Man Of War

Hervey smiled. ‘I am excessively well, General. May I present my good friend Captain Fairbrother of the Cape Mounted Rifles . . .’

The general turned to Fairbrother and scowled. ‘You’re the officer who rescued Somerset’s nephew, are you not? You and Hervey here.’

Fairbrother returned the well-meaning scowl with a smile, and bowed. ‘Just so, Sir Francis.’

‘Desperate affair, by all accounts,’ said the general, turning back to Hervey. ‘And young Somerset appears to have fought quite a battle with these Zulu. I imagine you had a good view of things?’

Hervey was at first puzzled by the question, for it suggested that he and Fairbrother had had a somewhat peripheral involvement, until he realized what might be the game. The Times’s report, if it had been based on the official despatches, which were in essence Colonel Henry Somerset’s own (and on what else could it be based?), and undoubtedly further coloured by letters to Somerset’s father and uncle, men of no little influence, would for certain exalt the name of Somerset. Well, so things went. ‘We did indeed, General.’

‘A man to watch, eh, Hervey?’

Sir Francis Evans was a shrewd old bird. There was just something in his tone . . .

‘I do watch him, sir.’

The general nodded, knowingly. ‘Sit you down, gentlemen.’

Hervey glanced at Fairbrother and raised his eyebrows a fraction to signal that their quiet half-hour’s coffee was not to be had. But Hervey knew too that the general would oblige them with all the club crack, of which he was more in want than peace and quiet at this time, no matter how rattling their morning had been.

Hervey cleared his throat. He wondered how much his own report on the incident at Waltham Abbey – which was meant to be the most confidential of documents – had to do with the general’s invitation. ‘Thank you, Sir Francis.’

The hall porter interrupted. ‘Excuse me, gentlemen. Sir Francis, there is a messenger from the Horse Guards for you. Colonel Hervey, sir, these are the letters for you.’

The general rose, complaining. ‘By God, sir, I wait half the day and then the deuced word comes at the least convenient moment. I had more peace when I was in harness. See you, Hervey: when this is done I would speak on the Africa business more – and Waltham Abbey. Lord Hill is displeased with the notion of an inquiry, to say the least.’

‘Lord Hill? How so?’

‘You don’t know? Hill is the new commander-in-chief.’

Hervey was vastly pleased to hear it. Everyone had a high opinion of Lord Hill. ‘I look forward to speaking with you about Waltham Abbey, General.’ (Sir Francis might no longer be serving, but he undoubtedly had the ear of the commander-in-chief.) He bid his old supporter good day.

‘Will you allow me a few minutes?’ he said to Fairbrother as he sat down again, holding up his post.

‘By all means, as long as there is coffee . . . and this most excellent publication.’ Fairbrother in his turn held up a copy of the Edinburgh Review which he had remarked lying by itself on a side table.

Peter brought them each a cup of the strongest bean, and Hervey turned his attention to the little package of letters. The regimental agents, in Craig’s Court, forwarded routine correspondence and that of affairs, but a fortnight before leaving the Cape, Hervey had sent word of his imminent return to a number of addresses, asking that any reply should be made to his club. There were half a dozen letters, three in hands he recognized, and a small package. He read the three in unfamiliar hands – they contained nothing disquieting nor pressing – and then turned to the others.

The first he opened was from Kat – Lady Katherine Greville – who wrote that she would be in Warwickshire until the middle of April (the present month) and that she looked forward to receiving him at Holland Park as soon as she returned. Hervey had fully expected such an invitation, which he would not be able to accept (the circumstances of their former acquaintance, and his betrothal to Kezia Lankester, made it improvident to say the least), but he had felt obliged to write since for Kat to learn that he was in England without his having told her would only occasion . . . difficulty.