you seen her before this evening?’
‘Yes, a month ago. I took some of Lankester’s effects come up from the depot to her in Hertfordshire. I thought her one of the coldest women I’d ever met – in Calcutta, and the same in Hertfordshire. I’d thought to invite her to dine at Hounslow, but it would be the sorest trial.’
Hervey frowned. Strickland was not given to quick judgement, but . . . ‘My dear fellow, considering what she had just learned when we met her in Calcutta it’s hardly surprising. And she could not have been long returned when you went to Hertfordshire. I confess I found her agreeable enough.
‘I could understand it, perhaps, if she were my senior, but she’s a full ten years younger!’
Hervey smiled. ‘I confess I found that fact rather appealing! She warmed very markedly during dinner. Perhaps she is shy. Did you meet her people?’
‘Yes, and they were agreeable enough. It took half an hour to drive through their park, and the house was as big as Blenheim – well, perhaps a little smaller. Sir Delaval Rumsey is of some consequence in that county. But I was not greatly at my ease, I tell you.’
Hervey smiled again. ‘Perhaps they smelled the papist!’
Strickland’s eyes widened. ‘Do not joke of it, Hervey: Emancipation’s flushing out Tory bigots faster than a spaniel springs partridges!’
‘You will admit, I suppose, she is a very handsome woman?’
‘If you like that cold sort of countenance.’
Hervey placed a hand on his old friend’s shoulder, his smile turning wry. ‘Strickland, I am wondering if you protest too much. You have not been rebuffed, have you?’
Strickland would not take the bait. ‘Hervey, mark my words; that is all. And now I think we should attend on our hostess.’
Hervey left Berkeley Square at eleven with Strickland, who was posting back to Hounslow and who took him in his chaise to the United Service Club en route. It was a cold, foggy night, and they both agreed that, whatever the vexations, Calcutta was infinitely to be preferred to London in a month such as this. When Hervey alighted, Strickland was already swaddled in travelling blankets and fortifying himself with brandy. ‘One week, Hervey, and then I shall have your best support!’
‘You may depend upon it, Strickland,’ he replied, raising his hat and smiling at what he saw. ‘One week! I bid you goodnight, then!’
Strickland raised his flask, Hervey closed the door, and the chaise pulled away.
Hervey felt strangely invigorated, despite the damp night air. He knew he had drunk too much coffee, but as a rule that was little but a hindrance to sleep. He fancied he had found the company of Lady Lankester really quite agreeable. Despite being ten years his junior she had given every suggestion of being his equal. Sir Ivo must have fancied the same, for he had been his age too, and Hervey did not suppose that such composure as he had seen this evening was acquired in the space of eighteen months – not even with motherhood and widowhood. As he entered the United Service he was turning over in his mind what occasion there might be for further acquaintance.
‘A message for you, Major Hervey, sir,’ said the hall porter, more than usually sombre in his black-buttoned mourning coat, handing him an envelope.
Hervey recognized the handwriting at once. His stomach churned. ‘Thank you, Charles. Is there brandy?’
‘The Coffee Room waiter is still there, sir.’
Hervey found a chair between two good oil lamps in the corner of the Coffee Room, ordered his brandy, and opened the letter.
He read the letter a second time. He could only marvel at Kat’s art. In the space of a few lines she had reminded him of her intimate connection with the Secretary at War (the acting commander-in-chief), the Master General of the Ordnance (the commander-in-chief apparent), and the royal duke, the only rival to Wellington for the appointment. Could there be any more complete prospectus? And then there was the music and cards – the perfect, decorous invitation to arrive late. Except that Holland Park was not around the corner, and on a night like this it might be long past midnight before he arrived – even if he could engage a carriage.
He rose and went back into the hall. ‘Charles, do you know how may be had one of these hackney cabs?’
‘Certainly, sir. At this hour there will be a line of them just around the corner in Regent’s Street. Shall I send for one, sir?’
Hervey thought deep. ‘No, Charles, I . . . I will engage one myself if need be.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
A NEW ORDER
Hervey returned to the United Service Club late in the afternoon. The hall porter looked relieved to see him. ‘Major Hervey, sir, there is a most urgent letter for you. It came an hour ago. I told the messenger I did not know where you were or at what hour you would return, sir.’
Hervey took it, anxious. If it was not an express it could not be bad news from Wiltshire, but rats were scrambling in his stomach again, and he was certain it must be a reverse in the matter of the court martial. He withdrew from the porter’s lodge to the middle of the hall and, expecting little less than the worst, opened the envelope:
The rats in his stomach were now racing: the letter was so peremptory. He had been ready for a summons to the Horse Guards, and
His head began to swim. Last night things had been so promising. A week’s ‘quarantine’ and he would be back with his troop and all the family of men who bore the numerals ‘VI’ on their appointments, a family of saints and sinners just as any other, but a place a man could always redeem himself.
He ought to change his clothes before presenting himself to his colonel. But did so imperative a summons allow him the time? He approached the porter’s lodge again.
‘Charles, I am going to Berkeley Square, to General Irvine’s, should any further messages arrive. I will return directly, but I am engaged this evening.’
‘Very good, sir. Did you find a cab last night as I indicated, sir?’
‘What? Oh . . . yes, I did. Thank you, Charles.’
‘Very good, those hackney cabs, all the members say, sir.’
