Man Of War

able.

He then pondered a moment on which of the remaining letters to open next. Fancying he knew what Elizabeth’s would say at last (and he would wish the time to savour it), he chose that in the unfamiliar hand.

‘Hear this, Fairbrother – the deucedest thing,’ he said, taking in its contents at a glance, a single sentence. ‘My dear Sir, if you would call at the rooms of Sir Thomas Lawrence P.R.A. of Russell-square, you might learn something to your advantage.’ He lowered the letter. ‘The stuff of theatre, eh?’

Fairbrother’s brow furrowed. ‘The Sir Thomas Lawrence?’

‘Just so. I wonder if Somervile did indeed sit for him before we left for the Cape. He certainly had ambitions in that direction. He said nothing of it, though.’

‘Mystery indeed,’ said Fairbrother, raising his Standard again.

Hervey was wrong in his imagining what were the contents of Elizabeth’s letter, however. Indeed, he had wholly misjudged it. Far from acknowledging her fault and reaffirming her acceptance of Peto’s proposal, she wrote that she was travelling to London soon in the company of Major Heinrici to attend a levee at St James’s Palace, which the King was giving for the former officers of The King’s German Legion. ‘My God, there’s no end to it,’ he groaned. ‘She’s lost all sense of decency!’

Fairbrother lowered his paper, looking pained. ‘You are not speaking of your sister?’

‘I am. She’s coming to London with . . . with this German.’

‘Well, I’m sure she will do so decorously.’

Hervey seemed not to hear. He shook his head. ‘I cannot believe it. I simply cannot believe it.’

They engaged a hackney cab to Russell Square. It was Fairbrother’s idea – to take his friend out of the huff and puff of the United Service’s smoking room so that he might stop his most unfraternal invective against Elizabeth. The letter from Sir Thomas Lawrence’s agent had admirably served his purpose.

‘It really would have been better to send word that we would call tomorrow,’ said Hervey as they turned into Bedford Square, where the Somerviles had taken a house when Sir Eyre Somervile had been at the Company’s headquarters in Leadenhall Street: was it that Sir Thomas Lawrence’s rooms were so near that he had been able to prevail on the illustrious painter?

‘I rather imagined you’d be detained at the Colonial Office – don’t you think?’

Hervey nodded. He ought perhaps to have gone that day, but the summons had carried no particular urgency. And in any case, he did not suppose that the under secretary would be at office of a May afternoon.

When they arrived at Russell Square they were admitted promptly and received by a Mr Archibald Keightley, who had sent the note. ‘I am sorry that Sir Thomas himself is not at home today, but I am his confidential agent.’

Hervey had abandoned his earlier distemper, and was now thoroughly intrigued. ‘How did you learn of my address?’

The agent showed them into a sitting room, and asked the footman to bring tea. ‘It has, I admit, been a considerable labour.’ He went on to explain how he had consulted the Army List, had written to the Horse Guards, then the Regiment at Hounslow, and then to the Cape Colony, but had lately read in The Times that there was to be an inquiry into the events at Waltham Abbey and that Colonel Hervey was returned to London to give evidence to the court. ‘It was then but a morning’s work to locate you at the United Service Club.’

Tea was brought.

Hervey inferred that the matter could not be in connection with Somervile’s aspiring commission, but could see little point in proceeding as if it were a game. ‘Well, sir, perhaps you will be good enough to inform me of the reason for such a prodigious effort to find me.’

‘Ah yes, indeed; forgive me.’ He glanced at Fairbrother. ‘It is . . . a very delicate matter.’

Hervey smiled indulgently. ‘I assure you Captain Fairbrother is capable of the utmost delicacy.’

‘What I meant to say was that it is of a very . . . personal nature.’

Hervey had a sudden, and ghastly, premonition of an outrageous jape of Kat’s. But having expressed his confidence in Fairbrother he could hardly exclude him now. ‘Proceed, sir,’ he said, cautiously.

Mr Archibald Keightley cleared his throat. ‘Very well. For some years past I have been making a catalogue of Sir Thomas’s work. You will understand that a painter of Sir Thomas’s eminence is much in demand, and has been so for two decades and more. By the very nature of portraiture individual commissions proceed at different rates, depending as much on the sitter’s availability as the artist’s. Some canvases remain only very partially finished for years.’

‘I did not know it, but I perfectly understand,’ replied Hervey, laying down his cup. ‘There is, I take it, such a canvas that is of interest to me?’

Keightley cleared his throat again. ‘I believe there may be, yes.’

The footman and another returned carrying a full-length canvas covered with a dust sheet.

‘Ah, here we have it. Colonel Hervey, rather than prolong this with explanations, I would that you first saw this uncompleted work.’ He nodded to the footman, who let drop the sheet.

Hervey gasped. He stood up, his mouth open, the colour gone from his face. ‘My God!’

Fairbrother took his arm in support, knowing instinctively who was the artist’s subject.

Keightley sighed. ‘I am sorry that it should come as so great a shock, Colonel; but I am gratified that my enquiries have not been in vain. It is, then, a true likeness?’

Hervey shook his head slowly. ‘It is the most astonishing likeness I ever saw.’

Fairbrother saw that his eyes were filled with tears.

Hervey sat down again, still transfixed by the canvas. ‘In all these years I never had her true likeness – not a miniature, not even a pencil drawing.’ (The posthumous miniature he had had done in Bath had been a poor substitute.)

In a while, when he had composed himself, he asked what was known of the commission.

Keightley opened his notebook, but scarcely needed to consult it. ‘Sir Thomas keeps very particular records of his work. The portrait was commissioned in 1816 – while Sir Thomas was waiting to travel to Vienna to paint the Congress – and there were four sittings, the fourth in February of 1817, which is why the face and hands are complete. For the rest of the portrait, as you see, there is a very serviceable drawing: Lady Henrietta was, apparently, most particular that it should be a blue riding habit of hers, which she was either unwilling or unable to leave with Sir Thomas. Which, I imagine, is the reason it was unfinished before . . . before . . .’He cleared his throat again.

‘Just so,’ said Hervey softly, nodding.

1816: it was while he was in India the first time, the year before their marriage. Henrietta intended it – evidently – as a present for him, which his return to England the following year, and the wedding, and then . . . had stood in the way of completing.

He swallowed hard. ‘But I am astonished it has remained for so long thus.’

Keightley inclined his head, with a sigh that spoke of his own regret. ‘Sir Thomas travelled to Vienna in 1818 and stayed there, and in Rome, two years. You may imagine the work awaiting his return.’

Indeed he could, and if the sitter were not pressing him . . . He shook his head once more. ‘Well, it is the most extraordinary thing I ever knew. Tell me, Mr Keightley, what is to be done now?’

Sir Thomas’s agent consulted his notebook. ‘Forgive me, Colonel, but I assume you mean the pecuniary arrangements?’

Hervey was thinking more of the completion of the portrait. ‘Go on.’

‘The fee was four hundred pounds, and Lady Henrietta paid two hundred on account.’

‘Naturally I will pay the balance. Do the terms remain the same; or is there increase? It can be completed, can it not?’

‘There is no increase, Colonel. In the circumstances Sir Thomas would not hear of it.’ (Hervey would learn later that the President of the Royal Academy’s fee was now seven hundred guineas.) ‘And yes, it can be completed by a pupil. I do not suppose that the particular blue riding habit is to hand, but—’

‘I . . .’ (he could not – or would not – bring himself to recall its whereabouts) ‘I think I may be able to . . . arrange something.’

‘Very well, sir.’