Hervey wrote three pages of news, attached four more (the fair copy of his journal account of the battle), and then composed a second letter, to Horningsham. This was an altogether less dramatic account of the past month, with little narrative of the action to and fro, and even less of the battle itself, merely a line that ‘I was much about the field with my regiment but never in any danger’. One event he felt compelled to write of, however, even though his people knew nothing of the man, for he had never before mentioned him.Late in the day of the battle we were obliged to advance across country which had not previously been spied out, and which proved to have several hidden watercourses, some quite deep, and the brigade ran faster than was prudent, so that one regiment (the 23rd Lt Drgns) lost so many men fallen as to be severely disordered, and ours coming up in the support line lost some as well, on the left flank, and one cornet, Quilley, I am afraid broke his neck . . .
He wrote by way of expiation. Such had been the contempt for Quilley by the time of Talavera that there had been a general sneering at the news of the fall, ascribing it to a ‘what can be expected?’ lack of horsemanship. But when it became known that Quilley was dead, a certain sense of guilt – or perhaps it was merely distaste – had silenced all comment.
Hervey, indeed, had felt a good deal of shame at his first thoughts (that he wished it had been Cornet Daly instead). That was a part of his news that he could not impart to Wiltshire, either to his family or to Daniel Coates. For Talavera, for all that the steeples might be rocking in England now, had not been the occasion for amnesty: the court martial merely awaited opportunity. Hervey’s pleasure in going into quarters at Badajoz was therefore greatly tempered by the knowledge that at last there was the opportunity.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
AN OFFICER’S WORD
Badajoz, evening, Innocents’ Day, 1826
Hervey looked at the letter from Elvas again. It had been in his hand not a quarter of an hour, but it was intriguing him the more with each minute. The veiled speech and the knowledge that it was not the writer’s mother tongue – although as fine as ever he would expect to read from someone whose first language was not English – was increasing his doubts.
Elvas
28th DecemberMy Dear Friend,It pains me greatly that ten whole days have passed since your noble act, and yet you are still confined. I assure you, as I have each time, that I do not spare myself in seeking your return to Elvas in accordance with what I trust are your wishes. I am comforted to know that you are well treated, as I would expect of our great neighbour, Spain. These are confounding times, and I pray that proper relations shall be restored before long between two countries which are of one Catholic heart.
Hervey shook his head again as he re-read the sentiment. He recognized both the sincerity and the need to assure the censor – to engage his sympathy, even – but the words, truly, were too finely crafted, even for Dom Mateo, though he had no reason to suppose the letter was not his. In any case, the news it brought, heartening as it was, could scarcely have been from another, even if the singular puzzle over the identity of the ‘fellow of long acquaintance’ would now vex him. At least the identity of the other arrival at Elvas could be in no doubt:I am overjoyed to tell you that unofficial and friendly emissaries from Lisbon have arrived here this very hour. The one who has connections here, and in whose company we first made our acquaintance, shall be of exceptional assistance on account of family. The other is a fellow of long acquaintance to you, in a position of some authority and influence now. But more I cannot say until the greater comings are made generally known, for to do so might tempt hasty action, or diminish the consequence at the highest level.
So, Isabella Delgado was in Elvas! Hervey felt more reassured than he had in days. Why, he would have been hard put to say; except that there was about Isabella a great air of capability and judgement, as well as connections with the bishop’s palace in Elvas, which in turn meant connections in Badajoz – perhaps even in Madrid. However, such an oblique reference to the identity of the second arrival could suggest no name to him more likely than any other, except the mention of authority and influence. ‘Authority’ ruled out Kat. Thank God, for Kat’s charms and talents did not seem to him well matched to the frontier. There were any number of officers who might answer to the description, especially since he had no idea of the magnitude of the authority and influence Dom Mateo had in mind. There were generals, indeed, who might feel some slight obligation to him. But could a general be an ‘unofficial’ emissary? He thought not.
‘The greater comings’ was maddeningly ambiguous. Hervey saw perfectly well that the words could refer to the visit of senior officials (and with that, public humiliation and the Horse Guards’ discipline). But might they refer to comings to Portugal, rather than to Elvas? And might ‘greater’ mean greater in number rather than rank? In other words, had a British army landed in Lisbon?
Dr Sanchez came about six. Hervey did not know if he had seen the letter (Sanchez had brought all the others, but this one had come by an orderly – which had first put Hervey on his guard somewhat). He thought to judge his moment before revealing its receipt or contents.
They sat down to wine, the physician in distinctly good spirits.
‘You know, Major Hervey, I have been thinking about Talavera since you recounted it to me. I believe I must have seen your regiment that day. The Duke of Albuquerque’s corps stood in the valley north of the ridge you spoke of. I confess I recall it very well, in fact, since I was astonished – and I was not alone in that sentiment – that our corps made no move.’ Sanchez shook his head, not pained, but evidently embarrassed. ‘But what did I know, a mere regimental surgeon? And it was a long time ago.’