Honorable Company: A Novel of India before the Raj

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Chapter 1: THE AIDE-DE-CAMP The Embassy of His Britannic Majesty to the Court of the Tuileries Paris, August 13, 1815 Captain Matthew Hervey had put on his best uniform. It was only the second time he had worn it. He was not even sure he should be in levee dress, for his orders to report to the Duke of Wellington's headquarters had not been concerned with trifles. Yet dress, to a cavalryman in his situation, could hardly be a matter of indifference, and so he had followed the regiment's maxim that no senior officer could be affronted by seeing an excess of uniform, even if he were bemused by it. The newest captain of the 6th Light Dragoons was therefore waiting in an anteroom, with dress sabertache and Mameluke hanging long from his girdle, and tasseled cocked hat, with its ostrich feathers, under his arm, in some degree of apprehensiveness. He wore no aiglets, however. He had bought two pairs in London on learning that he was to be promoted and appointed to the duke's staff, but he did not yet presume to wear those coveted insignia of an aide-de-camp. Indeed, his astonishment at his preferment was scarcely less than when first he had comprehended it only two days ago at the Horse Guards. Lying full across the open doorway of the anteroom was a springing spaniel, old and ill-smelling, sound asleep and snoring with perfect regularity and constant pitch. It had not been in the least disturbed when the Staff Corps corporal had shown the new ADC into the room a quarter of an hour before, when both had had to step long over the outstretched animal to avoid entanglement of spur and coat, and Hervey, waiting in the otherwise silent embassy, pleased to find some distraction which might help keep his mind from disquiet, was now timing the length and interval of these snuffling crescendos and decrescendos by the ticking of the clock on the chimney piece. There were five seconds for the inspiration, three for the equipoise, and four to complete exhalationthen a further five, where all life seemed suspended, before the sequence was repeated da capo. He had counted a dozen of these recitals before seeming suddenly to realize what he was doing. He glanced about anxiously to see if anyone were there, then snapped back to the full attentiveness appropriate for an officer awaiting interview with the commander in chief of the allied armies in France. Outside, the Sunday bells which had drowned even the sound of hooves on the pavee as he had driven to the rue Faubourg St.-Honore had been silent for some time now, and he was relieved that he might thereby be able to hear the duke's remarks, when they came, with absolute clarity. He was in no doubt of the singularity of his position. He was certain that in the whole of the army there could not be an officer below field rank who would not envy him it. Another quarter of an hour passed, the keen anticipation of the honor to come increasing with every minute. Shortly after eleven-thirty a minor commotion in the antehall alerted him to the duke's return from his daily ride, though it did not disturb the recumbent spaniel. He snapped his whole body to attention, as well as his wits. And then the field marshal was there, at the doorway, looking directly at him. Hervey stepped forward sharply, halting three paces from him, the spaniel occupying all that remained, and bowed his head briskly. The duke made none by return, neither did he extend his hand, saying instead simply, "Captain Hervey, I am glad you are come. Colonel Grant has need of you. He will be along presently. It will be deuced tricky work, but I should not ask it if I thought it beyond you. Good day, then, sir." As the duke turned, Hervey saw the young woman in riding dress close by him. She cast a brief backward glance as he said something to her, and then she smiled wide and adoringly