A Regimental Affair (15 page)

Henrietta smiled so happily that he paused, very deliberately.

‘As the apple among the trees of the wood, so is my beloved among the sons. I sat down under his shadow with great delight, and his fruit was sweet to my taste.’

She smiled wide again. Her neck, where the demure single string of pearls circled it, became red in vivid patches, and her eyes grew larger.

‘He brought me to the banqueting house, and his banner over me was love. His left hand is under my head, and his right hand doth embrace me.’

Hervey at last turned full to Henrietta. She looked more desirable than at any time he had seen her, and he ceded his thoughts to all that the words aroused.

The day of the marriage between Captain Matthew Paulinus Hervey, bachelor of the parish of Horningsham, and of Lady Henrietta Charlotte Anne Wharton Lindsay, spinster of the parish of Longbridge Deverill (as the banns had lately declaimed them), passed slowly at first – all
too
slowly, they would both agree – until, from about three in the afternoon, the time began to pass twice as quickly as it ought.

And so, though he had made his preparations with meticulous care, the bridegroom found himself hastening to fasten the knee buttons of his regimental court dress as Lord John Howard, his supporter, looked anxiously at his watch. They got into the carriage a full fifteen minutes later than Hervey had planned, risking being caught behind others in the darkening lanes, but the driver earned himself a sovereign by taking his team at a canter the length of Horningsham and the park drive, arriving three minutes before the time Hervey had first intended. The groom
was therefore content once more as they stepped down.

It had not been his idea to wear uniform. A sombre coat would have been his preference, but Prince Leopold had worn his uniform at Carlton House, and so Henrietta had wished her affianced to do the same. Lord John Howard wore the selfsame uniform (albeit a brand new set) in which he had first appeared at the vicarage two years before. The memory of that unhappy business – when the lieutenant of foot guards had come with the mistaken orders for his arrest – crowded Hervey for an instant when, as then, they had got into the carriage. But all that had been put from his mind by the gallop to Longleat, and they stood now as if friends of long years.

Longleat House was lit inside and out as he had never seen it before. The music of a string orchestra could be heard even above the talk of the seventy privileged guests who had just been treated to a dinner of immense refinement in the great dining room, and, indeed, of nearly the same number of only marginally less privileged guests who filled the Tudor hall: the yeomen and tenants of the village, those who had nursed bride or groom to adulthood, and the NCOs of the Sixth who would form their guard of honour. Roast pork filled their plates, and hops their glasses if burgundy was not to their liking. And both parties, separate and content, were now beginning to rise to make their way to the grand state room, where they would bear witness to the marriage vows.

At one end of that elegant room was a velvet-covered altar, just as at Carlton House, with chapel ornaments brought from Longbridge Deverill, including two handsome candlesticks six feet high. A little string orchestra played Purcell airs as the principal wedding guests began to find their places in the ranks of gilded chairs, and at the rear the yeoman and tenants assembled, though in a more respectful hush – fine worsteds and cottons to the silks and satins in front. Hervey, quite composed, took his seat with his family. He had managed to exchange a few words with the NCOs as they took post along the wall at the back of the state room, and he was much gratified that their turnout was as fine as he had seen, perhaps finer; testimony to his troop serjeant-major’s authority, or else (dare he imagine?) to that mutual respect which was the regiment at its best. Serjeant Armstrong’s hessians were so mirror-like that Hervey thought he must have shuffled every step of the way to prevent their cracking across the instep.

The Dean of Hereford, flanked by John Keble, entered quietly through a side door, and together they took their sedilia. Shortly afterwards the marquess’s butler, the master of ceremonies, gave a discreet nod, and Hervey left his place and went out to meet his bride.

Hervey knew that a bride on her wedding day was transfigured. Legend had it so, as well as village lore. But Henrietta’s transfiguration was beyond anything he had imagined, for beneath the veil her features had an ethereal quality – her eyes, hair and complexion luminous. Her dress was exquisite, and he stood before her quite unable to express anything but utter admiration, and silently at that.

‘Sir! A button!’ snapped Private Johnson suddenly, having stationed himself with his customary prescience. ‘Excuse me, ma’am,’ he said to Henrietta, pulling his captain aside into the little ante-room off the hall.

Henrietta smiled warmly at so faithful a servant, and turned to her bridesmaids. ‘Elizabeth,’ she said, with perfect composure, ‘I have never been so sure of anything or anyone than at this moment.’ It was true that her bridegroom had perhaps never appeared to her more dashing in his regimentals than now, for levee dress set off everything in appearance about Matthew Hervey that a woman might admire. But more than that, she knew the uniform signified a strength and a constancy on which she might, with utmost certainty, rely. This ceremony might show Longleat at its finest, and witness to the great affection in which she was held by its lord, but she would quit it gladly for the complete affection with which Matthew Hervey would honour her, and would follow the trumpet for that love, no matter what its calls and privations. And she hoped he might soon trust in that.

‘Is tha all right, Cap’n ’Ervey?’ asked Johnson, pushing the needle once more into the stiffened cloth of the tunic collar to secure the idle button. ‘Tha looks like tha’s seen a ghost.’

Hervey looked at his groom incomprehendingly. ‘What?’

‘Tha’s miles away, sir!’

He had indeed been miles away. He had visited things years past, in his mind; all the way back to that first encounter with the little girl who had never been far from his thoughts ever since, deny them though he so often had. He smiled, the colour now coming
back to his face. ‘I saw quite a few ghosts, Johnson. But they don’t trouble me any more.’

‘Eh, sir?’

‘Never mind. Is that button fast yet?’

‘It is.’ Johnson knotted the thread, bit off the ends and fastened the collar up again.

Hervey clapped him on the arm, grinned his thanks and took his place at Henrietta’s side.

‘Are we ready, Matthew?’ She smiled at him full again.

This time he returned the smile – and with interest. He nodded to the master of ceremonies, who signalled to a footman, and the little string orchestra began the march from
Alceste
to which Hervey, his bride and her retinue would process to the altar.

The seamstresses of Bath, whom Henrietta had long thought superior to those of London, had made so faithful a replica of Princess Charlotte’s wedding dress that it might have been supposed she wore the original. Except that Charlotte’s figure stood in unhappy comparison with Henrietta’s, and the removal of several yards of the silver cloth would not have been possible without destroying the overall effect. Layer upon layer of the costly fabric was sewn with silver thread, and embroidered at the borders with patterns of shells and bouquets. It was cut full below the high bodice, and while the original had – as many sadly observed – emphasized Charlotte’s corpulence, this Bath replica served only to present Henrietta’s figure in all its elegance. Somehow too, its frills, lace trimmings and garlands of diamonds wholly became her, rather than drawing attention away from her fine eyes and captivating face (under its wreath of rosebuds, leaves and brilliants). Princess Charlotte had graciously given Henrietta leave to imitate her; to flatter her, indeed, by such imitation. But there were several in the assembly that evening who said how providential it was that the royal pregnancy kept Charlotte from Longleat now.

‘Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God,’ began the dean. He had said the words many times before, and yet always they seemed new and full of promise. ‘. . . To join together this man and this woman in holy Matrimony; which is an honourable estate . . .’

He enunciated the purposes for which marriage was ordained, and no one alleged or declared any impediment, when called upon
to do so, why Hervey and Henrietta should not be joined together. Bride and groom answered clearly and distinctly when the dean asked of them both if they would honour their obligations to each other. Each of them spoke clearly and distinctly as they gave their troth to each other, Henrietta’s right hand in Hervey’s and then Hervey’s in Henrietta’s. And Hervey put the ring on the fourth finger of Henrietta’s left hand, as the Prayer Book required, and vowed with it to worship her with his body, and to endow her with all his worldly goods. They knelt, and the dean asked God’s blessing on them both, commanded that those whom God hath joined should no man put asunder, and then pronounced them man and wife together. And when Hervey lifted Henrietta’s veil, he marvelled equally at his fortune that this woman had indeed consented to be his wife.

There followed psalm one hundred and twenty-eight,
Beati omnes
– ‘. . . O well is thee, and happy shalt thou be’ – and the Lord’s Prayer, and others for general blessings and for fruitfulness in the procreation of children. Then all were bidden to sit to hear the homily on the duties of Man and Wife.

‘I do hope this is not to be a long affair,’ whispered the marquess audibly to Lady Bath. ‘These Oxford fellows can be mightily pleased with the sound of their own voice.’

John Keble, as he rose and moved to the middle of the extemporary chancel, gave no clue as to how long he would detain his congregation, nor, indeed, how engagingly. ‘Dearly beloved, in the preface to the form of solemnization of matrimony, the persons to be married are bidden to come into the body of the church
with their friends and neighbours
.’

The words, his voice, and his sublime aspect at once commanded unusual attention in a congregation enlivened by the host’s hospitality.

‘And this, Matthew Hervey and, now, Henrietta Hervey have done, for you indeed are their friends and neighbours. We need not dwell on the reasons for requiring that they should not come privily, save that those whom they love best, and who love them best, should bear witness to the mutual love that these two persons have for each other.
Love
, the last best gift of Heaven.’ He paused. ‘Above all, they witness before God to this love, this gift of Heaven, this heavenly grace, and they and we ask God’s blessing
that, as Isaac and Rebecca lived faithfully together, so might they. Sustained by the prayers and society of you, their friends and neighbours, and by the grace of God, Matthew and Henrietta may hope fervently that they might live as Isaac and Rebecca, and that they might follow Christ’s commandment to love one another.
Love
, the last best gift of Heaven.
Love
, gentle, holy, pure. Amen.’

John Keble turned and knelt before the altar. Hervey took Henrietta’s hand. Neither bride nor groom could possibly know the range of sentiment for them in that chapel-room. For the most part it was that of friends and neighbours, young and old, who had watched or somehow shared their progress to adulthood and their consent now to be man and wife. In Hervey’s case, although his society was limited in comparison with Henrietta’s, the range of acquaintances which his profession admitted was much the greater. There were some in that congregation, like Mrs Strange, with feelings of obligation for a past kindness out of the run of the ordinary; some, like Private Johnson, would owe that daily life was infinitely the better for the command of their captain; one or two might even claim their very being here, rather than in the grave, was because of him; and there were some (perhaps no more than a dozen) who hardly knew either of them – officers of the Sixth happy to accept the customary invitation to see a fellow wed, including his commanding officer, whose duty it was to be there. It was impossible that John Keble’s address should touch each as strongly; but touch each in some way it did, if for nothing but its singular brevity and clarity – as well, perhaps, as for its challenge. The silence between its ending and the dean’s blessing and dismissal was memorable.

The service ended, the little orchestra began to play the ‘Triumphing Dance’ from
Dido and Aeneas
– the bride’s choice both for its purport and liveliness – and the congregation, led by Captain Matthew and Lady Henrietta Hervey, walked from the chapel-room between a file of carried sabres and into the great hall. There the band of the 6th Light Dragoons, high in the minstrels’ gallery, struck up the regiment’s quick march, ‘Young May Moon’, to the spontaneous applause of all the guests, who now mingled freely, or at least unseparated, to enjoy their host’s generosity once more. And only now did Henrietta feel an inclination to rue her idea of imitating
all
Princess Charlotte’s
arrangements, for she realized how very detained they would be by so many well-wishers. Not that Hervey imagined any such feeling on his wife’s part. How might he, yet? He could only submit to duty once more, content with the thought that for Henrietta this must be the happiest time of the whole day.

It would be two hours and more before he came at last to understand the truth, the whole truth, of John Keble’s words of the day before.

It was indeed a glorious May moon that lit the guests’ way home that night – by foot, horse and carriage alike – and which shone a full three hours on Hervey and Henrietta in their marriage bed. And it was after midday that Hervey came down the great staircase of Longleat House, for the first time in his life. His slight feeling of awkwardness in his new status was made worse by the obvious cause of the lateness of the descent – Henrietta would be a full fifteen minutes behind him. He was doubly surprised, therefore, when the butler greeted him formally but with polite indifference, and astonished when he announced that Daniel Coates wished to see him as soon as might be possible.