The hour before dinner was one of the busiest of the day and the room was crowded with officers bringing reports or collecting orders, or simply gathering gossip. At one end of the room was a very venerable, ornate and crumbling stone staircase which led to a pair of ancient doors. Behind the doors, it was said, Lord Wellington was hard at work devising new plans to defeat the French, and it was a curious fact that everyone who came into the room was sure to cast a respectful glance up to the top of that staircase. Two of Wellington’s senior staff, the Quartermaster-General, Colonel George Murray, and the Adjutant-General, General Charles Stewart, were seated one upon either side of a large table, both busily engaged in making arrangements for the disposal of the Army upon the following day. And I pause here merely to observe that if, upon reading the words “Colonel” and “General”, you fancy these are two old men sitting at the table, you could not be more wrong. It is true that when the French war had begun eighteen years before, the British Army had been commanded by some very venerable old persons many of whom had passed their whole careers without glimpsing a battlefield. But the years had gone by and these old generals were all retired or dead and it had been found more convenient to replace them with younger, more energetic men. Wellington himself was only a little more than forty and most of his senior officers were younger still. The room in José Estoril’s house was a room of young men, all fond of a fight, all fond of dancing, all quite devoted to Lord Wellington.

The March evening, though rainy, was mild – as mild as May in England. Since his death, José Estoril’s garden had grown wild and in particular a great number of lilac trees had appeared, crowding against the walls of the house. These trees were now all in flower and the windows and shutters of the house stood open to let in the damp, lilac-scented air. Suddenly Colonel Murray and General Stewart found that both they and their important papers were being comprehensively showered with drops of water. On looking up in some indignation they saw Strange, outside on the verandah unconcernedly shaking the water off his umbrella.

He entered the room and bid good evening to various officers with whom he had some acquaintance. He approached the table and inquired if he might possibly speak to Lord Wellington. General Stewart, a proud, handsome man, made no reply other than to shake his head vigorously. Colonel Murray, who was a gentler and more courteous soul, said he feared it would not be possible.