THE PASSAGE TO INDIA by Allan Mallinson

Author:Allan Mallinson
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780593079133
Publisher: Transworld
Published: 2018-05-02T23:00:00+00:00

XIII

Who Goes There?

Hounslow, a fortnight later

AT A MINUTE before eleven by the guardroom clock, the trumpet-major marched his calls party – with all but two troops out of barracks, just four trumpeters this morning – to the middle of the square, halted and then advanced them left. There were three well-found buildings at right angles to each other adjoining the parade ground, the central one – forming the orderly room and the offices of the regimental staff – built of London stock and topped by a pediment. The other two were plainer, longer blocks housing stables and barrack-rooms, and by using the regimental headquarters as a reflector, the calls could be sounded farther. Taking cue from the trumpet-major, up went the silver clarins for the regimental fanfare – day in, day out, save Sunday, come wind or weather.

Hervey, just come to office after morning exercise (his mare had taken some settling), turned from the window. The five made pleasing music, but there ought to have been twelve …

‘What business is there?’

‘Principally defaulters, Colonel,’ replied St Alban, handing him the daily states. ‘Rather a dispiriting number again, I’m afraid. And too many sick.’

It was always ‘principally defaulters’ – and the sick.

One of the ‘sable twins’ – Abdel, said his red turban feather – poured him coffee.

The regiment was losing its edge …

He would prefer that the first person he spoke of it to was Armstrong – twenty years was a singular time’s acquaintance – but it wouldn’t serve. If he didn’t speak first to his adjutant, there was no helping it. ‘I have news that will not be universally agreeable, though it is to me … The regiment is for India – Madras. In six months.’

St Alban’s look of surprise was as he’d expected. But there was nothing to discuss, and so …

‘Have the clerks make copies of this for despatch to the outlying troops,’ (he handed him the Horse Guards Order) ‘but first have the sar’nt-major come; and assemble the captains and staff.’

‘Yes, Colonel … I …’

‘Had not expected it.’

‘No, no indeed.’ St Alban looked as if he wanted to seek some sort of clarification, but evidently judged it best that he didn’t. (News spread rapidly, and it was best that the news were as exact as he could make it.)

Armstrong appeared at the door almost at once.

‘Come in, please, Sar’nt-Major, and close the door.’

Armstrong opened his order book, ready.

‘The regiment’s for India in six months. It won’t be to your liking, I know, but it is to mine.’ He didn’t say ‘I shall be greatly sorry to say “Goodbye”’. They’d served together far too long.

‘Thank God for that, Colonel!’ said Armstrong, snapping shut his book.

Hervey blinked. ‘You mean it is to your liking?’

‘Another twelve months here and there’d be no regiment worth the name.’

‘But you yourself – your family and all.’

Armstrong looked as surprised as St Alban. ‘I’m the serjeant-major; I go where the regiment goes, like it or not. But as it so ’appens, I like it very much.

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