Man Of War

Hervey was reduced to uncomprehending silence. A few moments ago he had thought his sister the most wonderful of women, about to become wife to the most wonderful of men. But now . . . And what, indeed, of Peto? He had still no news of his situation: he might be in a chaise from Portsmouth this very minute, returning from battle – that second Trafalgar – in the expectation of the loyal greeting which was rightfully his. It is not a matter that can bide without grave consequence to our reputation and position, his mother had written. He had been inclined to imagine her mistaken in whatever it was. But not now.

‘What is Father’s opinion in this? Has he forbidden it?’

Mrs Hervey’s look was of even more abject despair. ‘I have not had occasion to tell him. He has not been at all well this past month.’

‘And Elizabeth has not told him?’

‘I begged she would not.’

They sat for some time in a state of incapability, Mrs Hervey’s sobs subdued but continuing, until her son found himself able to ask, ‘Has anything . . . particular induced this determination on Elizabeth’s part?’

Mrs Hervey let out such a sigh, as if she might wholly expire. When she spoke it was almost in a whisper. ‘I wish I could say there was not. It is all on account of . . . a certain person.’

Hervey’s frustration with this most disconnected way of proceeding almost got the better of him. ‘Mama, you really must compose yourself and tell me all there is to know, for how otherwise am I to prevail on Elizabeth to change her mind?’

Mrs Hervey began searching about her pockets for smelling salts, but to no avail. She sighed deeply once more, and waved her hands as if in submission. ‘It is all on account of . . . a Mr Heinrici. She met him not two months ago . . . and now she believes she is in love with him and intends marrying him.’

‘Heinrici?’ Hervey could scarcely credit it, not least that Elizabeth should have her head turned by someone with so outlandish a name.

His mother nodded. ‘Or Baron Heinrici, I should call him.’

‘He is German then? Or Dutch?’

‘Yes. He took the lease on the Heytesbury estate last year. Elizabeth went to the house to buy hangings or some such, which he did not wish for.’

His mother’s concern for precise domestic detail, while she remained indifferent to that of real significance, almost deflected Hervey from a right judgement: not only was his sister’s inclination to break off the engagement deeply dismaying, he now saw that she acted in it quite recklessly. It was not in the least like her, and he concluded that there must be some strange imbalance in her humours – not in the old sense, of course (that was so much quackery), but something must very definitely have disturbed her equilibrium. To throw over his old friend, the very finest of men, for . . . who? A new-come German? (Hervey was sure, now, the name was not Dutch.) Who, indeed, was this Baron Heinrici, with his new lease on the agreeable Heytesbury estate? Why, indeed, was he come to Wiltshire at all? What could possibly have turned Elizabeth’s head so, for in everything he had known her undertake she had shown matchless judgement (better, even, than his own)? He must observe her closely at dinner for some sign of what disturbed her.

No, that would not do; it smacked of deceit. He must speak with her before dinner. Let them have it out, and then if she did not see where sense and duty lay (he could hardly conceive that possible, but then in her present state of evident . . . derangement, anything was possible) – if she could not see the proper course, then she would have the whole of their dinner to reflect on the situation, the whole unhappy, untoward business!

In consequence of the shocking family news, Hervey was able to afford Georgiana only a brief interview, promising to spend the morning with her instead. She told him of her pony – the one he had bought her when he had come back from India – and the Broadwood piano (which he had sent her for her . . . he did not remember quite which birthday). She wanted to play for him there and then. But he had to protest that it was a pleasure he must suspend until the morning too.

Georgiana was disappointed, but not excessively so, for she understood that her father had travelled a very great distance and would wish to rest. And there was his friend Captain Fairbrother to be looked after, and Aunt Elizabeth too . . .

Hervey professed himself grateful to Georgiana for her patience, and accompanied her to her bedroom, where he saw that the housemaid had already brought a bowl of hot water. ‘I retire myself without assistance, Papa,’ she said, matter of fact rather than proud.

‘Very well,’ he replied, kissing her forehead. ‘Until the morning.’

Elizabeth was in their father’s book room when Hervey sought her out. She had put on an evening dress, quite formal, and she looked perfectly composed when he entered.