Company Of Spears

Hervey shook his head, mystified. ‘Well, I must say that I’m surprised. I do believe that if something had turned me the colour of the regimental facings I might confide in you.’

The adjutant interrupted Hervey’s enquiries. He looked not entirely disapprovingly at the seated Johnson, but with something of a frown nevertheless. ‘If I may, sir – the express.’

Hervey took it, saw the unmistakable, neat, round hand, and forced himself to keep the mask at his face for a little longer. ‘Thank you, Mr Vanneck,’ he said, with a polite note of dismissal. ‘And you, Johnson.’

The adjutant waited for Johnson to leave, however, and then approached Hervey’s desk, confidentially. ‘Just before you read the express, Hervey, I thought I should say that apparently there are two Bow-street men coming here to interview Johnson.’ He had to clear his throat. ‘I understand in connection with a serious crime against the Revenue.’

Hervey was astonished. ‘Johnson? Revenue? He’s …’

‘As I said, it is only what I understand. Until they come I can have no perfect idea. In the meantime you might like to ask him … there again you might not.’

Hervey shook his head. ‘I thought there was something, but hardly serious. The most I’ve ever known him do is take a case of brandy from a commissary waggon – and that was in snow up to your belt.’

‘Let us hope that Bow-street and the Revenue have mistaken their man then.’

Hervey nodded, but none too assured. Vanneck took his leave.

When the door had closed, Hervey broke the seal on the express and opened the waxed envelope, steeling himself to the death, or expected demise, that it would reveal. Both his parents, though active still, were beyond their allotted span. It could not have been his sister, for hers was the hand. He trembled at the alternative; but Georgiana had been in good health for all of her nine years…

Horningsham

11th March 1827

My dear brother,Do not be troubled for your kin by this letter, for we are all in the halest condition and most excellent spirits. I am sorry to have to tell you, however, that Daniel Coates is grievous ill and Dr Birch does not consider he will survive the week. He was found by one of his men the day before yesterday on the plain near Wadman’s Coppice, where he had fallen from his horse, Dr Birch believes of a stroke. He was brought back to Upton Scudamore but has scarce spoke a word nor eaten anything since, and Dr Birch is of the decided opinion that his condition cannot amend. I do not imagine that your duties will permit of any early visit, and I shall, dearest brother, endeavour to let you know by the speediest means if there is any change to Daniel Coates’s condition.Be assured of our love now and at all times,Ever yr most affectionate sister,Elizabeth.

Hervey sat down. Dan Coates: ‘the shepherd of Salisbury Plain’ as Archdeacon Hervey had dubbed him in the image of Hannah More’s creation of pastoral wisdom and simple piety; first, foremost and forever to Hervey, though, riding-master, instructor in sabre and firelock, in fieldcraft, drill and in the lore of campaigning – a priceless understanding which Coates had gained in the ranks of the 16th Light Dragoons and as trumpeter to that able but much maligned general, Sir Banastre Tarleton. Could Daniel Coates be brought to this – a fall on Salisbury Plain – after the American war and the sick and muddle of the expedition to the Low Countries? Daniel Coates was not so very old; not an ancient, not so many years his father’s senior; and he rode the plain every day tending his sheep. His flocks were not so extensive now, not since the end of the French war when demand for wool had fallen; but Daniel Coates had made his fortune during that ‘never-ending war’ and he had been astute enough too to sell half his sheep before Waterloo. He lived a godly and sober life, prudent – modest even. Poor Dan Coates: his fortune had in many ways made him unhappy, for he always felt keenly the loss of his wife, the more so because she had died so many years before he had been able to afford her more than a shawl and a mean grave.

‘Mr Vanneck!’