By Allan Mallinson
Lieutenant-Colonel Matthew Hervey returns to take command of the sixth mild Dragoons in his twelfth mesmerizing adventure
January 1830, one of many toughest winters in reminiscence. The top minister, the Duke of Wellington, bruised by way of his volte-face over Catholic Emancipation, is in no temper to offer method to the transforming into demands parliamentary reform. Violent unrest within the nation-state is at the raise, and violent protest for reform is threatening. There aren't any police outdoor London, and lots of the yeomanry regiments—the volunteer cavalry to whom the magistrates typically flip while ailment threatens—have been disbanded as an economic climate degree. it really is in contrast demanding history Lieutenant-Colonel Matthew Hervey, lately lower back from his project with the Russian military within the Balkans, takes command of his regiment, the sixth mild Dragoons—at Hounslow. His fears that Hounslow should be a lifeless position to serve are fast dispelled by means of vexatious officials, tough offerings over which NCOs to advertise, and incendiarists at the King’s personal doorstep. however the actual pleasure comes while the 6th are despatched to Brussels for the fifteenth anniversary celebrations of the conflict of Waterloo, and locate themselves in the midst of the Belgian rebellion opposed to Dutch rule. Will Hervey be ready to retain out of the fighting—the "Belgian struggle of Independence" that may lead, a century later, to Britain’s involvement in global conflict I—while attempting to defend British pursuits? not really!
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Extra info for Words of Command (Matthew Hervey, Book 12)
Reckon I know most women love nice things to wear an' think because clothes make them look pretty that they're nicer or better. But they're wrong. You're wrong. Maybe it 'd be too much for a girl like you to be happy without clothes. " "Stranger, y'u shore must excuse my temper an' the show I made of myself," replied the girl, with composure. "That, to say the least, was not nice. An' I don't want anyone thinkin' better of me than I deserve. My mother died in Texas, an' I've lived out heah in this wild country--a girl alone among rough men.
He had a dust-colored, sun-burned face, long, lean, and hard, a huge sandy mustache that hid his mouth, and eyes of piercing light intensity. Not very much hard Western experience had passed by this man, yet he was not old, measured by years. When he dismounted Jean saw he was tall, even for an Arizonian. "Seen your tracks back a ways," he said, as he slipped the bit to let his horse drink. " "Reckon I'm lost, all right," replied Jean. " "Shore. I seen thet from your tracks an' your last camp. " The query was deliberately cool, with a dry, crisp ring.
But there seemed more. Jean was quick to see the shadow in the eyes of the women in that household and to sense a strange reliance which his presence brought. "Son, this heah Tonto is a land of milk an' honey," said his father, as Jean gazed spellbound at the bounteous supper. Jean certainly performed gastronomic feats on this occasion, to the delight of Aunt Mary and the wonder of the children. "Oh, he's starv-ved to death," whispered one of the little boys to his sister. They had begun to warm to this stranger uncle.