Hervey 11 - On His Majesty's Service by Allan Mallinson Read Free Book Online Page A

east), and he had even entertained hopes of his coming with him to the Sixth as, perhaps, a gentleman volunteer. But how could he possibly induce him to go to Gibraltar and play the part of sentry, for that was what the garrison there amounted to, no matter with what consequence Lord Hill might try to endow it?
    He hailed his friend, bid the labourers and other bystanders thanks, and then the two of them struck out together across Waterloo Place for the United Service, collars turned up, peaks pulled down, leaning resolutely into the snowy billow.
    ‘The ways deep, the weather sharp, the days short,’ said Fairbrother, his voice muffled but just audible.
    ‘The sun farthest off,’ agreed Hervey. ‘What will you, then?’
    ‘O for a beaker full of the warm south!’
    ‘Gibraltar?’
    ‘Too distant. I’ll settle for burgundy.’
    ‘Burgundy?’
    ‘At your club!’

III
    PISTOLS AT DUSK

    Later
    The coffee room – as the United Service called its dining room (for a reason Hervey was never quite able to explain) – had been unexpectedly full by the time they returned, and so with little prospect of a timeous meal they decided to seek one elsewhere. ‘I know a good chop house,’ declared Hervey confidently as they stepped once more into Pall Mall, only hoping he could find it again.
    In the short space of their time indoors, it had all but stopped snowing, and so the two friends struck out briskly for the Strand, heads high, though soon they were having to sidestep the street vendors at the bottom of the Haymarket, resisting the temptation of hot potatoes and spiced gingerbread (and even coffee, now that the tax on beans was next to nothing), then beyond the assorted stalls and barrows, striding out again across the white piazza before the old King’s Mews, newly cleared of its eyesore huddle of shanties (and with so fine a view of St Martin’s church in consequence that they stopped to remark on it), and then beyond into the Strand itself, strangely silent without horseshoes ringing on the metalled road. Finally they turned up the alleyway of Bull Inn Court, and right into the cul de sac of Maiden-lane, and to number thirty-eight. Hervey was gratified that his memory and instincts had not failed him, for the work of the demolition men was changing the face of these parts by the day.
    But ‘chop house’ hardly served: the sign read Rule’s. Porter, pies and oysters .
    ‘And deuced fine they are too. Shall we go in?’ he asked, giving up trying to see through the frosted windows.
    It was middling full, but they found a table near a stove in a window booth which let in the light and kept out the draught, which Fairbrother was glad of, for he confessed that the cold had begun to chill his blood. And he owned to being fair famished. Hervey, also feeling the cold, had regained his appetite too, dulled before by his disappointing news. They ordered whitebait at once and asked for time to examine the rest of the bill.
    It was Fairbrother who at length broke silence. ‘I do believe I could eat a whole steak and oyster pudding,’ he said, having scoured the list, which was long by the standards of the United Service.
    Hervey nodded, but as yet was unsure of his choice. ‘I recollect that I had some fine mutton here once … But I shall join you in a pudding, and if it is insufficient then we may order another. And burgundy.’
    Fairbrother smiled contentedly. The waiter took away their order.
    The burgundy came in no time at all, and the friends had drunk half of it in even less. With both constitution and judgement restored by the time the whitebait was brought (in prodigious quantity), Hervey was expansive once again. ‘You know,’ he said, with a shake of the head and a satisfied sigh, ‘I doubt I could live anywhere truly content without the prospect of a whitebait dinner periodically. It is Old England.’
    ‘Indeed?’
    ‘Indeed. Did you know the cabinet has a whitebait dinner each year before