An Infamous Army (16 page)

She agreed to it. "Yes, indeed. Do all your staff officers perform so creditably, Duke? They put the rest quite in the shade."

"Yes, I often wonder where would Society be without my boys?" he replied. "Your brother acquits himself very well, but I believe that young scamp, Lennox, is the best of them. There he goes - but his partner is too heavy on her feet! Audley has the advantage of him in that respect."

"Yes," she acknowledged. "Lady Barbara dances very well."

"Audley's a fortunate fellow," said the Duke decidedly. "Won't thank me for taking him away from Brussels, I daresay. Don't blame him! But it can't be helped."

"You are leaving us, then?"

"Oh yes - yes! for a few days. No secret about it: I have to visit the Army."

"Of course. We shall await your return with impatience, I assure you, praying the Ogre may not descend upon us while you are absent!"

He gave one of his sudden whoops of laughter. "No fear of that! It's all nonsense, this talk about Bonaparte! Ogre! Pooh! Jonathan Wild, that's my name for him!" He saw her look of astonishment, and laughed again, apparently much amused, either by her surprise or by his own words.

She was conscious of disappointment. He had been described to her as unaffected: he seemed to her almost inane.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Upon the following day was published a General Order, directing officers in future to make their reports to the Duke of Wellington. Upon the same day, a noble-browed gentleman with a suave address and treat tact, was sent from Brussels to the Prussian Headquarters, there to assume the somewhat arduous duties of military commissioner to the Prussian Army. Sir Henry Hardinge had lately been employed by the Duke in watching Napoleon's movements in France. He accepted his new role with his usual equanimity, and commiserated with by his friends on the particularly trying nature of his commission, merely smiled, and said that General von Gneisenau was not likely to be as tiresome as he was painted.

The Moniteur of this 11 th day of April published loomy tidings. In the south of France, the Duc D'Angouleme's enterprise had failed. Angouleme had led his mixed force on Lyons, but the arrival from Paris of a competent person of the name of Grouchy had ennded Royalist hopes in the south. Angouleme and his masterful wife had both set sail from France, and his army was fast dwindling away.

It was not known what King Louis, in Ghent, made of these tidings, but those who were acquainted with his character doubted whether his nephew's failure would much perturb him. Never was there so lethargic a monarch: one could hardly blame France for welcoming Napoleon back.

The news disturbed others, however. It seemed as though it were all going to start again: victory upon victory for Napoleon; France overrunning Europe. Shocking to think of the Emperor's progress through France, of the men who flocked to join his little force, of the crowds who welcomed him, hysterical with joy! Shocking to think of Marshal Ney, with his oath to King Louis on his conscience, deserting with his whole force to the Emperor's side! There must be some wizardry in the man, for in all France there had not been found sufficient loyal men to stand by the King and make it possible for him to hold his capital in Napoleon's teeth. He had fled, with his little Court, and his few troops, and if ever he found himself on his throne again it would be once more because foreign soldiers had placed him there.

But how unlikely it seemed that he would find himself there! With Napoleon at large, summoning his Champ de Mai assemblies, issuing his dramatic proclamations, gathering together his colossal armies, only the very optimistic could feel that there was any hope for King Louis.

Even Wellington doubted the ability of the Allies to put King Louis back on the throne, but this doubt sprang more from a just appreciation of the King's character than from any fear of Napoleon. Sceptical people might ascribe the Duke's attitude to the fact of his never having met Napoleon in the field, but the fact remained that his lordship was one of the few generals in Europe who did not prepare to meet Napoleon in a mood of spiritual defeat.

He accorded the news of Angouleme's failure a sardonic laugh, and laid the Moniteur aside. He was too busy to waste time over that.

He kept his staff busy too, a circumstance which displeased Barbara Childe. To be loved by a man who sent her brief notes announcing his inability to accompany her on expeditions of her planning was a new experience. When she saw him at the end of a :firing day, she rallied him on his choice of profession. "For the future I shall be betrothed only to civilians."

He laughed. He had been all the way to Oudenarde and back, with a message for General Colville, commanding the 4th Division, but he had found time to buy a ring of emeralds and diamonds for Barbara, end although there was a suggestion of weariness about his eyelids, he seemed to desire nothing as much as to dance with her the night through.

Waltzing with him, she said abruptly: "Are you tired?"

"Tired! Do I dance as though I were tired?"

"No, but you've been in the saddle nearly all day."

"Oh, that's nothing! In Spain I have been used to ride fifteen or twenty miles to a ball, and be at work again by ten o'clock the next day."

"Wellington trains admirable suitors," she remarked. "How fortunate it is that you dance so well, Charles!"

"I know. You would not otherwise have accepted me."

"Yes, I think perhaps I should. But I should not dance with you so much. I wish you need not leave Brussels just now."

"So do I. What will you do while I am away? Flirt with your Belgian admirer?"

She looked up at him. "Don't go!" He smiled, but shook his head.

"Apply to the Duke for leave, Charles!"

He looked started. As his imagination played with the scene her words evoked, his eyes began to dance.

"Unthinkable!"

"Why? You might well ask the Duke!"

"Believe me, I might not!"

She jerked up a shoulder. "Perhaps you don't wish for leave?"

"I don't," he said frankly. "Why, what a fellow I should be if I did!"

"Don't I come first with you?"

He glanced down at her. "You don't understand, Bab."

"Oh, you mean to talk to me of your duty!" she said impatiently. "Tedious stuff!"

"Very. Tell me what you will do while I am away."

"Flirt with Etienne. You have already said so. Have I your permission?"

"If you need it. It's very lucky: I leave Brussels on the 16th, and Lavisse will surely arrive on the 15th for the dinner in honour of the Prince of Orange. I daresay he'll remain a day or two, and so be at your disposal."

"Not jealous, Charles?"

"How should I be? You wear my ring, not his."

His guess was correct. The Comte de Lavisse appeared in Brussels four days later to attend the Belgian dinner at the Hotel d'Angleterre. He lost no time in calling in the Rue Ducale, and on learning that Lady Barbara was out, betook himself to the Park, and very soon came upon her ladyship, in company with Colonel Audley, Lady Worth and her offspring, Sir Peregrine Taverner, and Miss Devenish.

The party seemed to be a merry one, Judith being in spirits and Barbara in a melting mood. It was she who held Lord Temperley's leading strings, and directed his attention to a bed of flowers. "Pretty lady!" Lord Temperley called her, with weighty approval.

"Famous!" she said. She glanced up at Judith, and said with a touch of archness: "I count your son one of my admirers, you see!"

"You are so kind to him I am sure it is no wonder," Judith responded, liking her in this humour.

"Thank you! Charles, set him on your shoulder, and let us take him to see the swans on the water. Lady worth, you permit?"

"Yes indeed, but I don't wish you to be teased by him!"

"No such thing!" She swooped upon the child, and lifted him up in her arms. "There! I declare I could carry you myself!"

"He's too heavy for you!"

"He will crush your pelisse!"

She shrugged as these objections were uttered, and relinquished the child. Colonel Audley tossed him up on to his shoulder, and the whole party was about to walk in the direction of the pavilion when Lavisse, who had been watching from a little distance, came forward, and clicked his heels together in one of his flourishing salutes.

Lady Worth bowed with distant civility; Barbara looked as though she did not care to be discovered in such a situation; only the Colonel said with easy good humour: "Hallo! You know my sister, I believe. And Miss Devenish - Sir Peregrine Taverner?"

"Ah, I have not previously had the honour! Mademoiselle! Monsieur!" Two bows were executed; the Count looked slyly towards Barbara, and waved a hand to include the whole group. "You must permit me to compliment you upon the pretty tableau you make; I am perhaps de trop, but shall beg leave to join the party."

"By all means," said the Colonel. "We are taking my nephew to see the swans."

"You cannot want to carry him, Charles," said Judith in a low voice.

"Fiddle!" he replied. "Why should I not want to carry him?"

She thought that the picture he made with the child on his shoulder was too domestic to be romantic, but could scarcely say so. He set off towards the pavilion with Miss Devenish beside him; Barbara imperiously demanded Sir Peregrine's arm; and as the path was not broad enough to allow of four persons walking abreast, Judith was left to bring up the rear with Lavisse.

This arrangement was accepted by the Count with all the outward complaisance of good manners. Though his eyes might follow Barbara, his tongue uttered every civil inanity required of him. He was ready to discuss the political situation, the weather, or mutual acquaintances, and, in fact, touched upon all these topics with the easy address of a fashionable man.

Upon their arrival at the sheet of water by the pavilion his air of fashion left him. Judith was convinced that nothing could have been further from nis inclination than to throw bread to a pair of swans, gut he clapped his hands together, declaring that the swans must and should be fed, and ran off to the pavilion to procure crumbs for the purpose.

He came back presently with some cakes, a circumstance which shocked Miss Devenish into exclaiming against such extravagance.

"Oh, such delicious little cakes, and all for the swans! The stale bread would have been better!"

The Count said gaily: "They have no stale bread, Mademoiselle; they were offended at the very question. So what would you?"

"I am sure the swans will much prefer your cakes Etienne," said Barbara, smiling at him for the first time. "If only you may not corrupt their tastes!" remarked Audley, holding on to his nephew's skirts.

"Ah, true! A swan with an unalterable penchant for cake . I fear he would inevitably starve!"

"He might certainly despair of finding another patron with your lavish notions of largess," observed Barbara.

She stepped away from the group, in the endeavour to coax one of the swans to feed from her hand; after a few moments the Count joined her, while Colonel Audley still knelt, holding his nephew on the brink of the lake, and directing his erratic aim in crumb throwing.