Rumours Of War

reason for personal gratitude to him, and undemonstrative though he was, the Duke of Wellington was not a man to make light of such things. Three years earlier, Hervey had covered the duke’s tracks in India in respect of certain . . . pecuniary considerations. And although too, the year before at Waterloo, the then Cornet Hervey had only been one of many officers who had done their duty with skill and devotion, the duke had a special regard for it; Hervey had learned of useful intelligence and imparted it to the Prussians with commendable address. It could not be claimed that his action had changed the course of the battle, but in so close-run a thing as Waterloo, his action, to the duke’s mind, was of rare worth. Nevertheless Hervey considered it singular to have been invited to dine at Number One, London, that first evening. He could recall as if yesterday the duke’s bluff, manly words of condolence on his bereavement: ‘I am glad to see you returned to the colours. In all the circumstances it is the place to be.’

What had made that evening so particularly agreeable, however, was his neighbour at table. He had thought Lady Katherine Greville as handsome a woman as any he had met. She was witty and well informed, and, perhaps because of the standing she enjoyed as the wife of a senior officer, she possessed a self-assurance that allowed her to be, as some had it, forward. And this in spite of – perhaps even because of – her husband’s presence. Lieutenant-General Sir Peregrine Greville KCB was twenty-two years her senior. They had met when she was but nineteen and he a colonel on garrison duty in Ireland. She had at that time been to London only the once, and had seen only two seasons in Dublin, but the Earl of Athleague had been pleased to be able to marry off his third daughter without need for a great settlement (which had been, in any case, beyond him). Thereafter Sir Peregrine, with his own not inconsiderable means, the support of an attractive and vivacious young wife and now connections with the Irish peerage, advanced steadily in rank, filling many a senior appointment whose only requirement was steadfast Tory principles. There had been no issue.

In the seven years since that dinner at Apsley House, Hervey and Lady Katherine had engaged in a warm, even intimate, correspondence – so intimate, indeed, that on more than one occasion Hervey had found himself puzzling as to how it could have become so, their connection having been formed by nothing more than conversation at table and a ride in Hyde Park the next day, albeit the latter unaccompanied. He flattered himself that Lady Katherine enjoyed the company of vigorous men – and they her, as he recalled the duke’s attentions that evening – but India and seven years was an extreme range for so persistent an inclination when there were so many bucks in London. For his part, she filled a significant void in his human intercourse (he had been happy when he found the intimacy of their letters was at once transferred to the vocal), for certain matters he could not speak of so easily with his fellows, preferring instead a female ear. That much had been the signal discovery of his short life with Henrietta. He had been able to speak with her of anything. It was impossible before and since that he should do so with his sister, the female of his longest acquaintance, and certain reasons of propriety had forbidden the same with Emma Lucie, the wife of his good friend in Bengal. And it was wholly impossible that he should have been able to do so with his bibi, for they had been formed in such different worlds that, whatever their common instincts, there would have been only frustration and vexation.

Vaneeta. Theirs had been an unusually long association for Bengal, and one that had brought him far fuller satisfaction than such unions were contracted to bring. Vaneeta had been so much more than his ‘sleeping-dictionary’, for she had possessed intelligence as well as beauty, and considerable grace, so that she was by no means out of water in the company of the other officers, as indeed befitted the high caste of her mother’s line. If only Calcutta were what it had been thirty years before, the place of Warren Hastings and the easy familiarity between the races, he would have been able to consort with her openly instead of having to set her up in some hole-in-the-wall haveli and visit her like . . .

But Vaneeta was now his past, as India with all its other delights – and dangers – was. He had rarely felt so low as when they had parted, she sobbing so much that he thought she would faint, or worse. But he had left her a rich woman by the country’s standards, making over his jagirs in Chintal to her. And he had had Emma Lucie promise to keep watch on her for as long as she was able, and to take whatever measures were necessary, in his name, should there be the slightest sign of indigency.

‘Matthew?’

Lady Katherine’s insistence, and her hand on his, recalled him to the present.

‘I’m sorry, Kat, I was—’

‘Some miles away.’

He smiled. ‘Many miles away. But I’m here now. Forgive my inattention.’

‘Well, you said you had need of my support. I imagine that your thoughts were so engaged.’

How easy it was to let her form his excuse for him. Absolute integrity demanded that he correct her; but time was running on. ‘Kat, I have to get myself appointed to something – something active. I can’t stay indefinitely at Hounslow.’

It was not what she wanted to hear, though it was half expected. Her hand was still on his, affectionate, supportive. She squeezed as she spoke. ‘Why do you not simply purchase your promotion, and be content with the increase in responsibility? I’m loath to see you go away so soon after returning.’

He put his hand on hers by return. ‘Kat, it’s not as easy as that. There are no vacancies in the regiment, and I couldn’t bear to buy in elsewhere.’

‘And what does your colonel say? He’s a good man by your accounts. Can he not arrange things for you?’

He smiled as he squeezed her hand. ‘He is a good man, but so are there many, and he has no influence. In any case, he is selling out.’

Kat started slightly. ‘Then why should you not be the lieutenant-colonel? You are a major.’

Hervey smiled again. ‘Ten years ago it might have been possible, but the rules are enforced so much the stricter now. My brevet carries no seniority against any with a regimental majority. Besides which, I could never afford the price. Fifteen thousand is what they’re saying.’

Kat was silent for the moment, as if taken aback by the amount. She squeezed his hand firmly. ‘I may lend you it,’ she said, decidedly.

Hervey was overcome by several emotions at one and the same time. First was an astonished gratitude for such reckless generosity, then an equal sense of being touched that it was bestowed on him, then an excitement at the prospect of advancement, and finally dismay as the actuarial implications began to dawn. He lifted her hand and kissed it. ‘Kat, that is so wonderfully kind. But it is out of the question. It just could not stand.’

Kat looked disappointed, but was not inclined to question him. Instead she clasped her free hand to his arm and pulled herself closer. ‘The offer will remain, Matthew. But whatever else you want me to do you had better say. What is it that can actively engage you to advantage, and which I might have some part in effecting?’

Hervey leaned back so that his head rested on the padded seat, almost touching hers. ‘There’s something bound to happen in Greece – the duke’s mission to St Petersburg, and talk of secret treaties. I believe we shall be in some sort of alliance with the tsar against the sultan before very long, perhaps with the French too, and there will be opportunity for distinction in such an adventure.’

Kat sat forward and looked straight at him. ‘There will be opportunity for oblivion indeed! What can possess you to think in such terms after the tribulations and dangers you have known these past two years?’

Hervey returned her look, half bemused. ‘Kat, I am a soldier; fighting is my business – my livelihood, no less.’

‘Hah! What irony there is in those words, Matthew.’

He squeezed her hand.

‘So you wish me to speak with the duke?’

It was precisely what he wanted, yet it seemed so indecent a proposition . . .

‘Come, Matthew. There is no cause for coyness.’ Kat shook his arm as if to revive a sleepy child. ‘The duke takes evident satisfaction in pleasing me with little things. I cannot suppose that in his lofty scheme of affairs the favouring of an officer is so very great a thing.’

‘No,’ said Hervey, swallowing hard. That it should come to this – the charms of a married woman, the flattery of an older man for the benefit of a younger one: how recondite a system it was. He would not be defeated by it though. He had disregarded it for many a year, and what had that profited him? No, he would master the game. But it would be to worthy ends. He wanted rank not for its own sake but because with rank he could accomplish what he knew was right. That was what placed him apart from General Slade, and Lord Towcester (still the old wound