‘By all means. It is not serious, I hope. May I be of help?’
Hervey smiled thinly and shook his head. ‘It is something requiring urgent attention, else . . . but no, thank you. I fear it is lonely business. You will be content to see the sights?’
‘I am no more strange to London than were you on first visiting.’
Hervey’s smile grew broader. ‘A very philosophical answer. The generality of advice is, I understand, not to venture the other side of the river on foot, though I think that extreme counsel. I shall be back in time for us to dine together, but if for any reason I am delayed – the streets can become nigh impassable of an early evening – then you must call for dinner yourself. You will be quite at your liberty to do so.’
‘I think I shall first visit with your parliament,’ said Fairbrother brightly.
‘Your parliament too,’ said Hervey, with mock reproach. ‘She is just yonder, as you see. Now, if you will excuse me, I must find a hackney cab.’
It then occurred to him that he would most likely find one outside parliament itself, so they walked there together through St Margaret’s churchyard. No fewer than six cabs were drawn up outside, as well as a good many private carriages. Fairbrother insisted on seeing his friend into one.
Hervey hesitated to give his destination to the driver. ‘Hyde Park,’ he said, sounding uncertain.
‘Which end, sir?’
‘Kensington Palace.’
Fairbrother raised his hat as the cab rolled away.
At Holland Park, Hervey dismissed the cabman for an hour. It was the deucedest expense, engaging a hackney for such a time, but he needed some independent means of getting back to the United Service Club, and he did not suppose that these new-found conveniences ranged very far west of the Piccadilly bar.
A familiar face answered the door. ‘Good afternoon, George,’ said Hervey.
The footman admitted him and showed him into the library. ‘Lady Katherine is engaged at the present, Colonel. Shall I bring you tea, sir?’
Hervey shook his head. ‘No, George, thank you. I fear I have not a great deal of time.’
‘The Standard is there at the table, sir, new-arrived.’
Hervey thanked him again, took up the newspaper and sought to divert himself for as long as Kat was engaged.
In the pages of the Standard he found much gossip, which might as a rule have served, but in the circumstances it merely aggravated his own misgivings about the inquiry. Only news that the Duke of Wellington was appointing a committee to consider raising a police force for London diverted him sufficiently to have the half-hour pass moderately quickly.
The doors of Kat’s drawing room opened. Hervey heard, and rose unseen. Kat was all smiles, and her caller likewise, an officer in the uniform of the Second Foot Guards, some half-dozen years Hervey’s junior.
Kat now saw him in the library: ‘Matthew!’ She advanced on him unselfconsciously and kissed his cheek. ‘Do you know Captain Darbishire?’
‘I do not.’ He trusted that he hid his wholly unreasonable – indeed, inexplicable – resentment at finding another officer calling.
‘Colonel Hervey,’ said Kat to her caller.
‘Sir!’ Captain Darbishire braced, and bowed.
Hervey returned the bow, but Kat disobliged him from the duty of conversation. ‘Captain Darbishire has brought me an invitation from his general, to attend a ball at Almack’s.’
Hervey nodded. ‘Let me not detain you, Captain Darbishire,’ he said, a shade brusquely.
Captain Darbishire’s confident air was fast changing. He knew very well who was Colonel Hervey: a man who had seen off revolutionaries on a dark night at Waltham Abbey, and who had worsted African warriors on their own ground. He imagined that an aide-de-camp from the London District headquarters would be given no quarter, stuttered his apologies and took his leave.
When he was gone, Kat led Hervey into the drawing room. ‘I am delighted you are come, Matthew. When did you arrive in London?’
‘This morning. I—’
Kat was overjoyed by this evidence of her lover’s eagerness, and when the footman had closed the doors, she embraced him. ‘How long shall you stay?’
Hervey was dismayed by how rapidly he was losing command of things (as always seemed the case when he came to Holland Park, no matter how resolutely). ‘Kat, there is something urgent I must speak with you about.’
‘Indeed? Must we speak of it at once, or may I ring for tea?’
‘I . . . I’m not sure that I can stay at all long. I have an engagement this evening . . . with a brother officer.’
‘Oh,’ declared Kat in a tone of mild affront. ‘I might have known your regiment would have first call on you.’
He chose not to rise to the challenge. ‘Kat, the devil of a thing has come about. I was at the Horse Guards today and I learned that there’s to be a court of inquiry into the affair at Waltham Abbey, and that . . . Sir Peregrine is likely as not to be president.’
Kat looked perplexed. ‘Is that such a cause for alarm? He is generally the most agreeable of men.’
Hervey shifted awkwardly. ‘The point is, Kat . . . the inquiry will attract public attention – it’s bound to. And that is sure to occasion comment. Do you not see?’
Kat saw, and also that the comment would hardly be to her advantage either (she supposed that Hervey’s concern was not principally for her reputation). But it suited her to be obtuse. ‘Do you really think it likely?’
‘Yes, Kat: I consider it very likely.’
‘What would you have me do?’
Hervey had not imagined he would have to suggest it. He was staunch nonetheless. ‘Ask Sir Peregrine to decline the presidency.’
Kat looked bewildered. ‘How shall I manage that? I cannot interfere with military matters in that way!’
Hervey was astonished. She had interfered several times before on his behalf – and to secure preferment rather than so simple a thing as this (he imagined that persuading her husband to decline an invitation would not be too difficult). ‘Kat, I—’
‘Matthew, it is evidently troubling you greatly. Let us sit and talk of it, and see if there is anything I might do.’ She rang for tea.
Hervey sat.
* * *
It was after midnight when he returned to the United Service Club. He was surprised to find Fairbrother in the coffee room still, reading Southey’s Life of Nelson.
‘My dear friend, I am so very sorry I did not keep my appointment. I was detained against my better judgement, if not in truth will. But I think the trouble may be soon resolved.’
‘I am very glad of it,’ replied Fairbrother equably. ‘In truth, too, I have been glad of an evening with Southey. I confess to having felt excessively tired after leaving Westminster.’
Hervey smiled ruefully. ‘I have heard that parliament has that effect.’
‘No, parliament was invigorating in the extreme. There was a debate on reform of the franchise. Feelings ran unconscionably high. I never heard such a bear house!’
‘I dare say. Have you dined?’
‘Yes, and very agreeably – at the club table with two officers not long returned from the Indies.’
‘I’m glad of it. I—’
‘I did not say: the debate was in the House of Peers. I heard Lord Palmerston speak. He is a most engaging man, I think. Exactly as I had imagined him.’
Hervey kept his peace. He too had liked Palmerston when they had met briefly, a year or so before; but he did wish the Secretary at War would not now persist with this inquiry.
The night porter came into the room to turn down the lamps. Hervey ordered brandy. ‘And then to bed. While there is time – before I am taken up with clerks at the Colonies Office, and attorneys – I would show you things, tomorrow.’