Hervey 10 - Warrior (9 page)

He folded the letter and stifled a sigh.What he would not give to be at the Eastern Frontier this very moment! And then he shivered, though the evening was not cool. He was new-married. Indeed, it was, rightly speaking, his honeymoon still. But to be at the Cape did not mean he must abandon his new wife. Far from it. She would accompany him, take quarters in Cape Town, the house he had found, not far from the Somerviles at the castle. And Georgiana would be with them. Why, therefore, did he recoil from his enthusiasm for being back in the saddle, under arms? It was not escape, nor evasion of his paternal responsibilities, as once it might have been. He was a soldier, was he not? What was a soldier if his instinct were for other than the field and the sound of the guns?

He began turning over in his mind the things he must do preparatory to an early return to duty. He must send an express to Captain Edward Fairbrother in Devon (he could not possibly return without Fairbrother: he was as much a kin of the spirit now as he was a superlative practitioner of frontier war). He must arrange the same passage for Serjeant-Major Collins (no doubt Collins, too, would consider it a mixed blessing, for he himself was newly married). There were all manner of requisites to obtain and accounts to be settled, letters to be written, official and otherwise, work for the War Office to be completed, and not least the business of the Eighty-first to be decided. And there was Kezia and Georgiana . . .

Kat's yellow Offord chariot bowled through St James's and then Green Park, through the Piccadilly bar past Apsley House, the residence of the Duke of Wellington (now prime minister), where Hervey had first met Kat, and along the fashionables' drive through Hyde Park, past the Knightsbridge Barracks, Kensington Palace, and into Holland Park, to the elegant but not large establishment of Lieutenant-General Sir Peregrine and Lady Katherine Greville.

Sir Peregrine, he knew, would not be at home. Indeed, he would not be in London, nor even England. He would be in the governor's residence on Alderney, which position he had occupied largely unaccompanied but with the greatest satisfaction for many years. The fishing off Alderney, and indeed Sark, which island was also within his commandery, was infinitely diverting to him, and now that all threat of hostile landing from France was gone, the appointment allowed him a life of complete ease.

There were many years between Sir Peregrine and his wife. Kat was forty, or there about, yet she possessed the blush of a much younger woman. Her many admirers, of whom the Duke of Wellington was merely the most elevated (not counting the King himself, whom Kat had never found herself able to flatter with much conviction), admitted her one of the handsomest females in London. Hervey, though several years her junior, shared their opinion. Although now he would place Kezia alongside her. Their looks, their whole demeanour, were, however, so unalike as to puzzle him: the attraction of two women so markedly different.

Kat.
He had, perhaps, treated her ill. He had courted Kezia (if 'courted' were the right word for something so . . . extemporary) without first speaking with her of it. And then he had gone to Holland Park to tell her the news of his engagement, and she had been hurt (without doubt hurt) by the manner of his telling her as much as the news itself. And then he had not returned that night to the United Service Club; he had stayed at Holland Park, as he so often had.

He shook his head, for what had followed, on the eve of his wedding, was too shameful to contemplate. And afterwards Kat had been so understanding. She had maintained every expression of cordiality, she had come to his wedding, she had troubled herself no little over the convalescence of his great friend Peto.What a woman she was! He could not regret what they had been to each other, for all that he had broken the Seventh Commandment (as Elizabeth had reminded him with such devastating effect). Except perhaps that last time. For that had been unworthy.

The chariot turned into the little forecourt, and Hervey woke from his thoughts. 'Well, George . . .' He had insisted the footman travel inside with him.

George descended from the offside door and went round to lower the carriage step, but an under-footman came out to attend, so that he was able instead to assume the position due to him at the door of the house.

Hervey got down, straightened his neck cloth, and went inside.

'Colonel Hervey, m'lady,' George announced at the door of Kat's sitting room.

Kat did not come out to greet him, however, as invariably she had. Hervey thought perhaps it was the more appropriate to their new respective situations.

He entered the sitting room, and smiled. 'Kat, how very agreeable it is to see you.'

But Kat did not return the smile, nor move to kiss him. 'Matthew, thank you for coming so promptly.'

Hervey's brow furrowed. 'Kat?'

She made no reply, turning instead to the window, distinctly uneasy.

He moved to her side. 'Kat, what is it?'

'How was Brighton?' she asked, distantly.

He shook his head rather dismissively. 'It was . . . very agreeable.'

She seemed not to hear. She did not, at least, make any response.

'Kat, what is it? What were you not able to say in the letter?'

She turned back to him, and with a look quite cast down. 'I am with child, Matthew.'

The shock – the horror indeed – upon her lover's face was too much for her. She turned back to the window, her eyes moist.

He stumbled with his words. 'Kat . . . I . . . who . . .?'

She turned again, blazing. '
Who? Who,
do you say! Matthew, how could you ask such a question?'

Hervey now felt a rising panic. 'I . . . that is . . . how . . .'

Kat looked more astonished still. '
How,
Matthew? You ask
how
? Or do you suggest my years make it impossible?'

That was not what he meant. He knew well enough how. Indeed, he knew
when.
He struggled not to take her hand, and then gave way. 'What are you to do?'

She sighed deeply, and gave him a sort of resigned, pitying smile. 'Do not worry, Matthew; it is taken care of.'

He looked at her, puzzled.

'Sir Peregrine.'

He looked at her quite horrified.

'He was in London when I learned of it. He . . . he has no reason to suppose he is not the father.'

'But you said he was incapable of . . .'

'And so he is. But the dear, kind old booby had no memory of his incapability after two bottles.'

Hervey shuddered.

'The child is yours, Matthew, and although Sir Peregrine shall be the proud father – and I shall tell no one to the contrary, not even my sister – I must have you know.'

Thoughts raced in Hervey's mind as if from a legion of criers. Who might
he
tell of it? What should be his duty to Kat? What might he say to Kezia . . . 'Kat, I am so very sorry.'

'And so am I, Matthew.' Tears filled her eyes again. 'And yet . . .'

He looked about, as if for salvation.

There was no salvation, however. Kat was now sobbing.

He embraced her. But when Henrietta had told him she was with child, and he had taken her in his arms, he had felt such a warming in his vitals. Now only rats scrambled in the pit of his stomach.

He pulled her closer, yet with a distance that came from the horror of the very wretchedness he was trying to allay.

But Kat's dejection was too much to be tempered by what she knew was transient. She knew she would no more enjoy his attention. Her place in society would be gone, too. There would be no more beaux to flatter her. Motherhood would not at all become her. Her tears were many-coloured.

He left Holland Park much later than he had intended, so late as to conclude that returning to Hanover Square would be inconvenient to the occupants. And in truth he had no desire to. Not in his own state of wretchedness. He went instead to the United Service, arriving a little after midnight, and in the smoking room, to his surprise, he found the commander-in-chief still, and a little gathering of officers, all in plain clothes but some of whom he recognized.

His inclination was to bow and then retire, but Lord Hill saw him first.

'Hervey!'

'My lord,' he replied, with a less formal bow than he would have made had it not been in his club, where notions of a certain gentlemanly egality applied.

'Come, join us. We were talking of affairs in the Levant.'

Hervey nodded.

'Now, you may know, I imagine, Generals Burt and Richardson, Colonel Cowan and Major Hawtrey.' Lord Hill indicated each in turn.

It was a gracious way of introduction, for Hervey knew only the two generals, and those by name alone.

'Gentlemen, this is Colonel Hervey, lately returned from the Cape, where he has been raising a corps of mounted rifles.'

There was no shaking of hands, merely the usual bows of acknowledgement.

'And also lately of the gunpowder mills at Waltham Abbey, do I not recall?' said General Richardson.

'Yes, General,' replied Hervey, somewhat indifferently since attitudes to the action at the mills were, he knew, mixed.

'Sit you down,' commanded Lord Hill, but benignly, as befitted his nickname among the troops – 'Daddy'.

Hervey took the remaining tub chair gratefully. The evening, the whole day, had drained him of resource to an extent he would not have imagined.

'Colonel Hervey is to have command of the Eighty-first in Canada next year,' Lord Hill told his party.

There was a general murmur of approval. Hervey shifted awkwardly in his chair, the matter yet undecided in his own mind.

'When do you return to the Cape?' asked Lord Hill.

'I have just had a letter from the lieutenant-governor hastening it, my lord. I believe I shall sail within the fortnight.' He realised too late that by mentioning haste he might be inviting the commanderin- chief to enquire into the necessity for it, and since Somervile's position was somewhat precarious, and the expedition to the territory of the Zulu doubtless an enterprise without sanction from the Secretary for War, he might well have jeopardized his old friend's initiative.

But Lord Hill's concerns were not with so distant a place about which the Horse Guards knew very little. The situation in the Eastern Mediterranean was what occupied His Majesty's ministers, and was consequently the concern of the commander-in-chief. 'And when do you relinquish the commission with the Rifles?'

'The date is uncertain, my lord, but I believe it will be before the end of the year.'

'Mm.' Lord Hill appeared to be turning something over in his mind.

The smoking-room waiter brought Hervey his brandy and soda.

'How is your French, Hervey?'

'I fancy it is very adequate, sir,' he replied, rather startled by the turn of questioning. His French was entirely fluent, as was his German.

'You have no Russian, I imagine?'

Hervey's brow furrowed, curious. 'No-o, General.'

'Well, French would be perfectly serviceable. What say you to an attachment to Prince Worontzov's headquarters?'

Hervey had no very precise idea who was Prince Worontzov, or where his headquarters might be, but with the Russians now at war with the Turks it could be supposed that it was in the Levant (anything more precise was hardly necessary at this stage of enquiry). 'I am all enthusiasm, my lord, but I believe I must return to the Cape, at least for a month or so – to make proper arrangements for the corps, and indeed for the return of my detachment of dragoons.'

Lord Hill nodded. 'That is understood. Indeed, it works to advantage. George Bingham is to go at once, but he will have to return by the year's end to take command of the Seventeenth.'

Hervey had to check his instinct to agree to the commission at once.

'Think on it a while,' said Lord Hill, rising to leave. 'Let my military secretary know before you embark for sunnier climes.'

Hervey rose with him, and smiled. 'I will indeed, sir.'

'And, by the bye, I should have mentioned it before. I saw the notice of your marriage. Hearty congratulations, my boy! Ivo Lankester's widow, is she not?'

Hervey shifted a little awkwardly, forcing something of a smile. 'I suppose it will be some years before she is referred to as wife rather than widow, my lord.'

Lord Hill returned the smile. 'Just so, Hervey, just so. I stand rebuked. Mind you don't make her a widow again in that uncivilized colony of yours. The Eighty-first will be looking to welcome you both in due course.'

'Thank you for your sentiment, my lord.'

The commander-in-chief and his party took their leave, and Hervey sank down gratefully into his tub chair again. He now felt sicker in his stomach than he had even at Holland Park.