Words of Command (Hervey 12) (Matthew Hervey) (33 page)

His arrival caused some consternation. Kezia’s people were not at home, and the house (Walden Park was a considerable place) was shuttered and shrouded and in the care of what he would have called a depot party, the principal servants having gone to London with Sir Delaval Rumsey and his wife. But the sound of the piano told him that Kezia herself was here, and its abrupt ending that she had been alerted to his presence. A little while later – not long enough for her to have retired first, nor quickly enough for her to have come at once – she appeared in swaddling clothes and shawl (the house was unconscionably cold), and with the air of a convalescent being dutifully hospitable to a well-wisher of limited acquaintance.

‘Matthew,’ she said simply.

He had not spent the journey from Houghton to Walden without thinking what might be their manner of greeting. He had resolved, come what may, to embrace her in the manner a husband ought.

But he could not. Whether because of something within, or Kezia’s manner, it mattered not, for the effect was the same.

‘I am on my way to Hounslow.’

She did not ask from where, or why. He had not
come
from Hounslow, evidently, and so his call was accidental.

‘You were in the Levant.’

But he’d not been for some months, and he’d not told her so, or even written (much, at least), or sent her presents, or brought with him any now.

‘I was.’

He
had
intended writing. He’d wanted to write to ask her to come to Hounslow, to be his wife – to be a wife to his position indeed. There was a handsome house to take, and good servants she might engage (he was not without a little money now). And ample space for her piano, the piano that he himself had bought her – for a wedding present. But he hadn’t written. Worse, he’d not come to see her – not until now,
en route
…

‘So …’ she said, expecting more of him.

But he was at a loss for words.

They stood at twice arm’s length from each other, in the middle of the great hall, and she made no move – no bidding to a fire, no mention of refreshment.

He made himself speak. ‘You are well, I trust.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘As you see.’

But he didn’t see – couldn’t see, for she gave not the least thing away. Her complexion was fine enough – as it ever was – but there was nothing in her eyes that told him any more. Perhaps she was a little sparer though …

‘And how was Herr Mendelssohn?’

She looked almost astonished.

‘You said you were to play before him when he came to London. I trust he did?’

He’d learned of it when last he’d visited. It was one of the reasons she couldn’t come with him to the Cape.

‘He did. I played before him at Mr Hickford’s Room.’

He didn’t know how this room stood in the estimation of those who knew about these things, but supposed that if Herr Mendelssohn (about whom he
had
heard) patronized it then it must be of some repute.

‘Brava!’ he tried.

‘He paid me very handsome compliments.’

He shifted a little, and glanced about for a servant he might ask a favour of – anything – but saw none. ‘Might we speak a little more … where it is a little warmer?’

They went to her drawing room. The fire was low. He hesitated, for it was not his house, but reached for a log.

‘Please don’t trouble on my account, Matthew. I cannot tarry long, for I have calls to make.’

He hesitated again. She’d practically given him his
congé
. He placed the log on the fire, but just the one.

‘How is Allegra?’

‘She is well.’

‘I thought I might …’

‘She is not here. She is with her governess.’

He shivered. It must go hard with a child, a daughter especially, to be in the charge of a governess, and not yet – what? – four years? And half an orphan. He himself had known a nursemaid until ten (and his governess, when she came, was the finest of women), but a mother also who was much about …

‘Might we – might I – have some coffee? It’s so deucedly cold. The carriage warmer failed this morning.’

Kezia tugged the bell-pull.

‘I sent my driver on to the King’s Head. We needed in any case to change horses.’

A maid answered, one he didn’t recognize. The footmen must all be with Sir Delaval in London, he supposed. She brought him coffee at once, however, and by no means poor. She must have made it in expectation of the bell – and then wondered perhaps why she’d had to wait so long for it to ring. He was still standing when she returned, for Kezia remained on her feet. Indeed they stood like cousins new met – conscious of a connection, but little else.

Once she was gone and his cup was in his hand (though Kezia took none) he braced himself to what he’d been turning over in his mind since Houghton. ‘Kezia, I have come to ask – to beg, indeed – that you join me in Hounslow. You will have every convenience. I am now commanding the Sixth, as you will know, and—’

‘No, Matthew, I did not know. The last we spoke you were of a mind to go to Gibraltar – and before that to Canada.’

‘Yes, but that was … well, hastily done, though for the best. The regiment was to have disbanded, to all intents and purposes, but then the decision was overturned.’

‘I see. But I cannot in any event come to Hounslow.’

He winced. He’d not expected so outright a rejection – not, at least, with so little explanation. With no explanation indeed. ‘May I enquire why?’

Kezia pulled her shawl about her closer. ‘I cannot come, Matthew – Hounslow: I cannot.’

Cannot
. ‘Can’t means won’t and won’t means guardroom’ – that was the saying, was it not? But this wasn’t the barrack square or the riding school. In her wedding vows she’d promised to obey, yet … ‘Kezia,’ he said softly, almost tenderly: ‘Why cannot you come? Am I to be nothing to you? Nor you to me?’

She clutched her shawl tighter. ‘I cannot express myself differently, Matthew. I cannot be with you … at Hounslow.’

The hesitation was just enough to suggest the difficulty lay with the place – the proximity, perhaps, to the regiment. Could it be – it occurred to him for the first time – that such proximity would remind her too much, too painfully, of her late husband?

‘If not Hounslow, then somewhere else – Richmond perhaps. Worsley is there, with his new wife.’

She shook her head. ‘It is out of the question, Matthew. It cannot be … And now I beg you would excuse me, for I’ve calls to make. It was very ill done – your coming without warning.’

‘Warning?’

She didn’t answer.

She gathered up her skirts and shawl, her eyes anywhere but his, shaking her head repeatedly and speaking of ‘refreshment’ – that Sarah would bring him soup, or meats if he wished, or whatever he willed. But on no account must she delay further. And she fled. There was no way other to describe her leaving.

He walked from the house without farewells, and with not a backward look. There was scarcely point: he knew he’d never see it again.

‘Good morning, Colonel. Your express arrived yesterday. I sent word to the Horse Guards at once that you would be returned today. I fancy we may have word by this evening.’

‘Thank you, Malet. I’m minded to report to Lord Hill as soon as may be.’

He seemed … distant.

‘Did you find things so very amiss in Norfolk, Colonel?’

‘On the contrary. Matters are very much in hand, if somewhat too
extempore
. It only requires but a modest outlay to put things on a sound footing. And since it was Lord Hill’s wish that I report in person, I feel obliged to do so at once.’

Coffee was brought by one of the sable twins. ‘Thank you, Abdel,’ said Hervey absently.

‘Please, Colonel, it is Hassan.’

Malet bridled.

But Hervey merely looked at him, as if summoned back to the place and moment – and laughed. ‘You must either wear different coloured feathers in the turban, or else both answer to …
Karim
.’

Hassan appeared to be contemplating the options.

‘Away with you, Moor!’ Malet clapped his hands, pasha-like, scarcely able to suppress the smile.

‘Yes, master,’ said Hassan, bowing and trying unsuccessfully to suppress his own amusement.

‘What do you fancy Lord Hill would make of the state of discipline in the regiment?’ said Hervey when he was gone, diverted by the image of the seraglio and placing Norfolk – or rather, Hertfordshire – behind him.

‘That it is sufficient and enlightened, Colonel. Besides, they are not subject to the Mutiny Act and the King’s Regulations.’

‘Quite.’ But then his countenance changed again. ‘Collins is, though. How are matters in that regard?’

‘I’m afraid there’s no change, Colonel. The evidence has now been rendered in writing. I have taken advice – indeed I went to see Sir William Beckett.’

Hervey was impressed – an audience of the Judge Advocate General … ‘And he received you?’

‘He’s married to a cousin of mine.’

Hervey nodded. In this game of soldiers-in-peace it was well to have officers with connections – everywhere. ‘And his advice?’

‘That you yourself have the power to dismiss the charge summarily, if brought, but that in that case Kennett would at once make application for redress of grievance, which would take the matter out of your hands. You know already, of course, Colonel, that you do not have the summary powers to find Collins guilty and then to award punishment. Sir William is of the opinion – without prejudice, he pointed out, for he had not considered the written evidence – that to dismiss the charge summarily would be tantamount to impugning the honour of an officer, and that Kennett would therefore have no course but to make such an application. However, and this he believed might be argued to advantage, the charge of assault would turn on the principle of …’ (Malet looked at the notes in his order book) ‘
actus non facit reum nisi mens sit rea
, which means—’

‘That without intent there can be no culpability. I heard much of it after the affair at the gunpowder mills.’

‘Indeed, Colonel. And counsel for the defence’s submission would be that Collins intended no assault but merely to avert the commission of a felony.’

‘But that is precisely what Collins has said from the outset, and which I have no reason to doubt. Wherefore should I not summarily dismiss the charge?’

‘Sir William is of the opinion that an application for redress of grievance would not redound well to your – that is, the regiment’s – reputation.’

Hervey blinked. ‘I trust that care for my reputation would not inhibit me from choosing the right course.’

‘No, Colonel, by no means. Sir William spoke of its being a case of prudential judgement, but I confess I’m at a loss to find any instruction in that. And Sir William said only that it was the attribute of seniority.’

Prudential judgement once more
. Hervey sighed. Prudence demanded three things: to take counsel for the means of securing the virtuous end, and then to judge soundly the fitness of those means; and, finally, to command their employment.

Command
. That at least was his business. And in the end it was all it came down to – his willingness and ability to exercise command … wisely.

But evasion was not to be counted the same as the exercise of wisdom. ‘Has Kennett formally – in writing – laid charges?’

‘In his evidence, yes, but no charge has yet been framed according to the proper formulary … I mean, that I have not drawn up a charge sheet.’

It was what Hervey had wanted – masterly inactivity. But it could not be prolonged indefinitely. ‘Then have it so framed and I shall consider it.’

‘With a view to remanding him for court martial?’

‘That would be one of the two options open to me.’

‘Colonel, the other option is, with respect—’

Hervey stayed him with a hand. ‘Other business, if you please.’

Malet looked uncomfortable, his commanding officer seemingly set on a course that could only lead to … ‘Colonel, if I may … I believe there is a strong feeling – I will say no more – that Kennett should be obliged to withdraw his accusation by the threat or actual application of force.’

Hervey raised an eyebrow. The ‘African option’ – a horsewhip, by his own hand … ‘I trust you dealt with it appropriately?’

‘Colonel, a matter such as this, were we on more active duty, could – and might best be – settled, shall we say, summarily out-of-orderly-room, but in our situation here it would not tend to good order and discipline. It would make for all sorts of mischief – faction, notably.’

‘You’re very wise, Malet. And I’ve been careful not to say “Will no one rid me of this troublesome priest?”’

‘Quite.’

‘Then there the matter will rest for the time being. Other business?’

Malet brightened a little. ‘Well, though I’m not sure this will be to your liking, we’re now to send
three
troops to Brussels. The King will not now go, and will send instead one of the household or a minister – and therefore no heavies.’

Hervey confounded him by brightening very much indeed. ‘Splendid news! Though how the Horse Guards suppose they can spare three troops is rather beyond me, but that’s of no matter. I shall myself command.’