Free Hervey 11 - On His Majesty's Service by Allan Mallinson Page A

gazetted,’ he said, rising, and smiling with evident pleasure at seeing the man soon to take the place of Lord Holderness. ‘And you, Captain Fairbrother: it is good to see you again.’ He called one of the orderlies to bring coffee. ‘Or Madeira, perhaps?’
    ‘Coffee,’ replied Hervey.
    ‘Captain Fairbrother?’
    ‘Coffee, thank you. Or should I withdraw?’ Hervey had said neither one thing nor the other, but Fairbrother had no wish to intrude on regimental business.
    Malet looked at Hervey, who shook his head, and the three of them sat down.
    ‘Your groom is safely arrived, by the way, sir. He is making himself useful to the sar’nt-major, it seems.’
    ‘I am glad to hear it,’ said Hervey, returning the now distinctly ironic smile. ‘But I shall reclaim him presently, the sar’nt-major will be pleased to learn.’
    The orderly returned with a silver tray and the regimental Spode.
    Once he had dismissed, Malet turned to the serious business of the orderly room. ‘Let me own at once that I fear you will find things rather … straitened. Every troop but Vanneck’s is called away. First has gone to Bristol, no less.’
    ‘The price of light cavalry,’ replied Hervey, with a gesture of resignation. Dispersal in penny-packets, the commanding officer left with no more to command than clerks and bottle-washers – such was the cross to be borne. ‘Where is the colonel?’
    ‘York. A court martial.’
    He raised an eyebrow. That, too, was the price of light cavalry – the commanding officer at first call for the administration of military law, for others were thought more indispensible to their corps.
    ‘A deuced tricky court martial, it would appear,’ explained Malet. ‘The adjutant-general particularly requested his lordship as a member.’
    ‘Indeed?’ Hervey took a sip of his coffee. ‘What have you heard of the measure to place the regiment en cadre? ’
    Malet looked surprised. ‘I had not imagined the news was abroad. Lord Hol’ness was told only when he called on the Horse Guards before proceeding north.’
    ‘I was at the Horse Guards yesterday. I am glad the news is not yet abroad. It could do untold harm.’
    Malet nodded. ‘May I enquire what are your prospects, therefore, sir?’
    ‘They are not yet clear,’ replied Hervey, truthfully (he saw no occasion to add to the untold harm by saying that he had been offered the Fifty-third). ‘I have first the commander-in-chief’s assignment with the Russians. You knew of that?’
    ‘I did.’
    In any case, Hervey had other concerns before his own at this moment. ‘How is Sar’nt-Major Armstrong?’
    Fairbrother had wondered how long it would be before he enquired: Hervey had brooded on the matter during the passage home, but had said nothing since coming to London. He knew that Armstrong stood as strong in his friend’s particular regard – affection, indeed – as any. And Malet’s face, lifted by the mention of the name, was testimony too to the high opinion generally in which the sar’nt-major was held. Here, if he had ever needed it, was clinching evidence that the Sixth held themselves in peculiar mutual affinity. There were the rogues, the villains, the ‘bad hats’, to be sure, but he had never had the sense that officers and men stood in constitutional antipathy to one another, as sometimes they did elsewhere. In his own former corps, the Royal Africans, the officers had had a sense of ownership – though with little enough pride of ownership – the other ranks merely serving out some wretched indenture. Yes, a good many of those were ‘options men’ – prison or the King’s shilling (and often enough without even the option) – with little good character to which a decent officer might appeal, but, even so, the discipline of the Royal Africans and that of the Sixth were as the proverbial chalk to cheese. Would it be so with the Fifty-third? From what he had seen and heard of Lord Hill, their colonel, he could not