for. His life, in truth, for if Fairbrother had not been with him at the frontier, the Xhosa would have had the better of him. He was certain of it.
The talk on the Rialto, said Fairbrother, greatly warming to both his whiskey and his role of intelligencer, was of the new governor and the necessary, or rather, unnecessary expense that such an august figure as Sir Lowry Cole would occasion them: a military man such as he would expect to see an impressive order of battle. While Somervile, it seemed, was held in some regard for his economies. The talk in the bazaars, on the other hand, was of Somervile's repressive new restrictions on the control of powder, too much of which was being sold to the Kaffirs in an unregulated fashion (as well as much grumbling about taxing Malays whose income was in excess of fifteen shillings a week).
Hervey drew the same conclusion as his friend, that the situation of the colony was unremarkable.
The one thing that surprised him was the evident absence of anxiety with regard to the eastern frontier and the Zulu beyond, and he could only suppose that Somervile was in possession of very particular and secret intelligence which impelled him to his mission, and their early recall.
The sentry at the steps of the residence, a mere stroll across the courtyard from Hervey's quarters, presented arms as they approached. The garrison battalion, the 55th (Westmoreland) Regiment of Foot, had been accorded the privilege of mounting single rather than the usual double sentries for the castle guard. Somervile had been much moved by the reports of their steadiness at the battle at Umtata River, the first occasion since Waterloo (by common reckoning) that one of His Majesty's battalions of infantry had formed square in the face of the enemy. 'In square my battalion could not be broken,' their commanding officer had said when asked if they should give battle at the ford; 'and in line it could not be resisted.'
Chief Matiwane's Zulu had come on that square like a great wave upon a beach, falling to the Fifty-fifth's disciplined volleys, or impaling themselves upon their bayonets, until the Westmorelands' colonel judged it the moment to turn the tide. Extending then into the line which could not be resisted, they had driven Matiwane's warriors back across the river, and with renewed volleying finally put them to headlong flight. Hervey could picture it as if yesterday. How he had cheered the legionary infantry, where only a day or so before he had come to think them of little or no use in this country except for close garrisons and parades!
He returned the salute smartly.
Inside the residence, candles and lamps burned bright. Jaswant, the khansamah, and others of the Somerviles' Indian servants, as well as black faces, were got up in reds and blues, as if for a levee.
'Good evening, Colonel sahib!'
Hervey smiled by return, and gave his hat to a khitmagar. 'Good evening, Jaswant. How good it is to be back, and to see you.'
'Mehrbani, Colonel sahib,' replied Jaswant, bowing. 'And good evening also to you, Captain Fairbrother sahib.'
Fairbrother returned the salutations with rather more ease than he had formerly been disposed to.
'There are others to dine?' asked Hervey, nodding to the finery. He had expected it to be just the four of them.
'Sahib. Colonel Bird and his lady are here, and Major Dundas, and Colonel Mill. And Colonel Smith and his lady.'
The names he was well acquainted with (Bird the colonial secretary, Dundas the military secretary, Mill the Fifty-fifth's colonel), except the one. 'Colonel Smith?'
'He is new deputy quartermaster-general, Colonel sahib.'
'General Bourke, and Colonel Somerset – are they not here, too?'
'General Bourke-sahib is gone home to England for leave, Colonel sahib, and Colonel Somerset-sahib is being in Graham's-town.'
That was pleasing to Hervey's ear. He held Bourke in due regard, but the presence of the general officer commanding would always tend to circumscribe conversation with his old friend the lieutenantgovernor, for all that Somervile did not feel himself obliged to observe the usual distinctions of rank. And although after Umtata there was a certain respect between Colonel the Honourable Henry Somerset (the former governor's son), commander of the eastern frontier, and he, Hervey would not yet choose his company without necessity.
'We had better go in,' he said to Fairbrother. 'Say nothing of the Shaka mission unless Somervile first makes mention.'
'Of course, Colonel sahib.'
Hervey pulled a face.
Jaswant announced them, not to the room but to Lady Somervile, who was standing talking to Colonel Mill, splendid in the scarlet coatee of the 55th Westmoreland, with its distinctive dark green facings.
Emma turned, all smiles.
Hervey at once forgot his cares. He had known Emma for as long as he had known Somervile, since before the two were married. He supposed he might tell her anything. He supposed he might spend any amount of time in her company without regret. She had a keen mind. She was a most pleasing-looking woman, not yet Kat's age (for all he knew, she was his junior; it was just that he had always found her sensibility superior to his), and the fierce Indies sun, and now that of the Cape, had served only to increase her attraction rather than wreak its more usual havoc. She had kept her figure, too, in spite of children and her husband's inclination to the pleasures of the table. And, ever important, she enjoyed his, Hervey's, company in like degree. He kissed her, smiling broader than he had since leaving England.
Fairbrother bowed.
'How delighted I am to see you returned –
'Eyre's letter was most persuasive.' Hervey's smile was now mock rueful.
'I hope it did not suspend any pleasure that cannot be recovered,' said Emma, her look now mock indignant.
