'It will come to it, Hervey; it will come to it. I have a tidy sum invested in Berry's cellars, and another in two-per-cents, but I have a notion of something a shade more . . . substantial.’
Hervey smiled. 'Then you are not contemplating matrimony?’
Peto raised his glass and took a very urbane sip. 'A man in his right mind who contemplates matrimony will never embark upon it, Hervey. In any case, a house has no need of a mistress - only a keeper.’
Hervey said nothing.
Peto realized the import. 'Oh, my dear fellow: I am so dreadfully sorry. I—’
Hervey smiled and shook his head. 'Think nothing of it. I'll take another glass of your hock, and drink to your arrangements in Norfolk.’
Peto cursed himself for being the fool.
Corporal Wainwright came to Hervey’s quarters before first light with a canteen of tea, and returned shortly afterwards with hot water. Their exchanges were few.
'It's raining, sir.'
Hervey wondered at the need of this news, supposing that the hammering on the roof was the same that had been for the last fortnight.
'And the guard says it's been raining all night, sir.'
This much was perhaps of some moment, since the going would clearly be of the heaviest, perhaps even preventing the general from taking the field piece. Hervey sighed to himself at the thought of another affair of the bayonet. The wretched infantry - no better served now by the Board of Ordnance than if they had been with Marlborough a century past. For ten years - more - he, Hervey, had had a carbine that would fire in the worst of weather, yet the Ordnance showed not the least sign of interest. The notion of a percussion cap when a piece of flint would do seemed to the board an affront to economy. And little wonder if its members were as fat-headed as Campbell.
Hervey sighed again as he drank the sweet tea in satisfying gulps. Perseverance - that was the soldier's virtue. It was both duty and consolation. 'Corporal Wainwright, I give you leave to remain here and keep things dry.'
'And I decline it, sir, if you please. Thanking you for the consideration, that is, sir.'
Hervey smiled. 'It was not entirely for your welfare, Corporal Wainwright. I had a thought to my own comfort on return!'
'I'll engage one of the sepoys, sir.'
Hervey smiled again as he rose to his toilet. 'It's not what I said it would be, Corporal Wainwright, is it? Hardly the dashing campaign, with gold to fill the pockets.'
Corporal Wainwright pulled the thatch from Hervey's boots and began to rub up the blacking while Hervey began lathering his shaving brush. ‘I don't hold with stealing, sir, and it seems to me, from what I've heard, that that's all it amounts to half the time. Prize money's a different thing. But plundering a place is no better than thieving.'
'Your sensibility does you credit, Corporal Wainwright. The duke himself would applaud it.' Hervey spoke his words carefully, but only because he had regard to the razor's edge.
'Pistols sir? I'm taking mine.'
'I suppose so. It is conceivable the rain will cease.'
'What I should like to know, sir, is how rain stays up in the sky before it begins to fall.'
Hervey held the razor still. 'You know, I have never given it a thought. Nor, indeed, do I recall anyone else doing so. I suppose there is an answer.' He resumed his shaving.
'I'll bind the oilskin extra-tight, sir. Wherever this rain's coming from, there doesn't look to be any shortage.'
In a few minutes more, Hervey was finished. He dressed quickly, thinking the while of the rain question. 'The rain is in the clouds. That much is obvious.'
Yet that was only a very partial answer (consistent with his knowledge of natural history). The rain outside descended as a solid sheet of water -the noise on the roof was, if anything, louder than when he woke - yet how did it rise to the height of the clouds in the first place, and then stay aloft?
'Steam. Steam rises’ he said, pulling on his boots. 'That Diana works that way, I think.'
Corporal Wainwright said nothing, content instead to listen to the emerging theory.
'A great deal of this rain must have begun as steam.'
But then why should it now fall as rain? And where did all the steam come from in the first instance?
'For the rest I must ask Commodore Peto. The weather is his business. For us it is just weather, I fear.' He fastened closed his tunic. It had become a poor affair with a daily soaking this past month.
Wainwright took away the bowl of water.
Hervey looked out, observed the downpour and put off his visit to the latrines until after breakfast.
He sat down at his desk-cum-table still turning over the rain question in his mind. Peto would surely know a great deal more - all there was to know, probably. But what opportunity he would have to pose his query in the coming weeks, he couldn't tell. The commodore had declared he would be taking Liffey and two of the brigs out to blow good sea air through her decks and give the hands practice with canvas again.
Wainwright was soon back with Hervey's breakfast - excellent coffee (he had been careful to lay in a store of that before leaving Calcutta) and a very indifferent gruel. Hervey thanked his luck for the supper of bekti the night before, and for the lump of salt pork that Peto had pressed on him to bring ashore. It would be their ration today, for the salt beef had now gone, and it was biscuit only again.
In half an hour the bugle summoned him -'general parade'. He put on his shako, fastened his swordbelt and drew on his gloves. He looked at the pistols, wondering. He picked up both and pushed them into his belt: if the rain did stop, he'd feel undressed without them. He wished he'd brought his carbine, but it had seemed the last thing he would need when he joined the general's staff in Calcutta.
The sortie paraded outside the north gate. They were six companies, three British and three native, together with two field pieces - a six-pounder and a howitzer - some five hundred men in all, and another fifty dhoolie-bearers. They gave an impression of unity by their red coats, except for the artillerymen, who wore blue, but close to they were rather more disparate than a Calcutta inspecting officer would have been used to. It was but a fortnight since the landing, and already some of the troops had a ragged appearance which spoke of their exertions and the flimsiness of their uniforms, as well as the lack of supply. For the most part, the trousers were white, summer pattern, but heavily patched, and the sepoy companies had abandoned their boots. Some of the officers wore forage caps. The general, indeed, wore one. Hervey would have been appalled had he not witnessed all that had gone before: an officer of the Sixth never wore a forage cap but in the lines. That it should have come to this in one month beggared belief.
There was no doubting the effect as a whole, however. In close order, and from a distance, these men looked like a solid red wall. They would stand, come what may. And their muskets - they would know how to handle them, for sure. Five rounds in the minute at their best - how could the Burmans match or bear it? The trouble was, the best volleying was only possible with dry powder.
General Campbell was rapt in conversation with the sortie's lieutenant-colonel, a short, stocky man whose voice was said to be the loudest in the expedition. Hervey studied the general carefully. He had not fully appreciated his height before, for he seemed now to stand taller than any man on parade. Without doubt, Sir Archibald Campbell had the crack and physique to convince a subordinate of his competence; Hervey pushed all his doubting thoughts to the back of his mind.