seven Dials rookery here after all?’

Armstrong glanced at the adjutant.

‘Go on, Sarn’t-major,’ said Vanneck.

‘I’m afraid the bad apple’s Captain Snagge, sir. It appears that he’s been fencing coral and the like, all smuggled in. And half a dozen helpers about the barracks an’ all.’

Hervey’s brow furrowed as deep as Armstrong had ever seen it.

‘I’ve been talking to the Bow-street men, sir, and pretty frank they’ve been. Seems there’s some Italians in Stepney that deal in coral and olive oil and cheese and the like, and’ve been smuggling the coral past the Revenue inside butter and parmijan cheese.’

Hervey looked askance. ‘I should hardly think it worth the effort.’

‘Not at all, sir: there’s a shilling an ounce duty on coral.’

‘And we are talking of a great deal of coral in a great deal of cheese?’ He was still sceptical.

‘The Revenue reckon they’ve lost three thousand pounds in duty.’

Hervey raised his eyebrows. ‘And what exactly is the part played by Captain Snagge? And Johnson, for that matter.’

‘Captain Snagge bought butter and oil and cheese from them for the messes’ (Armstrong glanced at his notebook) ‘from a Signor Guecco and another called Mazzuichi, and this were delivered from the bonded warehouse with the coral inside. Captain Snagge then removed the coral, here in barracks, and passed it on to …’ (he consulted his notebook again) ‘a fencer called Cetti in Holborn. Johnson used to bring the butter and stuff here, sometimes in the back of the regimental coach when you went to London. He thought it was provisions for the officers’ mess, so was all right.’

Hervey was puzzled. ‘But the regiment’s only been under my orders for a few months. We returned from Lisbon only in January. How could Johnson be so materially involved?’ (Snagge had exchanged from the previous regiment.)

‘First it was Major Strickland’s man who carried it, and then when you took command Captain Snagge told Johnson it was now part of his duty.’

Hervey sighed. ‘And Johnson did not think to question it!’

‘In fairness, sir, Captain Snagge said it were just a duty that went with the job, just bringing rations for the officers.’

Hervey began shaking his head. ‘I don’t understand why Johnson didn’t say anything to me. After all this time.’

‘I wouldn’t fret if I was you, sir; he wouldn’t say ought to me either.’

‘Yes, but—’ Hervey thought better of it. He knew it was a conceit ever to suppose he might have gained so completely the trust of a private man, however much they had shared their lives in the twelve years past. But, no, Johnson was different. He was not merely a private man – not any more, not in essentials. ‘Well,’ he said, and heavily, ‘we shall have to deal with Johnson’s delinquency in due course. Where is Captain Snagge now?’

‘He accompanied the detectors to Bow-street last night,’ replied the adjutant.

Hervey nodded. There was some propriety in the sound of that at least; it would not have done for there to have been any sort of ‘scene’ in barracks. ‘I despair that it is ever those officers from the ranks – Barrow in Calcutta, and now Snagge.’

Armstrong braced.

Hervey saw the look, and cursed himself for his crassness. ‘I’m sorry, Sarn’t-major; that was ill-judged.’

‘And with respect, sir, incorrect.’

‘Yes, incorrect.’

Had the adjutant not been present they might have had a robust exchange on this punctilio, for Hervey thought he could reasonably claim that while the ‘gentlemen’ officers were capable of dereliction of duty and all sorts of vice, pecuniary misdemeanour was not one of them – not in the Sixth at least.

‘So it’s Johnson in the clear, sir. He’ll give King’s evidence, and the Revenue will not prefer charges. We ourselves could, of course, charge him with disobeying a lawful command; he failed to divulge the facts of the affair when instructed to do so.’

Hervey permitted himself the wryest of smiles as he recalled the words of the Mutiny Act. ‘“And every person so offending in any of the matters before-mentioned shall suffer death.” That would certainly put the fear of God in him!’

‘“Or such other punishment as by a Court-martial shall be inflicted,”’added Vanneck, intending to carry the exchange swiftly towards the material issue. ‘I think the sarn’t-major shall be able to inflict sufficient restrictions of privileges, sir. May I direct you towards the question of Captain Snagge? He has admitted everything; that much is to his credit. And I took from him before he left a letter of resignation. Unless you are strongly of a mind to refuse the resignation on the grounds that it might be seen as attempting to avoid court martial, I suggest the business can be done with Greenwood and Cox quite expeditiously.’

Greenwood and Cox,
the regimental agents, through whom all things could be arranged – at a price. Hervey could see the advantage of an expeditious selling-out, not least the (partial) avoidance of scandal. But there was another advantage, and rather more to his liking. Hervey had no intention of leaving any matter for the new lieutenant-colonel that he could reasonably attend to himself. For one thing it would be a discourtesy to delay decisions unnecessarily; for another it would be equally discourteous to overwhelm a man with matters for resolution on his arrival. Above all, if things were to be done the Sixth’s way it was better that he, Hervey, put things in hand at once. He had heard nothing but good of Lord Holderness, but the unhappy memory – albeit a decade ago – of a lieutenant-colonel intent on changing things was never wholly out of mind.

‘Well, there is a silver lining in this otherwise black cloud. There will now be a vacancy in the rank of captain, which means in turn there will be a vacancy for lieutenant and thence cornet – a vacancy for Mr Hairsine.’

It meant also a vacancy for Vanneck, if Vanneck had the money, which Hervey knew he certainly did have.
And
it might hasten the promotion of Armstrong. But whereas Vanneck’s captaincy was a mere matter of financial procedure Armstrong’s promotion to regimental serjeant-major was a matter for executive decision. Rightly the decision could not be Hervey’s own, not now that he had received word of a new lieutenant-colonel. But as acting commanding officer, and soon to be Lord Holderness’s second in command, his opinion in the matter would undoubtedly be the deciding one.

‘Mr Vanneck, be so good, would you, as to allow me words with the sarn’t-major’ (Hervey was surprised to hear himself using the definite article, implying that already Armstrong
was
RSM). ‘And then I would have words with you directly, before I leave for the Horse Guards.’

The adjutant withdrew, and Hervey sat down again. ‘You are the senior serjeant-major, Geordie. As soon as Mr Hairsine is commissioned you shall take the crown. But I should add that it will be subject of course to a new commanding officer’s approval, though I see no reason why that should be withheld.’

Armstrong was silent for a while. Though he was partly overcome by his own astonishing fortune, he recognized the implication in the words ‘new commanding officer’. When he spoke it was in a lowered voice. ‘Ay, sir, thank you. I never much thought it could come, what with America, and leaving an’ all; but if it did, I always hoped it’d be you as colonel.’

Hervey cleared his throat. ‘Well, I have not told even the adjutant yet, but I’m afraid it is not to be, at least not for the present.’ And then he smiled. ‘Just make sure you keep that crown on your arm until it is!’

‘Oh ay, sir. Don’t you worry on that account.’

‘Very well. Give me your hand.’

When Armstrong was gone, Hervey took up his pen. He had two expresses to write. The first was to Eyre Somervile. He wrote quickly. He said, quite simply, that he wished to take up the commission at the Cape. The second express was his reply to Elizabeth’s – a letter which on second reading he found more touching in its expression of their tie than ever he would have imagined.

Hounslow,
27th March 1827.

My dearest Sister,

I do not think that anything you might have written me could have given such cause for pleasure. I am delighted for you to the very depths of my being, for you know I owe you more than I could ever repay, and can now at least rejoice that a man I so fervently admire shall bring you happiness where I have for so long stood in its way. And if I give a very imperfect account of those feelings of joy here, it is solely on account of the expressman’s attending and my knowing the urgency in which my reply is held by you.

But Fortune favours us greatly, my dear Elizabeth, for not only are you to be married, but I also. Lady Lankester – Kezia Lankester – widow of Sir Ivo, has accepted my own offer. She has a daughter, not yet one year old, and I believe Georgiana will therefore be as completely happy in this as can I. I do not know when the marriage shall take place, for much depends on a commission abroad, which Eyre Somervile has asked me to undertake with him…

He wrote a few more lines, largely repeating his joy at Elizabeth’s news and assuring her that his own arrangements stood in perfect accord with her own, then laid down his pen with considerable relief. It was a letter he had found strangely difficult to compose, and not merely for knowing the expressman waited. At a stroke Elizabeth’s news removed a burden of guilt he had begun to feel was intolerable. Besides her own happiness, therefore, he had much to be thankful for, which in no small measure served as balm to the wound of Lord George’s letter. How often he and his brother officers had spoken – and with black humour – of the fortunes of war; yet here the fortunes of peace were no less outrageous. In the space of but a few minutes his family circumstances were radically recast, and his military horizons transferred from Hounslow Heath to the wide Karoo. He would be lieutenant-colonel, at least, albeit in another uniform, and he had the satisfaction of seeing Hairsine on the brink of commissioning and Armstrong stepping into his shoes. These were mixed fortunes indeed. And, he had to remind himself, they were still to be safely decided. He must waste no time in thinking what might have been: he had to fashion the details of what now remained as his fortune.

XII

AN UNDERSTANDING

That evening

‘Major Hervey, m’lady.’

Hervey entered the drawing room like a man arraigned before a court martial. He saw Kat rise, and the smile light her face as if she were a delighted child.

Lady Katherine Greville was but a month or so from her forty-third birthday. Hervey did not know her age precisely. Indeed there were very few clues to her seniority, and he would never have supposed it had not Sir Peregrine Greville himself been a man of – to his mind – advanced years, silvery and bald, paunchy and ponderous (though a kind man by all accounts); and had not Kat, too, from time to time hinted at worldly knowledge that came with a certain maturity. It did not trouble him in the least to know she was older than he. Most
assuredly
not when she appeared as she did now, for her looks and her figure would have made a woman half her age envious. But there lay something of a problem, for although Kezia Lankester was not exactly half Kat’s age, she was undoubtedly close to it. He would not, of course, tell Kat this – why would there be need? – but she might suspect; she would certainly question him; she might even discover for herself.