‘I tell you that at the levee His Majesty, pursuant to a scheme of the Horse-Guards to raise an additional brigade of Hussars, said he was desirous of converting the regiment to that style, but that I begged a few days’ consideration, at the end of which I informed His Majesty that I was grateful of the honour he implied in so doing (for I judged he thought it an elevation, and I thought it better to avoid discussion on the point) but that I believed the regiment would, for the time being at least, prefer to retain the distinction under which it served in the Peninsula and at Waterloo. You may treat with this intelligence as you see fit, but I surmise that it will not long be before it is out, especially as I understand the Eleventh are to be offered the “honour” instead.’

St Alban inclined his head.

‘Quite,’ said Hervey. ‘I might add that it will be only prudent to share this singularly disappointing news with all ranks as soon as may be.’

Sammy waited for the first tasting of the coffee and sign of approval. Hervey’s smile remained as he took a sip, unsweetened. ‘Shukria, Sammy. Mikka nanri.’

Sammy answered to Urdu and Hindoostanee, more or less – he’d been around cantonments long enough, and the two were all the same to him – and even to some English, but Hervey liked to use the odd word of Tamul as well, if only out of respect for the bearer’s incomprehensible satisfaction in doing small things. Sammy owned nothing but what he stood up in, and lived each day without knowing – perhaps even without contemplating – where his bread would come from next. He swept the floors, ran errands for the clerks, made coffee and tea (and tolerably well), and smiled so continually as to make the blackest day a shade brighter. In exchange, the quartermaster gave him a few rupees from time to time to buy rice, and let him sleep in a little thatched lean-to by his stores. The dragoons called him all the names under the sun – and would then give him a few annas of their own, for a little old Tamul who smiled when he’d nothing but their company was comfort in a hard world. And one day, no doubt, they’d find him dead, with a smile on his face, and they’d give him a ‘regimental’ funeral, for as far as they were concerned Sammy was on the strength.

Hervey smiled the more as he contemplated the remarkable world of those who wore the King’s coat. His Majesty spoke to Lord George Irvine, Colonel of the 6th Light Dragoons (Princess Augusta’s Own); Lord George wrote thence to him, Matthew Paulinus Hervey, the Sixth’s commanding officer – Lieutenant-Colonel and Brevet Colonel, indeed; and in turn he conveyed His Majesty’s pleasure to Lieutenant the Honourable Edward St Alban, while at the same time exchanging words with a man who probably didn’t know even who was his own father or mother.