An Infamous Army

by Georgette Heyer

  On May 29th, a day of blazing sunshine, the Duke reviewed the British cavalry in a natural theatre of ground on the banks of the Dender, not far from Grammont. It was an event that drew the fashionables from Brussels and Ghent on horseback and in carriages: ladies in their newest gauzes, gentlemen very natty in polished topboots, long-tailed blue coats, and skin-tight pantaloons. Worth drove his Judith there in a curricle; Lady Barbara drove herself in a phaeton, with a tiger perched up behind; the Vidals came sedately in their carriage; the amazing Sir Sydney Smith, newly arrived from Vienna, and looking so like a mountebank that it was almost impossible to see in him the hero of Acre, sat beside his lady in an open barouche; Sir Peregrine Taverner rode out on a mettlesome bay, like a score of others; and a host of French Royalists flocked out from Ghent to gaze, gasp, fling up their hands, and exclaim to see such magnificent troops, such noble horses, such glittering accoutrements!

  But the cavalry paid no heed to the early French arrivals. The roads were thick with dust, and as each squadron, each troop, came on to the ground, off went belts, haversacks, and coats, and out came brushes and wisps of hay, and a regular scrubbing and dusting and polishing began, for the Duke was coming, with a galaxy of foreign visitors, headed by Marshal Blücher, and not one speck of dust must dull a shining boot or spoil the smartness of a scarlet coat, and not one hair of a charger’s tail or mane must be out of place.

  The arena lay on the opposite side of the river from the village of Schendelbeke, whence the Duke’s cortège was expected to arrive, and a temporary bridge had been thrown across the Dender. Many were the anxious glances cast towards the riding ground over the river, as the men rubbed down their horses, spat on silver buttons, and polished them till the sweat ran off their bodies; and once an alarm was raised, an agonised cry of: ‘The Duke! the Duke!’

  It was a full hour before he was expected to arrive, but a group of richly-dressed horsemen with waving plumes could clearly be seen coming down the hill from the village. Brushes and rags were thrust into haversacks, coats were flung on and belts buckled, but it turned out to be a false alarm. It was not Wellington after all, but the Duc de Berri, and what did the Iron Duke’s troops care for him? The brushing and the polishing were renewed, and the Duc, after riding slowly down to the bridge, suddenly set off at a gallop towards the saluting point, and halted there, glaring at the serried ranks before him. A few cursory glances were cast at him, and one or two coarse jokes cut at his expense, but no further notice was paid him, until he sent one of his suite forward to confer with Lord Uxbridge. A short colloquy took place; the word spread through the ranks that his Highness was claiming the reception due to a Prince of the Blood-Royal, and loud guffaws greeted this jest. The troops knew Mounseer; they had seen him drilling them French fellows; proper bully-ragger he was!

  Back went the envoy, and off galloped his Royal Highness in a rage, his suite labouring behind him up the slope to Schendelbeke. Lord Uxbridge had evidently refused the required salute: that was the way! hurrah for his lordship!

  Not until two o’clock did the Duke arrive, and by that time all the polishing was done, and the cavalry was drawn up in three imposing lines, facing the bridge. Lining the bank of the river were the Hussars, in squadrons, widely spaced, and with batteries of Horse Artillery on each flank; behind them stood the Heavy Dragoons in compact order, with four batteries; and behind them, in the same close formation, the Light Dragoons flanked by troops of 9-pounders. There were six thousand men drawn up, and it was small matter for wonder that Marshal Blücher was impressed by the sight. He rode beside the Duke, his blue eyes staring under bushy white brows, and a beaming smile under his long moustache. ‘Mein Gott, mein Gott!’ he said. ‘Ja, ja, it is goot—it is fery goot, mein frient!’

  The troops, sweating under a scorching sun, choked by their high, tight collars, sat their chargers like statues, gazing rigidly before them, while the cortège passed slowly along the ranks. They knew the Duke’s hook nose and low cocked hat right enough; they knew Lord Uxbridge, in his hussar dress; and Sir George Wood, who commanded the Artillery; they even knew the Duke of Brunswick, and guessed that the stout old gentleman with the white whiskers was Marshal Blücher; but who the rest of the fine gentlemen might be, in their plumed hats and fancy foreign uniforms, they neither knew nor cared. One or two old soldiers recognised General Alava, but Generals Gneisenau, Kleist, and Ziethen, Pozzo di Borgo, and Baron Vincent, Counts van Reede, and d’Aglié, exclaiming in outlandish tongues among themselves, did not concern them. They thought the Marshal Prince von Blücher a rum touch if ever there was one, opening his bone-box to splutter out his Achs, and his Mein Gotts, and his Fery Goots!

  But the Marshal Prince was enjoying himself. He had come over from Tirlemont with his chief-of-staff, and several of his generals, for this occasion, and his friend and colleague had given them a very good luncheon, sent on their horses to Ninove and driven them out from Brussels in comfortable carriages. He was on the best of terms with his colleague, and although he spoke very little English, and very bad French, they had a great deal of conversation together, and found themselves perfectly in accord. A hussar himself, he was loud in praise of the hussars drawn up before him; as for the Heavy Dragoons, quels physiques, quels beaux chevaux! Indeed, the horses impressed him more than anything. When he came to Mercer’s troop, there seemed to be no getting him past it; each subdivision was inspected, every horse exclaimed at. ‘Mein Gott, dere is not von vich is not goot for Veldt-Marshal!’ he declared.

  The Duke acknowledged it. It was not to be expected that he would share in the Marshal’s rapture, but he asked Sir George Wood whose troop it was, and seemed to approve of it. It did not occur to him to speak to Captain Mercer, following him as he made the inspection. He paid no heed to him, but Mercer was not surprised: it was just like the Duke; he had never a good word for the unfortunate Artillery.

  The inspection took a long time; some of the spectators grew rather bored with looking at the motionless ranks, and several ladies complained of the heat. Sir Peregrine Taverner, whose Harriet was in low spirits and had refused to attend the review, edged his way to Barbara’s phaeton; and Lady Worth, her head aching a little from the glare of the sun, closed her eyes, with a request to her lord to inform her if anything should begin to happen.

  The Duke and the Marshal at last returned to the saluting point; Lord Uxbridge marched the troops past; Judith woke up; and all the wilting ladies revived at the near prospect of being able to move out of the sun and partake of refreshments.

  The military cortège began to move about among the civilians before riding back to Ninove. Various persons were presented to the Marshal Prince; and Colonel Audley was able to seize the opportunity of exchanging a few words with Lady Barbara.

  ‘How do you contrive to look so cool?’ he asked ruefully.

  ‘I can’t think. I’m bored to tears, Charles!’

  ‘I know. Devilish tedious, isn’t it?’

  ‘I only came to see George, and I couldn’t even pick him out in that dreadful scarlet mass!’ she said pettishly.

  ‘He looked very handsome, I assure you.’

  She yawned. ‘I’ll swear he was cursing the heat! I wish you will drive home with me. We will dine outside the town in one of those charmingly vulgar places in the suburbs, and drink our wine at a table by the roadside, just as the burghers do. It will be so amusing!’

  ‘Oh, don’t!’ he begged. ‘It sounds delightful, and I can’t do it!’

  ‘Why can’t you?’ she demanded, lifting her eyebrows. ‘Is it beneath the dignity of a staff officer?’

  ‘You know very well it’s not beneath my dignity. But I’m dining at Ninove.’

  ‘That stupid cavalry party of Uxbridge’s! Oh, nonsense! it can’t signify. No one will give a fig for your absence: you won’t even be missed, I daresay.’

  He laughed, but shook his head. ‘My darling, I daren’t!’

  She hunched a shoulder. ‘I am tired of your duty, Cha
rles. It is so tedious!’

  ‘It is indeed.’

  ‘I see nothing of you. George and Harry can get leave when they want it; why should not you?’

  ‘George and Harry are not on the staff,’ he replied. ‘I’d get leave if I could, but it’s impossible.’

  ‘Well!’ She closed her parasol with a snap, and laid it on the seat beside her. ‘If it is impossible for you I must find someone else to go with me. Ah, the very man! Sir Peregrine, come here!’

  A little startled, the Colonel turned to see Peregrine hurriedly obeying the summons. A bewitching smile was bestowed upon him. ‘Sir Peregrine, I want to dine in the suburbs, and Charles won’t take me! Will you go with me?’

  ‘Oh, by Jove, Lady Bab, I should think I will—anywhere!’ replied Peregrine.

  ‘Good. No dressing up, mind! I intend to go just as I am. You may call for me in the Rue Ducale: is it agreed?’

  ‘Lord, yes, a thousand times! It will be capital fun!’ A doubt struck him; he looked at the Colonel, and added: ‘That is—you don’t mind, Audley, do you?’

  ‘My dear Perry, why should I mind? Go by all means: I wish I might join you.’

  ‘Oh, devilish good of you! At about six, then, Lady Bab: I’ll be there!’

  He raised his hat to her and walked away; the Colonel said: ‘What’s your game, Bab?’

  ‘I don’t understand you. I had thought the fact of Sir Peregrine’s being a connection of yours must have made him unexceptionable. Besides, I like him: have you any objection?’

  ‘I’m not jealous of him, if that is what you mean, but I’ve a strong notion that it would be better for him not to be liked by you.’

  ‘Ah, perhaps you are right!’ she said. Her voice was saintly, but two demons danced in her eyes. ‘Lavisse comes to Brussels this evening: I will engage him instead.’

  ‘You’re a devil in attack, Bab,’ he said appreciatively. ‘That’s a pistol held to my head, and, being a prudent man, I capitulate.’

  ‘Oh, Charles! Craven! And you a soldier!’

  ‘True: but a good soldier knows when to retreat!’

  ‘Shall you come about again?’

  ‘Yes, but I shall be more careful of my ground. Today I rashly left my flank exposed.’

  She smiled. ‘And I rolled it up! Well, I will be good! Sir Peregrine shall take me, because it would be stupid to cry off now, but I will be very sisterly, I promise you.’

  He held up his hand to her. ‘Defeat without dishonour! Thank you!’

  She leaned down from her high perch, putting her hand in his. His face was upturned; she said, with her gurgle of laughter: ‘Don’t smile at me, Charles! If you do I must kiss you just there!’ She drew her hand away, and laid a finger between his brows.

  ‘Do!’

  ‘No, this place is confoundedly public: I should put you to shame. By the by, Charles, that chit whose name I never can remember—the heiress whom your sister-in-law meant you to marry—you know whom I mean?’

  ‘I do, but it’s nonsense that Judith intended her for me.’

  ‘Oh no, I’m sure it’s not! But it doesn’t signify, only that I thought you would like to know that I rather fancy George to be a little épris in that direction.’

  ‘I hope he will not give her a heartache!’

  ‘I expect he will, however. The odd thing is that she is not at all the sort of young woman he had been in the habit of deceiving.’ She added thoughtfully: ‘One comfort is that he is more likely to make a fool of her than she of him.’

  ‘Really, Bab!’ he protested.

  ‘Now, don’t be shocked! It would never do for George to marry her. He won’t, of course. He depends too much upon my grandfather, and wouldn’t dare. She may be perfectly ladylike, but her connection with that horrid little Cit of an uncle makes her quite ineligible. My grandfather was himself held to have married beneath him, but that does not make him indulgent towards any mésalliance we might wish to make! He is pleased, by the way, with my engagement. I have had letters from him and my grandmother by today’s post. You never told me you had written to him, Charles!’

  ‘Of course I wrote to him. Have we his blessing?’

  ‘Decidedly! You are unexceptionable. He did not suppose me to have so much good sense. My grandmother, who is quite the most delightful creature imaginable, writes that she is in doubt of her felicitations being still acceptable by the time they reach me. You observe, Charles, you have broken all records!’ She gathered up the reins, and signed to her tiger to jump up behind. ‘There seems to be nothing to stay for: I shall go. Who is invited to this dinner of Uxbridge’s?’

  ‘All commanding cavalry officers, and of course the foreign visitors.’

  ‘Ah, a horrid male party! You will enjoy it excessively, I daresay, get abominably foxed, and come reeling back to Brussels with the dawn.’

  ‘Well! You have drawn no rose-coloured picture of my character, at all events! There can be no disillusionment for you to fear!’

  ‘No, none for me,’ she said.

  He saw that she was ready to give her horses the office to start, but detained her. ‘Do you mean to drive alone? Is not Harry with you?’

  ‘Certainly I mean to drive alone. Harry is not here.’

  ‘Don’t tell me there are no young gentlemen eager for the chance to escort you?’

  ‘I have sometimes a strong liking for my own company,’ she replied. ‘But as for being alone, pray observe Matthew, my tiger.’

  ‘Let someone ride back with you, Bab.’

  ‘Are you afraid I may be molested by the brutal soldiery? I don’t fear it!’

  ‘You might well meet with unpleasantness. Is not Vidal here?’

  ‘Yes, driving with Gussie. You will not expect me to curb my horses to keep pace with a sober barouche. I shall spring ’em, you know.’

  He stepped back. She said saucily: ‘Retiring again, Charles? You’re the wisest man of my acquaintance. Goodbye! Don’t be anxious: I am a famous whip.’

  She began to make her way out of the ranks of carriages; the Colonel mounted his horse again, and rode off to his brother’s curricle. He saluted Judith, but without attending to what she had to say of the review, addressed Worth. ‘Julian, be a good fellow, will you, and follow Bab? She’s alone, and I don’t care for her to be driving all the distance without an escort. You need not so proclaim yourself, by the way, but I should be glad if you would keep her in sight.’

  ‘Certainly,’ said Worth.

  ‘Thank you: I knew I might depend on you.’

  He raised two fingers to his hat, and rode off. Judith said: ‘Well, if she’s alone it must be for the first time. Poor Charles! I daresay she has done it simply to vex him.’

  ‘Very possibly,’ Worth agreed. ‘There is a bad streak in the Alastairs.’

  ‘Yes. Lord George, in particular, is not at all the thing. I am so disturbed to see him making Lucy the object of his attentions! It was most marked last night: he danced with her three times.’

  ‘She did not appear to mind.’

  ‘You are wrong: I saw her look distressed when he came up to her the third time. She is not the girl to have her head turned by a handsome Life Guardsman.’

  ‘She is singular, then,’ he said in his driest tone.

  Thirteen

  May had worn itself out; and looking back over four weeks of pleasure seeking, Judith could not feel that there had been unalloyed gaiety. She was aware of tension; she had herself been carried into the swirl. No one could foretell what the future held; but everyone knew that these weeks might be the last of happiness. Except when news crept through of movement on the frontier, war was not much talked of. Talking of it could not stop its coming; it was better to put the thought of it behind one, and to be merry while the sun still shone.

  But Judith had good sense to guide her, nor was she any longer a single beauty with scores of admirers clamouring for her favours. If she grew tired, she could rest; but Barbara, it seemed, could not rest,
and appeared not to wish even to draw breath. She was beginning to look a little haggard; that she took laudanum was an open secret. What caprice it was that drove her on Judith could not imagine. The very fact of her being betrothed to Charles should have made it possible for her to have lived more quietly; she ought not to want to be for ever at parties. When he could he accompanied her, but he had very little leisure for picnics, or for spending days at the races. Often he came off duty looking so tired that it put his sister-in-law out of all patience to find him bent on attending some ball or reception. He denied that he felt tired, and the harassed little frown between his eyes would vanish as he laughed at her solicitude. She was not deceived; she could have shaken Barbara for her selfishness.

  But Charles, keeping pace with his betrothed, never allowed a hint of languor to appear in his face or manner. Once Barbara said to him: ‘Is it wrong of me not to give up the parties and all the fun? I love it so! And when I am married I shall have to be so sober!’

  ‘No, no, never think that!’ he said quickly.

  ‘Gussie says it must be so.’

  ‘It shall not be so! Don’t listen to Augusta, I beg of you! Do you think I have not known from the start how little she likes our engagement?’

  ‘Gussie!’ she said scornfully. ‘I never listened to her in my life!’