An Infamous Army

by Georgette Heyer

  ‘Go and find someone else to dance with you!’ she said, almost crying, and turned away from him to seek refuge beside Lady Worth.

  Hay stared after her in a good deal of astonishment, but was diverted from his purpose of following her to make his peace by having his arm grasped by a kindred spirit. ‘Hay, have you heard?’ said Harry Alastair eagerly. ‘Ours have been ordered to Braine-le-Comte. I’m off immediately! Are you coming? Oh no, of course! You’ll stay for General Maitland. By Jove, won’t we give the French a hiding! There’s Audley! I must speak to him before I go!’

  He darted off to where the Colonel was standing in conversation with Lord Robert Manners, and stood, impatient but decorous, until it should please the Colonel to notice him. This Audley soon did, smiling to see him so obviously fretting to be off.

  ‘Hallo, Harry! You’ve got your wish, you see!’

  ‘By Gad, haven’t I just! I only came up to say goodbye and wish you luck. I’m off to Braine-le-Comte, you know. It’s my first engagement! Lord, won’t some of the fellows at home be green with envy!’

  ‘Well, mind you capture an Eagle,’ said the Colonel, holding out his hand. ‘I daresay I shall run up against you sometime or other, but in case I don’t, the best of luck to you. Take care of yourself!’

  Lord George Alastair came striding out of the ante-room behind them as Harry wrung the Colonel’s hand. He merely nodded to the Colonel, but said curtly to his brother: ‘Are you off, Harry? I’ll go with you as far as the centre of the town. I’m for Ninove. Where are you for?’

  ‘Braine-le-Comte. You don’t look very cheerful, I must say. Been bidding someone a tender farewell?’

  ‘That’s it: come along, now!’

  ‘Wait a bit, here’s Bab!’

  Colonel Audley turned his head quickly, and saw Barbara coming across the room towards him. Her eyes were fixed on her brothers, but as though she were conscious of his gaze she glanced in his direction, and flushed.

  Colonel Audley thrust a hand which he found to be shaking slightly in Lord Robert’s arm, and walked away with him.

  The Duke had gone to sit beside Lady Helen Dalrymple on the sofa. She found him perfectly amiable but preoccupied, breaking off his conversation with her every now and then to call some officer to him to receive a brief instruction. The Prince of Orange and the Duke of Brunswick both conferred with him for some minutes, and then left the ball together, the Prince heedless of everything but the excitement of the moment, the Duke calm, bestowing his grave smile on an acquaintance encountered in the doorway, not forgetting to take his punctilious leave of his hostess.

  A few minutes later, Colonel Audley went up to Judith and touched her arm, saying quietly: ‘I’m off Judith. Tell Worth, will you? I haven’t time to look for him.’

  She clasped his hands. ‘Oh, Charles! Where?’

  ‘Only to Ath, with a message, but it’s urgent. I’m not likely to return to Brussels tonight. Don’t be alarmed, will you? You will see what a dressing we shall give Boney!’

  The next instant he was gone, slipping out of the ballroom without any other leave-taking than a word to his hostess. Others followed him, but in spite of the many departures there seemed to be no empty places in the dining-room when the guests presently went in to supper. Tables were arranged round the room; the junior officers, under the wing of Lord William Lennox, with an arm in a sling and bandages and sticking-plaster adorning his head, crowded round the sideboard, and were honoured by Lord Uxbridge’s calling out to them, with a brimming glass held in his hand: ‘A glass of wine with the side-table!’

  The Duke sat with Georgiana beside him. He seemed to be in good spirits; his loud laugh kept breaking out; he had given Georgiana a miniature of himself, done by a Belgian artist, and was protesting jokingly at her showing it to those seated near them.

  Supper had hardly begun when the Prince of Orange came into the room, looking very serious. He went straight to the Duke, and bent over him, whispering in his ear.

  A despatch had been brought in by one of his aides-de-camp from Baron Constant at Braine-le-Comte. It was dated as late as 10.30 pm, and reported that Charleroi had fallen not two hours after Ziethen’s solitary message had been sent off that morning. The French had advanced twenty miles into Belgian territory. The Prussians had been attacked at Sombreffe by Grouchy, with Vandamme’s Corps in support, and had fallen back on Fleurus; Ney had pushed forward on the left to Frasnes, south of Quatre-Bras, with an advance guard of cavalry, but had encountered there Prince Bernhard of Saxe-Weimar, who, taking the law courageously into his own hands, had moved forward from Genappe with one Nassau battalion and a battery of horse artillery. A skirmish had taken place, but Ney had apparently had insufficient infantry to risk an engagement. He had made some demonstrations, but the handful of troops opposed to him had held their ground, and at seven o’clock he had bivouacked for the night. Prince Bernhard had reported the affair to General Perponcher, who, wisely ignoring the Duke’s positive orders to assemble his division at Nivelles, had directed it instead on the hamlet and crossroads of Quatre-Bras.

  The Duke listened to these tidings with an unmoved countenance. He saw that everyone in the room was watching him, and said in a loud voice: ‘Very well! I have no fresh orders to give. I advise your Royal Highness to go back to your quarters and to bed.’

  The Prince, whose air of suppressed excitement had escaped no one, withdrew; the Duke resumed his conversation. But the impression created by the Prince’s reappearance was not to be banished; except among those who had no relatives engaged in the operations, conversation had become subdued, and faces that had worn smiles an hour earlier now looked a little haggard in the glare of the candlelight. No one was surprised when the Duke went up to his host, saying cheerfully: ‘I think it’s time for me to go to bed likewise.’ In the distance could be heard the ominous sound of bugles calling to arms; dancing seemed out of place, the Duke’s departure was for most of those present a welcome sign of the party’s breaking up. Wives exchanged nods with their husbands; mothers tried to catch heedless daughters’ eyes; Georgiana Lennox stole away to help her brother March pack up.

  The Duke said under his breath: ‘Have you a good map in the house, Richmond?’

  Richmond nodded, and led him to his study. The Duke shut the door and said abruptly: ‘Napoleon has humbugged me, by God! He has gained twenty-four hours’ march on me.’

  He walked over to the desk, and bent over the map Richmond had spread out on it, and studied it for a moment or two in silence.

  Richmond stood watching him, startled by what he had said and wondering a little that no anxiety should be apparent in his face. ‘What do you intend doing?’ he asked presently.

  ‘I’ve ordered the Army to concentrate on Quatre-Bras,’ replied his lordship. ‘But we shan’t stop him there, and if so, I must fight him here.’ As he spoke he drew his thumbnail across the map below the village of Waterloo, and straightened himself. ‘I’ll be off now, and get some sleep.’

  In the ballroom a few determined couples were still dancing, but with the departure of the officers the zest had gone from the most carefree young female. Ladies were collecting their wraps, carriages were being called for, and a stream of guests were filing past the Duchess of Richmond, returning thanks and taking leave.

  Judith, who had gone upstairs to fetch her cloak, was startled, on her way down again, to encounter Barbara, her train caught over her arm, and in her face an expression of the most painful anxiety. She put out her hand impulsively, grasping Judith’s wrist, and said in a strangled voice: ‘Charles! Where is he?’

  ‘My brother-in-law left the ball before supper,’ replied Judith.

  ‘O God!’ The hand left Judith’s wrist and gripped the banister-rail. ‘He is in Brussels? Yes, yes, he is still in Brussels! Tell me, confound you, tell me!’

  There was a white agony in her face, but Judith was unmoved by it. She said: ‘He is not in Brussels, nor will he return. I wish you goodnight,
Lady Barbara.’

  She passed on down the stairs to where Worth stood waiting for her. Their carriage was at the door; in another minute they had entered it, and were being driven out of the gates in the direction of the centre of the town.

  Judith leaned back in her corner, trying to compose her spirits. Worth took her hand presently, and held it lightly in his own. ‘What is it, my dear?’

  ‘That woman!’ she said in a low voice. ‘Barbara Childe! She dared to ask me where Charles had gone. I could have struck her in the face for her effrontery! She let Charles go like that—unhappy, all his old gaiety quite vanished!’ She found that tears were running down her face, and broke off to wipe them away. ‘Don’t let us speak of it! I am tired, and stupid. I shall be better directly.’

  He was silent, but continued to hold her hand. After a minute or two she said in a calmer tone: ‘That noise! It seems to thud in my brain. What is it?’

  ‘The drums beating to war,’ he replied. ‘The Reserve is being put into motion at once.’

  She shuddered. As the carriage drew nearer to the Park, the coachman was obliged to curb his horses to a walk, and sometimes bring them to a complete standstill. There was scarcely a house in Brussels where soldiers were not billeted; the sound of the trumpets and the drums brought them out, knapsacks slung over their shoulders, coats unbuttoned, and shakos crammed on askew. Some had wives running beside them; others had their arms round Belgian sweethearts; one Highlander was carrying a little boy on his shoulder, while the child’s parents, who had been his hosts, walked beside with his knapsack and his musket.

  In the great Place Royale a scene of indescribable confusion resigned. The sky was already paling towards dawn, and in the ghostly grey light men, horses, wagons, gun-carriages seemed to be inextricably mixed. Wagons were being loaded, and commissariat trains harnessed; the air was full of a medley of noises: the stamp of hooves on the cobbles, the rumble of wheels, the jingle of harness, the sudden neigh of a horse and the indistinguishable chatter of many voices. An officer called sharply; someone was whistling a popular air; a mounted man rode past; a Colour waved. Soldiers were sitting on the pavement, some sleeping on packs of straw, others checking the contents of their knapsacks.

  Judith, who had been leaning forward in the carriage, intent upon the scene, turned suddenly towards Worth. ‘Let us get out!’

  ‘Do you care to? You are not too tired?’

  ‘No. I want to see.’

  He opened the door and stepped down on to the cobbles, and turned to give his hand to her. She stood beside him while he spoke with the coachman, and then took his arm. They made their way slowly across the Place. No one paid any heed to them; occasionally a soldier brushed past them, or they had to draw aside to allow a wagon to go by, or to pick their way through a tangle of ropes, canteens, corn-sacks, bill-hooks, nose-bags, and all the paraphernalia of an army on the move.

  They reached the farther side of the Place at length, and stood for some time watching order grow out of the confusion. Regiments were forming one after the other, and marching down the Rue de Namur towards the Namur Gate. The steady tramp of boots made an undercurrent of sound audible through the shrill blare of the trumpets and the ceaseless beat of the drums. Some of the men sang; some whistled; the riflemen began to form up, and a voice from their ranks shouted: ‘The first in the field and the last out of it: the bloody, Fighting Ninety-fifth!’ A roar went up; hundreds of voices chanted the slogan. Indifferent-eyed Flemish women, driving market-carts full of vegetables into Brussels from the neighbouring countryside, stared incuriously; an order rang out; another regiment moved forward.

  Once Worth bent over Judith, asking: ‘Are you not tired? Shall we go home?’

  She shook her head.

  At four o’clock the sun was shining. In the Park, the pipes were playing Hieland Laddie. The sound of them drew nearer, the tread of feet grew to a rhythmic thunder. The Highland Brigade came marching through the Place in the first rays of the sunlight, pipe-majors strutting ahead, ribbons fluttering from the bagpipes, huge fur headdresses nodding, and kilts swinging.

  ‘Were they some of those men who danced for us tonight?’ Judith asked, recognising a tartan.

  ‘Yes.’

  She was silent, watching them pass through the Place and out of sight. When the music of the pipes was faint in the distance, she said, with a sigh: ‘Let us go home now, Julian. I shall remember this night as long as I live, I think.’

  Eighteen

  By eight o’clock in the morning the last of the regiments had marched out of Brussels. A little later the Duke followed, accompanied by his staff, and a profound silence descended on the city. Judith had fallen asleep some hours before, with the sound of the trumpets and the tread of many feet in her ears. When she awoke the morning was considerably advanced. Her first feeling was of surprise to find everything quiet, for the shouting and the drumming and the bugle-calls had seemed to run through her dreams. She got up, and looked out between the blinds upon a sun-baked street. A cat curled on the steps of a house opposite was the only living thing in sight. No uniforms swaggered down the street, no ladies in muslins and chip hats floated along to pay their morning calls or to promenade in the Park.

  She dressed, and went down to the salon on the first floor. Worth had gone out, but he came in presently with the newspapers. It was being reported in the cafés that the Duke had ridden out in high spirits, saying that Blücher would most likely have settled the business himself by that time and that he would probably be back in Brussels for dinner. The general opinion seemed to be that no action would be fought that day. It was thought that the bulk of the British troops could not be brought up in time. Judith did not know whether to be glad or sorry; the suspense would be as hard to bear as the sound of cannon, she thought.

  ‘Quite a number of people are leaving for Antwerp,’ Worth observed. ‘Lady Fitzroy has gone, and I met De Lancey just before he went off to join the Army, who told me that he had prevailed upon that poor young wife of his to go, too.’ He paused, but she made no comment. He smiled. ‘Well, Judith?’

  ‘You would not wish to go if I were not here.’

  ‘Very true, but that can hardly be said to have a bearing on the case.’

  ‘I don’t want to run away, if you think it would not be wrong in me to stay. I hope you don’t mean to talk to me of defeat, for I won’t listen if you do.’

  ‘Like you, I’m of a sanguine disposition. But young Julian’s nurse beat us both in that respect. She has taken him out into the Park for an airing, and the only emotion roused in her breast by all the racket that went on during the night was a strong indignation at having a child’s rest disturbed.’

  ‘Ah, she is a phlegmatic Scot! I have no fear of her losing her head.’

  They were interrupted by the butler’s coming into the room with the announcement that Lady Barbara Childe was below and wished to speak to the Earl.

  Judith was astounded. She had not thought that after their encounter on the previous night Lady Barbara would dare to accost her again, let alone call at her residence. She looked at Worth, but he merely raised his eyebrows, and said: ‘Well, I am at home, and perfectly ready to receive visitors. I don’t understand why they are left in the hall. Beg her ladyship to come up.’

  ‘Yes, my lord,’ said the butler, his bosom swelling at the reproof. ‘I should have done so in the first place but that her ladyship desired me to carry the message.’

  He withdrew, stately and outraged. The door had scarcely shut behind him when Judith’s feelings got the better of her. She exclaimed: ‘I wish you had sent her about her business! I do not see why I should be obliged to receive her in my house! And that you should be willing to do so gives me a very poor opinion of your loyalty to Charles!’

  ‘I cannot think that Charles would thank me for turning Lady Barbara away from my door,’ he replied.

  There was no time for more; the butler opened the door and announced Barbara; and she cam
e into the room with her long, mannish stride.

  Judith rose, but before she had time to speak she was forestalled.

  ‘I didn’t mean to force myself into your presence,’ Barbara said. ‘I am sorry. My business is with your husband.’ She paused, and a wintry, rueful smile flashed across her face. ‘Oh, the devil! My curst tongue again! Don’t look so stiff: I have not come to wreck your marriage.’ This was said with a good deal of bitterness. She forced herself to speak more lightly, and added, looking in her clear way at Worth: ‘I couldn’t could I? You at least have never succumbed to my famous charms.’

  ‘No, never,’ he replied imperturbably. ‘Will you not sit down?’

  ‘No; I do not mean to stay above a minute. The case is that I am in the devil of a quandary over my horses. Would you be so obliging as to house them for me in your stables? There is the pair I drive in my phaeton, and my mare as well.’

  ‘Willingly,’ he said. ‘But—forgive me—why?’

  ‘My brother and his wife are leaving Brussels this morning. They are gone by this time, I daresay. The house in the Rue Ducale is given up. My own groom is not to be trusted alone, and I do not care to stable the horses at the hôtel. They tell me there is already such a demand for horses to carry people to Antwerp that by nightfall it will be a case of stealing what can’t be hired.’

  ‘Lord and Lady Vidal gone!’ Judith exclaimed, surprised into breaking her silence.

  ‘Oh yes!’ Barbara replied indifferently. ‘Gussie has been in one of her confounded takings ever since the news was brought in last night, and Vidal is very little better.’

  ‘But you do not mean to remain here alone, surely?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It is not fit!’

  ‘Ah, you doubt the propriety of it! I don’t care for that.’ Her mouth quivered, but she controlled it. Judith noticed that she had twisted the end of her scarf tightly between her fingers and was gripping it so hard that her gloves seemed in danger of splitting. ‘Both my brothers are engaged in this war,’ she said. ‘And Charles.’