Man Of War

And then he was introduced, with Fairbrother, to Elizabeth Bulwer Lytton’s third (and favourite, said Kezia) son. Edward Bulwer Lytton’s two elder brothers had inherited estates away, and thus he lived in London and at Knebworth with his adoring mother. Hervey thought him about twenty-five, Kezia’s age, rather dandified in his dress, with a long, intelligent face, and an air which suggested he might be engaging company. Except that (Hervey was certain) his cheeks were rouged.

‘Edward has recently published a second novel, Colonel Hervey,’ said Kezia, as the little party continued with its introductions.

Her lapse into the formality of his rank exasperated him, especially as she used their host’s Christian name (and he ‘Kezzy’), and looked at him with all the appearance of admiration, which Hervey had not so far been favoured with. ‘Indeed, sir?’ He said it a little too curtly, he knew.

Edward Bulwer Lytton maintained his pleasant countenance, however. ‘I must earn a living, Colonel, as you.’

Hervey chided himself. Impatience with a man ten years his junior – and not under his orders – was neither edifying nor necessary. ‘Just so. I confess I have been remiss in respect of my reading of late. I have managed only a very few books new-published. Might I enquire what your novel is about, sir?’

‘Certainly, Colonel Hervey. It is of the intense friendship of two men, which leads the one to save the life of the other.’

Naturally Hervey was intrigued by the subject, but he judged, from the author’s air, that the book would not be exactly to his taste; he would have to be nimble on his feet lest he appear an ungracious guest. ‘The noblest of things,’ he said, nodding.

Fairbrother’s brow furrowed. ‘Is it by some chance called Pelham, Mr Lytton? I do believe I bought it last week in London.’

‘It is.’

‘Then I am sorry that I did not bring it with me to Hertfordshire; I should have liked to take it back to the Cape Colony with me, inscribed.’

‘There will be another occasion, I hope, Mr Fairbrother.’

Kezia took her leave of them, explaining that she must attend to the pianoforte (Knebworth, she had told them, had a concert grand), and shortly afterwards Hervey and Fairbrother bowed and left their host to his other arriving guests.

‘A considerable coincidence, I should say, your buying Lytton’s book,’ said Hervey as they made their way into the banqueting hall.

‘Ye-es.’

‘What recommended it to you?’

They took glasses of champagne from a footman.

‘While you were at Holland-park, before we travelled to Wiltshire, I read in a magazine called The Examiner, which your club most generously provided, an article which rather caught my eye under the title “The Dandy School”. By Mr Hazlitt?’

Hervey nodded. He had certainly heard of Hazlitt – had read him, perhaps. Henrietta used to commend him.

‘This dandy school – or “silver-fork” school it is also, apparently, called – is very much the mode, holding up for admiration, as it does, the lives of the rich and fashionable. Hazlitt was most contemptuous of it; he thought it narrow and superficial, and folly to admire a class whose characteristics were caprice and insolence. Naturally, since I expected to be moving in such society, I thought to buy several of these novels.’

Hervey pulled a face. He was used to Fairbrother’s drollness, and he would not rise to the bait. ‘Quite a coincidence nevertheless. But I do pray that you keep Mr Hazlitt’s strictures to yourself this evening.’

Fairbrother, smiling, took a sip of his champagne as he surveyed the room. ‘Oh, my dear friend, you may count on my good behaviour in such company.’

Hervey was sure of it. He held his glass to his lips as he made his own survey of the room. It scarcely seemed ‘silver-fork’ however. It had its share of dandies, unquestionably, but many more of an ‘artistic’ disposition. There were certainly no uniforms, where ten years ago at such an assembly there would have been at least half a dozen militia pleased to disport themselves. He was doubly glad to have Fairbrother at his side.