handed Joynson the token of esteem.
The lieutenant-colonel opened it and found a gold hunter watch.
‘There is a sentiment on the inside, Colonel, sir.’
Joynson opened the cover: In Gratitude. And he saw the maker’s name too – George Prior, London – which spoke of the depth of that sentiment.
Three lusty cheers broke the sudden silence.
Joynson knew he must say some words in reply, carrying to the whole parade as had Private Adcock’s, though it was so alien to his temperament that he doubted his capacity to do so.
However, the RSM knew his colonel almost as well as Joynson knew himself. Mr Hairsine now turned his head and nodded to the bandmaster on the other side of the square. Herr Hamper raised his baton, up came the instruments to the bandsmen’s mouths, and on the downstroke they began ‘For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow’.
The adjutant and the RSM closed to Joynson’s side and led him off in a final review of the ranks. Through moisture-laden eyes the lieutenant-colonel saw many a face that brought back memories, painful as a rule but now no more than a dull ache; and the occasional one that induced a recollection of something happier. He nodded frequently, by way of appreciation at so singular a gesture as this, and even managed what passed as a smile for the odd sweat. And all the time the band played ‘For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow’.
When he reached the end of the left-flank troop, Joynson turned to make the speech he dreaded, but the Sixth’s last compliment was to spare him from the ordeal, and the band played on. Joynson nodded, smiling, at last recognizing the stratagem, then saluted and reined about to ride off parade accompanied solely by his trumpeter.
*
An hour later Hervey went to Joynson’s quarters. Little remained there, for the carters had been coming and going since early the day before. ‘I’ve come to add my gratitude too, Eustace,’ he said. Colonel was too formal an address at this moment; Eustace he had reserved these past years for only the rarest occasions of intimacy, usually to accompany some reassurance or insistence.
‘I wish Bella might have seen that,’ said Joynson, from an upright chair and deep in thought. ‘And Frances for that matter. Perhaps it would . . .’
Hervey waited, but in vain. When it became clear that Joynson was not going to finish his sentence he spoke instead. ‘I’m sure she will hear of it. It was a most handsome thing. And not in the least degree unwarranted, if I may say.’
Joynson shook his head. ‘Whoever would have thought it. Sent home from the Peninsula in disgrace, too.’
‘You were never in disgrace!’
Joynson smiled, wryly. ‘Not even Slade was sent home!’
‘Stop it, Eustace. We each have our ups and downs. A man might rest properly on his laurels for ever after a sending-off like this morning’s.’
He smiled again, more convincingly this time. ‘Ay, you’re right I’m sure. The river won’t be so melancholy a place after all.’
‘I should think not too!’ Hervey pulled close another chair and sat down.
‘Have you made your arrangements for Lisbon then?’ asked Joynson brightly, but with a look of some bemusement.
‘Yes. I leave next week. I shall take my groom and coverman, no more.’
‘What do you make of it all?’
‘It’s difficult to say. The duke, by all accounts, is opposed to any adventure.’
‘Quite right too. A knife fight between the dons is naught for us to be mixing with. It’s a dispute between who in the same family is to rule Portugal, that’s all. It can hardly disturb the peace of this realm. I don’t hold with Canning’s grand ideas.’
‘The Spanish are backing Dom Miguel. It may come to war. And the French would intervene too, likely as not. How would that be good for the prosperity of the realm? And is there not a treaty which obliges us to come to Portugal’s defence?’
‘Blackwood’s says that is a moot point when it is civil war. And there’ll be
The lieutenant-colonel opened it and found a gold hunter watch.
‘There is a sentiment on the inside, Colonel, sir.’
Joynson opened the cover: In Gratitude. And he saw the maker’s name too – George Prior, London – which spoke of the depth of that sentiment.
Three lusty cheers broke the sudden silence.
Joynson knew he must say some words in reply, carrying to the whole parade as had Private Adcock’s, though it was so alien to his temperament that he doubted his capacity to do so.
However, the RSM knew his colonel almost as well as Joynson knew himself. Mr Hairsine now turned his head and nodded to the bandmaster on the other side of the square. Herr Hamper raised his baton, up came the instruments to the bandsmen’s mouths, and on the downstroke they began ‘For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow’.
The adjutant and the RSM closed to Joynson’s side and led him off in a final review of the ranks. Through moisture-laden eyes the lieutenant-colonel saw many a face that brought back memories, painful as a rule but now no more than a dull ache; and the occasional one that induced a recollection of something happier. He nodded frequently, by way of appreciation at so singular a gesture as this, and even managed what passed as a smile for the odd sweat. And all the time the band played ‘For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow’.
When he reached the end of the left-flank troop, Joynson turned to make the speech he dreaded, but the Sixth’s last compliment was to spare him from the ordeal, and the band played on. Joynson nodded, smiling, at last recognizing the stratagem, then saluted and reined about to ride off parade accompanied solely by his trumpeter.
*
An hour later Hervey went to Joynson’s quarters. Little remained there, for the carters had been coming and going since early the day before. ‘I’ve come to add my gratitude too, Eustace,’ he said. Colonel was too formal an address at this moment; Eustace he had reserved these past years for only the rarest occasions of intimacy, usually to accompany some reassurance or insistence.
‘I wish Bella might have seen that,’ said Joynson, from an upright chair and deep in thought. ‘And Frances for that matter. Perhaps it would . . .’
Hervey waited, but in vain. When it became clear that Joynson was not going to finish his sentence he spoke instead. ‘I’m sure she will hear of it. It was a most handsome thing. And not in the least degree unwarranted, if I may say.’
Joynson shook his head. ‘Whoever would have thought it. Sent home from the Peninsula in disgrace, too.’
‘You were never in disgrace!’
Joynson smiled, wryly. ‘Not even Slade was sent home!’
‘Stop it, Eustace. We each have our ups and downs. A man might rest properly on his laurels for ever after a sending-off like this morning’s.’
He smiled again, more convincingly this time. ‘Ay, you’re right I’m sure. The river won’t be so melancholy a place after all.’
‘I should think not too!’ Hervey pulled close another chair and sat down.
‘Have you made your arrangements for Lisbon then?’ asked Joynson brightly, but with a look of some bemusement.
‘Yes. I leave next week. I shall take my groom and coverman, no more.’
‘What do you make of it all?’
‘It’s difficult to say. The duke, by all accounts, is opposed to any adventure.’
‘Quite right too. A knife fight between the dons is naught for us to be mixing with. It’s a dispute between who in the same family is to rule Portugal, that’s all. It can hardly disturb the peace of this realm. I don’t hold with Canning’s grand ideas.’
‘The Spanish are backing Dom Miguel. It may come to war. And the French would intervene too, likely as not. How would that be good for the prosperity of the realm? And is there not a treaty which obliges us to come to Portugal’s defence?’
‘Blackwood’s says that is a moot point when it is civil war. And there’ll be
Similar Books
