Company Of Spears

(though a kind man by all accounts); and had not Kat, too, from time to time hinted at worldly knowledge that came with a certain maturity. It did not trouble him in the least to know she was older than he. Most assuredly not when she appeared as she did now, for her looks and her figure would have made a woman half her age envious. But there lay something of a problem, for although Kezia Lankester was not exactly half Kat’s age, she was undoubtedly close to it. He would not, of course, tell Kat this – why would there be need? – but she might suspect; she would certainly question him; she might even discover for herself.

‘Matthew, at last you are come!’ She embraced him unselfconsciously, even before the footman was able to close the doors of her sitting room. ‘Have you dined? Shall you stay? Where have you been?’

Hervey found himself unable to answer any of her questions with candour. ‘We have had much to do in Hounslow,’ he tried.

‘Indeed? You have always found the drive here and back an easy one,’ she said, raising her eyebrows just enough to convey her meaning.

Hervey cleared his throat. ‘I—’

‘You have a chill or something, Matthew? Let me get you a little brandy.’

She pulled for the footman before Hervey could protest. He really had no intention of prolonging the call; to do so would be, to his mind, ungentlemanlike.

‘Kat, I—’

The doors opened. ‘M’lady?’

‘I believe Major Hervey will have some brandy, Charles.’

Hervey bowed. He knew he should have refused – but how? Now he would have to wait until the footman returned before he could come to the point of his call; and it would be twice as difficult to get to that point with every minute that passed.

‘Sit down, Matthew,’ insisted Kat, indicating the place next to her rather than the settee opposite, to which he was mentally heading.

He did as she bid him. Kat placed a hand on his. He pulled away, glancing at the doors.

‘My dear Matthew, are you quite well? Whatever is the matter?’

The footman brought him brandy, and a glass for Kat too.

Hervey took an unusually large sip of his. ‘Kat, I … I really don’t know how … that is…’

She looked at him as if he had taken leave of his senses. She took his hand again, although he had tried to withdraw it to safety. ‘Tell me.’

He sighed, heavily. ‘Oh, Kat.’

She began stroking his hand. He did not pull away. It was the last thing he wanted to do. ‘What is it, sweetest?’

He took a deep breath. ‘Kat, I have asked Lady Lankester to marry me, and she has accepted.’

Kat stiffened as if by an electric shock. Her hand grasped his the harder, and the colour went from her face. ‘Who is Lady Lankester?’ she asked, in almost a whisper.

Hervey screwed up his courage once more. ‘She is the widow of my former commanding officer in India.’

‘How very convenient for all,’ she said icily, letting loose his hand and folding hers in her lap.

He said nothing.

‘And when did this … development occur?’

‘Kat, I—’

‘Oh, do not be squeamish, Matthew. I would know the worst.’

He placed a hand on hers. ‘Kat, I … I have not been…’

‘What are you trying to say, Matthew? That the business has entirely come about since last we met, all of a week ago?’

‘Ahm, in a manner of speaking, yes.’

‘Great heavens! Then what do you know of her? That she can take charge of the camp followers, and give orders to servants in Hindoostani!’

‘Kat, I—’

‘The widow of your erstwhile commanding officer, you say? How old is she, Matthew?’

‘I don’t rightly know.’

‘Well, imagine. Is she older than I?’

‘No-o.’

‘Younger?’

‘I … suppose.’

‘Very much younger?’

‘Kat, what has this—’

‘Are you intending to breed from her? Is that your design, Matthew? Bear you a son and heir, will she?’

He cleared his throat again. ‘She has a child, a daughter.’

Kat pulled her hand free. ‘Ah, so now I understand. Do you love her, Matthew?’

‘Kat, that is not—’

‘I don’t care one jot what it’s not. If you loved her you would confess it at once, and with the greatest pleasure!’

He drained his glass. Kat immediately pulled the bell cord.

‘Major Hervey has want of more brandy, Charles.’

Hervey did not gainsay her. Indeed, he said nothing.

Nor did Kat for some time, not until the footman had brought more brandy.

‘Have you dined, or not?’

Hervey shook his head. ‘In truth, Kat, I’m not hungry.’

She pulled the bell cord again. When the footman returned she said simply, ‘Major Hervey and I will supper in half an hour, Charles.’ She turned back to Hervey. ‘Did you come by hack?’

‘No, by the regiment’s chariot. Corporal Denny is waiting.’

She turned again to the footman. ‘Charles, please see to Major Hervey’s driver and horses. They may all stay here the night. It’s too drear out to be driving back to Hounslow.’

‘But, Kat,’ protested Hervey, glancing at the footman, ‘I’m staying at my club. I go to the Horse Guards tomorrow.’

‘Then that is all the more reason to stay here.’ She nodded to her footman, who bowed and closed the doors behind him.

They rode out together the following morning. It was a frosted, quiet world, no one much about the market gardens or the green lanes of Chelsea, the carting traffic light, a mist on the Thames so that they could not see the south bank, and the cold air suppressing the worst stink of the laystalls. At the Royal Hospital, Hervey raised his hat to two pensioners marching in perfect step together, though each man had a wooden leg. This was Kat’s regular route of exercise; he knew it from many a morning. She took her exercise seriously, believing it to be in some measure a preserver of her youth. She knew women younger than she who were quite immobile. And they, poor souls, could not expect therefore to enjoy the company of any but men equally immobile.

Kat liked nothing better than the company of vigorous men, men in scarlet coats, men who would pay her attention rather than each other in their preoccupation with affairs of state, or of sport. Sir Peregrine was an undemanding, even accommodating, husband. She had once, in a heady, unguarded moment, thought she would leave him and live with her lover, but she had come to her senses in the double realization that she could no more forgo the luxury of Holland Park than could her lover throw up his regiment to live with her. And, lying awake in the early hours of this morning, her lover asleep beside her, content, she had concluded that there was no reason why the arrangement should not continue, with but the simple modification in her lover’s marital status. Providing, of course, he would not be so insensitive as to fall in love with his bride (she knew perfectly well that that was not his present condition, and neither could it be his betrothed’s). She must therefore find out what sort of woman was Lady Lankester. She could not expect to meet her very soon, but she had sufficient means of gathering intelligence on the gentry of Hertfordshire. She might even make a beginning this