A Close Run Thing (51 page)

‘Ah, Jessope, poor man. I fear that I fill his empty boots at the Horse Guards. You knew him well?’

‘He was an acquaintance in Spain.’

‘He was a great friend of Lord Fitzroy Somerset. It was he who had Jessope appointed to Lord Wellington’s staff, you know. I’m told that it was the same sharpshooter who accounted for them both at Waterloo. A cruel irony.’

‘Yes, I understand that it was so. I did not see Jessope fall but I saw Lord Fitzroy walking back with his arm shot away.’

‘You were
there
, at that
moment
?’ asked Howard in some awe.

‘We were many. It is just the way,’ replied Hervey. ‘Have you news of Lord Fitzroy?’

‘He is recovering well. You have heard, I suppose, that he had his arm amputated without a murmur and called for it to be brought back so that he could remove a ring his wife had given him? But then, such
bearing
is perhaps only to be expected of a colonel of Foot Guards.’

Doubtless Howard was unconscious of his presumption, but Hervey thought none the less to deflate him gently. ‘My dear Howard,’ he smiled confidentially, ‘he was first a cornet of light dragoons!’

And then both laughed.

They entered the Horse Guards through the unimposing door in the inner arch, the same that had admitted Hervey two weeks before, and climbed the stairs to the offices of the commander-in-chief.

‘Good morning, My Lord,’ said the clerk gravely – and bowing – the same clerk on whose account Hervey was now arraigned. Several officers about the place made inaudible asides and stared at him with obvious contempt. His stomach tightened, his eyes began to lose their focus, and the voices around him became strangely disembodied. And yet he remained sensible of his condition and of the proceedings. He had known no feeling like it before – not at Corunna, nor Salamanca, nor even Waterloo. Oblivion had stared at him there, but dishonour faced him now – infamy even.

‘General Calvert wishes to see you the moment you arrive, gentlemen,’ Hervey heard the clerk say as he hurried to the double doors of the adjutant-general’s office.

And before either officer could plead a moment’s pause he was announcing them. Howard beckoned Hervey towards the doors, but he stared back in
confusion
. Was he meant to surrender his sword and remove his shako?

‘Keep them!’ Howard hissed, all but pulling him into the entrance. They managed nevertheless to halt in step and salute in front of the huge mahogany writing-table.

Sir Harry Calvert was already on his feet, however, and holding out a hand. ‘Mr Hervey, my dear boy, welcome; I am sorry indeed that you have been recalled so early. I do trust it has not been unduly in opportune – the interests of the Service, you know, the interests of the Service.’

Recalled? Inopportune?
Hervey’s astonishment was almost matched by Howard’s, and both were apparent to the general. ‘My dear fellows, whatever can be the matter?’

Howard motioned Hervey to say nothing, choosing to recount himself the circumstances of their return, which he now did in all its detail, and with unabated particulars of the offending instructions he had acted upon. Calvert was aghast. He walked towards a contrary door and opened it. ‘Colonel Arnold, be so good as to come in here,’ he called, and then, as his military assistant entered with pocket-book open, he turned back to the two lieutenants and frowned. ‘Mr Howard, if you please, repeat for me the information you have this instant apprised me of.’

When Howard had done so the adjutant-general turned to his colonel and asked him if he did not think it the most shameful thing he had heard. Arnold agreed.

‘Then, sir, be pleased to rid me once and for all of that infernal quill-driver. This is one liberty too many.’

And with that the adjutant-general’s staff was peremptorily reduced. Indeed, such was the noisy relish with which Colonel Arnold carried out his instructions that Hervey began to feel sympathy for the unfortunate clerk.

‘Now, gentlemen, sit down, if you please,’ continued General Calvert. ‘There is little time. Mr Hervey, you will recall bringing Lord Wellington’s dispatch two weeks ago. It did not require an acknowledgement but it is the procedure for the clerk receiving dispatches to peruse them at once and to interrogate the bearer if there be any matter for clarification. Mellor did not do so; indeed, it appears that he dealt with it with quite extraordinary laxness. I had begun to suspect as much. He has for some time been quite incapable of remembering his position. I fear his taking a lease on a house in Blackheath has given him certain gentlemanly propensities!’

Hervey smiled respectfully at the general’s attempt at some levity, while suppressing a growing indignation at the inference that his presence at the Horse Guards was merely an instrument for the demise of the offending civilian.

‘Only when the Duke of Wellington himself attended here on Monday was the import of the dispatch revealed, for in it he recounts – in some detail – your remarkable exploits at the late battle we are to know as Waterloo. The duke wished that your signal role be
recognized
but considered that to mark it by public honours would detract from the honour due to the Prussians. You will understand the sensibilities in these matters, Mr Hervey.’

Hervey bowed in acknowledgement, his pulse beginning to race.

‘He did consider recommending a companionship of the Bath, along with all other commanding officers – since you had commanded your corps in the closing moments of the battle. But so many other junior officers had been required to do the same that he thought this impractical. He has therefore asked, and their lordships of the Treasury have agreed, that you be awarded
ex gratia
the amount of five thousand pounds.’

Hervey’s face spoke of his utter shock. His pulse beat faster than he could ever remember, and he was thankful to be seated. He made to speak, but General Calvert lifted up a hand.

‘This is, however, conditional on your absolute discretion in the matter. Not a word of the provenance of this sum is ever to escape.’ Calvert’s eyes searched Hervey’s.

‘You have my absolute assurance, sir,’ he replied.

‘But now to more urgent matters,’ continued the general. ‘You may know of Lord Fitzroy Somerset’s incapacitation. The duke found him an indispensable aide-de-camp and secretary. Moreover, he spoke French with perfect fluency.’

With fluency, yes, thought Hervey, but with an
abominable
English accent! But what was this to do with—?

‘You speak French with equal fluency, and German, too, it seems?’ suggested Calvert.

‘Yes, sir,’ he replied cautiously.
Surely
he could not be suggesting—

‘Well, it is the duke’s wish that you be appointed to his staff forthwith as under-secretary and aide-de-camp. If you are in agreement, you will be given a brevet captaincy –
given
, mind – which in due season will be confirmed as regimental rank. How say you, Mr Hervey?’

Hervey sprang up like a flushed partridge.

‘I … I am astonished, sir! I … I accept,
of course
!’

‘Well, then,
Captain
Hervey, there remains but one difficulty. The duke has this day left for Paris, and there are pressing matters for him to be about with both our allies and the French king. Really, my boy, you are required there at once.’ And, turning to his colonel, he asked if a frigate were still stood by.

‘Yes, Sir Harry; she could leave Chatham on this evening’s tide – about eight, I think.’

‘Then,’ said General Calvert, turning to Hervey, ‘you had better lose no time in making arrangements. Mr Howard will lend you every assistance, I am sure. Now, you must excuse me since I have to attend on the Duke of York. Goodbye and good fortune, Captain Hervey. The Service is indeed favoured to have officers of your faculty. Do not suppose that this peace is an end to the requirement for such aptitude.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ replied Hervey simply, before replacing his shako, saluting and turning for the door.

Howard seized his arm the moment it was closed behind them. ‘My
dear
fellow, no one could feel happier with this than do I. I could gladly run through that self-important ass of a clerk who began it all, but for my over-hasty presumption, too, I am truly sorry.’

Hervey smiled and touched his arm. ‘No matter, no matter.’

‘See, then,’ Howard pressed, ‘we have but a few hours to catch that frigate by tonight’s tide. I shall arrange a coach for Chatham. You will need meanwhile to see your tailor and agent, and look for other necessaries until your camp-kit is brought to Paris – though I hardly think you will see hard beds there any longer!’

‘Yes, yes … thank you, Howard; it is all so … But see here, what I
must
do is write to Horningsham. Is there somewhere I may do so?’

‘Of course: we shall go to the staff office here. But look, write only a brief account, and I myself shall take it for you. The rest I shall say on your behalf. I could do no other in the circumstances.’

‘My dear Howard …’ began Hervey, pleasantly taken by this warm act of contrition.

‘No, I will hear no objection,’ he insisted. ‘It is the very least thing that I may do for a fellow officer. And, indeed, I mean to make some amends with your sister’ – he faltered a fraction – ‘I mean your family – with whom I seem to have made a disastrous beginning.’

But Hervey did not fully grasp this other aspect to his altruism, for his thoughts were with Henrietta once more. ‘With the approval of her guardian, we might be married in Paris this next month,’ he mused aloud.

‘The approval of Lord Wellington might be the greater impediment,’ suggested Howard with a smile.

‘“And the child Samuel ministered unto the Lord”!’ replied Hervey, smiling, too.

‘What?’

‘First Samuel,
chapter 3
, verse 1.’

His Majesty’s Naval Dockyard Chatham, at seven that evening, was still bustling. Hervey’s chaise and pair stopped at the huge gates, the driver took directions from the Royal Marine sentry and then trotted the team a further quarter-mile to the quay where the frigate was moored. Hervey had expected her to be riding at anchor in the roads, and he was pleased that he would not, after all, have to board her precariously from a jolly-boat. As he stepped down from the coach his eye was caught by the decoration of the gallery window high above the quay on the still-rising tide. A figure stared out at him and then disappeared. The gundeck’s yellow side smelled of new paint, and the sail, even to his untutored eye, was furled to perfection. Efficiency itself, he sighed. The Marine sentry at the foot of the gangway which led to the upper deck presented arms, but Hervey hesitated: the conventions of boarding one of His Majesty’s ships were ever a trap to an unwary landsman. And (he would truthfully
admit
) of men-o’-war and captains of frigates he was ever in thrall.

But the brevet captain swallowed hard. Fastening on his sword-belt and taking up the scabbard in his left hand, he touched his shako peak to the Marine and strode resolutely up the steep gangway. As he stepped aboard and turned to salute aft (the one custom of which he was certain) the same figure of the gallery window appeared on deck, immaculate in frock uniform. His face was a year or so older than Hervey’s (but not more), and it remained motionless while returning the salute. Then it broke into a quizzical smile. ‘Captain Hervey, we presume? We are glad you have at last arrived. I am Captain Laughton Peto.’

Even in the short time it had taken to exchange these compliments three seamen were down the gangway and bringing up Hervey’s chests. He struggled to find some apt reply in deference to this courtesy. ‘I am afraid my journey here has been in much haste, sir. I confess I do not even know your ship’s name.’

Peto smiled again. ‘
Nisus
; you may have heard of her. Now, Captain Hervey, the tide will be turning any minute. You may come aft and watch as we get under way so that you will have something favourable to tell the duke of your time with the Service. Have you seen a frigate make sail before?’

Hervey glanced at the epaulettes on the captain’s coat. The left one looked distinctly newer. By which he concluded that, since the 1813 regulations required two epaulettes irrespective of seniority (he did not wish to
peer
too closely at them to search for the crowns which would have settled the matter), Captain Peto had held the rank prior to Bonaparte’s exile to Elba – when, indeed, Hervey had been but a cornet. Thus, it occurred to him that Captain Peto might have commanded
Nisus
on their Dover escort a year before, which had made such a show of sail on leaving them. But before he could allude thus Peto spoke again. ‘I should tell you, too, that in my cabin there are sealed orders for you from Paris, to be opened only when we are under way.’

‘Sealed orders – for
me
?’ Hervey could scarcely contain his wonder at the change of circumstances: a few hours before and he had been staring oblivion in the face. ‘What do you suppose they say?’

‘My dear Hervey,’ laughed Peto, ‘I have not the beginning of an idea. I am a mere frigate captain; you are aide-de-camp to the Duke of Wellington!’

THE END

THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON’S CAVALRY

AN EXPLANATORY NOTE