A Regimental Affair mh-3 Page 5

  The Earl of Sussex seemed to be deep in thought. ‘And then you were at Ciudad Rodrigo, and saw the lines of Torres Vedras.’

  Hervey nodded. This much was what all of them in the Sixth had seen.

  ‘And then at Albura, and you greatly distinguished yourself at Salamanca.’

  Hervey, proud to be so recognized, and by the colonel whom he had never before met, was nonetheless discomfited by the approbation.

  But the Earl of Sussex had not finished. ‘And you showed great dash, and no little resolve, at Vitoria. At Toulouse you were commended for your action by the Duke of Wellington himself, and you crown all these at Waterloo with plaudits from Lord Uxbridge. Captain Hervey, this is a record to be proud of!’

  ‘Thank you sir,’ Hervey replied, wondering how the earl had been able to recall what were, in any scheme of things, trifling affairs.

  ‘And then there was Ireland.’

  The word came as a cold douche. Hervey swallowed and opened his mouth to speak, but before he could the Earl of Sussex raised a hand.

  ‘There is nothing for you to say on the matter, for I have it in every detail from Lord George Irvine.’

  ‘Sir, I—’

  ‘Captain Hervey, there really is nothing for you to explain. And let me say this to you. The courage you displayed so many times in the field is that which I should expect every officer of mine to demonstrate, given the requirement. And the address with which you have dealt with matters of tactics is that which I would hope for in those same officers – though it is not given to all to be capable of exercising such percipient judgement.’

  Hervey felt somewhat at ease again. There seemed to be an agreeable purpose in the earl’s words, and he wondered what it might be.

  ‘But the course you followed in Ireland was an instance of rare valour. I have known many brave men – men who have defied shot and shell to go at the enemy when all seemed lost – who have seemed incapable of standing up for what they believed was the right course in the comfort and safety of an office. Indeed, they had rather face certain death than confront a superior with an unpalatable truth. Believe me, Captain Hervey, such courage, exercised soundly, is a diamond of considerable worth.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ said Hervey. It seemed quite evident, now, that the Earl of Sussex was not merely receiving him with the usual formularies, and he felt himself greatly flattered.

  ‘All of which brings me to the ultimate purpose of my asking you to call this morning,’ said the earl, signalling his footman to withdraw. ‘Have you had any communication from the Horse Guards in the last twenty-four hours?’

  ‘I had to call on the Duke of York’s military secretary yesterday forenoon, sir. But since then . . .’

  ‘Then you do not know that you have been given a brevet?’

  Hervey had been promised a captain’s brevet before India. It seemed strange that Lord Sussex should have heard of it only now.

  ‘I mean a majority, Hervey. The brevets committee approved it yesterday.’

  Hervey was dumbstruck. Not only did he not know of it, he would never have thought it possible since, by his reckoning, his substantive rank was lieutenant, and promotion to field rank required at least one year in the lower rank to qualify.

  ‘Have not your agents informed you?’ the earl persisted. ‘You have been gazetted captain for almost eighteen months!’

  ‘No, sir. In truth I have not yet been to see them.’

  ‘Well then, make sure that when you do you collect what must be healthy arrears of pay!’ The Earl of Sussex’s eyes were kind, and the lines on his brow and about his mouth curved upwards, so that when he smiled, as he did now, his whole face was a beacon of his pleasure.

  ‘Why, yes, sir. Indeed!’ Hervey was almost lost in reflecting the smile, but he managed to keep a hard head for the particulars. ‘My first enquiry, though, shall be what vacancy there is in the regiment. But I confess that I am more than a little confused by what this brevet may mean with regards to it.’

  ‘In that I may certainly be of help.’ By now the earl was positively beaming. ‘Let me explain a little of what has transpired on this account.’

  Hervey was intrigued.

  ‘It was a near-run thing, I’m told.’ The earl took another sip of his sherbet. ‘But you shouldn’t let that dull the satisfaction of the brevet. It seems you had some strong supporters in that assembly of major generals, once they’d heard your record.’

  Hervey felt intensely gratified. A superior’s approval was every soldier’s pleasure.

  ‘Particularly, it seems, Sir Horace Shawcross. A splendid man! As bluff as Harry. He’s to go to India, and he’s asked for you to be his deputy adjutant general. What say you to that?’

  ‘Sir, I . . . I am conscious of the high honour the general does me . . .’

  ‘But?’

  ‘But I had very much set my heart on a troop.’

  Lord Sussex smiled again, this time almost paternally. ‘You don’t know how glad I am to hear you say that, Hervey. It’s not every man that would turn down advancement and valuable patronage to be at regimental duty. And you shall not be disadvantaged by it. I promise you. I’ll explain.’ He settled back into his chair as if the explanation was to be a long one. ‘Great heavens, how it shall give me pleasure! Lord George Irvine, as you may know, relinquished command on promotion about a year ago. He has the East Coast District.’

  Hervey confirmed that he had recently learned of it.

  ‘There was no major in the Sixth who could replace him,’ Lord Sussex continued. ‘For of the four on the regimental list Escrick had been on half-pay for innumerable years and was not inclined to leave his estates; and nor am I sure he would have been entirely suitable. Nasmyth would have been unable to find the purchase: his interests on the Baltic Exchange were cruelly ruined by the blockade. Sir Digby Willesey is, frankly, too old and infirm: he must spend half the year at least by the sea. And Joynson is hopelessly ill-fitted for command, though by all accounts he is an able administrator.’

  Hervey was astonished by the candour, but held his peace nonetheless.

  ‘The agents had received bids of up to twenty-five thousands. The regulations forbid it, I know, but since the over-price would go, indirectly, to the widows’ fund I was of a mind to nod to it.’

  Twenty-five thousands! Hervey was speechless. It was not only a prodigious sum but four times the regulation price. What chance might he ever have of commanding the Sixth by purchase?

  ‘I had hoped, of course, that Joseph Edmonds would have command, but the prices have grown so much of late throughout the cavalry that even had he lived I doubt he would have had the means.’

  Having known something of the Edmonds’ situation in the settling of the late major’s estate, Hervey had no doubt that he could never have afforded it. It was doubtful that the major’s means had been any greater even than his own. Peace had an odd price, he rued.

  ‘The Earl of Towcester bid the highest, and indicated to me that he wished to make a generous investment – especially in horses. And, given the hard service the regiment had seen, I thought it welcome. Towcester has been on half-pay more years than I should have cared for, but he seemed anxious to return to the Line. All this I discussed with Lord George, of course.’

  It was curious, to say the least, to be taken into the colonel’s confidence so, and Hervey evidently showed it.

  ‘Oh, come now, Captain Hervey. It will be no earthly good if you do not know what has been our reason.’ Lord Sussex then seemed to hesitate before pressing to an observation that intrigued Hervey even more. ‘I am of a mind that Towcester will wish to sell in but a year or so. And at that point I should not wish to bring in another extract.’

  Hervey thought it would be highly improper to make any enquiry as to why Lord Towcester would sell out, though he could applaud the sentiment concerning an extract. But was it a realistic one when there was no major to succeed?

  ‘I have discussed this particular with
Lord George at great length, too, and he and I are wholly in accord. You shall have command, Hervey!’

  Hervey’s mouth fell open. ‘Sir . . . I . . . how . . .’

  The Earl of Sussex was smiling broadly again, much satisfied with the effect. ‘A step at a time. Your brevet was the first one – and I am very pleased to say that our efforts in that direction were successful. You will be aware that the regulations require that you complete twelve months’ service on the active list in the rank of major before you may be promoted lieutenant colonel.’

  Hervey knew the regulations well enough.

  ‘And then there would be the matter of the purchase price.’

  ‘Just so, sir.’ Hervey saw no cause to waste the colonel’s time in this respect. ‘I have not the means to raise a fraction of that price.’

  ‘Yes, I know as much. If you were to find yourself somehow in possession of that sum, would you be desirous of the command?’

  There was not the slightest hesitation. ‘Of course, sir!’

  ‘Then let us trust that you shall find it. Or – and it would not be fitting that we speak of particulars – that the means shall otherwise be found. I hope I make my meaning clear?’

  Hervey nodded.

  ‘Make no mistake, Captain Hervey: I am determined that you shall have the regiment ere next year is out. Which means, as you very well know, that you must receive your recommendation for promotion to lieutenant colonel at the end of one year’s service as brevet major. D’you think you might manage that?’

  It was the fulfilment of any officer’s ambition, and the means by which he could now with assurance present himself to Henrietta and her guardian as a man with prospects. Hervey felt taller by several inches even as they spoke. ‘I shall do so to the very best of my ability, Colonel.’ And then he seemed to have doubts – or, rather, he thought he ought to have doubts. ‘Your lordship does not, then, consider that I have not the years?’

  ‘Great heavens, no!’ said the earl, frowning and shaking his head. ‘As I recall, Wellington had the Thirty-third in Holland when he was not five and twenty. Didn’t do him – or them – much harm.’

  The comparison astounded him – as perhaps it was meant to, for the Earl of Sussex wanted no dissent.

  ‘Now, I may tell you, at present in the regiment there is a captain’s vacancy – two, indeed – and I have instructed the agents that one is to be yours. Your brevet remains extra-regimental of course; you shall be Captain Hervey with your troop. Only remember this: the brevet is the means by which you shall have accelerated advance to lieutenant colonel. Your commanding officer is the means by which you will have the recommendation – and, thereby, the promotion. I trust I make myself clear again, Hervey. One year; one year ! You can manage that, can’t you?’

  ‘Oh yes, sir!’ said Hervey emphatically. ‘I believe I may assure you that you need have no fears on that account!’

  ‘Then come and share my table,’ said Lord Sussex, rising and beckoning Hervey with boyish delight. ‘I don’t think I could wish for more agreeable company.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  RETURNS

  Horningsham, ten days later

  ‘I blame Mr Keble,’ declared Hervey’s mother roundly. ‘Never would your father have carried on so if he had not filled his head with such notions.’

  Elizabeth Hervey glanced across the breakfast table at her brother, with a look that requested sympathy for having to listen again to the Vicar of Horningsham’s wife on the subject.

  ‘And now we shall all be dispossessed of the living, for your father will not be persuaded to moderate his habits. And who, then, shall give him any other? For there isn’t a patron who would be disposed to a parson who had been so recalcitrant. No, no: we shall be forced to throw ourselves on the charity of your Aunt Spencer, though heaven knows they could ill afford to have us in the deanery, for Hereford will be thick as thieves with Sarum. Mark my words!’

  Hervey tried to avoid his mother’s eye by gazing through the window on the pretence of distraction by two combative jays. He had used the same stratagem many times before in that small but comfortable dining room. Since the death of his elder brother he had shifted one place to the left at table, so that he sat directly adjacent to his father now – a little further from his mother, and offset from Elizabeth, whose place had not moved in the reordering of things – but otherwise it seemed to him that nothing had changed since his earliest recollection of that room; except that his mother now wore a lace cap and was a little fuller, and his sister no longer had her ringlets. More was the pity, Hervey considered, for Elizabeth’s ringlets had given her a pertness which nicely offset a sometimes over-earnest disposition.

  ‘Do not be too downcast, Mama. We might always carry the gospel abroad, to Matthew’s India, perhaps!’

  Elizabeth’s attempt at levity, misconstrued perhaps, did not find favour with her mother, who scowled back disapprovingly.

  Her brother now sallied to her rescue, though with equally unhappy results. ‘Mama, the bishop cannot dispossess Father from the living. Not without recourse to law, surely? And Lord Bath would never have that.’

  Elizabeth, regretfully, explained their mother’s gesture of hopelessness. ‘Lord Bath’s is not the advowson. Horningsham is a diocesan peculiar.’

  Since his return, some days ago, the subject had been put to one side in the general rejoicing. Only now, the day of his father’s summons to the palace at Salisbury, was an open discussion entered on.

  ‘What exactly are the bishop’s objections, Mama?’ asked Hervey. ‘He surely cannot mind a little variation? We are hardly a parish that many take note of.’

  ‘Oh, it is not the bishop himself who does this,’ said Mrs Hervey, waving her knife dismissively. ‘It is his archdeacon. We have all had excess of his zeal these past twelve months since his institution.’

  Hervey could not have known of the new appointment. Nor, indeed, would it have been of any moment to him were it not for the mischief it was making now. ‘Very well, then, Mama. What are the archdeacon’s objections?’

  ‘That the choir is put in surplices.’

  ‘Is that all?’ Hervey was bemused. ‘The choir has been surpliced since I myself was in it.’

  ‘And your father has taken to preaching in his, instead of a Genevan gown.’

  Hervey was even more astonished at the insignificance of the offence.

  ‘There is a little more to it than that, is there not, Mama?’ suggested Elizabeth carefully.

  ‘Oh, I do not suppose they will let him off lightly. There’ll be other objections, I’ll be bound.’

  Elizabeth raised her eyebrows the merest touch, but her brother was already alerted to the point. ‘What might these other objections be?’ he asked.

  Elizabeth glanced at her mother to see if she wished to take up the question herself, but Mrs Hervey evidently did not. ‘He has taken to celebrating the Lord’s Supper during the week.’

  ‘But that is scarcely offensive to the bishop, is it? Father is anyway obliged by rubric to say morning and evening prayer. To what can there be objection in adding the Communion?’

  ‘The Prayer Book forbids the celebration of Communion privately,’ said his mother, with another heavy sigh.

  ‘But on this all may not be lost,’ said Elizabeth, with a breeziness intended to lift her mother’s rapidly flagging spirits. ‘For we might yet find sufficient parishioners to attend.’

  ‘At least until the fire has died down,’ suggested Hervey.

  ‘Quite.’ Elizabeth frowned. ‘If only he would not be so . . . Romish, as the archdeacon calls it, when he celebrates.’

  ‘Romish? How so?’ Hervey was finally alerted to the true seriousness of his father’s situation.

  Elizabeth looked anxiously at her mother, who purposefully turned her gaze to the window. ‘He places candles on the communion table and stands eastwards. With his back to the congregation, that is.’

  ‘Though there isn’t one,’
smiled Hervey. But he knew it was a practice – as well as the candles – that would bring strife. ‘Is any of this of a Sunday, too?’

  ‘No, only the surplice for his sermon.’

  ‘That much is as well,’ opined Mrs Hervey. ‘Though if he speaks any more with Mr Keble, heaven knows where it will all end!’

  ‘Mama,’ protested Elizabeth. ‘You cannot blame Mr Keble. Father has held these opinions for many years before he visited with us. You may as well blame the Jesuit at Wardour, for Father has dined with him many more times than he has ever spoken with Mr Keble.’ It was well known in the village – and therefore in the diocese – that the Reverend Thomas Hervey had for many years enjoyed monthly conversation with Father Hazelwood. It was even supposed by some that these were occasions for auricular confession, and yet this had never given offence (as far as the family was aware), for such was Mr Hervey’s genuine piety and devotion to his parish. It was true that he had some years ago written a monograph on the life of Archbishop Laud, but since it remained unpublished its support for Laudian excesses could only be imagined.

  ‘Well, we may say goodbye to all hopes of preferment at any rate,’ complained Mrs Hervey. ‘We shall not see even a canon residentiary now!’ And with that she rose and left the room.

  Elizabeth knew that her father had long considered himself past all preferment, but she was also aware that her mother still entertained some hope of easeful retirement in a cathedral close, and it had occurred to her more than once that her own life might take a more lively turn were she to be translated thus. And much as Hervey would have been loath to quit the place in which he had been born, he too had hoped that his father might see out his days in such comfort, for there was little enough prospect that the modest family annuity would allow him to do so.

  It appeared that John Keble had visited twice while he had been away, and Elizabeth had been to his priesting at Trinitytide the year before. Hervey imagined that to his father the young clergyman was a remembrance of his elder son. Hervey had also imagined some attachment forming with Elizabeth, for in John Keble’s letter to him (a most welcome poste restante in Paris) there was mention of quitting Oxford – and therefore its rule of celibacy – for his curacy in the Cotswolds. But it was evidently not so. Devoted to her father though Elizabeth was, there were evangelical sentiments in her which might in any case militate against such an alliance. She read Hannah More copiously, and had only recently declined a position out of Clapham with the Society for Returning Young Women to their Friends in the Country; not out of any qualmishness, but from a conviction that her father and mother had need of her.