Hervey smiled in the knowledge that his old friend Sir Laughton Peto, so grievously wounded at the Battle of Navarino Bay nine months before, was raised in his spirits. It had, indeed, been a most handsome scheme of Kat's. She had, without a word from him save a description of his old friend's situation (an invalid, of what permanence the doctors could not tell, at the naval hospital at Greenwich), sought out a protecting billet at Houghton Hall in Peto's own county of Norfolk – near where he had taken a lease on a house (in which he would have lived with Elizabeth if only she . . .). And Kat had brought the happy news to the wedding, seeking him out at the breakfast to complete his own joy that day: 'And George' (the new, young Marquess of Cholmondeley) 'has most eagerly contracted to attend to all dear Captain Peto's needs until such time as he is able to return to his own house. Such is dear George's patriotic admiration of his service.'
It had indeed greatly increased his joy, and he had thanked her prodigiously. Indeed, he had declared that he was ever in Kat's debt. And most certainly, if there was the least opportunity, he would go to Norfolk to see his old friend settled. He read on.
Hervey sighed, delight and discontent mixed in equal measure. It was, of course, quite impossible that he should go to Holland Park, although it would certainly be most expeditious – and, indeed, a good sight more economical than sending messengers and expresses back and forth. He resolved to write immediately on arriving at Hanover Square, proposing that they tea together at, say, Grillon's, or even that she call on them at Kezia's aunt's (though probably, on reflection, this latter would not be exactly felicitous . . .).
'Good!' he declared, emphatically.
'What is, sir?' asked Johnson, feeling his presence of no great purpose.
'Captain Peto,' replied Hervey, not very helpfully, turning his attention instead to the despatch with the Horse Guards' stamp.
His face fell.
'What's up, sir?'
Hervey handed him the letter.
'That's very nice!'
Hervey made no reply.
'Why's 'e call thee 'sir' when 'e's a proper colonel?'
Hervey shook his head. 'It's just the way. Probably to put one in one's place.'
'Ah don't understand . . .'
Hervey turned his head, as if to look from the window.
'But that's right good, sir, isn't it? Tha'll be a proper half-colonel, an' tha won't 'ave to pay for it!'
Hervey turned back to him. 'You don't see, do you? And why should you? If I am appointed to command of the Eighty-first, I can never then be appointed to command the Sixth.'
III
Kezia had retired by the time they reached Hanover Square. The manservant who admitted them explained