An Infamous Army (43 page)

"Such sentiments do you credit," said Judith, with mechanical civility. She glanced at Miss Devenish, and added: "Do not be unnecessarily alarmed, Lucy. I believe we must by this time have heard had anything happened to my brother-in-law."

Miss Devenish replied in a numb voice: "Oh yes! It must be so, of course. Only I hoped he might perhaps have been sent in with a message. It is of no consequence."

Judith could not resist glancing in Barbara's .direction. She was standing back against the dark urtains, her eyes fixed on Lucy's face with an expression in them of curious intentness. Judith looked away quickly, and repeated: "I have not seen Charles since the ball."

"No." Miss Devenish looked at Barbara; a little colour crept into her cheeks; she said, stumbling over the words: "And you, Lady Barbara - I do not like to ask you - but you have heard nothing?"

"Nothing at all," Barbara replied.

"No; I quite realise - you must wonder at my asking you, but there are circumstances which -" Her voice failed entirely: indeed, her last words had been almost inaudible. She got up, flushing, and reminded her uncle that they had promised not to leave Mrs Fisher for more than half an hour.

He agreed that they must be going, and said in a rallying tone, as he shook hands with Judith: "Your ladyship will bear me out in assuring this little puss that there is no need for all this alarm. Ah, you may shake your head as much as you please, Missy, but you won't make your old uncle believe that you haven't lost that soft heart of yours to some handsome officer!"

No answer was vouchsafed; Lucy pressed Judith's hand, bowed slightly to Barbara, and hurried out of the room. Mr Fisher begged Judith not to think of accompanying them to the door, again thanked her for receiving him, became aware that the butler was holding open the door for him, and bowed himself out.

A long, painful silence fell in the salon. Barbara had parted the curtains and was looking out into the street. "It is still raining," she remarked presently.

"The thunder is less violent, I believe."

"Yes."

Judith sat down, smoothing a crease from her dress. She said, without raising her eyes from her skirt: "I do not believe he cares for her."

It was a moment before Barbara answered. She said then, in a level tone: "If he does, I have come by my deserts."

There could be no gainsaying it. Judith said with a wry smile: "I wanted him to, you know."

"Don't you still?"

"No. These days seem to have altered everything. I did not want to receive you in my house, but your strength has supported me as I would not have believed it could. Whatever happened in the past, or whatever is to happen in the future, I can never forget the comfort your presence is to me now."

Barbara turned her head. "You are generous!" she said, a note of mockery in her voice. "But the other side of my character is true, too. Don't set me up on a pedestal! I should certainly tumble down from it."

At that moment Worth came into the room. He had changed into dry clothes, and said, in answer to Judith's surprised exclamation, that he had come in while Mr Fisher and Miss Devenish were sitting with her. The next question was inevitable: "Is there any news?"

"Yes, there is news," he replied. "It is disquieting, but I believe it may be accounted for by the Prussian defeat. The Allied Army is said to be retreating."

Judith gazed at him in horror. Barbara said: "The devil it is! Confound you, I don't believe it!"

"It is a pity your sanguine temperament is not shared by others," he said dryly. "The whole town is in an uproar. I am informed on credible authority that as much as a hundred napoleons have been offered for a pair of horses to go to Antwerp." He flicked open his snuff box and added in a languid tone: "My opinion of the human race has never been high, but the antics that are being performed at this moment exceed every expectation of folly with which I had previously indulged my fancy."

"I hope you observe that we at least are preserving our dignity!" retorted Barbara.

"I do, and I am grateful to you."

"But, Worth! A retreat!" Judith cried.

"Don't disturb yourself, my love. Recollect that Wellington is a master in retreat. If the Prussians have fallen back, we must be obliged to do the same to maintain our communications with them. Until we hear that the retreat is a rout, I must - regretfully, of course - decline to join the rabble on the road to Antwerp."

Judith could not help laughing, but said with a good deal of spirit: "Nothing, indeed, could be more odious. We certainly shall not talk of flight yet awhile."

They dined at an early hour, but although both ladies were very tired from the exertions and the nervous stress they had undergone, neither could think of retiring to bed until further news had been received from the Army. They sat in the salon, trying to occupy themselves with ordinary sewing tasks, until Worth, with a glance at the clock, got up, saying that he would walk round to Stuart's to discover if anything more had been heard. He left the room, and went downstairs to the hall. At the same moment, the ladies heard a knock on the street door, followed an instant later by the confused murmur of voices in the hall.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Judith ran out to the head of the stairs. Worth called up to her: "It is Charles, Judith. All is well!"

"Oh, bring him up! Bring him up!" she begged. "Charles, I am so thankful! Come up at once!"

"I'm in no fit state to enter your drawing-room, you know," Colonel Audley replied in a tired but cheerful voice.

"Good God, what does that signify?" She caught sight of him as she spoke, and exclaimed: "You are drenched to the skin! You must change your clothes immediately or Heaven knows what will become of you!"

He mounted the stairs, and as he came into the light cast by a sconce of candles Judith saw that his face was grey with fatigue, and his embroidered ball dress, which he still wore, saturated with rain and mud, a tear in one sleeve and the wristband of his shirt stained with blood.

"You are hurt!" she said quickly.

"No, I assure you I am not. Nothing but a cut from a bayonet: it scarcely broke the skin. I am only sleepy, and very hungry, upon my honour!"

"You shall have dinner the instant you are out of those wet clothes," she promised, taking his hand between both of hers and clasping it for a moment. "You are worn out! Oh, dear Charles, the relief of knowing you to be safe!"

She could say no more; he smiled, but seemed to have no energy to waste in answering her. Worth took him by the arm and led him towards the second pair of stairs. "Come along!" he said. "The appearance you present is quite appalling, believe me!"

Judith ran back into the salon and tugged at the bell pull. Barbara was standing just inside the door, watching Colonel Audley as he mounted the stairs to his bedroom. She said with a shaky laugh: "His beautiful ball dress quite ruined! When I think how smart he was, only two nights ago, it makes me want to weep! Was there ever anything so confoundedly silly?"

Upstairs, Worth rang the bell for his valet, and began to help the Colonel to peel off his sodden coat. Through the torn sleeve of a shirt that was clinging to his body could be seen a strip of sticking-plaster, covering a slash upon the upper arm. The blood had dried upon the shirtsleeve, and Audley winced a little as he stripped the shirt off.

"I take it that's not serious?" said Worth.

"Good God, no! A scratch."

"How did you come by it?"

"Trying to rally those damned Dutch-Belgians!" replied the Colonel bitterly. He added, with the flash of a smile: "I don't know that I blame them, though, poor devils! They got the brunt of it at the start, and then, to add to their troubles, what must some of our fellows do but mistake a party of them for the French, and open fire on them! It's all the fault of their accursec uniforms, and those bell-topped shakos of theirs."

"Where's the Army?"

"Before Mont St Jean, rather more than a couple of miles south of Waterloo, bivouacking for the night."

Worth raised his brows. "That seems somewhat close to Brussels."

"No help for it. Old Blucher's gone eighteen miles to his rear, to Wavre. We had to do likewise, of course. But don't worry! We're in a better case than at Quatre-Bras: the ground there was damnable for cavalry."

The valet came into the room just then, and conversation was suspended while the Colonel's mud-caked Hessians were pulled off, his pantaloons peeled from his legs, and warm water fetched to wash away the dirt, and the sweat and the bloodstains from his tired body. By the time he came downstairs again, in his service uniform, a tray had been brought to the salon and a table spread. He walked into the room just ahead of his brother, smiled rather wearily at Judith, and then saw Barbara standing by the fireplace. A frown creased his brow; his eyes, heavy and bloodshot, blinked at her in a puzzled way. His brain felt clogged; he did not know how she came to be there, and felt too tired to speculate much about the circumstance. A nightmare of estrangement lay between them, but he had been in the saddle almost continuously for two days, had taken part in a fierce battle against superior odds, and knew that perhaps the most serious engagement of his life was ahead of him. His mind refused to grapple with personal considerations; he merely held out his hand, and said: "I didn't know you were here, Bab. How do you do?"

Judith, who had expected some show at least of surprise, and had been prepared to whisk herself and Worth out of the room, felt that this calm greeting must affect Barbara like a douche of cold water. But Barbara just took the Colonel's hand, and answered: "Yes, Charles. I am here. Never mind that now. You are hungry and tired."

"I don't know when I have been more so," he admitted, turning from her, and seating himself at the table. He accepted a plate of cold beef from Judith, and added: "Both your brothers are safe. I think George got a scratch or two today, but nothing serious. I suppose Canning gave you an account of our engagement at Quatre-Bras, Julian?"

"Yes, and I heard more later from Creevey, who had seen Hamilton, of Barnes's staff."

"Oh, did you?" said Colonel, his mouth rather full of beef. "Then I expect you know all that happened."

"Very briefly. Hamilton left the field before the engagement ended."

"The Guards settled it. Cooke's division came up at about half past six, I suppose. Maitland sent Lord Saltoun in with the Light Infantry of the brigade to clear Bossu wood of the French, which he did. I don't really know where Byng's brigade was placed. It was almost impossible to make out anyone's position. One of Halkett's fellows told me they had seen the French actually sending a man galloping ahead to plant a flag as a point for their troops to charge on. You've no idea what the crops are like there. I've never seen rye grown to such a height."

"When did Halkett arrive? I collect you mean Sir Colin, not his brother?"

"Yes, of course. Hew Halkett's Hanoverians weren't at Quatre-Bras at all. Alten brought up the 3rd Division somewhere between four and five in the afternoon, and, by God, they were not a moment too soon. Picton's division was pretty well crippled. I don't know which of the brigades suffered the most, Kempt's or Pack's. To make matters worse, Brunswick had been carried off the field, and his men were badly shaken. Olferman couldn't hold them, and they were retreating in a good deal of haste when old Halkett came up. You know Halkett! - or rather you don't, but he told Olferman without mincing matters what he thought of the retreat, and brought the Brunswickers up under cover of a ditch, like the famous old fighter he is!"