Morgan and Sanders he had known: their ivory plates were on the best camp furniture in India. He wondered who could be taking delivery of so large a consignment. Then he saw Eyre Somervile on the steps of number seven, tipping the van man a coin. What did Eyre Somervile want with camp furniture?
‘Hervey!’
His old India friend, lately Third in Council of the Bengal Presidency, and before that Deputy Commissioner of Kistna, Collector of Taxes and Magistrate of Guntoor district and the Northern Circars, but now something suitably exalted in the Honourable East India Company’s court of directors in London, looked exceptionally pleased with life. He had taken a house in this unfashionable part of the capital, albeit in a pleasant and modern square, to be close to the Company’s headquarters in Leadenhall Street, in whose library and collection of Indian artefacts he could take daily delight (his official work did not detain him long). He stood on the steps of number seven in a fancy powder-blue coat made for him by his tailor in Calcutta, oblivious to the fashion of a dozen years and more for dark colours and plain cut. Sir Eyre Somervile K.H.: there was no one Hervey would rather see at this moment, save perhaps Peto.
He advanced on the steps of number seven and firmly shook Somervile’s hand. ‘I’m sorry I did not come before. I have been most particularly engaged.’
‘Your old friend Coates, so I hear. Come inside.’
Hervey indicated Corporal Denny, who was standing holding the leader’s bridle.
‘Of course, of course. The chowkidar will show him the mews.’
When they were inside, Hervey grasped his old friend’s arm. ‘My dear fellow, forgive me: your knighthood – hearty congratulations!’
‘Great gods what a frippery!’ said Somervile, hardly raising an eyebrow, and making towards his sitting room. ‘This king – “mud from a muddy spring”, as your poet-friend had it. I am, anyway, more Ghibelline than Guelph.’
Hervey smiled. Eyre Somervile was never entirely predictable, but always diverting. ‘Then why did you accept the honour?’
The khitmagar had already poured two manly glasses of sherry. ‘Because, my dear Hervey, unlike you I do not scruple to use whatever means are put at my disposal.’
Somervile had once told him that he would be a disappointed man not to be made governor-general in Calcutta one day. And Hervey had been greatly impressed: not governor of Madras, or even of Bombay, but Calcutta – the primus inter pares, a position of (to all intents and purposes) vice-regal power. ‘I rather think I meant why the singular order of Guelph.’
Somervile looked at him obliquely. ‘You do know that it is the Guelph dynasty which rules in Hanover?’
Hervey made a pained expression. ‘Shrewsbury was, of course, an elementary sort of school, whereas Westminster …’
Somervile raised a hand airily. ‘Yes, Hervey, so you have sported with me before. And you gained a Greek prize, I seem to recall.’
‘Homer, yes.’ Then Hervey smiled again. ‘But in translation.’
Really, Hervey! You make yourself out to be a very simple soldier, and it will not serve. Sit yourself down, sir!’
Hervey did, and was grateful, for even though he had been seated for most of twenty-four hours, a chaise was not entirely easeful quarters. ‘What I truly meant was why – if His Majesty’s government wished to advance you in rank – did they see fit to do it in so outlandish an order. Why not simply knight?’
‘How did your poet-friend put it? “A Senate – Time’s worst statute unrepealed”.’
Hervey shrugged. He knew the sonnet well; Shelley had written it not long after they had each left Rome. And he was as dismayed by its sentiment now as he had been then.
‘I imagine,’ continued Somervile, sounding magisterial, ‘that it was to overcome some objection by others perceiving themselves more worthy than I. You know who are more usually made Royal Guelphs? Men of science and letters. I was honoured, so some gentleman-fartcatcher at the palace graciously informed me, for my translations of Bengali texts.’
Hervey raised his glass, determined to be cheerful. ‘And most deservedly. But for what purpose, since you very evidently do not judge yourself to be meritorious, should His Majesty bestow that fetching blue-ribboned star on you?’ He nodded to a table piled with books and everyday things, on which the order lay as if it had been discarded as casually as an empty claret bottle (unlike Somervile’s Bath cross, of which he was enormously proud).
‘Ah, didn’t I say? I am to be lieutenant-governor of the Cape.’
It was so matter of fact that Hervey had to think twice what he had heard. ‘Somervile, my dear fellow, my very sincere congratulations! This is most unexpected, is it not?’
Somervile leaned forward to refill Hervey’s glass, though it was in less need of attention than his own which he then over-generously recharged and had to stand to find a cloth. ‘While you were doing your best to carry war to Spain,’ he began archly, dabbing irritatedly at the India cotton of his trousers and glancing uneasily at the door lest his wife should appear, ‘you may have overlooked the little matter of Lord Charles Somerset’s impeachment.’
‘Who is Charles Somerset?’
‘Who is Charles Somerset? Hervey, you astonish me.’
‘Then let me guess. I fancy that he is Lord FitzRoy’s … elder brother?’
‘Quite.’
‘And I fancy he is – or was – governor at the Cape.’
Somervile gave a look of ‘I should think so, too’. He sat down again, laying aside the cloth. ‘Is, still, in name. Oh, he won’t be impeached of course. The Whigs want to make mischief, but the Beauforts are too mighty. He was recalled last year, and there’ll be no going back for him.’
‘How has he offended the Whigs?’
‘In a nutshell, by being altogether too autocratic.’
A smile creased Hervey’s mouth the merest fraction. ‘I imagine the elder brother, as the younger, was at Westminster. In your time, perhaps?’
Somervile sneezed and spilled snuff over the damp patch of his trousers. ‘Great snakes, whatever next!’ He stood up again to brush the offended patch, but there was now a smear of brown on the yellowed thigh, like the mark from a sweated saddle. He jerked the bell pull at the chimney-piece.
A khitmagar, turbaned, appeared almost at once. ‘Sahib?’
Somervile rattled away in Urdu so fast that Hervey could not catch even the broadest gist of it. He thought his old friend might need to retire before Emma’s appearance, and asked if they should adjourn.
‘No, no,’ replied Somervile, recovering his composure. ‘Jaswant will be able to divert Emma. I shall go and dress, meanwhile. But to conclude – this part at least – do you know who is General Bourke? He has been sent to the Cape in Somerset’s place, at least for the time being.’
Hervey looked thoughtful. ‘There was a Colonel Bourke in the Peninsula, on Wellington’s staff, as I recall. Might it be he?’
‘It might. He is obviously not without influence, and I can imagine Wellington’s interest in this.’ He waved a hand airily. ‘You understand that man will be prime minister one day!’
‘Bourke?‘
‘No, Wellington!’
Hervey frowned. ‘As well I should be Archbishop of Canterbury!’
Somervile shook his head. ‘Mark my words, Hervey: Liverpool’s a sick man. Who shall replace him? No one will serve with Canning! And Peel would have the Irish in arms in no time. No, it might be for a year or so only, and as – shall we say a caretaker – but I would lay good odds on it.’
Hervey rose, smiling at the notion. ‘Well, be that as it may, what is General Bourke’s situation to be on your arrival?’