An Infamous Army Read online

  The smile had quite faded from his face; his horse leapt suddenly under a spur driven cruelly home: ‘Ah, parbleu, you are serious then!’ he exclaimed. ‘You are lovesick—besotted! I wish you a speedy recovery, ma belle!’

  Ten

  Judith saw nothing of Barbara on the following day, but heard of her having gone to a fête at Enghien, given by the Guards. She was present in the evening at a small party at Lady John Somerset’s, surrounded by her usual court, and had nothing more than a nod and a wave of the hand to bestow upon Judith. The Comte de Lavisse had returned to his cantonments, but his place seemed to be admirably filled by Prince Pierre d’Aremberg, whose attentions, though possibly not serious, were extremely marked.

  If Barbara missed Colonel Audley during the five days of his absence, she gave no sign of it. She seemed to plunge into a whirl of enjoyment; flitted from party to party; put in an appearance at the Opera; left before the end to attend a ball; danced into the small hours; rode out before breakfast with a party of younger officers; was off directly after to go to the races at Grammont; reappeared in Brussels in time to grace her sister-in-law’s soirée; and enchanted the company by singing O Lady, twine no wreath for me, which had just been sent to her from London, along with a setting of Lord Byron’s famous lyric, Farewell, Farewell!

  ‘How can she do it?’ marvelled the Lennox girls. ‘We should be dead with fatigue!’

  On April 20th Brussels was fluttered by the arrival of a celebrated personage, none other than Madame Catalani, a cantatrice who had charmed all Europe with her trills and her quavers. Accompanied by her husband, M. de Valbrèque, she descended upon Brussels for the purpose of consenting graciously (and for quite extortionate fees) to sing at a few select parties.

  On the same evening Wellington drove into Brussels with his suite, and Colonel Audley, instead of ending a long day by drinking tea quietly at home and going to bed, arrayed himself in his dress uniform and went off to put in a tardy appearance at Sir Charles Stuart’s evening party. He found his betrothed in an alcove, having each finger kissed by an adoring young Belgian, and waited perfectly patiently for this ceremony to come to an end. But Barbara saw him before her admirer had got beyond the fourth finger, and pulled her hands away, not in any confusion, but merely to hold them out to the Colonel. ‘Oh, Charles! You have come back!’ she cried gladly.

  The Belgian, very red in the face, and inwardly quaking, stayed just enough for Colonel Audley to challenge him to a duel if he wished to, but when he found that the Colonel was really paying no attention to him, he discreetly withdrew, thanking his gods that the English were a phlegmatic race.

  The Colonel took both Barbara’s hands in his. Mischief gleamed in her eyes. She said: ‘Would you like to finish René’s work, dear Charles?’

  ‘No, not at all,’ he answered, drawing her closer.

  She held up her face. ‘Very well! Oh, but I am glad to see you again!’

  They sat down together on a small sofa. ‘You did not appear to be missing me very much!’ said the Colonel.

  ‘Don’t be stupid! Tell me what you have been doing!’

  ‘There’s nothing to tell. What have you been doing? Or daren’t you tell me?’

  ‘That’s impertinent. I have been forgetting Charles in a whirl of gaiety.’

  ‘Faithless one!’

  ‘I have been to the Races, and was quite out of luck; I went to the Opera, but it was Gluck and detestable; I have danced endless waltzes and cotillions, but no one could dance as well as you; and I went to a macao party, and was dipped; to Enghien, and was kissed—’

  ‘What?’

  He had been listening with a smile in his eyes, but this vanished, and he interrupted with enough sharpness in his voice to arrest her attention and make her put up her chin a little.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Did you mean that?’

  ‘What, that I was kissed at Enghien? My dear Charles!’

  ‘It’s no answer to say “My dear Charles,” Bab.’

  ‘But can you doubt it? Don’t you think I am very kissable?’

  ‘I do, but I prefer that others should not.’

  ‘Oh no! how dull that would be!’ she said, sparkling with laughter.

  ‘Don’t you agree that there is something a trifle vulgar in permitting Tom, Dick, and Harry to kiss you?’

  ‘That’s to say I’m vulgar, Charles. Am I, do you think?’

  ‘The wonder is that you are not.’

  ‘The wonder?’

  ‘Yes, since you do vulgar things.’

  She flushed, and looking directly into his eyes, said: ‘You are not wise to talk like that to me, my friend.’

  ‘My dear, did you suppose I should be so complaisant as to allow other men to kiss you? What an odd notion you must have of me!’

  ‘I warned you I should flirt.’

  ‘And I warned you it would only be with me. To be plain with you, I expect you not to kiss any but myself.’

  ‘Tom, Dick, and Harry!’ she flashed, betraying a wound.

  ‘Yes—or, for instance, the Comte de Lavisse.’

  There was an edge to the words; she glanced swiftly at him, understanding all at once that he was actuated as much by jealousy as by prudery. The anger left her face; she exclaimed: ‘Charles! Dear fool! You’re quite out: it wasn’t Etienne!’

  He said ruefully: ‘Wasn’t it? Yes, I did think so.’

  ‘And were longing to call him out!’

  ‘Nothing so romantic. Merely to plant him a facer.’

  She was amused. ‘What the devil’s that?’

  ‘Boxing cant. Forget it! If you were to add that to your vocabulary it would be beyond everything!’

  ‘Oh, but I know a deal of boxing cant! My brother George is much addicted to the Fancy—himself displays to advantage, so I’m told! No shifting, not at all shy; in fact rattles in full of gaiety!’

  ‘Bab, you incorrigible hussy!’

  Their disagreement was forgotten; she began to talk to him of George, who was already on his passage to the Netherlands.

  It was evident that George, a year older than his sister, was very near her heart. Colonel Audley was barely acquainted with him, but no one who had once met Lord George could fail to recognise him again. When he arrived in Brussels some days later it was from Liedekerke, in the vicinity of Ninove, where he was quartered. He rode into Brussels with the intention of surprising his family at dinner, but happening to encounter a friend on his way up the Montagne de la Cour, went off instead to join a riotous party at the Hôtel d’Angleterre. When he presented himself in the Rue Ducale some hours later it was to learn from the butler that Lord and Lady Vidal were at the Opera, and his sister at a soirée.

  ‘Well, I won’t go to the Opera, that’s certain,’ said his lordship. ‘What’s this soirée you talk of?’

  ‘I understand, my lord, a gathering of polite persons, with a little music, a—’

  ‘Sounds devilish,’ remarked his lordship. ‘Who’s holding it?’

  ‘Lord and Lady Worth, my lord.’

  ‘Lady Worth, eh?’ His lordship pricked up his ears. ‘Oh! Ah! I’ll go there. Won’t throw me out, will they?’

  The butler looked horrified. ‘Throw you out, my lord?’

  ‘Haven’t been invited: don’t know the Worths,” explained George. ‘I’ll risk it. Where do they live?’

  Judith’s salons were crowded when he arrived, and since the evening was too far advanced for her to expect any more guests, she had left her station by the door and was standing at the other end of the long room, talking to two Belgian ladies. The footman’s voice, announcing Lord George, was not audible above the clatter of conversation, and Judith remained unaware of his entrance until Madame van der Capellan directed her attention towards him, desiring to know who ce beau géant might be.

  She turned her head, and saw his lordship standing on the threshold, looking round him with an air of perfect sangfroid. A handsome giant was a description which exactl