Somervile had his reasons, though, as he’d already explained. If it came to the removal of the Ranee of Chintal, as it must, the manner of her exile would be of the first importance. There was already disquiet in London over the annexation of Coorg, and if that were so, the tendency would be to even greater revulsion in the case of a helpless female. He would therefore receive the Ranee not as a captive, but as an honoured guest. He intended somehow crafting a tale of deliverance from evil, of rescue indeed. She would doubtless receive a considerable pension (Fort William had yet to inform him of the terms). An Elba or St Helena did not await her. Rather did Monsieur St Sulpice’s cuisine.

Whatever the case, he was determined that he himself would not be made a scapegoat. Nor, indeed, would he have his old friend made one either.

So in that great cause of diplomacy, Somervile’s guests proceeded through a menu of sardines brought from Marseilles by means that could scarcely be imagined, broiled partridge and quail shot on the plain west of the Ghats three days before, ‘Madras venison’ – wether mutton (or more probably goat) fuddled and rubbed with allspice and claret – and then blancmanges and sweetmeats; and all with the finest burgundy and sweet white wine. The Bodyguard’s little band played airs throughout, and the conversation was plentiful.

When the cigars had been smoked and the brandy imbibed for digestion, and thanks to the host offered and leave taken of him, Hervey got into the gharry hired for the evening with Georgiana and Annie to drive the half-mile or so to the haveli. There was a moon, and the walk would have been easy as well as pleasant, but he wouldn’t risk it. Sthambadree was a peaceable place, with a good native police inspector, but beyond the pale of a garrison town it was never wise to be too certain. The Sixth had stirred up a good deal of trouble these past weeks, and Serjeant Acton had been adamant – riding even now close behind with carbine and pistols primed.

Georgiana was smiling yet. (Was it her first dinner in state?)

‘How did you find Mr St Alban this evening, Georgiana? You appeared to be in quite animated conversation.’

‘Oh, Papa, he is so learned in everything. He has such decided views on all manner of things: the new Act – the India Act, I mean – and the government at home, and so much more. And he has just read, for the second time, Mr Gibbon’s Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire!’

She continued for several minutes, keen to retell what was St Alban’s opinion on this and that and everything.

Annie sat silent, but content-looking, as if pleased for her charge.

At length, courtesy alone required that Hervey say something to her. ‘You found the dinner and the company agreeable, Miss Gildea?’

Annie smiled, almost as if to laugh. ‘Oh, it was delightful, Colonel.’