An Infamous Army Read online

  ‘Go and find someone else to dance with you!’ she said, almost crying, and turned away from him to seek refuge beside Lady Worth.

  Hay stared after her in a good deal of astonishment, but was diverted from his purpose of following her to make his peace by having his arm grasped by a kindred spirit. ‘Hay, have you heard?’ said Harry Alastair eagerly. ‘Ours have been ordered to Braine-le-Comte. I’m off immediately! Are you coming? Oh no, of course! You’ll stay for General Maitland. By Jove, won’t we give the French a hiding! There’s Audley! I must speak to him before I go!’

  He darted off to where the Colonel was standing in conversation with Lord Robert Manners, and stood, impatient but decorous, until it should please the Colonel to notice him. This Audley soon did, smiling to see him so obviously fretting to be off.

  ‘Hallo, Harry! You’ve got your wish, you see!’

  ‘By Gad, haven’t I just! I only came up to say goodbye and wish you luck. I’m off to Braine-le-Comte, you know. It’s my first engagement! Lord, won’t some of the fellows at home be green with envy!’

  ‘Well, mind you capture an Eagle,’ said the Colonel, holding out his hand. ‘I daresay I shall run up against you sometime or other, but in case I don’t, the best of luck to you. Take care of yourself!’

  Lord George Alastair came striding out of the ante-room behind them as Harry wrung the Colonel’s hand. He merely nodded to the Colonel, but said curtly to his brother: ‘Are you off, Harry? I’ll go with you as far as the centre of the town. I’m for Ninove. Where are you for?’

  ‘Braine-le-Comte. You don’t look very cheerful, I must say. Been bidding someone a tender farewell?’

  ‘That’s it: come along, now!’

  ‘Wait a bit, here’s Bab!’

  Colonel Audley turned his head quickly, and saw Barbara coming across the room towards him. Her eyes were fixed on her brothers, but as though she were conscious of his gaze she glanced in his direction, and flushed.

  Colonel Audley thrust a hand which he found to be shaking slightly in Lord Robert’s arm, and walked away with him.

  The Duke had gone to sit beside Lady Helen Dalrymple on the sofa. She found him perfectly amiable but preoccupied, breaking off his conversation with her every now and then to call some officer to him to receive a brief instruction. The Prince of Orange and the Duke of Brunswick both conferred with him for some minutes, and then left the ball together, the Prince heedless of everything but the excitement of the moment, the Duke calm, bestowing his grave smile on an acquaintance encountered in the doorway, not forgetting to take his punctilious leave of his hostess.

  A few minutes later, Colonel Audley went up to Judith and touched her arm, saying quietly: ‘I’m off Judith. Tell Worth, will you? I haven’t time to look for him.’

  She clasped his hands. ‘Oh, Charles! Where?’

  ‘Only to Ath, with a message, but it’s urgent. I’m not likely to return to Brussels tonight. Don’t be alarmed, will you? You will see what a dressing we shall give Boney!’

  The next instant he was gone, slipping out of the ballroom without any other leave-taking than a word to his hostess. Others followed him, but in spite of the many departures there seemed to be no empty places in the dining-room when the guests presently went in to supper. Tables were arranged round the room; the junior officers, under the wing of Lord William Lennox, with an arm in a sling and bandages and sticking-plaster adorning his head, crowded round the sideboard, and were honoured by Lord Uxbridge’s calling out to them, with a brimming glass held in his hand: ‘A glass of wine with the side-table!’

  The Duke sat with Georgiana beside him. He seemed to be in good spirits; his loud laugh kept breaking out; he had given Georgiana a miniature of himself, done by a Belgian artist, and was protesting jokingly at her showing it to those seated near them.

  Supper had hardly begun when the Prince of Orange came into the room, looking very serious. He went straight to the Duke, and bent over him, whispering in his ear.

  A despatch had been brought in by one of his aides-de-camp from Baron Constant at Braine-le-Comte. It was dated as late as 10.30 pm, and reported that Charleroi had fallen not two hours after Ziethen’s solitary message had been sent off that morning. The French had advanced twenty miles into Belgian territory. The Prussians had been attacked at Sombreffe by Grouchy, with Vandamme’s Corps in support, and had fallen back on Fleurus; Ney had pushed forward on the left to Frasnes, south of Quatre-Bras, with an advance guard of cavalry, but had encountered there Prince Bernhard of Saxe-Weimar, who, taking the law courageously into his own hands, had moved forward from Genappe with one Nassau battalion and a battery of horse artillery. A skirmish had taken place, but Ney had apparently had insufficient infantry to risk an engagement. He had made some demonstrations, but the handful of troops opposed to him had held their ground, and at seven o’clock he had bivouacked for the night. Prince Bernhard had reported the affair to General Perponcher, who, wisely ignoring the Duke’s positive orders to assemble his division at Nivelles, had directed it instead on the hamlet and crossroads of Quatre-Bras.

  The Duke listened to these tidings with an unmoved countenance. He saw that everyone in the room was watching him, and said in a loud voice: ‘Very well! I have no fresh orders to give. I advise your Royal Highness to go back to your quarters and to bed.’

  The Prince, whose air of suppressed excitement had escaped no one, withdrew; the Duke resumed his conversation. But the impression created by the Prince’s reappearance was not to be banished; except among those who had no relatives engaged in the operations, conversation had become subdued, and faces that had worn smiles an hour earlier now looked a little haggard in the glare of the candlelight. No one was surprised when the Duke went up to his host, saying cheerfully: ‘I think it’s time for me to go to bed likewise.’ In the distance could be heard the ominous sound of bugles calling to arms; dancing seemed out of place, the Duke’s departure was for most of those present a welcome sign of the party’s breaking up. Wives exchanged nods with their husbands; mothers tried to catch heedless daughters’ eyes; Georgiana Lennox stole away to help her brother March pack up.

  The Duke said under his breath: ‘Have you a good map in the house, Richmond?’

  Richmond nodded, and led him to his study. The Duke shut the door and said abruptly: ‘Napoleon has humbugged me, by God! He has gained twenty-four hours’ march on me.’

  He walked over to the desk, and bent over the map Richmond had spread out on it, and studied it for a moment or two in silence.

  Richmond stood watching him, startled by what he had said and wondering a little that no anxiety should be apparent in his face. ‘What do you intend doing?’ he asked presently.

  ‘I’ve ordered the Army to concentrate on Quatre-Bras,’ replied his lordship. ‘But we shan’t stop him there, and if so, I must fight him here.’ As he spoke he drew his thumbnail across the map below the village of Waterloo, and straightened himself. ‘I’ll be off now, and get some sleep.’

  In the ballroom a few determined couples were still dancing, but with the departure of the officers the zest had gone from the most carefree young female. Ladies were collecting their wraps, carriages were being called for, and a stream of guests were filing past the Duchess of Richmond, returning thanks and taking leave.

  Judith, who had gone upstairs to fetch her cloak, was startled, on her way down again, to encounter Barbara, her train caught over her arm, and in her face an expression of the most painful anxiety. She put out her hand impulsively, grasping Judith’s wrist, and said in a strangled voice: ‘Charles! Where is he?’

  ‘My brother-in-law left the ball before supper,’ replied Judith.

  ‘O God!’ The hand left Judith’s wrist and gripped the banister-rail. ‘He is in Brussels? Yes, yes, he is still in Brussels! Tell me, confound you, tell me!’

  There was a white agony in her face, but Judith was unmoved by it. She said: ‘He is not in Brussels, nor will he return. I wish you goodnight,