They dined quietly that evening, just Kezia, Georgiana, Annie and himself. St Alban was dining with the Bodyguard, the major was garrison field officer of the week and therefore dined at the Fort, and Fairbrother was with the Somerviles. The conversation was diverting enough, thanks in large part to Georgiana, who’d learned of yet another of St Alban’s seemingly incomparable qualities and wished to share her enthusiasm, but it had hardly been taxing. Annie had seemed pensive, however. Not that, as a rule, she spoke without first being spoken to, though with assurance enough when she did (and sense). Hervey wondered if they asked too much of her of late – the oversight of three children (well, Georgiana, and Allegra who was not yet eight, and Master Hervey who did not yet speak), although there were Anjali and Sarah, admirable ayahs, and innumerable maids of all work. Perhaps she pined a little for home?

There was a triumph with the pudding, though. For a year and more Kezia had been considering the attempt, but getting chestnuts brought from the hills beyond Patna had defeated her several times, and only now was there ice enough to be had to continue with the experiment. The cook had been bewildered at first, and only Kezia’s persistence – herself in an apron, no doubt shaming the poor man – had brought off the success.

‘I have wanted to do this since first I saw it, but …’

And the sentence had been left unfinished, for there was no need to recollect the difficulties there’d been since that time – the time of her seizure – and their coming to India. It was a pudding, she explained, that Monsieur Carême, Count Nesselrode’s chef, had devised. And now that she was confident that it could be brought to table, it would be brought as often as the season would allow (and, Hervey trusted, the accounts). For no matter how imperfect the soup, how mean the relevé or unpalatable the entrée, such a pudding would not be forgot, and the homeward diners therefore content.

When they were alone, outside, Kezia poured coffee for them both, nodding to the khitmagar to dismiss. It was so much cooler of an evening now, almost time for a shawl. Torches ringed the lawn, and lanterns hung from the tamarinds fringing the further parts of the garden. Citronella burners kept away all but the most determined mosquitoes, and the lanterns distracted the rest of the flying tribes. Georgiana and Annie had withdrawn as soon as they’d all risen from the table. It was, as she liked to say, their time of day.

‘Is all well with Annie?’

Kezia frowned. ‘I had thought to ask you the same. Nothing untoward has occurred here, I’m sure. I wondered if the tiger hunt had troubled her.’

‘I think I may ask Georgiana.’

‘I think that would be wise. Brandy-water?’

He shook his head.

‘You are not ill, are you, Matthew?’

He smiled. ‘I confess I’m a little tired. I think brandy would not conduce to sleeping – or rather, to waking with a good head. Did Milne have anything to say this morning? He told me he’d paid a call.’