intervening years.
‘I recall, too, that then we spoke only in French,’ he began.
‘My late husband was English, as you may perceive,’ she explained, without losing any of the happy animation in her face. ‘He was consul in Oporto.’
‘I am sorry to hear you are widowed, ma’am. Has it been long?’
‘Five years, though I have a daughter to remind me daily of our former happiness.’ She maintained the smile throughout. ‘And you, Major Hervey?’
‘I, too, ma’am, have a daughter. I was myself bereaved some years ago.’
Isabella Broke’s smile disappeared. ‘I am sad to hear it.’
Hervey was not minded to dwell on it, however. ‘Your father, is he well?’ (He recalled her father was long widowed when he had first met him.)
Isabella’s smile returned. ‘He is very well, Major Hervey. He lives here in Lisbon yet.’
‘I am glad of that. Please give him my greatest respects when next you see him – if he remembers the regiment, that is.’
‘I am sure he does, Major Hervey. Your regiment did him great service.’
The Sixth had rescued the Barao de Santarem and his daughter as the army had fallen back into the lines of Torres Vedras. There had been many another daughter whom Sir Arthur Wellesley’s men had brought into the fold behind those formidable defensive lines, but it was doubtful that any had engendered a more devoted following by a regiment’s subalterns than had Isabella Delgado. And Hervey could almost see that daughter now, for despite the passing of a dozen years and more Isabella Delgado’s complexion was the same smooth ivory, her cheekbones prominent still, her hair as black and shining, her figure if anything a little sparer yet fuller-breasted. She had indeed grown very handsomely into womanhood.
‘Major Hervey?’
‘Oh, Mrs Forbes, I did not—’
‘I remarked that you will have the pleasure of Dona Isabella’s company at supper when the reception is ended.’
Hervey smiled appreciatively.
‘If, that is, you are able still to stay, my dear?’ added Mrs Forbes, turning to her.
‘With much pleasure,’ replied Isabella, bowing her head.
‘Then I shall adjust the placement at once.’
When the charge’s wife was gone, Isabella drew Hervey to one side, with an assurance quite marked, so that he began to imagine she was a practised visitor at the embassy. ‘Major Hervey, it is very good to see you after all these years. I had not known that you were to be here.’
Her English was estimable, but Hervey was uncertain as to whether or not their mission was expected. ‘Well, ma’am, it is doubly a pleasure in my case, for I believe you may recall that I had a true fondness for your country?’
‘Yes, I do. I recall as all the officers enjoyed their time in Lisbon.’
‘And I trust we shall again,’ replied Hervey, uncertain what exactly she did recall (he trusted not his own youthful infatuation).
But Isabella was not inclined merely to small talk. Suddenly her brow furrowed. ‘Your coming gives us all great hope, Major Hervey. You cannot imagine how alarmed are the people here. Many have left already for Brazil again.’
She spoke in a confidential way. Even so, Hervey was surprised their mission was known of so publicly. ‘How did you hear of our coming, ma’am?’
She smiled. ‘It is no secret. There have been reports in all the newspapers. I fancy they just wait for
Hervey was not sure. Yet if His Majesty’s envoy in Lisbon trusted Dona Isabella Delgado Broke, then who was he to doubt her?
‘And, Major Hervey, we have all
She had spoken fluently hitherto, and Hervey wondered if her search for words revealed more than merely a desire for precision. But he dismissed it as an unworthy notion; and, more to the point, altogether too speculative.
‘Do I recollect, ma’am, that you had an uncle or some such at court?’
She smiled again, impressed by his recall. ‘My uncle was at court, yes. He is now the bishop of Elvas. You will know where is Elvas, Major Hervey?’
Indeed he did – Elvas, the great fortress, counterpoise to Badajoz the other side of the border. It was at Badajoz that he had put a ball into a Connaught man’s chest, deliberately and without hesitation, although ever since he had grieved for the need of it. But Elvas was of easier memory, a transit camp, no more, albeit his first time there he was awed by its sheer conception and proportion.
He nodded. ‘Yes, Elvas. A handsome place as I recall.’
During dinner, Hervey found any resentment of Isabella’s confidence steadily abating. There was about her an openness that reassured. She was, after all, the widow of a British official, her father was a
Two days of inactivity followed for the mission, except for Colonel Norris, who had chosen to conduct his deliberations with the embassy in private. And while this seemed to Hervey and the others an unnecessary exclusion (indeed, something of an impediment to their real object), they had to concede that remonstrations were useless. It was the same with the Negocios Estrangeiros e Guerra, the ministry for foreign affairs and war, and the Conselho da Guerra, the council of military officers charged with the daily administration of the army; Norris seemed jealously to guard his position.
Hervey wasted none of this unlooked-for time. He engaged a calash (a rickety contraption, he thought, and so small compared with an English chaise) and a guide, and set about exploring the city, so that on his second evening in Lisbon he was able to write home at length.
