An Infamous Army Read online

  Baron Müffling, drawing abreast of him, said: ‘The Field Marshal will call this battle Belle-Alliance, sir.’

  His lordship returned no answer. The Baron, casting a shrewd glance at his bony profile, with its frosty eye and pursed mouth, realised that he had no intention of calling the battle by that name. It was his lordship’s custom to name his victories after the village or town where he had slept the night before them. The Marshal Prince might call the battle what he liked, but his lordship would head his despatch to Earl Bathurst: ‘Waterloo’.

  Twenty-Five

  For those in Brussels the day had been one of increasing anxiety. Contrary to expectation, no firing was heard, the wind blowing steadily from the north-west. The Duke’s despatch to Sir Charles Stuart, written from Waterloo in the small hours, reached him at seven o’clock, and shortly afterwards Baron van de Capellan, the Secretary of State, issued a reassuring proclamation. After that no news of any kind was received in the town for many hours.

  Colonel Jones, left in Brussels during the Duke’s absence as Military Commander, was besieged all the morning by applications for passports. Every track-boat bound for Antwerp was as full as it could hold of refugees; money could not buy a pair of horses in all Brussels. Scores of people drove off at an early hour, with baggage piled high on the roofs of their carriages; the town seemed strangely quiet and deserted; and the church bells ringing for morning service sounded to sensitive ears like a knell.

  Both Judith and Barbara had slept the night through, in utter exhaustion, but neither in the morning looked as though she were refreshed by this deep slumber. Except for discussing in a desultory manner the extraordinary revelation Lucy Devenish had made on the previous evening, they did not talk much. Once Judith said: ‘If you knew the comfort it is to me to have you with me!’ but Barbara merely smiled rather mockingly, and shook her head.

  In the privacy of their own bedroom, Judith had remarked impulsively to Worth: ‘I am out of all conceit with myself! I have been deceived alike in Lucy and in Barbara!’

  ‘You might certainly be forgiven for having been deceived in Lucy,’ Worth replied. ‘I imagine no one could have suspected such a melodramatic story to lie behind that demure appearance.’

  ‘No, indeed! I was never more shocked in my life. Bab says George will make her a very bad husband, and if it were not unchristian I should be much inclined to say that she will have nothing but her just deserts. But Bab! I could not have believed that she had such strength of character, such real goodness of heart! Have not you been surprised?’

  ‘No,’ he replied. ‘I should have been very much surprised had she not, in this crisis, behaved precisely as she has done. My opinion of her remains unchanged.’

  ‘How can you talk so? You cannot have supposed from her conduct during these past months that she would behave so well now!’

  ‘On the contrary, I never doubted her spirit. She is, moreover, just the kind of young woman who, under the stress of such conditions as these, is elevated for the time above her ordinary self.’

  ‘For the time! You place no dependence on this softened mood continuing, I collect!’

  ‘Very little,’ he answered.

  ‘You are unjust, Worth! For my part, I am persuaded that she repents bitterly of all that has passed. Oh, if only Charles is spared, I shall be so glad to see him reunited to her!’

  ‘That is fortunate, since I have little doubt that you will see it.’

  ‘You don’t think it will do?’

  ‘I am not a judge of what will suit Charles. It would not do for me. She will certainly lead him a pretty dance.’

  ‘Oh no, no! I am sure you are mistaken!’

  He smiled at the distress in her face, and pinched her chin. ‘I daresay I may be. I will admit, if you like, that I prefer this match to the one you tried to make for Charles, my dear!’

  She blushed. ‘Oh, don’t speak of that! At least there is nothing of that lack of openness in Bab.’

  ‘Nothing at all,’ he agreed somewhat dryly.

  She saw that she could not talk him round to her way of thinking, and allowed the conversation to drop.

  They had scarcely got up from the breakfast table, a little later, when they received a morning call from Mr and Mrs Fisher.

  ‘She has confessed, then!’ Judith exclaimed when the visitors’ cards were brought to her.

  ‘In floods of tears, I’d lay my last guinea!’ said Barbara.

  ‘It is not to be wondered at if she did weep!’

  ‘I abominate weeping females. Do you wish for my support at this interview?’

  ‘Oh yes, they will certainly desire to see you.’

  ‘Very well, but I’ll be hanged if I’ll be held accountable for George’s sins.’

  It was as Judith had supposed. Lucy had confessed the whole to her aunt and uncle. They were profoundly shocked, and Mr Fisher seemed almost bewildered. He said that he could not understand how such a thing could have come to pass, and so far from blaming Barbara for her brother’s conduct, several times apologised to her for it. Mrs Fisher, torn between a sense of propriety and a love of romance, was inclined to find excuses for the young people, in which occupation Judith gladly assisted her. Mr Fisher agreed, but with a very sober face, that since the marriage had actually taken place there was nothing to do but to forgive Lucy. Barbara’s presence prevented him from expressing his opinion of Lord George’s character, but it was plain that this was not high. He sighed deeply several times, and shook his head over his poor girl’s chances of happiness. Mrs Fisher exclaimed, with the tears springing to her eyes: ‘Oh! If only she is not even now, perhaps, a widow!’

  This reflection made them all silent. After a moment, her husband said heavily: ‘You are very right, Mrs Fisher. Ah, poor child, who knows what this day may not bring upon her? You must know, Lady Worth, that she is already quite overcome by her troubles, and is laid down upon her bed with the hartshorn.’

  ‘I am sure it is no wonder,’ Judith responded, avoiding Barbara’s eye.

  The Fishers soon took their leave, and the rest of the morning was spent by Judith and Barbara in rendering all the assistance in their power to those nursing the wounded in the tent by the Namur Gate. Returning together just before four o’clock they found visitors with Worth in the salon, and walked in to discover these to be none other than the Duke and Duchess of Avon, who had arrived in Brussels scarcely an hour previously.

  Barbara stood on the threshold, staring at them. ‘What the devil—? Grandmama, how the deuce do you come to be here?’

  The Duke, a tall man with grizzled hair and fiery dark eyes, said: ‘Don’t talk to your grandmother like that! What’s this damnable story I hear about that worthless brother of yours?’

  Barbara bent to kiss her grandmother, a rather stout lady, with a straight back, and an air of unshakable imperturbability: ‘Dear love! Did you come for my sake?’

  ‘No, I came because your grandfather would do so. But this is very surprising, this news of George’s marriage. Tell me, shall I like his wife?’

  ‘You’ll have nothing to do with her!’ snapped his Grace. ‘Upon my word, I’m singularly blessed in my grandchildren! One is such a miserable poltroon that he takes to his heels the instant he hears a gun fired; another makes herself the talk of the town; and a third marries a damned Cit’s daughter. You may as well tell me what folly Harry has committed, and be done with it. I wash my hands of the pack of you! There is no understanding how I came to have such a set of grandchildren.’

  ‘Vidal’s behaviour is certainly very bad,’ agreed the Duchess. ‘But I find nothing remarkable about George’s and Bab’s conduct, Dominic. Only I’m sorry George should have married in such a hole-and-corner fashion. It will make it very awkward for his wife. You have not told me if I shall like her, Bab.’

  ‘You will think her very dull, I daresay.’

  ‘You will not receive her at all!’ stated his Grace.

  The Duchess replied cal