Company Of Spears

A khitmagar had begun clearing the sweet dishes, and another brought one of Hervey’s favourites, which first he had tasted at the rajah’s feast – Mandaliya, the entrails of young lambs, filled with marrow and spices known only to Emma’s Bengali, and roasted over charcoal. The rajah, a man of startling sensibility and vocabulary, had spoken of Mandaliya as ‘the very apotheosis of taste’. Hervey smiled at the recollection of it, such perfect erudition, such gentlemanlike manner. He had so much liked the rajah – his courage, humanity, integrity, each of a rare degree. He wished he had travelled to Chintal again during the long years of that second time in India…

He braced himself. ‘Lady Lankester – she will drive to Gloucestershire with you?’

It was quite a turn of conversation, but Emma was content enough to leave the question of portraits – for the time being, at least. ‘She takes her own carriage, but yes, she will drive with us. Might you accompany us?’

Hervey did not know how to respond. Here was an unexpected, but not unlooked for, opportunity to present himself, and yet there was the business of the lieutenant-colonelcy to press, as well as the outbreak in the horse lines. ‘I had thought Saturday … but I rather think I might, if duties permit.’

Emma looked at him quizzically, though he did not see it, and then the conversation passed at Somervile’s prompting to the week’s obituaries, of which Hervey was still ignorant. And then, as it always did, to India.

Hervey began wondering if he would see India again, or yet if he even wanted to. They had been long years in Bengal, but wholly restorative. He regretted he had never gone back to Chintal to see the rajah, and indeed some of the other friends he had made there. But he had feared the raj kumari (if she were not to be quite the death of him) would somehow torment him to destruction. It had all been so long ago – ten years. And, of course, in Calcutta there had been Vaneeta. She had had but a small measure of the blood of Isabella Delgado’s countrymen, but mixed with that of Bengal, Vaneeta’s company had frequently been sublime…

He woke. Sublime: as indeed were the confections which now followed the Mandaliya, more sublime even than the Madhuparka, the honeyed milk which accompanied them. They drank the best hock and burgundy too, exactly as in Calcutta. Hervey sighed inwardly. Yes, he would like to see India again, where all tastes were intense and there was no ‘coyness in pleasure’. Where, indeed, he might eat lotus and forget all ‘obligation’.

When Jaswant appeared with coffee at the end of the feast, Somervile laid down his napkin and pushed back his chair. ‘Come, Hervey, we shall take our coffee in my library. I would have you see the campaign furniture I have assembled!’

Hervey glanced at Emma.

‘I will join you in a while, Matthew. From what I saw earlier it will take Eyre half an hour to assemble his bed.’

‘Nonsense!’ protested her husband. ‘The catalogue says it may be assembled with one hand.’

Emma smiled challengingly.

* * *

In the library, a big room half filled with expedition baggage, Somervile was at once animated. He was a scholar of very considerable learning, and yet to Hervey he had often seemed never more content than when he was cocked atop a good horse, pistols at his belt and bandits in sight. Somervile handed him John Durham’s catalogue, with its indications of what he had bought for the campaign in Cape Colony (not, to Hervey’s knowledge, that there was any campaign in prospect).

He began reading the preamble. His own camp furniture in the Peninsula had been modest, for portage was ever a problem (he lost far more than eventually he returned to England with), and in India, where portage had been legion, his furniture had been substantial. Mr Durham’s exhortation to potential customers was of another world, however:

In encampments, persons of the highest distinction are obliged to accommodate themselves in such temporary circumstances, which encampments are ever subject to. Hence every article of an absolutely necessary kind must be made very portable, both for package and that such utensils should not retard rapid movement, either after or from the enemy. The articles of cabinet work used in such services are, therefore, each of them required to be folded in the most compact manner that can be devised; yet this is to be done in such a way as that when they are opened out they will answer their intended purpose. There are therefore camp or field bedsteads, camp chairs, desks, stools and tables…

‘My dear Somervile, don’t you imagine that the position of lieutenant-governor shall require you to be resident in Cape-town, and that if you travel it shall be to where there are His Majesty’s subjects, and therefore the usual comforts?’