Joynson's dispensation gave Hervey much cause for pleasure, but it was only next day that he began to learn of the import of his mission. He rode over to the Somerviles in the middle of the afternoon for just that purpose, feeling sure that he would learn more useful intelligence there than the commander-in-chief's office was likely to divulge.
Emma was not at home, but her husband was, and deeply engrossed in his book room having come immediately from the council's luncheon table (only the writers and junior officials returned to their offices of an afternoon). He looked up absently as the khansamah announced his visitor. 'Oh, Hervey: you are come very early today. Is there another to-do?’
'Not at all. I’m for Dehli with my troop for a month or so.’
Somervile was transformed in an instant, at once all attention. 'Indeed! I had notice yesterday that Ochterlony had asked for an escort, but I hadn't supposed a decision would be reached so quickly. Indeed I'm surprised: Ochterlony doesn't enjoy the confidence he used to have. Sit you down. Tea, sherbet? Ghulam!'
'Tea, thank you. And some limewater if you have it.'
Ji, sahib?'
‘Bhat, nimbu pani, Ghulam.’
‘ Ji, sahib.’
'That is the reason I came here, to discover what I could about the assignment. Joynson knows nothing yet.'
'Sit down, sit down,' Somervile insisted, even more attentive. 'There's trouble brewing in that direction.'
Hervey's ears pricked up. He had not supposed the escort wholly ceremonial, but . . .
'Ochterlony's an old man - "Loony Ochter" they're calling him, and not entirely in affection. You must have heard?'
'No, I have not. I know of him of course - everybody does.' There could be no one who needed reminding of his reputation - Major-General Sir David Ochterlony, victor of the Ghoorka war a decade ago.
'Ay, well, he's an old man, as I said. I think Amherst believes him a fool. But I'll say this too: he's one of the few men with any true understanding of the country. He knows when to fight and when to parley. And how to fight, for that matter - but that's not my principal concern.'
Ghulam returned with a khitmagar bearing lime-water. Another followed with tea a few minutes later. Somervile waited for them to leave before resuming, and in a voice deliberately lowered.
'I'd wager any amount that what lies behind this is Bhurtpore. There's an unholy tussle for yonder throne coming. The old rajah's not long for this world by all accounts.'
Hervey looked unenlightened. 'And this is the Company's business?'
'It may well become so. You have to be especially careful with sleeping dogs in India. And Ochterlony's backed the rightful heir, the son - invested him with a khelat, or some such. Doubtless the old fox wants to parade the escort as a promise of troops from Calcutta if things go against the claim. And you know why Bhurtpore would have the doocots aflutter here, don't you?'
'We are speaking of the same Bhurtpore, the fortress that Lord Lake failed to take?'
Somervile smiled, but pained. 'The same. Our only defeat in two centuries. When first I came out from England there was still the taunt, "Go take Bhurtpore!" And the truth may well be that we could no more do so now than we could then.'
CHAPTER NINE
A GREAT TAMASHA
Two weeks later
Mr Lincoln further added to regimental lore when the major asked if he would like to be wed as a quartermaster rather than as serjeant-major. He had replied, with absolute decorum went the story, that he would prefer to take the biggest fence first.
The wedding day had been postponed a fortnight on account of Barrow's death. A fortnight's mourning in India was a long time by all but the most fastidious standards, for death was so commonplace and sudden that it was neither especially appropriate nor practical to observe the passing of one man, or woman, many days after the committal of their mortal remains. The bereaved or the orphaned went home to England, or else the former began life anew, and as often as not remarried in a short time with someone in their own circumstances. Alternatively a widow might accept a proposal from one of the many all-too-eager bachelor-writers, while a widower might make one to 'a new-arrived angel' from England - a member of what later wags would know as 'the fishing fleet'.
The arrangements for the RSM's wedding were overseen by Mr Lincoln himself. There were to be upwards of four hundred guests - all the officers and non-commissioned officers of the regiment, together with a good number of the latter from the other regiments of the garrison, and a surprising number of civilians. And the commander-in-chief, for such was Lincoln's reputation in Calcutta.
The marriage service would take place in the garrison church, which, with its double galleries, had just enough space for all of the guests and the regimental band. Its decoration was the only arrangement that Lincoln left entirely in others' hands, for the future Mrs Lincoln was a staunch member of the congregation. On the day itself, she and other members of her Dorcas circle came early, before watering parade, with great boughs of greenery and bunches of vivid orchids in the regiment's colours.
Meanwhile, the regimental quartermaster-serjeant and his working parties were labouring in the garrison gymnasium to work a similar, if secular, transformation - to prepare for what the future Mrs Lincoln delicately referred to as the wedding breakfast, but which all in the Sixth called the tamasha. The RSM came at midday to inspect the work, said not a word as he walked the 'assembly room', as it had become, then astonished the quartermaster-serjeant by saying simply,
'Thank you, Harold’ - the first time he had ever addressed him by his Christian name (indeed, the quartermaster-serjeant was astonished to discover that Lincoln even knew it).
At four o'clock, the worst of the heat being past, the first arrivals at the church heard the band strike up its programme of music. The RSM confessed to having an untutored ear, but he had nevertheless scrutinized the programme, striking out the overture to The Marriage of Figaro (being uncertain of its propriety) and 'Blow, blow, thou winter wind’ (being certain of its ambiguity), and approving more Haydn and Piccini instead.
At twenty past the hour exactly, Mr Lincoln marched up the aisle, eyes front, spurs ringing, as if on parade. He wore review order, shako under his right arm, sword scabbard grasped in his left, leather and metal shining as no one had quite seen either element shine before. Beside him (in truth, half a pace to the rear, for the man could not bring himself to draw level even on such an occasion), was his supporter, Deedes, the senior troop serjeant-major and next RSM. On his left, the same half-pace behind, was his long-serving orderly, who now took from him his shako and gloves and handed him the service sheet. Lincoln made a sharp bow of the head to Sir Edward Paget, the commander-in-chief, and to Joynson sitting in the row behind, and took his place at the end of the front pew. The band then struck up 'Treue Husar’. Herr Hamper had not included it in his submission, for Lincoln would never have approved, but it was a favourite of the Sixth's, and the best part of the congregation believed it exactly apt. The murmur of approval at the end caused the bandmaster to repeat it.