Man Of War

‘I cannot but think it a fine thing, Colonel.’ Had he known Lord Holderness a little better he might have said that a royal colonel would add several thousand to the value of their commissions – as it had for the Tenth, whose colonel had for many years been the Prince of Wales. ‘Is it to be the Duchess, or Princess Victoria?’

‘Oh, neither of them. I do not think the Duchess would find the appointment appealing, in her present situation,’ (Hervey supposed his self-imposed exile had deprived him of the Court gossip) ‘though she is the most charming of company. And Princess Victoria is a mere child.’

Hervey frowned, and somewhat ruefully. His own mere child was perfectly capable of arresting attention.

‘Not nine years old, indeed.’

‘I should have known.’

‘No, I believe that His Majesty has it in mind to appoint the Duchess’s sister, Princess Augusta of Saxe-Coburg. She is her brother Leopold’s favourite, and Leopold is apparently of some moment to the nation.’

Hervey turned to Fairbrother. ‘You see what effect a regiment of light dragoons may have on affairs of state, without even turning out.’

Lord Holderness appreciated the joke. ‘Though our turnout shall have to be all the smarter for it: the King will watch the manoeuvres tomorrow.’

Hervey smiled again, more wryly still. ‘I doubt he’ll be content merely to watch, Colonel. No doubt he would want to report to the prime minister that he took the head of the army for a few hours.’

‘Oh, indeed,’ said Lord Holderness, well acquainted with the King’s mild delusions (he was known to describe how he personally was in the van of the cavalry at Waterloo). ‘But I rather think these manoeuvres are to be quite searching, not at all the usual evolutions. In any event, I hope so. Lord Hill is to attend.’

Hervey sat up. ‘Lord Hill?’ The King was one thing; the commander-in-chief quite another.

‘As I said: quite searching.’ Lord Holderness rose. ‘I’m certain the regiment will acquit itself admirably. I found it in excellent condition when I took command.’

It was a compliment, and no doubt intended as one, but Hervey was too guarded, still, to acknowledge the honours. ‘They will serve, Colonel; you may depend upon it. And,’ (he cleared his throat: the time had come to grasp the nettle) ‘I do indeed regret that I am not able to be in my proper place.’

Lord Holderness smiled doubtfully. ‘Oh, come, Hervey. You must have no scruple on that account. I confess I was disappointed when I found you had posted yourself to the detached command, but I cannot condemn it. Indeed, I should have done the same myself. And in any case, I suspect that capering over the Berkshire countryside would be dull fare after all that I read of the Cape.’

‘I am obliged to you, Colonel. But the opportunity for practising war is ever welcome. Truly, I am only sorry that business at the Horse Guards, and’ (he coloured somewhat) ‘in Hertfordshire, compels me to return to London the day following tomorrow. With your leave, though, I should like to observe as much of the manoeuvres as may be.’

‘You are most welcome.’

As had been the custom for as many years as Hervey had worn blue, the officers dined together the night before the manoeuvres (in the late war they had done so before each battle). Fairbrother wore his uniform of captain in the Cape Mounted Rifles, but Hervey wore his Sixth regimentals rather than Rifles, for he was, after all, at home. The dinner was choice, the wine was a good vintage, the band was lively and the evening altogether merry. Fairbrother found himself most agreeably engaged in conversation throughout: the officers around him at table were free and easy, solicitous and affable.

After dinner, in the ante-room as he drank brandy and soda, the senior cornet appeared at his side holding the reins of a compact-looking gelding, a handsome sorrel. None of the other officers affected to notice with the least surprise.

‘Sir, would you care to try Albany? He’s to be yours for tomorrow.’

Fairbrother had enjoyed a good measure of champagne and burgundy, but he saw nevertheless the challenge which the cornets were laying down. He glanced at Hervey, who smiled back at him sympathetically.

‘I think that would be most helpful,’ he replied, taking the reins with every appearance of ease. ‘Whose charger is he?’

‘Ashcroft’s, sir; presently on furlough.’

‘It is very generous of Mr Ashcroft.’ Fairbrother put a hand to the gelding’s face. The horse did not flinch – though that told him nothing certain about its temperament: he had known horses which stood as still as statues, but which turned into jumping jacks with a man in the saddle. He put his nose to the gelding’s muzzle, and gently blew, as one horse to another. Then standing by the saddle on the nearside, he shortened the reins, and asked for a leg. The senior cornet obliged, and Fairbrother lay across the saddle for a few seconds before swinging his right leg over the gelding’s quarters, sitting upright, ignoring the stirrups and letting his legs hang long.