Allan Mallinson - Nizams Daughters

‘I am to go in advance to India and to make certain appreciations of the situation.’ Hervey’s reply lacked just a measure of his former resolution.

Peto now had about him a decidedly disapproving air, though he said nothing.

‘I am sorry, Captain Peto, but you appear to object to this assignment,’ countered Hervey, puzzled.

‘The Honourable East India Company, sir,’ began Peto, ‘is neither honourable nor a company worth the name, for its monopoly has perverted trade. It is a body which maintains armies and retails tea.’

Hervey hesitated. ‘You speak as someone with a very singular grudge.’

‘My father might not have lost what little he had by way of stocks — his sole provision for the future — if, during the late blockade, the East Indies markets had been open.’

‘But the opening-up of trade — has not the Company’s monopoly of the eastern markets been repealed?’

‘The reform of the charter was only two years ago. It came too late to save my family’s interests.’

‘I am sorry to hear it,’ sighed Hervey, ‘for heaven knows the country has need of every enterprise now to repay its war debt. Your father — he is a merchant still?’

‘No, Captain Hervey, he was never a merchant: he had merely invested what little capital he possessed in an ill-starred joint-stock company.’

‘I fear that my father might have had the same story to tell had he not already purchased a modest annuity with his capital. Well, there is great need of enterprise nevertheless: the duke says we have spent eight hundred million fighting the French, when before the war it was scarce eighteen a year.’

‘Then there will be more slaughter in the east to pay for it. It will be the very devil of a business. That is why, I suppose, your principal is to go to India — to pay his way these past dozen years and more!’

Hervey frowned.

‘Do you know much of India, sir? I have made something of a study of that continent,’ Peto challenged.

‘I confess I know little, sir. I have with me a new history of the enterprise but I have yet to make more than a beginning with it.’

‘Well, I tell you that no good will come out of our enterprise there. I have read extensively of the trial of Warren Hastings, and of Mr Fox’s speeches in parliament on the East India Bill. What is our object in India, Captain Hervey? It is too ill-defined, I tell you. We shall be drawn ever greater into the wars that are endemic in that place, and our outlay will vastly exceed any receipts.’

‘So I may take it,’ smiled Hervey, ‘that you are not greatly enamoured of the activities of the Company?’

‘Hervey, mistake me not: we are a mercantile nation. But our business overseas is trade, not conquest. Read your book and then speak freely with my secretary, who was once a writer in Calcutta, and then we may talk of it with more felicity. And he may be able to teach you one or two words which might be of use — how to get a palanquin or a clean girl or some such. But come,’ he added, and with a lighter touch, ‘have some burgundy with that pudding.’

‘Thank you; it is an excellent pudding,’ replied Hervey, taking another large piece of dark meat on his fork. ‘ Welsh venison, you say? I had not supposed anyone might be so particular in choosing their game.’ And he took a large gulp of wine.

Peto smiled — not triumphantly, for that would have been to overvalue his success, but certainly with a degree of satisfaction that alerted Hervey to another imminent revelation of his innocence of the ways of the ‘wooden world’. ‘My dear Hervey, know you not that prime eight-tooth mutton — wether mutton — fuddled and rubbed with allspice and claret, may be ate with as much satisfaction as the King’s own fallow deer?’

It was not as disconcerting a revelation as might be supposed, and Hervey professed himself most pleasantly surprised by the discovery. ‘Especially so since I come from a county with a great many more sheep than people. I have scarce dined so well, ever, as I have aboard your ship,’ he concluded.

Peto seemed more than happy to leave weightier matters aside for the moment. ‘I have, I fancy, one of the best cooks in the fleet. He was in the service of the Duke of Northumberland until there was some… misunderstanding. My coxswain found him adrift in some alehouse on the Tyne. He has been with me over a year and seems content. But here, some more burgundy: what do you think of it?’

‘I think very much of it,’ he replied, feeling its warmth reach the extremities.

‘I am glad, for it is one of my best — a Romanée-Conti. So much so-called burgundy has been passed off during this war. Any old sugared red wine laced with brandy seems to take the name. And nauseous it is — frequently poisonous, too. Ever to be avoided, Hervey — ever.’ He took another large draught. ‘But I am careful of its taking: it is a very manly warmth that a Nuits-Saint-Georges brings — invigorating, whereas claret merely… enlivens .’

Hervey chuckled. ‘I am astonished that, with such good provender, you avoid any tendency to stoutness. I fear much for my own figure these coming months.’

They both laughed, vigorously.

‘But what of this commission of yours?’ demanded Peto, though his manner was now thoroughly congenial. ‘Why must you go in advance of the duke to India — before, indeed, his appointment has been made?’

Hervey was wondering how best he might explain, when the door opened again. The silence continued as Flowerdew cleared away the remains of the pudding, returning at once with an even larger tray, from which, with considerable ceremony, he placed on the table a greengage tart, an almond cheesecake, several custards and a bowl of figs. Hervey made more appreciative — and despairing — noises, and Peto again reached for the decanter of Madeira. But before he could remove the stopper — or Hervey begin his explanation of his early passage — there was a knock at the door.

‘Come!’ called Peto, as Hervey sliced large into the cheesecake.

The first lieutenant entered, his fresh face and fair curls making an even greater impression of youth than before. ‘I beg your pardon, sir: I had not thought you were dining. The carpenter is knocking up a stall for Captain Hervey’s horse in the waist. Might I ask him to approve the dimensions when it is convenient?’

Peto looked at Hervey.

‘If you will permit me, sir, I shall do so at once,’ he replied, rising (and none too steadily). ‘My groom should be here with her before the evening.’

The Marines sentry at the doorway presented arms as Peto emerged. Hervey took the opportunity to speak to the first lieutenant, whose acquaintance he had made only briefly during the crossing a week before, while Peto bantered with the sentry about some amiable business of the shore. ‘Mr Belben, we have not yet been able to exchange more than formalities. I hope I have not made impossible demands. No doubt it would have been better for me to seek passage for my horse on a ship of higher rate.’

‘Not at all sir: unusual demands, perhaps, but not impossible. Nor indeed would a first-rate have been any more commodious — quite the reverse, in fact.’ Hervey looked at Peto, puzzled by the notion that a frigate offered as much space as a ship-of-the-line. ‘That is so,’ the captain affirmed. ‘The biggest first-rate is two thousand and three-fifty tons, with a complement of nigh eight-fifty. She has less than three tons per man, whereas we are a thousand tons and two-fifty.’

‘It sounds as though I might have brought my second charger,’ tried Hervey, and he was pleasurably surprised to see Belben smile.

‘Captain Hervey, we are at your disposal,’ said Peto from behind, smiling equally. ‘However, in the event of our having to clear for action then I am very much afraid that your charger will go overboard!’