Man Of War

Lord Holderness smiled ruefully. ‘I cannot mislike him for that. You and I were inducted into a hard school; I fear sometimes a young man favours too comfortable a billet in peacetime.’

Hervey was disposed to think him right. He was faintly surprised, however, that patrician command was sensible of such a thing. And he chided himself for that surprise, for both Lankesters might have said precisely the same.

Lord Holderness gave his glass to an orderly and made to leave. ‘I hope for a good rousting about by the general these next few days. It shall do us no end of good.’

IX

THE HABIT OF COMMAND

Hounslow, the following morning

At precisely eight o’clock, by the striking of the bell on the guardhouse clock, Lord Holderness rode on to the parade square to take command from the senior captain, under whose orders the squadrons had formed up. The Sixth prided themselves on their speed of forming, disdaining the regiments of foot, whose serjeants would have had them fall-in on the square an hour ahead of their time, and with show parades for good measure before that. In the Sixth, ‘boot and saddle’ was blown but an hour before ‘general parade’, the serjeant-majors presented their troops five minutes after the orderly trumpeter’s second call, and the regimental serjeant-major would require only the muster states before handing over the parade to the senior major (except that this morning the senior major – Hervey – was off parade, his place taken by Second Squadron Leader). Then it would be ‘march on, officers’, and within the minute all would be ready for the commanding officer.

‘Most admirable,’ agreed Fairbrother, watching with Hervey from beneath the trees adjacent to the parade ground. ‘They have the bearing of an altogether different stamp of man than I was privileged to command in the Royal Africans.’

Sometimes, the way Fairbrother mixed sincerity with irony could be quite trying, but Hervey was confident, now, that he was able to discern the one from the other. ‘We do flatter ourselves that a better sort of man finds his way into the cavalry, but I assure you it is by no means the rule.’

‘Then it is greater to the credit of the NCOs and officers.’

A wasp danced about the nose of Hervey’s gelding, which appeared to be increasingly suspicious of its intentions. He hoped the animal was more at ease with other elements of the countryside: he had taken a horse that no one seemed to know anything of. He must trust that it was not one of the kind that knew only the stable and the pavestone (Fairbrother’s charger looked an altogether better prospect for the field).

‘I am glad you are disposed to think so. It was partly my design in bringing you here.’

Indeed it was, but to what purpose, he would not reveal. The visit of an officer from one corps to another was usual enough, a simple affair of pride and courtesy. But Hervey had a mind to test his own high opinion of his regiment. In one respect it was tested often enough: there was no end of inspections, and occasionally more searching trials such as Waltham Abbey. But to see the regiment put through its paces by the district commander, as Fairbrother would, must surely expose all that he, Hervey, realized that he took for granted. He did not know – he did not dare trust any longer – if he would ever attain command of the Sixth, but he had determined on knowing whatever there was to know of the regiment, knowledge for its own sake, even. And Fairbrother was the one man whose opinion he could bear to seek, as well as count on.

Lord Holderness was every inch the cavalry commanding officer. His frame was lean, his face had the features to distinguish him as a considerable gentleman whether in shako or forage cap, and to this was added – besides a uniform that appeared as though it were from the tailor that very morning – that air of easy, natural authority which in others Hervey had so admired, and yet without wholly comprehending.

‘Yes,’ said Fairbrother, nodding as if confirming a previous opinion: ‘Lord Holderness is a man whom all would wish to follow.’ He did not try his friend’s loyalty by adding ‘Let us see what he would lead them into’.

Private Johnson edged his trooper up alongside Hervey’s gelding. ‘Shall I go wi’ t’baggage, then, sir?’

‘No,’ replied Hervey, perfectly aware of his groom’s reasons for seeking the anonymity of the quartermaster’s train: Johnson had spent the last hour trying to avoid the attention of the serjeant-majors, any one of whom would have found fault with something or other (at least when Hervey had been acting commanding officer Johnson had enjoyed a measure of immunity . . .). ‘I may need you to gallop for me.’

‘Right, sir,’ he said wearily. He had feared as much, but now reconciled himself to twenty-four hours’ ‘trouble’.