room and then leave without offence.
He was announced in a high, almost singing voice to (as it were) the room rather than simply his hostess – ‘Colonel Hervey’ – though mispronounced, Bristol fashion, and he noticed several men in uniform, and others, glance his way, so that he did not know whether it was on account of his own reputation (the newspapers had made free with his exploits among the Zulu) or the presumption that here was a representative of that talented but tainted family.
Princess Lieven bid him welcome with a smile. And self-conscious though he had been in making his entrance, he observed that she had not done so with those immediately ahead of him. Indeed, her manner with them had appeared rather formal, as if aware of her husband’s status and her own rank. Fairbrother’s parting words, so absurdly arch, came to him: ‘Princes of such new creation are not to be excessively reverenced’. Hervey had no intention of showing excessive reverence: he would bow in the military rather than the court fashion. But the Princess’s smile threw his stride somewhat, so that he found himself returning it perhaps too appreciatively. He realized at once, and bowed quickly.
Once he was safely joined to the party in the drawing room, taking a glass of champagne, he turned to appraise her from the cover of a flank. Her manner he had already had opportunity to observe; it entirely became her reputation, and more. She was known also as a woman of striking attraction, if not of conventional beauty; and indeed he found her so, despite – perhaps even because of – her proud air. Her height and slender figure were certainly to her advantage (she might fill a dragoon’s tunic without any betrayal of her sex, her breast was so fashionably flat), and the angles of her face were made for the portraitist. She was about Kat’s age, yet appeared to him at once to be both older and younger, depending on whether he observed the mien of the ambassadress or the ringlets which fell about her swan-neck and bare shoulders, and the fringe of girlish curls. Her eyes were large and undoubtedly intelligent, and her mouth undeniably tempting. Yes, he could see that the combination of her talents and position were a priceless asset to the Tsar.
‘Colonel Hervey, good evening.’
He turned to find his recent acquaintance of the Horse Guards, Colonel Youell, in ‘the drawing room dress’ – crimson sash, white breeches and stockings – of the First Foot Guards. He returned the bow gladly. ‘I am pleased to have the opportunity to thank you for your assistance today. Captain Fairbrother told me that you showed him every consideration.’
‘It was my pleasure, Hervey, I assure you.’ He then drew him to one side. ‘You will receive your orders in writing, but we had word this evening that the Russians are to begin their new offensive sooner than we had been given to understand, and Wellington is to send a
‘Am I to have sight of the
Youell seemed surprised by the question. ‘I don’t think even Lord Hill shall have sight of it.’
‘Then how am I supposed to know how to proceed?’
‘My dear Hervey, your mission is to observe the conduct of operations. It is not necessary that you are acquainted with every affair of state. It is merely the coincidence of sailing instructions that places you within a mile of the matter.’
Hervey smiled, ruefully. ‘My dear Youell, I can assure you, from considerable experience, that the moment one begins to act in such circumstances is the moment one finds one’s written orders do not extend to the actual situation that presents itself!’
Youell nodded. ‘You are right, I don’t doubt. It could surely do no harm, and quite possibly some good. Forgive me. I shall ask of the Foreign Office tomorrow – you are going there yourself, are you not?’
‘I am.’
‘But I believe they may say that it might be more expedient that you are told by the ambassador in Petersburg.’
‘Very well. I presume I am to convey this
‘No; that is the business of a King’s Messenger. Your berth on the frigate is but a chance consequence of its carrying him.’
‘I may enjoy the passage to Petersburg without undue anxiety, then?’
The smile which accompanied this did not entirely convince Youell that Hervey was sporting. ‘I fancy you are not one given to undue anxiety, Colonel. You forget, perhaps, that I have read at first hand your despatches from the Cape.’
Hervey nodded to acknowledge the compliment. ‘Did you, by the way, arrange this invitation?’ he asked, gesturing to the room with his glass.
‘No, I did not,’ said Youell, and with a note of curiosity. ‘I had imagined that you yourself had.’
‘Then I wonder who did. Do you know the Princess?’
‘Not well. She is inclined to be generous with her invitations: she is wont to send them to the Guards marked “three officers”, or whatever number she requires, without elaboration.’
Hervey could not resist it: ‘Perhaps she considers that you are all of a piece?’
Youell smiled. ‘Perhaps, indeed. She has been known to refer to such guests as her picket officers.’
‘You are not acquainted with her, then, from Almack’s?’
Youell smiled even broader. ‘My dear Hervey, there are not half a dozen officers in the Guards who have a voucher for Almack’s. I had one a few years ago, but no longer.’
‘How so? I can’t suppose you wore trousers rather than breeches.’
‘Because I am really not excessively fond of dancing!’
‘Ah.’ The explanation was unconvincing, but evidently all that he would receive.
‘And you?’
For an instant Hervey was caught by a memory, for Henrietta had loved Almack’s, and it had been her resolve to take him there. ‘I was once fond of dancing.’
Youell, every inch the officer of Foot Guards, caught the change of voice nevertheless, and made no reply, save to suggest they repair to the supper.
In the dining room there were tables arranged informally around the walls, and in the middle a long, dressed board with a dozen silver dishes and warmers, to which the two proceeded without ceremony. Hervey filled his plate with a veal frigize, and took a seat in a corner with his new friend, though after not many minutes they were joined in turn by three couples, the last of which – and to Hervey’s mind the most attractive – claimed a connection. ‘Our hostess suggested we might present ourselves to advantage, Colonel Hervey. Agar-Ellis,’ (he bowed) ‘and my wife, Lady Georgiana.’
‘Member for somewhere in Wiltshire,’ whispered Youell as the Agar-Ellises made their introductions to the rest of the table. ‘Whig, though descended from Marlborough on his mother’s side. Lady Georgiana’s father is the Earl of Carlisle, who broke with Wellington last year over Reform.’
Hervey nodded admiringly; it was one thing to possess such information, but quite another to render it so privately and concisely. Youell most assuredly knew his job.
The table made room for the new arrivals to sit next to Hervey, the object of their interest.
‘I am at a loss to know what advantage I can be to you, sir,’ he said, as a footman began pouring claret. ‘But I am at your service, if that may be.’
The Honourable George Agar-Ellis smiled warmly and disarmingly. The MP for Ludgershall (on the closer side of the Plain than lived Hervey’s people), was half a dozen years his junior. He possessed – to Hervey’s mind – a most pleasant, even sensitive face. Here was no martial man, but agreeable company nevertheless – of that he had no doubt. And if he were a Whig, then he did not have the air of a radical one.
‘You would do me inestimable service, Colonel, if you would take care of my young brother. He is to accompany you to the Russias.’
Hervey smiled with the realization. ‘Indeed; of course. I met your brother but two days ago. But one half of his name only was given me, which is why I did not make the connection. He was fearful eager to join my party.’
‘I know it. He dined with us last evening.’
‘He would not have known last night that we’re to leave almost at once.’
‘That will be no discomfort to him. Is the assignment especially hazardous, Colonel?’
Hervey stopped to think. It was not something he had considered. All assignments in the presence of the
