The stir in the Quartermaster-General's office, the departure of deputy-assistants charged with the swift delivery of orders to the divisions of the Army, infected the rest of the staff with a feeling of expectation and suppressed excitement. A few moderate spirits continued to maintain their belief in the attack's being nothing more than an affair of outposts; but the general opinion was that the Anglo-Allied Army would shortly be engaged. Colonel Audley went to his brother's house at seven, to dress for the ball, and on his way through the Park encountered a tall rifleman with a pair of laughing eyes, and a general air of devil-may-care. He thrust out his hand. "Kincaid!"
The rifleman grinned at him. "A staff officer with a worried frown! What's the news?"
"There's damned little of it. Are you going to the ball tonight?"
"What, the Duchess of Richmond's? Now, Audley. do I move in those exalted circles? Of course I'm not! However, several of ours are, so the honour of the regiment will be upheld. They tell me there's going to be a war. A real guerra al cuchillo!"
"Where do you get your information?" retorted the Colonel.
"Ah, we hear things, you know! Come along, out with it! What's the latest from the frontier?"
"Nada, nada, nada!" said the Colonel.
"Yes, you look as though there were nothing. All alike, you staff officers: close as oysters! My people have been singing Ahe Marmont all the afternoon."
"There's been no news sent off later than nine this morning. Are your pack-saddles ready?"
Kincaid cocked an eyebrow. "More or less. They won't be wanted before tomorrow, at all events, will they."
"I don't know, but I'll tell you this, Johnny: if you've any preparations to make, I wouldn't, if I were you, delay so long. Goodbye!"
Kincaid gave a low whistle. "That's the way it is, is it? Thank you, I'll see to it!"
Colonel Audley waved to him and strode on. When he reached Worth's house he found that both Worth and Judith were in their rooms, dressing for the ball. He ran up the stairs to his own apartment, and began to strip off his clothes. He was standing before the mirror in his shirt and gleaming white net pantaloons, brushing his hair, when Worth presently walked in.
"Hallo, Charles! So you go to the ball, do you? Is there any truth in the rumours that are running round the town?"
"The Prussians were attacked this morning. That's all we know. The Great Man's inclined to think it a feint. He doesn't think Boney will advance towards Charleroi: the roads are too bad. It's more likely the real attack will be on our right centre. Throw me over that sash, there's a good fellow!"
Worth gave it him, and watched him swathe the silken folds round his waist, so that the fringed ends fell gracefully down one thigh. The Colonel gave a last touch to the black stock about his neck, and struggled into his embroidered coat.
"Are you dining with us?"
"No, I dined early with the Duke. I don't know when I shall get to the ball: we've orders to remain at Headquarters."
"That sounds as though something is in the wind."
"Oh, there is something in the wind," said the Colonel, flicking one hessian boot with his handkerchief "God knows what, though! We're expecting to hear from Mons at any moment."
He picked up his gloves and cocked hat, charged Worth to make his excuses to Judith, and went back to the Rue Royale.
The Duke was in his dressing-room when, later in the evening, Baron Muffling came round to Headquarters with a despatch from Gneisenau, at Namur, but he called the Baron in to him immediately. The despatch confirmed the earlier tidings sent by Ziethen, and announced that Blucher was concentrating at Sombreffe, near the village of Ligny. General Gneisenau wanted to know what the Duke's intentions were, but the Duke was still obstinately awaiting news from Mons. He stood by the table, in his shirt-sleeves, an odd contrast to the Prussian in his splendid dress-uniform, and said with a note of finality in his voice which the Baron had begun to know well: "It is impossible for me to resolve on a point of concentration till I shall have received the Intelligence from Mons. When it arrives I will Immediately advise you."
There was nothing for Muffling to do but to withdraw. If he chafed at the delay, he gave no sign of it. He was aware of the Duke's obsession that the attack would fall on his right, and though he did not share this belief he was wise enough to perceive that nothing would be gained by argument. He went back to his own quarters to make out his report to Blucher, keeping a courier at his door to be in readiness to ride off as soon as he should have discovered the Duke's intentions.
The long-awaited news from Mons came in soon after he left the Duke. There had been no further Intelligence from Ziethen all day: what had occurred before Charleroi was still a matter for conjecture; and the despatch from Mons contained no tidings from Colonel Grant, but had been sent in by General Dornberg, who reported that he had no enemy in front of him, but believed the entire French Army to be turned toward Charleroi.
It now seemed certain that a concerted move was being made upon Charleroi, but whether the town had fallen or was still in Prussian hands, how far the French had penetrated across the frontier, was still unknown. After a few minutes' reflection, the Duke sent for De Lancey, and dictated his After-Orders. The Disposition of the Dutch-Belgic divisions at Nivelles was to remain unchanged; the 1st and 4th British Divisions were ordered to move on Braine-le-Comte and Enghien; Alten's 3rd Division to move from Braine-le-Comte to Nivelles, and all other divisions to march on Mont St Jean.
The Duke gave his directions in his clear, concise way, finished his toilet, and, a little time before midnight, drove round to General Müffling's quarter . Muffling had been watching the clock for the past hour. but he received the Duke without the least appearance of impatience.
"Well! I've got news from Dornberg," said his lordship briskly. "Orders for the concentration of my Army at Nivelles and Quatre-Bras are already despatched. Now, I'll tell you what, Baron: you and I will go to the Duchess's ball, and start for Quatre-Bray in the morning. You know all Bonaparte's friends in this town will be on tiptoe. The well-intentioned will be pacified if we go, and it will stop our people from getting into a panic."
The ball had been in progress for some time when the Duke's party arrived in the Rue de la Blanchisserie. All the Belgian and Dutch notables were present; the Prince of Orange, the Duke of Brunswick, the British Ambassador, the foreign commissioners, the Earl o: Uxbridge, Lord Hill, and such a host of generals with their aides-de-camp, fashionable young Guardsmen and officers of cavalry regiments, that the lilac crape and figured muslins were rendered insignificant by the scarlet and gold which so overpoweringly predominated. Jealous eyes dwelled from time to time on Barbara Childe, who, with what Lady Francis Webster almost tearfully described as fiendish cunning, had appeared midway through the evening in a gown of unrelieved white satin, veiled by silver net drapery a 1'Ariane. Nobody else had had such forethought; indeed, complained Lady John Somerset, who but Bab Childe would have the audacity to wear a gown like a bridal robe at a ball? The puces swore faintly at the scarlet uniforms; the celestial blues and the pale greens died; but the white satin turned all the gold-encrusted magnificence into a background to set it off.
"One comfort is that that head of hers positively shrieks at the uniforms!" said a lady in a Spanish Bodice and petticoat.
Barbara had come with the Vidals, but Lavisse was missing from her usual escort. None of the officers invited from General Perponcher's division had put in an appearance, a circumstance which presently began to cause a little uneasiness. No one knew just what was happening on the frontier, but wild rumours had been current all day, and the news of the Army's having been but in motion had begun to spread.
It was a very hot night, and the young people, overcoming the prudence of their elders, had had the windows opened in the ballroom. But hardly a breath of air stirred the long curtains, and young gentlemen in tight socks and high collars had begun to mop their brows and agonise over the possible wilting of the starched points of shirt-collars, so nattily protruding above the folds of their black cravats.
The ballroom formed a wing of its own to the left of the hall, and had an alcove at one end and a small ante-room at the other. It was prepared with a charming trellis pattern of roses and had several french windows on each side of it. It opened on to a passage that ran the length of the house, bisecting the hall in the middle. At the back of the hall, and immediately opposite the front door, was the entrance to the garden, with the dining-room on one side of it and two small apartments, one of which the Duke of Richmond used as a study, on the other. A fine staircase and billiard-room flanked the front door. The Duke's study was inhospitably closed, but every other room on the ground floor had been flung open. Candles burned everywhere; and banks of roses and lilies, anxiously sprinkled from time to time by the servants, overcame the hot smell of wax with their heavier scent.
Everything that could make the ball the most brilliant of the season had been done. There was no Catalani in Brussels to sing at the party, but the Duchess had a much more original surprise for her guests than the trills of a mere prima donna. She had contrived to get some of the sergeants and privates of the 42nd Royal Highlanders and the 92nd Foot to dance reels and strathspeys to the music of their own pipes. It was a spectacle that enchanted everyone scarlet, and rifle-green, and the blaze of hussar jacket were at a discount when the weird sound of the pipes began and the Highlanders came marching in with their kilts swinging, tartans swept over their left shoulders, huge white sporrans bobbing, and the red chequered patterns of their stockings twinkling in the quick steps of the reel. A burst of clapping greeted their appearance; the strathspeys and the sword-dance called forth shouts of Bravo! One daring young lady threw the rose she had been wearing at a blushing private; everyone began to laugh, one or two ladies followed her example, and the Highlanders retired presently, almost overwhelmed by the admiration they had evoked.
But when the skirl of the pipes had died away and the orchestra struck up a waltz, the brief period of forgetfulness left the company. The young people thronged on to the floor again, but older guests gathered into little groups, discussing the rumours, and buttonholing every general officer who happened to be passing. None of the generals could give the anxious any news; they all said they had heard nothing fresh even Uxbridge and Hill, who, it was thought, must have received certain intelligence. Hill wore his habitual placid smile; Uxbridge was debonair, and put all questions aside with a light-heartedness he was far from feeling. He had had, earlier in the evening, a somewhat disconcerting interview with the Duke. He stood next to him in seniority, and would have liked a little Information himself. He had been warned not to ask questions of the Duke if he wished to avoid a snub, but he had prevailed upon Alava, whom he knew to be a personal friend of Wellington, to pave the way for him. But it had not been very successful. "Plans! I have no plans!" had exclaimed his lordship. "I shall be guided by circumstances." Uxbridge had stood silent. His Lordship, using a milder tone, had clapped him on the shoulder, and added: "One thing is certain: you and I will both do our duty, Uxbridge."
The Duke's absence from the ball increased the uneasiness that had lurked in everyone's mind all day. When he arrived soon after midnight, Georgiana Lennox darted off the floor towards him, dragging Lord Hay by the hand, and demanded breathlessly "Oh, Duke, do pray tell me! Are the rumours true? Is it war?"
He replied gravely: "Yes, they are true: we are off tomorrow."
She turned pale; his words, overheard by those standing near, were repeated, and spread quickly round the ballroom. The music went on, and some of the dancing, but the chatter died, only to break out again voices sharper, and a note of excitement audible in the medley of talk. Officers who had ridden in from a distance to attend the ball hurried away to rejoin their regiments, some with sober faces, some wildly elate: some lingering to exchange touching little keepsakes with girls in flower-like dresses who had stopped laughing, and clung with frail, unconscious hands to scarlet sleeve, or the fur border of a pelisse. One or two general officers went up to confer with the Duke, and then returned to their partners, saying cheerfully that there was no need for anyone to be alarmed: they were not going to the war yet; time enough to think of that when the ball was over.
From scores of faces the polite company mask seemed to have slipped. People had forgotten that at balls they must smile, and hide whatever care or grief they owned under bright, artificial fronts. Some of the senior officers were looking grave; here and there a rigid, meaningless smile was pinned to a mother's white face, or a girl stood with a fallen mouth, and blank eyes fixed on a scarlet uniform. A queer, almost greedy emotion shone in many countenances. Life had become suddenly an urgent business, racing towards disaster, and the craving for excitement, the breathless moment compound of fear, and grief, and exaltation, when the mind sharpened, and the senses were stretched as taut as the strings of a violin, surged up under the veneer of good manners, and shone behind the dread in shocked young eyes. For all the shrinking from tragedy looming ahead, there was yet an unacknowledged eagerness to hurry to meet whatever horror lurked in the future; if existence were to sink back to the humdrum, there would be disappointment behind the relief, and a sense of frustration.
The ball went on; couples, hesitating at first, drifted back into the waltz; Sir William Ponsonby seized a girl in a sprigged muslin dress round the waist, and said gaily: "Come along! I can't miss this! It is quite my favourite tune!"
Georgiana felt a tug at her sleeve, and turned to find Hay stammering with excitement, his eyes blazing. "Georgy We're going to war! Going into action against Boney himself! Oh, I say, come back and dance this! Was there ever anything so splendid?"