Warrior

Hervey gave something of a smile by return, for Holborn was no place for a fashionable.

His guide soon lapsed into respectful silence, however. In truth, Hervey found it curiously difficult to bring himself to conversation. As a rule he found it easy enough to speak with all manner of men, but this surreptitious charge felt most strange.

It took half an hour to negotiate the road to Holborn, during which he began turning over in his mind again the appointment to the Eighty-first. He knew well enough that one day he would have to quit the Sixth (unless he were to become that sad figure, the superseded major, treated kindly but increasingly ignored), but he had not contemplated that it might be so soon. Yet what would happen otherwise, when his temporary command of the Corps of Cape Mounted Riflemen came to an end? Would he have a brevet, or would he have to relinquish altogether the rank of half-colonel? What would be Kezia's thoughts then? She had, after all, accepted him in the prospect of imminent command of the Sixth (he did not doubt that there was disappointment enough already on that count). She would be gratified, or at least relieved, would she not, at his command of the Eighty-first, and would find Canada an agreeable posting? Above all, there was the financial advantage: he would not have to part with a single penny for command, and this meant he would not lose a single penny when promotion to colonel came (as he trusted it would), for an officer forfeited his purchase money on promotion beyond regimental rank. Could he really afford, therefore, to be so fastidious in whether he wore a red or a blue coat in command?

They turned into Castle Street and pulled up outside a narrowfronted house of three storeys and small windows, shabby but quite evidently respectable. Hervey put away his thoughts of red coats, and got down to pay the cabman while his guide rang the doorbell.

They were admitted by a strange, duenna-looking woman, who explained that His Lordship was not at home, and that his coadjutor was engaged; nevertheless she would see if the vicargeneral would receive them. She showed them into the dining room, which served also as an ante-room.

The vicar-general came at once, a pleasant-faced man not much older than Hervey, with an easy manner and ready smile. After due introductions (in which it was explained that Hervey was 'not of our faith'), he declared he was entirely at his visitors' disposal, making much of seeing Mr Keating again so soon after arranging the printing of the recent apostolic letter. 'Mr Keating, as his father before him, is a publisher of most particular standards, Colonel Hervey.'

'You are very gracious, sir,' replied Keating, who turned to Hervey with a look of some pride. 'My father had the honour of printing the bishop's loyal address on the occasion of the victory at Trafalgar.'

'Indeed, sir?' replied Hervey respectfully, but with a note of mystification.

The vicar-general began rummaging in one of several cupboards, until he found what he was looking for. 'Here, sir. Here is a copy of the Trafalgar letter. Keep it, Colonel Hervey. You will find that it speaks eloquently of the loyalty of those of our faith.'

Hervey took it, somewhat abashed. 'Sir, I do not doubt – nor have had any occasion to doubt – the loyalty of His Majesty's subjects.'

The vicar-general smiled disarmingly. 'Well, Colonel Hervey, perhaps you will tell me how we may be of further service.'

They sat, and Hervey explained Lord Holderness's intention that the regiment should parade for the funeral.

The vicar-general nodded approvingly. 'Well, Colonel Hervey, may I first say how gratifying is the commanding officer's intention. I foresee no difficulty with the obsequies: solemn requiem in St Mary's church in Moorfields for the soul of the late departed, praesente cadavere, followed by interment in the churchyard of St Pancras, which is the new cemetery.'

Hervey noticed the appreciative raising of Mr Keating's eyebrows. Evidently this was a proposal of some distinction. 'And this might be arranged for . . .'

'I believe it could be arranged for Friday next, the fourth.'

'Thank you. May we fix now upon a time? At eleven, say?'

'That would be meet.'

Hervey rose and made to leave. 'Thank you, reverend sir. With whom should the adjutant communicate in respect of the . . .s details?'

The vicar-general rose. 'I beg he would communicate with me. In the circumstances, the bishop – if you will permit the word – would wish it so. Indeed, I believe His Lordship would wish to receive you now, before you take your leave. You have no objection?'

Hervey smiled. 'It was my intention in coming here. But I understood the bishop was not at home.'

'Of the London district, no. I meant his coadjutor, the Bishop of Lydda.'

'Lydda?'

'In partibus infidelium. You will understand he could have no English title.'

'Mission' . . . 'in the regions of the infidels' . . . words that set these men apart, the suspicion of allegiance elsewhere than to the Crown (for all the fine words, no doubt, of the Trafalgar address). But Hervey did not bridle, for he was convinced that he met here with sincerity (and, no doubt, Lydda was in Ottoman hands!). 'I am honoured, sir.'

The vicar-general conducted his visitors upstairs to an oldfashioned wainscoted room. On the walls, smoke- darkened, were oils of various English martyrs, and over the fireplace a portrait of Pope Leo, with a crucifix prominent at the centre of the inner wall. Hervey examined each as if he were admitted to an exhibition of curiosities.

The outlandishly beneficed bishop, a man of about fifty, and wearing black day clothes, came in soon afterwards. Hervey at once recognized him – the spare, fervent features, the eyes that pierced to the soul, though the face was even more gaunt than when he had seen it a decade ago.

'My Lord, this is Colonel Hervey of the Sixth Light Dragoons.'

His Lordship smiled. 'I believe we have met, Colonel Hervey, have we not? In Rome?'

'Your Lordship has a good memory,' replied Hervey, returning the smile. 'There must have been many visitors