Hervey judged it the moment to drive the bargain a little harder in respect of the spare stalls. ‘Four per every twelve animals, then. And built so that they can be turned into one loose box. That way a sick horse may be allowed space to lie down and stretch.’
The agent checked the plans and agreed that it was not unreasonable.
The negotiation of gangway space in which to exercise proved a little harder, but the agent and the second officer saw how it could be done. Some of the orlop’s capacity had to be sacrificed (all of the hay would now be stored there rather than some on the horse deck), but the savings overall were still considerable. There were numerous details to be agreed, but both parties were well satisfied. Only the question of windsails and ventilating shafts was unresolved. Hervey judged it better to wait a little while: there were bound to be savings he could suggest to offset his demands in this direction.
And so, in the next few days, Hervey found himself as much afloat as ashore. It was not a disagreeable state, but six months at sea in an Indiaman would not be the same as being guest of a frigate’s captain. He decided he must turn his thoughts to the day’s routine on the horse deck, and who best should be there, for without doubt Sir Ivo Lankester would next ask his opinion of that. The more he thought, however, and the more he wrote, the more he wished the six months could be past now. He had been gazetted captain since July, and still he could not rightly say he was returned to the saddle. This he would not be able to claim until they reached India, and even then only when he could take the head of his troop and have them wheeling and forming behind him as one body. In truth, he sighed, he would not be in the saddle before next year’s summer was out.
CHAPTER TWELVE. NUMBER ONE, LONDON
Hervey rose before dawn and took the morning stage to London. He intended being in good time for the Duke of Wellington’s dinner, with sufficient in hand that if the coach were to meet with any delay, he could engage a saddle-horse to complete the journey. However, the
For more than six months now, the duke had been Master General of the Ordnance with a seat in the cabinet, and the signal honour of this invitation had given Hervey much pleasure in the anticipation; as much, indeed, as the consolation which the duke’s letter of support had given him eighteenth months before. Doubtless the invitation was but a formal conclusion to his earlier employment, which had ended somewhat unceremoniously, the duke being preoccupied with affairs elsewhere than Paris. Yet even if this were the case it was a handsome gesture still. He would savour the occasion, speak only when spoken to, and drink only very moderately.
Having spent what remained of the afternoon with the regimental agents seeing to various advances and allowances, at ten minutes to seven he climbed into the elegant dress chariot which he had engaged for the evening and left the United Service Club for Apsley House. Charles Street to Hyde Park Corner was a walk of but ten minutes at most, but in that short distance the edge could be taken off his ball dress — d’Arcey Jessope, of late lamented memory, had once regaled him with the story of how, similarly accoutred, he had been passing White’s club when the contents of a fish kettle were hurled into the street and over him. And so while Hervey told himself it was to be his last extravagance before India, it was at least to a practical purpose.
A large crowd had gathered to see the arrival of the guests, and there was a steady parade of carriages to the porticoed entrance to the yard at the front of the house. They deposited their elegant occupants, female and male, and then drew away through the toll gates at the top of Knightsbridge to wait in Hyde Park. At once Hervey knew that the expense of his equipage saved him at least from disappointing the crowd; there had been times enough of feeling the country cousin. Indeed, as he stepped down, and rather to his surprise, he noticed several men raise their hats. But then if regimentals did not receive a cheer outside Number 1, London, where in the land might they?
Inside the walled yard he was able to get a better impression of the house, bought only recently by the duke from his elder brother, the former governor-general in India. Hervey was disappointed. He had imagined something more imposing. Next door was an altogether grander affair, twice as large, stone-faced instead of brick, with classical columns and pediments. But the disappointment did not dull his anticipation; in the yard the band of the Grenadier Guards was playing a merry tune, and in front and behind him were officers and their ladies who were also taking evident pleasure in the invitation. He recognized no one, and so contented himself with observing what he could without making it obvious.
The queue advanced steadily until Hervey stepped into the entrance hall which, although painted rather drably, was brilliantly lit. He handed his hat and cloak to a footman, together with his card, and followed the other guests towards the spiral staircase which would take them to the principal floor. But at the foot of the stairs several of the guests had stopped to examine the towering statue of a nude Bonaparte, presented to the duke by the Prince Regent. Hervey stopped too.
‘Is it a fair representation, do you think?’ came a female voice behind him.
Hervey turned, for the question sounded as if it were directed at him.
A tall woman in her thirties, strikingly handsome and very elegantly dressed, glanced from the statue to him and then back again, her smile suggesting amusement in the obvious difficulty her question posed.
‘Twice life size, I should estimate, madam,’ replied Hervey. It was as good a response as any might make. He looked about for the woman’s escort but could see none.
‘I had not thought of Napoleon as so … athletic.’
Hervey was doubly cautious. ‘I believe the artist exercised some licence.’
The woman looked at him, with the same smile still, and inclined her head. ‘I believe I have rankled, sir?’
Hervey was not without practice in this sort of conversation. ‘No, not at all, madam. I merely relay what I heard in Paris, where the statue was set up originally.’
‘Oh,’ she said, in a delighted sort of way. ‘You have been in Paris.’
‘Yes. I first saw the statue in the Louvre palace.’
‘And who is it by?’
Hervey paused. ‘I’m afraid I do not recall, madam.’
‘Well, it is of no matter. Not a Michelangelo, that is for sure.
Hervey counted it fortunate that at that moment the guests began again to ascend the stairs, allowing him to follow without need of more words. At the top was a footman to whom he handed another card, which was in turn passed to the master of ceremonies.
‘Captain Hervey, Your Grace,’ came his announcement.
The duke, wearing the levee dress of the Royal Horse Guards, of which he was colonel, nodded approvingly and held out his hand. ‘I am very glad you are come, Hervey. All is well with you?’
‘Yes indeed, thank you, sir,’ replied Hervey, taking the duke’s hand for the first time.
‘I am glad to see you returned to the colours. In all the circumstances it is the place to be.’
Hervey bowed appreciatively.
‘Lady Katherine Greville,’ announced the master of ceremonies, the signal for Hervey to move on and into the Piccadilly drawing room, but not before he saw the duke’s face light up with pleasure at hearing the name.
Inside the drawing room, with its classical friezes and ceiling an altogether finer affair than the exterior of the house would lead to suppose, Hervey took a glass of champagne and looked for a face he might know. Here and there he recognized one from the Peninsula, general officers all, not least the unmistakable profile of Sir Stapleton Cotton — now Lord Combermere — his face even browner after two years as governor in Barbados than when he had commanded the cavalry in Spain. But there was not a face he might present himself to, and so he made instead
