‘Many have thought so.’ He lowered his voice. ‘James was in Byron’s set, a renowned fighter and gambler proud of his nickname Bold Webster. The union is said to be one of convenience. Lady Frances married him aged but 17 to escape her family; he was glad to wed the daughter of an earl.’
Elizabeth smiled. ‘I see what you are about, Mr Darcy. You wish to educate me in the realities of matrimony.’
‘They seem happy in their way. James has always been interested in promoting prize-fighters. He loves to attend bouts and bet on the outcome.’
‘And Lady Frances?’
‘I don’t know her well, but it is said she has cultivated close friendships with Lord Byron and others.’
‘She appears on close terms with the Field Marshal.’
‘Indeed.’ Darcy turned as Colonel Fitzwilliam tapped his arm and pointed to a tall man in black and gold striding to the main table.
‘The Prince of Orange is back!’
The man leaned over Wellington, whispering, and the Field Marshal sat up with a jerk as if taken by surprise.
‘Urgent news!’ Colonel Fitzwilliam hissed.
Wellington withdrew for a private conference with the Prince, but returned to the table and concluded his conversation with Lady Frances before announcing that he would retire to bed. The room hushed as he leaned across to the Duke of Richmond, asked to see a map, then followed his host into the house.
‘What can this signify?’ Elizabeth said.
‘I don’t know, but I mean to find out.’
Darcy jumped up, rounded the table, and kneeled beside Sir James Webster. ‘What did you hear?’
‘The French are nearly at Quatre Bras,’ Sir James said. ‘A crossroads less than 20 miles away.’
Darcy hastened back to Colonel Fitzwilliam, who was in conversation with another officer, and whispered the news.
Colonel Fitzwilliam extended an arm to his companion. ‘Captain Bowles here has spoken with the Duke of Richmond. Wellington admits Bonaparte has tricked him. He will try to stop the French at Quatre Bras, but failing that, plans to retreat to a town further along the road to Brussels. It is called Waterloo.’
They stood beside their seats in the alcove, preparing to leave. The news had gone round; there would be no more dancing. Elizabeth, shivering, held his arm as they stared at the extraordinary scene. All around the ballroom people stood in groups saying farewell to their friends and kin. Mothers and wives wept unashamedly as they parted with their menfolk; all jollity had gone, replaced by grief and dread.
The Viscount joined them. ‘Mes amis, we must go now and get some sleep. Tomorrow morning I will rise early, and we will make plans.’
Darcy’s mind raced as they walked over the cobbles towards their carriage. What plans did the Viscount have in mind? Elizabeth and the other ladies would have to flee Brussels—that much was obvious. But himself? His instinct, of course, was to remain with Elizabeth, but as an Englishman, and Colonel Fitzwilliam’s cousin, other responsibilities had to be considered.
He sighed wearily. First they must sleep.
45
A hand touched her shoulder. Elizabeth rolled over to see Lorraine de Crécy at her side.
‘Sorry, I must wake you.’
Elizabeth sat up, her stomach churning as she recalled their predicament. ‘News?’
‘It is confirmed that our armies have been marching to Quatre Bras to support the Prussians, and will engage the French today.’ Lorraine sighed. ‘The men are already up, studying the latest messages. Shall I ask my maid to attend you?’
Elizabeth dressed and hastened downstairs to find the others assembled in the dining room, talking over coffee and rolls.
She sat beside Darcy. ‘Has anything been decided?’
Colonel Fitzwilliam answered. ‘My orders just arrived. I am to join my regiment at their camp for an inspection, then report to headquarters.’
‘The 52nd is still encamped west of Brussels?’ Elizabeth asked.
‘Yes. You see, on first hearing of the French advance, the Field Marshall believed it might be a feint, with the main attack coming from the west. He therefore split the army in two parts, one to intercept the enemy at Quatre Bras, the other, including my regiment, to wait near the city. It is now too late to join our comrades, so for the time being we can only wait and hope.’
Lorraine frowned. ‘But with only half an army against Bonaparte’s entire force, what can be done?’
Colonel Fitzwilliam spread his palms. ‘Nothing is sure. The French may have committed only part of their army. Also we are not alone: the Prussians will be joining from the east. But you are probably right. If we cannot hold them we must conserve our troops and retreat.’
‘In which case,’ said the Vicomte, ‘Brussels may fall within a few days.’ He turned to his daughter. ‘You must leave, ma chère, for Antwerp. Mademoiselle Bennet too.’
‘Why Antwerp?’ Elizabeth asked.
‘It is 25 miles to the north,’ Darcy said, ‘well fortified, and located on a river not far from the sea.’
Mademoiselle de Crécy turned to her father. ‘Papa, I wish to remain where I can be of use in the hospital. If what we fear comes to pass, the Minimes will be overwhelmed.’
The Vicomte shook his head. ‘Out of the question. If Bonaparte enters Brussels, none of us will be safe. People are already destroying newspapers that carry insulting cartoons of the self-styled Emperor. His spies know we have aided the British. I cannot leave ladies here in the path of a rampaging French army.’
Darcy nodded. ‘I agree.’
Lorraine de Crécy glanced at Elizabeth, then faced her father again. ‘And the nuns and other nurses? If they stay, then as patron so should I.’
‘It would be a meaningless gesture,’ the Vicomte said.
Bristling, Lorraine cried, ‘Outrageous! You know that I understand the administration of the hospital intimately and can help in many ways.’
The Vicomte looked away, more in sadness than anger. ‘I am not going to argue. A decision has been taken, and you will leave this morning at eight o’clock.’
‘And the gentlemen?’ Elizabeth asked.
‘I must remain one more day,’ the Vicomte said. ‘If Mr Darcy agrees, I would be vastly reassured if he accompanied you to Antwerp.’
Elizabeth turned to Darcy, expecting an immediate confirmation, but he hesitated. ‘I need to confer with my cousin.’
She felt a pain like a stab to the heart. ‘But surely you can do nothing here? It is a matter for the military.’
Colonel Fitzwilliam said gently, ‘That is not altogether true, Miss Bennet. The fighting is for trained soldiers, but there are jobs behind the lines for any fit man, especially one that can read and write.’
‘Or any fit woman,’ Lorraine de Crécy said pointedly.
The Vicomte slapped the table. ‘I am not going to put the ladies in the way of French soldiers,’ he said. ‘That is final.’
Elizabeth took Darcy’s arm. ‘I beg you …’
He said kindly, ‘I must do my duty, Elizabeth. Whether that lies in protecting you, or serving my country, remains uncertain.’
She longed to press him, but intuited that this was not the time. ‘I will support whatever you decide.’
Elizabeth sorted through a case in which she was keeping Jane’s letters and other treasured mementos of her journey. A trunk had been packed with essential clothing, and she looked longingly at her silk dress, wondering if she would ever come back to reclaim it.
There was a tap on the door, and Lorraine entered and sat beside her on the edge of her bed.
‘It is sad to leave our precious things behind, no?’
Elizabeth smiled sadly. ‘And people.’
‘But surely your Mr Darcy will come.’
Elizabeth’s eyes filled with tears. ‘He will see it as his duty to remain with his cousin.’
Lorraine squeezed her hand. ‘But chérie, he loves you.’
‘Even so.’ Elizab
eth wiped her eyes impatiently on her cuff. ‘I wish we could stay as well.’
‘I too.’ Lorraine pointed at the case. ‘What are you taking?’
Elizabeth showed her some of the items, handling them with reverent care as the memories returned. The blonde wig was admired, and they both tried it on. Alice Dill’s drawings. Copies of two songs by Schubert. Two Bavarian wooden dolls with jointed limbs.
‘But your lovely silk dress, which you wore to the ball!’ Lorraine protested. ‘Absolutely you must bring it too.’
‘I doubt I will feel like dancing in Antwerp.’
‘Never mind. It is now part of you, essential for the morale.’
‘I suppose we could make room for it.’
‘You must! I will call the servant.’
When they re-joined the men in the lounge, Elizabeth knew immediately that her fears were justified. Darcy regarded her stony-faced as the Vicomte explained the latest developments. Colonel Fitzwilliam believed that Mr Darcy could usefully be co-opted as an adjutant to assist the 52nd behind the lines. To explore this possibility, Mr Darcy, like the Vicomte, would stay one more day. This left the ladies to depart alone; fortunately, the Duke and Duchess de Beaufort were also leaving, and had space in their carriage.
Elizabeth had expected Lorraine to object, but instead she went to her father and embraced him. Darcy, his expression still grave, motioned Elizabeth to a corner where they could talk in privacy.
He met her eye and sighed. ‘I beg you, Elizabeth, have no fear on my account. In all probability, the Viscount and I will join you in Antwerp. But I cannot in conscience leave now. Fate has led us into the centre of this conflict, and I could not live with myself if I fled when I could have been of service. Remember that as an adjutant I would play no part in the fighting.’
She stared at him, her face twisted with pain. ‘And this is the man who abhors disguise of any sort? The Viscount, perhaps, will join us later, but not you. Well, fine. Be the hero, if you must, but let us call a spade a spade. Even behind the lines, you will be in range of enemy artillery, or fall prey to their soldiers if they break through. By remaining, you place yourself in mortal peril, so please let us have no nonsense about having no fear. I will be sick with anxiety for you, and your cousin, and that is an end to it.’
His face darkened. ‘I am shocked that you speak thus. Be the hero, indeed. As if my actions were motivated by egotism. Nor do I apologize for trying to reassure you. In such times, it does no good to focus on possible disasters. Far better to keep hope alive.’
She took both his hands, her eyes wet. ‘I am just so—afraid.’
He stroked her hand, as if comforting a child, and they parted.
46
Saturday 17th June
Darcy opened his bedroom shutters and inhaled moist warm air. Heavy rain had fallen during the night, accompanied by thunder, and the sky remained overcast with the threat of showers.
He was alone in the house except for Colonel Fitzwilliam, Burgess, and a skeleton staff. The Viscount, having completed his business, had left just a few hours after his daughter on the Friday; Darcy had caught up on lost sleep while waiting for his cousin to return from the tour of inspection. The result left little room for doubt. The regiment was preparing to march to its battle station north-west of the Mont St Jean ridge, and needed urgently to re- provision from Brussels. With some command of French, and access to funds, Darcy was ideally placed to help.
The rest of the day he spent touring the city with Burgess and another servant, buying beer, biscuits, salt pork, dried peas, lint and other medical materials, and hiring carters to carry them to the new camp. It was frustrating work, the roads often blocked by fleeing families, or soldiers, or quartermasters from other regiments also seeking supplies. But it was conducted against a background of artillery, audible even twenty miles away: a reminder, if one were needed, of the urgency of their preparations.
On the Friday evening the oppressive heat broke as the rain and thunder came, and by dark the guns had fallen silent. News arrived of an indecisive battle. Bonaparte had tried to drive a wedge between the Prussians at Ligny, and the British at Quatre Bras. French forces led by Marshal Ney had bombarded the British positions and gained ground, but in the shelter of a wood the British had regrouped and driven the enemy back.
Darcy breakfasted alone, recalling his parting with Elizabeth. He had written her a note, treading a fine line between honesty and reassurance; so far no post had arrived from Antwerp. The cannon were silent. He was on his second cup of coffee when Colonel Fitzwilliam lumbered in and slumped into a chair.
‘Morning, Darce. I could sleep for a month.’
‘Any news of the battle?’
Colonel Fitzwilliam chuckled. ‘It seems we have at last outwitted the Corsican. Our men, and the Prussians too, slipped away in the night and retreated on parallel routes to Brussels. They arrived early this morning, soaked to the skin but in good spirits. When the French resume their advance they will find the battlefield empty.’
Darcy frowned. ‘Is that such good news? It is a blessing that we have preserved the army, but if Quatre Bras has been abandoned with impunity, why fight for it in the first place?’
‘We were taken by surprise, and could not bring all our forces to the battle. Yes, leaving Quatre Bras is a concession, but far better to re-unify the army and confront the French on ground of our own choosing.’
‘What is the plan for today?’
Colonel Fitzwilliam took a list from his coat pocket. ‘There will be no battle. Bonaparte needs time to regroup and march. We will fortify our positions along the ridge, and set up camps and field hospitals on the north slope. I have a fresh list of provisions. We should also get you an adjutant uniform for tomorrow …’
Elizabeth accompanied Mademoiselle de Crécy along the promenade beside the wide Scheldt river.
‘So many boats,’ she said, pointing.
‘Yes, Antwerp has pretensions to become the largest port in Europe,’ Lorraine said. ‘The docks have been extended, and the river bed deepened to allow large ships to pass. You can probably guess who was responsible.’
‘Bonaparte again?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘Wherever I go, his name crops up. A bridge here, a road there, now a dock. It is intolerable.’
‘He wished to weaken Britain, by building up Antwerp into a port that would rival London as a trading centre.’
‘Of course there would be some nefarious motive. Did you sleep well?’
Lorraine smiled. ‘Yes, despite the rain and your fidgeting.’
‘I was distressed.’
‘Understandably, with your friends in danger.’
‘Yes, but I was mostly upset with myself, as usual.’
‘For agreeing to leave Brussels?’
Elizabeth sighed. ‘No, for my treatment of Mr Darcy. What is it about that man? Always he brings out the worst in me.’
‘Surely you did not quarrel at such a time? I was angry with father for insisting that I left, but our parting was affectionate.’
‘I wanted so much for him to come with us.’ Elizabeth looked away, struggling to compose herself. ‘When your father’s carriage arrived yesterday I thought for a moment that Mr Darcy had relented. But no. Always he is the one that must solve the world’s problems, regardless of the cost to himself.’
‘Is that not admirable?’
‘Of course!’
‘Then why quarrel with him?’
Elizabeth threw up her hands. ‘Why indeed? Because I am a child. I have been pampered all my life, and have never taken responsibility for anything. If the world is not to my liking, I sulk like a little girl deprived of her doll. I am only here now because Mr Darcy spent a fortune and risked his life to rescue me. Now he devotes himself to a cause far more deserving than myself, and how do I react? Instead of giving unqualified support, I pick holes in his attempts to reassure me, and even imply that he is acting out of vanity.’ She co
vered her face. ‘The look of contempt on his face as we parted! I could feel his respect for me draining away.’
Mademoiselle de Crécy made no reply, and they proceeded in silence. Eventually she said, ‘Shall we return and find a place for breakfast?’
They turned from the river, and a five-minute walk brought them to a grand square opposite the Cathedral of Our Lady. The weather was warm, although overcast, and they sat outside in the square and ordered coffee and waffles.
‘You exaggerate, Elizabeth.’ Lorraine took a bite from the grid-shaped pastry, garnished with strawberries and crushed sugar. ‘Perhaps in your anxiety you spoke carelessly, but I cannot believe Mr Darcy regarded you with disrespect. He might even have been heartened that you pleaded with him to leave. It shows the depth of your affection.’
Elizabeth sighed. ‘Have you heard the artillery?’
‘Not since yesterday evening.’
‘If only they could be safe.’ Instinctively, Elizabeth put her hands together, then looked self-consciously at Lorraine. ‘Do you trust the efficacy of prayer?’
Mademoiselle de Crécy raised her eyebrows. ‘Unfortunately our enemies pray to the same God.’
‘It is kind of the Duke and Duchess to take us in.’
‘Our families have been friends for generations.’
They ate in silence, listening to a frantic conversation on the next table about Quatre Bras.
‘What are they saying?’ Elizabeth asked.
‘That the Prussians are incompetent, and the British and Dutch outnumbered.’
Elizabeth looked into the distance, towards the cathedral facade. ‘What will happen to us, if Bonaparte wins?’
‘You, I imagine, will flee by boat to England. Here, in Wallonia, we will return to our former status as a region of France rather than the Netherlands.’
Elizabeth studied her friend, marvelling at the stoicism with which people on the European mainland accepted these perpetual upheavals and shifting sovereignties.
‘How many languages do you speak?’
Lorraine counted on her fingers. ‘French, in the Walloon dialect, of course. English, studied since childhood. Quite good Flemish. A few words of German and Italian. Yourself?’
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