Man Of War

‘It is a mystery to me, as you. And by the way, since you touch on the matter, I have been meaning to ask for some time: your honoured father – he intends holding his slaves still, I imagine?’

Fairbrother looked discomfited, and for the first time since leaving the Cape. ‘He does, and I profit from it. But in truth they are not slaves. They may not in law be free men, but they are not kept at the plantation by force. And they are well provided for, even in old age. My father employs as many hired hands as he has slaves – more, I think. He has not been able to buy these twenty years.’

Hervey wished he had not tilted at his friend. These were deeper waters than were safe to sport in – deeper, even, than the vexations of family. ‘My dear fellow!’ He put a hand to Fairbrother’s arm.

‘Think nothing of it. Where is it we go now?’

Hervey’s face creased, uneasy. ‘See, I fear I must desert you again. I have letters I must write. Could you bear to explore a little on your own once more – a couple of hours, say?’

Fairbrother looked entirely content with the suggestion. ‘Perhaps I may go to parliament and call on Mr Wilberforce?’

Hervey smiled, rueful. ‘You may indeed. I’m sure he would welcome it. But I think, from what I hear, you would find him poor company. He would but preach at you! Nor am I sure he still sits there. See, we shall breakfast early and then leave for Hounslow. I must pay my respects to the colonel and report on the state of things with my troop. And you may look about the barracks, and dine with the mess. You will be prodigiously delighted. Buy yourself a gay neckcloth!’

VIII

THE MESS GUEST

The cavalry barracks, Hounslow, next day

Hervey had been, if not in trepidation, then certainly wary of the return to Hounslow. He had, after all, absented himself, albeit entirely regularly, from the Sixth: as temporary commanding officer, he had taken the opportunity to post his own troop to the Cape, so that he would have a detached command. And he had done so when he might have supposed the new commanding officer – an ‘extract’, a man from another regiment – had most need of him. He fully expected a certain reserve, therefore, on that account. Fairbrother for his part was convinced that there would be some disdain of his colour, despite all the assurance of the past weeks. Lieutenant-Colonel the Lord Holderness, commanding officer of the 6th Light Dragoons, showed nothing but an entirely gentlemanlike disposition to both of them, however.

Hervey had long remarked the phenomenon of patrician command. Sir Edward Lankester had possessed it, his brother Ivo too – an easiness with all ranks, an assumption of equality in which the officer was yet primus, an effortless facility with the tools of the trade, which others acquired only with the greatest industry, a natural mastery of the situation – of ground and events – which spoke of some connection almost otherworldly. Strangely, though, both Lankesters had died at the head of the Sixth and yet few men in the regiment spoke of them now, as if they had been of such pure fire, saintly soldiers even, that none could feel true kinship. Lord Holderness had the air of the Lankesters. And as a consequence the Sixth would be well found and happy, and favoured by senior officers, who liked the security of association with such a regiment. It was welcome too, for – heaven knew – the Sixth had had their share of hard times and villainy.

‘I am glad you will stay to watch the beginning of the manoeuvres tomorrow,’ said Lord Holderness as they came to the end of their long interview, turning an ear to the open window as the band on the square struck up ‘Young May Moon’. Herr Schnatze had serenaded them a full hour, and the regimental march signalled the end of the practice. ‘I understand the new general officer commanding intends putting his regiments through their paces, seeing of what they are made. And, you may hear, we had the most agreeable of visitors yesterday, the Duchess of Kent and her sister, and Princess Victoria.’

‘Indeed, Colonel?’ replied Hervey, mildly intrigued. ‘Was their visit to any particular end?’ It was always good for a regiment to receive royal visitors. The dragoons especially thought themselves better for it. There were some who remembered Princess Caroline still, when she had been colonel-in-chief: she would flirt quite outrageously, and many a hardened old NCO would become like a thrusting recruit again when she was gone.

‘I believe the King is minded to give us a royal colonel.’ (Lord Holderness showed no inclination to exclude Fairbrother from the intelligence, nor even to beg his discretion.) ‘I wonder, though, what is your opinion in the matter, Hervey?’