Georgiana had heard the same, oft repeated – a fine teacher, and a good man. ‘My father says that if he is not come by the end of the month he will have a notice sent to the Resident in Haidarabad to enquire his whereabouts. He believes it not unlikely that the Nizam – don’t you think that title quaint? – has enticed him to join his court, his knowing so much about the military here, and being of the same religion as the Nizam.’

‘To do us harm? Oh, I think not, Miss Hervey. Surely not. He gave me lessons too, though he need not have, for I am of no consequence.’

Georgiana clasped her hand again. ‘Oh, dearest Miss Gildea, you are of the greatest consequence to me, and to my father – and to my stepmother too!’

Annie thought for a moment. ‘Miss Hervey, please say nothing of this to your father, or to Mrs Hervey. I would not want to disturb them in any way.’

Georgiana was all surprise. ‘Why, Miss Gildea, my father and stepmother alike would surely wish to know of your loss, to condole with you and offer what comfort they may. You are as family!’

Annie shook her head. ‘No, Miss Hervey, if you please. I appreciate that sentiment, and no doubt you are right, but I have my reasons, and would wish, if at all, to tell them in my own time.’

Georgiana smiled warmly. ‘Of course, of course. Forgive my presumption.’

‘There is nothing to forgive, Miss Hervey. You are all kindness … And now there is work to be done.’

* * *

Hervey had returned to the lines just after stand-down at one o’clock. Second parade – which was always the preserve of the troop serjeant-majors – would follow in two hours, and then perhaps a little recreation. Afternoon was not as a rule a time for the commanding officer to be at office or even abroad, except in plain clothes, but as he didn’t eat in the middle of the day save for a little fruit, he liked to keep ‘open office’ for an hour so that any of the regimental staff might have a word less formally.

The orderly room was otherwise a place of silence, even repose, the major asleep in his chair and no sign of St Alban or the chief clerk. Sammy, however, by some process that passed all understanding, stood ready with a tray of hot coffee as if he knew that the colonel-sahib would appear at this precise moment. There was, Hervey had long supposed, a means of communication among the native servants and vendors that they, the gora log, the white people, would never comprehend.

‘Nanri, Sammy,’ he said simply.

Sammy returned the smile broadly.

‘But two cups? Irantu kap?’

‘Yes, Colonel-sahib. Daktar wait.’

The surgeon appeared from the defaulters’ room.

Hervey smiled still more widely. ‘It is ever good to see you, Milne. But with tidings of joy, I trust?’ He could say it with good cheer, for the morning ‘states’ said the regiment was in sound enough health.