The Waltzing Widow

by Gayle Buck

  William laughed. He hugged her again, obscurely grateful that she had regained her composure. “Thank you, Mama. Now I must go. But where is Abigail? I have not seen her yet."

  "I ... I saw her last near the anteroom,” Lady Mary said, having difficulty keeping her fright and her tears under control. “I shall come with you, perhaps even walk with you to the Place Royale, if you should not mind it, William."

  His gray eyes alight with anticipation, he flashed another wide grin. “Of course not, Mama. We shall go find Abigail and walk out together.” He offered his arm to his mother and with a flourish escorted her toward the ballroom door.

  Abigail had been dancing with Captain McInnes when the call to arms came. She had started violently, and the confusion and trepidation of her thoughts led her to blurt,’ “The French! They have come!"

  The captain shook his head, his countenance growing grave on the instant. But there was a fierce burning light in his eyes. “Nay, ‘tis only the call to arms. We shall meet Bonaparte on common ground, I wager,” he said in his lilting brogue.

  Abigail was immensely relieved, only to be immediately filled with dismay again. She stared up at her partner, having grasped at last what was happening. “But that means that you—” She stopped on an incoherent gasp. Her hands twisted together. “Oh, no, no!"

  Captain McInnes smiled down at her. “My dear girl,” he said, drawing the words out with tender care. He glanced about before he drew her out of the stream of hurrying passersby and close to the wall beside the door. “Abigail, I must speak now, whilst the moment is still mine."

  Abigail could but stare up at him, at the intense blue eyes and the craggy dark face that had become so unsettling to her dreams. She was scarcely able to believe in her senses, that all the raised voices and the drums were real. She was almost inclined to think it all a dream.

  But the din of war that resounded in her ears could not be brushed aside so easily, nor could the hard grip that Captain McInnes had on her hands. She could not banish from her mind the impression that in a few seconds she must part, perhaps forever, from Captain Bruce McInnes, and that this hurried moment might well prove to be their last together. “I do not want you to go,” she whispered intensely, hardly aware of what it was she said.

  His smile faded abruptly. Without a single hesitation, he caught her up in his arms and kissed her deeply.

  Abigail had never been kissed in such a fashion. Before, she had been treated to mere sweet nothings by gallants who whispered delicious compliments. But this was an onslaught to her senses, drowning her in feelings that she had never been aware of possessing. When he at last released her, she felt she would have fallen but for the fact that his arms were still about her. She scarcely heard what he was saying, being more aware of his breath ruffling warm against her hair, but gradually understanding came to her.

  "Ah, my dear girl, you can have no notion how I have longed to do that. Abigail, I wish you to wait for me. Will you, my dear girl? Will you wait for me to come back and make you mine?"

  "Wait for you?” Her voice sounded strange in her own ears, and apparently it did to him as well, for he set her away from him slightly so that he could search her eyes. Her face flamed and she stepped out of his arms. “Captain, I am sorry! I did not mean to tease you, truly I did not."

  He caught her hands. “Abigail, you have not teased me. I have fallen in love with you, you silly lass. Of course I wished to kiss you."

  "Oh, oh, oh!” Abigail was beside herself with agitation. Awhirl in her head were all other grandmother's warnings and her own doubts and desires. “But I cannot ... Oh, I do not know what to say, what to do!"

  Captain McInnes laughed at her softly. “My dear Abigail, say that you will wait for me and we shall wed. Say that you love me in the full measure that my heart holds for you."

  Abigail stared up at him in consternation, her breast rising and falling rapidly with the turbulence of her emotions. At her silence, the tender glad light in his eyes faded a little. “Abigail, I know full well that you feel something for me. I have seen it in your bonny eyes. I have felt it in the trembling of your body when we have danced."

  "I cannot admit what I do not know,” Abigail said desperately, holding to that shred of her mind that believed everything that her grandparents had told her about what she should expect of life. The choice had come too quickly. Captain McInnes was not a titled gentleman, not particularly wealthy. But he haunted her dreams so. Oh, why, why did she feel so queer? she wondered wildly.

  Captain McInnes gazed at her. There was a growing realization, coupled with sad pity, in his eyes. “I see. At last I understand.” He took her hand, raising it to his lips for a lingering salute. “Always remember that I carry you in my heart, lass.” Then he stepped away from her.

  Abigail's eyes widened. She put out her hand. “Bruce!'’ But it was too late. He did not look back, but went out of the ballroom, to mingle and disappear into the flowing crowd of uniforms and gowns.

  Abigail fell back against the papered wall, noticing with a dazed segment of her mind the pretty trellis and rose pattern. She felt strangely empty and ill, and her limbs shook as though with ague.

  That was how her mother and her brother found her. She spoke mechanically to them, her listlessness giving way only when she realized that William, too, was going to join his division. She instantly agreed to accompany them both to the Place Royale, in order to be with her brother as long as possible, but also because she was driven to see Captain McInnes again.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 17

  About twelve o'clock at night the soldiers turned out. There was not a house in which the military were not quartered, and consequently the whole town was one universal scene of bustle. The soldiers assembled from all parts in the Place Royale, with knapsacks upon their backs, some taking leave of their wives and children. Others sat down unconcernedly upon the hard pavement to wait for their comrades. Still others snatched what sleep they could upon packs of straw, surrounded by all the din of war.

  William was flushed and his eyes gleamed with high excitement as he took in the frenetic activity. “Isn't it marvelous, Mama?"

  It was fortunate that he did not expect an answer, for Lady Mary found that she could not speak. The martial scene was overwhelming in its noise and confusion. Bat horses and baggage wagons were loaded, artillery and commissary trains were harnessing, officers rode in all directions, carts clattered, chargers neighed, bugles sounded, drums beat. High above all the frenzied activity, the colors flew.

  In contrast, a long procession of carts was coming quietly in as usual from the country to the market, filled with old Flemish women, who looked comic seated among their piles of cabbages, baskets of green peas, early potatoes and strawberries, totally ignorant of the cause of all the warlike preparations. Gazing at the scene around them with wonder, they jogged merrily along one after another through the Place Royale amidst the crowds of soldiers and the confusion of baggage wagons.

  Yet there was order amidst all the apparent confusion. Regiment after regiment formed with the utmost regularity, and at two o'clock a.m., they began to march from the city.

  William stood beside Lady Mary and Abigail, impatient and eager to be gone. But when at last his regiment was called, he was abruptly reluctant to part from his mother and his sister.

  They, too, had heard the call, and reflected in their eyes and their clinging hands was his own fear of the unknown.

  William looked down into his mother's white face. “Mama, it is time for me to go.” He felt her fingers tighten about his before she nodded and slowly, reluctantly released his hand. She reached up to kiss him, and in his ear whispered, “Come back to us safely, dear William.” A lump rose in his throat. He nodded and smiled.

  Then Abigail was in his arms, unrestrained tears streaming down her face. “Oh, William!"

  William awkwardly patted her. He swallowed past the constriction in his throat and said gruffl
y, “I will be quite safe, I promise you. Come, there's a good girl. You'll ruin your fine looks if you keep this up.” He gently set his sister aside. Flashing a last cocky grin for his family, he ran to join his forming regiment.

  About four o'clock in the morning the Forty-second and Ninety-second Highland regiments marched through the Place Royale and the park, their steady step firm and collected. Their military demeanor, with the skirling strains of the bagpipes playing before them as they went rejoicing to battle, and the beams of the rising sun shining upon their glittering arms, brought tears to the eyes of the watching spectators.

  Lady Mary, though really not taking particular note of anything but the bustle of the forming army and William's leave-taking, was nevertheless aware that here and there about her and Abigail were several acquaintances, most come, like themselves, directly from the Richmond ballroom. Lord Kenmare and Lady Cecily had come up to stand beside them. “One cannot but admire their fine appearance,” Lady Cecily murmured, brushing her wet eyes clear as she watched the Highlanders depart.

  Lady Mary glanced at her daughter, who had said nothing for several minutes since William had torn himself free of them and run to join his regiment. She thought compassionately that Abigail had never been subjected to a harsher separation. Sir Roger had died while she was still in arms and so she had never known her father; but she practically worshiped William, and Lady Mary knew that she must be suffering.

  Abigail was oblivious of her mother's gaze. She stood quite still, a strained expression on her face, twisting her fingers against her breast as the Ninety-second passed. Her desperate gaze did not waver from the stem mustached countenance of one particular Highlander.

  As though he felt himself stared at, he glanced in Abigail's direction. Their eyes met and locked for one brief poignant, agonized second. Then he was nearly past her. Abigail gave an inarticulate cry, flinging out her hands after him. But her gesture came too late; he could not possibly have seen her appeal. She turned to her mother, the tears streaming down her cheeks, her eyes full of misery. “I never said ... I never told him ... Oh, Mama!” She clung to Lady Mary, hiding her face against her mother's neck and sobbed as though her heart was breaking.

  Lady Mary stood, fighting to breathe past the tears locked in her own throat, her arms clasped hard about her daughter. She vaguely realized that Abigail must have formed an attachment to some officer that she had not been aware of, but the half-formed thought was swiftly forgotten. Her eyes were on another segment of departing soldiers. The Fifth Division, which had garrisoned Brussels and which she, in her ignorance, had felt to be the safest place in the army for William, after having bivouacked in the park until daylight, was at last setting forward toward the frontier.

  Among them was her beloved son.

  William caught her fixed gaze and he broke into a spontaneous grin. His eyes were alight with excitement. He waved, and in response Lady Mary raised her hand to him. “Abigail, look quickly! William is going!” Abigail twisted with a cry, her staring eyes searching desperately for sight of her beloved brother.

  William swung jauntily into the march. As he passed, above the tramp of boots and the other noise, Lady Mary could have sworn she heard the high, sweet notes of William's whistle. It very nearly and completely undid her.

  The cavalry of the Third and Fifth Divisions passed. Major Wilson-Jones blew a kiss to his wife, and a somber and particularly sweet smile lit his face as he looked over the heads in the crowd to her white, still face. “Have faith, my girl!” he called, and then his white charger pranced past and he, too, was quickly gone.

  Lord Kenmare glanced down at his sister, who had several minutes before begun to clutch at his arm for support and now leaned heavily against him. “Do you wish to return to the house now, Cecily?” he asked quietly.

  She shook her head. Her eyes did not lift from the scene before her. “No. I wish to see it all,” she said.

  He did not argue with her. For nearly four more hours he and the ladies and hundreds of other spectators remained in the Place Royale to see the rest of the army move out.

  Before eight o'clock in the morning the streets, which had been filled with busy crowds of soldiers and officers, had fallen empty and silent. The great square of the Place Royale, which had been filled with armed men with all the appurtenances and paraphernalia of war, was now virtually deserted. The Flemish drivers were asleep in the tilted carts that were destined to convey the wounded. The heavy baggage wagons, ranged in order and ready to move when occasion might require, stood under the guard of a few sentinels. Only some officers were still to be seen riding out of town to join the army.

  The spectators looked at one another with dazed, exhausted eyes. Then with barely a word to anyone, singly or in small parties they walked slowly out of the Place Royale to make for their lodgings and cold beds.

  Lady Cecily leaned heavily against her brother as they walked, her head against his side. His arm was about her shoulders to steady her. Lady Mary and Abigail walked side by side, their arms about each other's waists. In the park in front of the Kenmare residence, they all stopped to take leave of each other. “You will allow me to order out a conveyance for you. Lady Mary,” Lord Kenmare said.

  Lady Mary shook her head. “It is but a step more, my lord. And I think Abigail and I would benefit from the short walk,'’ she said. Understanding at once, Lady Cecily mutely reached out to catch her hand and press her fingers.

  "Of course. Only stay one moment and I shall myself escort you,” Lord Kenmare said. None felt much like speaking. Lady Mary and Abigail merely nodded and smiled their good-nights to Lady Cecily. While Lady Mary and Abigail stood waiting below, Lord Kenmare and Lady Cecily walked up their front steps. Lord Kenmare placed his sister into the solicitous hands of a footman and then returned to Lady Mary and Abigail so that he could conduct the ladies to their own residence in la Rue du Musee. He parted from them at their front door.

  But he did not go directly home, instead returning to the Place Royale. Along with several others, he was in time to witness the departure on horseback of the Duke of Wellington with his staff.

  The duke was in good spirits, observing that as von Blücher had most likely settled the business himself by this time, he should perhaps be back in time for dinner.

  The Earl of Kenmare opened his watch. It was eight o'clock a.m.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 18

  After the army was gone, Brussels seemed a perfect desert.

  The populace was without news the better part of the day. Sometime during the long tense hours of waiting it began to rain gently, which only served to accentuate the general oppression of spirits. Every countenance was marked with anxiety or melancholy. Every heart was filled with anxious expectation. However, it was not supposed that any action would take place that day, because surely it would take some time before the French forces were discovered and engaged.

  There was then general and sweeping consternation when about three o'clock in the afternoon a furious cannonading began, originating in the direction that the army had taken.

  Upon hearing the first dull boom, Abigail started up from the settee. “Mama, do you hear it?” She rushed to the window, pressing close to the glass panes to peer up and down the street below.

  Lady Mary joined her daughter at the window. “Yes, Abigail, I do. And I very much fear what it portends.” They looked out at the street but saw only others like themselves who were without news. Lady Mary threw open the window in order to catch snatches of what was being said. Hurrying to and fro, those in the street met and gesticulated, and parted, no wiser than before. Had the British troops encountered the French before they had joined the Prussians? Were they separately engaged? Where? When? How? In vain did everyone ask questions which none could answer.

  The anxious babel did not abate, and Lady Mary eventually closed the window against it. “Surely we shall hear something soon,” she said, to reassure both her daughter
and herself. She and Abigail continued to watch through the window as numbers of people in carriages and on horseback set off toward the pounding of the cannon.

  In the evening, having heard nothing all day, Lady Mary and Abigail set out walking toward the park. Miss Steepleton had been invited to join them, but she had declined with a nervousness that she could not conceal.

  On all sides, the ladies heard different stories from those who had earlier set out and had now returned no wiser than when they had gone. A thousand absurd reports, totally devoid of foundation, were circulated.

  Lady Mary and Abigail found the ramparts crowded by others like themselves. Speculation among the waiting citizens and the British was intense. It was known that only thirteen thousand British troops had marched out of Brussels that morning and that the rest of the army was unconcentrated. Rumors flew about that the French were thirty- or forty-thousand strong. Under such circumstances it was impossible, even with the fullest confidence in British valor, not to feel extreme anxiety for the army.

  At length intelligence came from the army, brought by an officer who had left the field after five o'clock. The British in their march encountered the enemy on the plains of Fleurs, about fifteen miles from Brussels. The Highland regiments had received the furious onset of the whole French army without yielding one inch of ground. According to the officer's account, the Highlanders had fought to the last with resolute, unshaken valor, and fell upon the very spot where they first drew their swords.

  When she heard it, Abigail moaned and covered her face with her hands. “Hush, Abigail,” Lady Mary said, straining to hear the rest of the reported intelligence.

  The combat was terrible, said the officer. The enemy were in much more formidable force than had been represented, and, deriving confidence from their immense superiority, they fought most furiously. Yet the brave handful of British had stood their ground, repulsed every attack, and were still fighting.