A Regimental Affair (36 page)

But their work, methodical though it was, had not been proving easy. They had encountered, they told Hervey the second evening, a shyness which quite baffled them – a shyness far beyond that which they encountered in London in the investigation of crime. They had not had a single piece of information ‘on the usual terms’, although the senior of the two, the former artificer of engineers, was hopeful still of one of the pot-house owners. They went unmolested in their work, however, requiring no escort, although both of them carried pistols and looked well able to have a care of themselves. Mansfield was not one of the rookeries, they said, smiling.

Henrietta had driven from Welbeck each day to see her husband. She had not been at the abbey when Lord Towcester had visited, staying instead at nearby Woodhouse with the dowager, and though the duke had been kindness itself, she declared she felt unsettled by the distance, and when the Portlands left for London a few days later, she determined to lodge at the grange – no matter what the objections were.

She and Hervey had dined at Sir Abraham Cole’s the evening before, and he had delighted them for an hour afterwards with his celestial globe, and professed himself much disappointed when they insisted they were unable to stay to see the heavenly bodies in their reality. They had driven back to the grange late, for a wheel pin sheared soon after they left Clipstone; and finding the other officers had retired by the time they returned, they were able to retire too and enjoy an intimacy denied to them for a whole week.

Towards watering parade next day, Hervey found himself searching for Private Johnson. ‘Where in heaven’s name is he, Serjeant Armstrong?’

‘I saw him at reveille, and he was there on first parade, but I haven’t seen him since. Do you want something doing?’

‘No, not especially now. I just wanted to tell him I was intending to drive to Clipstone.’

‘I’ll send someone to find him,’ said Armstrong. ‘Lingard!’

Seton Canning’s groom came doubling. ‘Sir!’

‘Have you seen Johnson since first parade?’

Lingard looked sheepish.

‘What’s happening, Lingard?’ growled Armstrong.

‘Sir, I . . . Johnson’s in the feed store.’

Hervey took over the interrogation. ‘What’s amiss, Lingard?’

Lingard shifted awkwardly, evading Hervey’s eye.

‘Answer up, man!’ barked Armstrong.

‘Sir, Johnson is very upset.’

‘About what?’

‘Sir, if you please, I think it’s better that he tells you.’

‘Lingard!’ barked Armstrong again.

‘It’s his mother, sir.’

Hervey looked at Armstrong, puzzled. ‘But he doesn’t have a mother.’

‘No sir,’ said Lingard. ‘Sir, it’d be much better if it came from him.’

Hervey sensed he was right. ‘Very well, I’ll go and see him.’

‘I’ll keep the store clear,’ said Armstrong quietly.

Hervey found Johnson sitting on a bag of barley, head in hands. He sat down next to him and took off his forage cap. ‘Do you want to tell me what this is about?’

Johnson sat up. There were tell-tale streaks on his face. ‘M’mother.’

‘Yes. Lingard said. I thought—’

‘No, sir, that’s what I’d always thought an’ all.’ He wiped his nose with his sleeve. ‘I al’s thought she were dead. That’s what I were told, I’m sure it were. But she’s ’ere, in t’town.’

Hervey tried to keep a rein on his disbelief. ‘But how have you found this out? She wouldn’t have known any of the troop’s names.’

Johnson merely shook his head.

Only then did it occur to Hervey that tears were a strange reaction to such a discovery. ‘Have you seen her?’

‘No I ’aven’t. I don’t want to. I were ’appy enough as I were.’

Hervey stayed silent for several minutes. ‘But Johnson, even now, to know your mother is . . .’ He stopped when he saw the tears in his groom’s eyes, and on his cheeks.

Johnson gave a deep sigh and seemed to brace himself. ‘Sir, some o’ t’men met ’er in one o’ t’pot-’ouses.’

‘Yes?’

‘Sir, she’s been gooin’ wi’ ’em for over a week!’

Hervey felt a knot in his own stomach. Even the idea appalled. He put his arm round him. ‘I’m so very sorry.’

After a while, he got up and told Johnson to stay where he was for as long as he liked. ‘I’ll tell Serjeant Armstrong, and we’ll try to sort something out. Is there anything you want me to do?’

‘No, sir,’ replied Johnson, sniffing. ‘I’ll stay by meself for a bit longer, and then I’ll go and do Gilbert.’

‘All right then, but only when you’re ready.’

As Hervey left, Johnson stood up and turned his head after him. ‘Thanks, sir. I’m sorry.’

Hervey told Serjeant Armstrong Johnson’s news. ‘But how in heaven’s name he came to find out, I can’t begin to think.’

Armstrong had already questioned Lingard robustly. ‘He sang like a little linnet, did our Lingard. Seems they’ve all been lifting a leg in that part of town since we came. Anyway, one of these women gets talking and says how she’s got a son in the army but she’s never seen ’im since he was a bairn. She put ’im in a workhouse in Sheffield twenty-odd years ago, and never saw ’im since.’

Hervey frowned. ‘But that’s not very convincing evidence of motherhood.’

‘She knew he was called Johnson, and she’s got half a page from a bible that’s the testificate, or whatever it’s called.’

Hervey had heard Johnson speak of that before. ‘But even so…’

‘Even so, sir. What she needs to do is get that page matched up with the bit they keeps at the workhouse, and quickly.’

Hervey agreed.

‘Meanwhile, I’ll put this busy little doxy out of bounds. There’ll be no more ascension days for the troop with her!’

Henrietta learned of Johnson’s unhappiness soon after, and was very grieved for him. She knew at once what must be done, and reported as much to her husband.

‘But you cannot possibly go to that place and see her!’ Hervey protested.

‘I doubt she’ll be about her business in the morning. You said she lived in a cave. I shall go and see her there.’

‘Going to a hovel dug out of stone? To visit a . . . ? It is
insupportable!’ He admired her pluck, though he hesitated to tell her so.

‘Matthew, I have moved in society a very great deal, and in principle I should be doing nothing that I have not done before!’

It was a riposte so disarming that Hervey at once gave up any further protest.

Henrietta returned an hour later with the carriage blinds drawn, and told her husband that she was driving to Sheffield.

‘Why? Why must you go to Sheffield?’ demanded Hervey, so incredulous as to sound angry to her.

‘Because the sooner the testificate is verified, the sooner Private Johnson will know what to do. Mrs Stallybrass – his so-called mother – is inside the carriage.’ Her tone defied further protest, for the second time that morning.

When Hervey told Serjeant Armstrong at watering parade later, both men found themselves smiling. ‘Apparently Mrs Stallybrass would not give up the piece of paper, and so my wife had to take her with her. Then she went to tell Johnson, and he insisted on going too because he said he couldn’t allow her to travel with a woman like that!’

‘What a merry party they will be,’ said Armstrong, shaking his head. ‘How far is it to Sheffield?’

‘Twice as far as Nottingham.’

‘They’ll not be back before night.’

Hervey raised his eyebrows. ‘She spoke of returning via Chatsworth!’

Armstrong shook his head in equal dismay. ‘I’m not even sure as my Caithlin would have taken a fence like that!’

Hervey smiled again. ‘Oh, I think she would, Serjeant Armstrong. I think she would. When’s Caithlin coming, by the way?’

‘Tomorrow, all being well. I’ve found clean lodgings five minutes away, by the Southwell road.’

‘I’m glad of it. The latest from Nottingham is that the Prince Regent’s pavilion has closed for the winter already. So there’ll be no pull from the Prince to get us back to Brighton. We might well see out the winter in Nottingham garrison.’

‘Well, there’ll be plenty of firewood at least,’ said Armstrong
with a grin. ‘I’ve never seen so many trees in all my life!’ Then he looked more serious. ‘If ever it comes to a chase, though, we’ll lose every time.’

‘But what a place it is for
ambushing
!’ enthused Hervey.

Armstrong nodded. There was no doubting that.

‘Come and have a look at Hopwood’s map. It’s given me an idea.’

Mansfield, 1 October

‘Sir! Sir! Beacon’s lit!’

Hervey woke slower than usual. He heard the banging on the door rather than the report. ‘Come in!’

The orderly serjeant held his lantern high. ‘Corporal Evans, sir. We’ve just seen the north beacon light.’

‘Have you roused the out-picket?’

‘Ay, sir, and Mr Canning.’

Serjeant Armstrong was at the door a few seconds later. ‘I’d just begun my rounds. I’ve told Lingard to saddle up for you.’

Hervey pulled on his boots and overalls, cursed as he broke the bar of a spur ramming it into the housing, fastened his jacket, wedged his shako on tight, took his gloves, seized up his swordbelt and carbine – almost forgetting the ready cylinder – and took the stairs at a run. In the grange yard dragoons were already leading out horses under saddle (both outlying and inlying pickets slept dressed), and the lance-corporal was numbering them off.

‘Mr Seton Canning!’

The lieutenant hurried across the yard. ‘Ready, Hervey.’

‘Stand-to second division, and follow on as soon as you can. Have St Oswald stand-by third. I’ll take the picket with Serjeant Armstrong.’

‘Sir!’

‘Trumpeter!’

‘Susan’ Medwell came doubling, followed by Hervey’s coverman.

‘I think this is it, Corporal Troughton. Stick close. Medwell, I’ll want “charge” when we’re near. It could scatter them without a shot.’

‘Sir!’

‘Well done, Lingard. Put this in the bucket.’ He passed the carbine to his stand-in groom as he took Gilbert’s reins and checked the girth.

‘Picket ready, sir,’ called Armstrong from the saddle of his big dapple bay.

‘Very well. Threes advance, at the trot!’

In fewer than ten minutes from first alarm, fifteen dragoons, their captain, coverman, trumpeter and serjeant were leaving the billet for the besieged house.

Hervey’s beacon system was in two lines, one for the houses north of the town, and one for those south. When a house was attacked, the watchmen on the roof were to light the beacon, and the watches on the other houses would relay the alarm by lighting theirs. Videttes, set at last light, observed the centre house of each line, and galloped the alarm back to the grange. The centre house had two beacons, so that if a house on the left of the line were attacked, and later one on the right, it could signal the subsequent attack. But the picket would not know whether the attack were left or right until reaching the centre house.

There was a three-quarter moon, giving enough light to the road to allow the picket a good canter for most of the mile and a half to Warren Hall, centre house of the north beacon line. There were men with torches at the gates as Hervey came up.

‘It’s down the line towards Pleasley, sir!’ they called. Hervey left one man as post and took the rest straight on, increasing the pace once his eyes had recovered from the torches. At each house it was the same: they had relayed the further beacon. As Hervey passed the last house but one he became suspicious of the Luddites’ chance attack on the furthest point of the line.

‘Do you want me to blow the charge yet, sir?’ called ‘Susan’ Medwell.

‘No. Let’s wait and see.’

Hervey’s instinct soon proved right. They galloped up the drive of Pleasley Grange to see torches all over the place, but no Luddites. The roof watch came down the escape ladders in haste and confusion.

‘What’s happening?’ shouted Hervey.