That settled the business of the mess. He would go to Bedford Square; indeed he would spend the night there, or at the United Service, and call on Lord George or the Horse Guards in the morning – whichever seemed most expedient. His decision regarding the quarantine would be all the better for measured thought in the regimental chariot. And as to Gloucestershire and the presence of Kezia Lankester, he might have detected the hand of the Almighty Himself.
It remained only for him to open the letter from his colonel.
He noted the form of address again, as if it might reveal the letter’s contents:
It revealed nothing, however. It was the correct form; he would have expected no other. There was nothing for it but to break the seal and read.
He opened it hoping to see not too many words, for many words would assuredly be of explanation, and the only explanation needed would be of a negative. He was relieved: there were but a dozen lines.
Hervey folded the letter carefully. He was greatly encouraged, though annoyed that two days’ fever could occasion such a turn. But it was not to be helped, and he was confident that Lord George would be able to see the business through. He had always been able to.
Johnson returned with two slices of seed cake. Hervey took one and offered him the other. ‘Johnson, if you will, have Corporal Denny bring the chariot in an hour. And then present my compliments to the adjutant and ask him to arrange for the captain of the week to take tomorrow’s field day.’
VI
A DISTANT PROSPECT
The chariot turned into Bedford Square a little fast, so that Corporal Denny had to pull hard on the leader’s reins to avoid colliding with a removals van near half as big as the house it was drawn up outside. In the gaslight, Hervey could see the bold red lettering on the rear doors:
Morgan and Sanders he had known: their ivory plates were on the best camp furniture in India. He wondered who could be taking delivery of so large a consignment. Then he saw Eyre Somervile on the steps of number seven, tipping the van man a coin. What did Eyre Somervile want with camp furniture?
‘Hervey!’
His old India friend, lately Third in Council of the Bengal Presidency, and before that Deputy Commissioner of Kistna, Collector of Taxes and Magistrate of Guntoor district and the Northern Circars, but now something suitably exalted in the Honourable East India Company’s court of directors in London, looked exceptionally pleased with life. He had taken a house in this unfashionable part of the capital, albeit in a pleasant and modern square, to be close to the Company’s headquarters in Leadenhall Street, in whose library and collection of Indian artefacts he could take daily delight (his official work did not detain him long). He stood on the steps of number seven in a fancy powder-blue coat made for him by his tailor in Calcutta, oblivious to the fashion of a dozen years and more for dark colours and plain cut.
He advanced on the steps of number seven and firmly shook Somervile’s hand. ‘I’m sorry I did not come before. I have been most particularly engaged.’
‘Your old friend Coates, so I hear. Come inside.’
Hervey indicated Corporal Denny, who was standing holding the leader’s bridle.
‘Of course, of course. The chowkidar will show him the mews.’
When they were inside, Hervey grasped his old friend’s arm. ‘My dear fellow, forgive me: your knighthood – hearty congratulations!’
‘Great gods what a frippery!’ said Somervile, hardly raising an eyebrow, and making towards his sitting room. ‘This king – “mud from a muddy spring”, as your poet-friend had it. I am, anyway, more Ghibelline than Guelph.’
Hervey smiled. Eyre Somervile was never entirely predictable, but always diverting. ‘Then why did you accept the honour?’
The khitmagar had already poured two manly glasses of sherry. ‘Because, my dear Hervey, unlike you I do not scruple to use whatever means are put at my disposal.’
Somervile had once told him that he would be a disappointed man not to be made governor-general in
