An Infamous Army

Chapter Twenty

Judith ran out to the head of the stairs. Worth called up to her: "It is Charles, Judith. All is well!"

"Oh, bring him up! Bring him up!" she begged. "Charles, I am so thankful! Come up at once!"

"I'm in no fit state to enter your drawing-room, you know," Colonel Audley replied in a tired but cheerful voice.

"Good God, what does that signify?" She caught sight of him as she spoke, and exclaimed: "You are drenched to the skin! You must change your clothes immediately or Heaven knows what will become of you!"

He mounted the stairs, and as he came into the light cast by a sconce of candles Judith saw that his face was grey with fatigue, and his embroidered ball dress, which he still wore, saturated with rain and mud, a tear in one sleeve and the wristband of his shirt stained with blood.

"You are hurt!" she said quickly.

"No, I assure you I am not. Nothing but a cut from a bayonet: it scarcely broke the skin. I am only sleepy, and very hungry, upon my honour!"

"You shall have dinner the instant you are out of those wet clothes," she promised, taking his hand between both of hers and clasping it for a moment. "You are worn out! Oh, dear Charles, the relief of knowing you to be safe!"

She could say no more; he smiled, but seemed to have no energy to waste in answering her. Worth took him by the arm and led him towards the second pair of stairs. "Come along!" he said. "The appearance you present is quite appalling, believe me!"

Judith ran back into the salon and tugged at the bell pull. Barbara was standing just inside the door, watching Colonel Audley as he mounted the stairs to his bedroom. She said with a shaky laugh: "His beautiful ball dress quite ruined! When I think how smart he was, only two nights ago, it makes me want to weep! Was there ever anything so confoundedly silly?"

Upstairs, Worth rang the bell for his valet, and began to help the Colonel to peel off his sodden coat. Through the torn sleeve of a shirt that was clinging to his body could be seen a strip of sticking-plaster, covering a slash upon the upper arm. The blood had dried upon the shirtsleeve, and Audley winced a little as he stripped the shirt off.

"I take it that's not serious?" said Worth.

"Good God, no! A scratch."

"How did you come by it?"

"Trying to rally those damned Dutch-Belgians!" replied the Colonel bitterly. He added, with the flash of a smile: "I don't know that I blame them, though, poor devils! They got the brunt of it at the start, and then, to add to their troubles, what must some of our fellows do but mistake a party of them for the French, and open fire on them! It's all the fault of their accursec uniforms, and those bell-topped shakos of theirs."

"Where's the Army?"

"Before Mont St Jean, rather more than a couple of miles south of Waterloo, bivouacking for the night."

Worth raised his brows. "That seems somewhat close to Brussels."

"No help for it. Old Blucher's gone eighteen miles to his rear, to Wavre. We had to do likewise, of course. But don't worry! We're in a better case than at Quatre-Bras: the ground there was damnable for cavalry."

The valet came into the room just then, and conversation was suspended while the Colonel's mud-caked Hessians were pulled off, his pantaloons peeled from his legs, and warm water fetched to wash away the dirt, and the sweat and the bloodstains from his tired body. By the time he came downstairs again, in his service uniform, a tray had been brought to the salon and a table spread. He walked into the room just ahead of his brother, smiled rather wearily at Judith, and then saw Barbara standing by the fireplace. A frown creased his brow; his eyes, heavy and bloodshot, blinked at her in a puzzled way. His brain felt clogged; he did not know how she came to be there, and felt too tired to speculate much about the circumstance. A nightmare of estrangement lay between them, but he had been in the saddle almost continuously for two days, had taken part in a fierce battle against superior odds, and knew that perhaps the most serious engagement of his life was ahead of him. His mind refused to grapple with personal considerations; he merely held out his hand, and said: "I didn't know you were here, Bab. How do you do?"

Judith, who had expected some show at least of surprise, and had been prepared to whisk herself and Worth out of the room, felt that this calm greeting must affect Barbara like a douche of cold water. But Barbara just took the Colonel's hand, and answered: "Yes, Charles. I am here. Never mind that now. You are hungry and tired."

"I don't know when I have been more so," he admitted, turning from her, and seating himself at the table. He accepted a plate of cold beef from Judith, and added: "Both your brothers are safe. I think George got a scratch or two today, but nothing serious. I suppose Canning gave you an account of our engagement at Quatre-Bras, Julian?"

"Yes, and I heard more later from Creevey, who had seen Hamilton, of Barnes's staff."

"Oh, did you?" said Colonel, his mouth rather full of beef. "Then I expect you know all that happened."

"Very briefly. Hamilton left the field before the engagement ended."

"The Guards settled it. Cooke's division came up at about half past six, I suppose. Maitland sent Lord Saltoun in with the Light Infantry of the brigade to clear Bossu wood of the French, which he did. I don't really know where Byng's brigade was placed. It was almost impossible to make out anyone's position. One of Halkett's fellows told me they had seen the French actually sending a man galloping ahead to plant a flag as a point for their troops to charge on. You've no idea what the crops are like there. I've never seen rye grown to such a height."

"When did Halkett arrive? I collect you mean Sir Colin, not his brother?"

"Yes, of course. Hew Halkett's Hanoverians weren't at Quatre-Bras at all. Alten brought up the 3rd Division somewhere between four and five in the afternoon, and, by God, they were not a moment too soon. Picton's division was pretty well crippled. I don't know which of the brigades suffered the most, Kempt's or Pack's. To make matters worse, Brunswick had been carried off the field, and his men were badly shaken. Olferman couldn't hold them, and they were retreating in a good deal of haste when old Halkett came up. You know Halkett! - or rather you don't, but he told Olferman without mincing matters what he thought of the retreat, and brought the Brunswickers up under cover of a ditch, like the famous old fighter he is!"

"And the Dutch-Belgians?"

The Colonel shrugged. "Well, there's no doubt Perponcher saved the situation by moving on Quatre-Bras as he did, and Prince Bernhard's Nassauers behaved splendidly. They had one horse battery with them - Stevenart's, I think - and by Jove, those fellows were heroes! Bylandt's brigade suffered rather severely at the start, and as for the rest - it's a case of the least said the soonest mended."

"How did the Prince of Orange do?"

"Ask Halkett," replied the Colonel, with a wry smile. "Poor Slender Billy! He will get so excited!"

Worth refilled his glass. "At his age that was to be expected. What has he been up to?"

The Colonel drank some of the wine, and picked up his knife and fork again. "Oh, Halkett galloped forward to the front with one of his ADCs, saw a corps of cavalry forming, and of course returned at once to his brigade, and gave the order to form squares. The 69th - that's Colonel Morice's regiment - were in the act of doing so when up came Slender Billy, and wanted to know what the devil they were about. 'Preparing to meet cavalry' - 'Oh, cavalry be damned!' says Billy. 'There's none within five miles of you! Form column, and deploy into line at once!' Morice had no choice but to obey, of course. The regiment was actually engaged on the movement when about eight hundred cuirassiers came charging down on the brigade. The 30th and the 33rd were firmly in square, but the cuirassiers rode right through the unfortunate 60th, scattered the Belgian and Brunswick cavalry, got as far as Quatre-Bras itself, and completely turned our position. If it hadn't been for the Duke's directing the 92nd Highlanders himself, God knows what might not have happened!"

"Yes, we heard about that, but not about the Prince's folly!"

"You might not. Don't spread the story! I happened to have been sent with a message to Halkett just before the charge, and was in one of the squares beside him. Poor Morice was killed, and scores of others."

"Then you had no cavalry at all to withstand the French attacks?"

"No, that was the devil of it. The Lancers cut up Pack's Highlanders horribly. But you can't shake the Fighting Division. When Picton retired at last, it was in perfect order. But the loss has been shocking in his whole division. By nine o'clock we outnumbered the French. I saw Ney myself, several times. He kept on rallying his infantry and hurling it against us - behaving more like a madman than a corps commander, we thought. In the end he gave it up, and drew off, and we bivouacked for the night." He pushed his plate aside, and reached out a hand for the cheese. "The Duke spent the night at Genappe. We had no news from the Prussians: Hardinge was badly wounded at Ligny, and is hors de combat. It turned out that Blucher did send an officer to us overnight, but he got wounded and never reached us. Gordon was sent off down the Namur road with a half squadron of the 10th the first thing this morning, to see what intelligence he could gain. He got as far as a place called Tilly, found that the whole Prussian Army was retreating on Wavre, and that the French were in force about two miles distant. He got back somewhere about eight o'clock, and that was the first news we had of the Prussian corps, and must have been about 40,000 strong. What happened to that corps yesterday we can't make out. We saw it going off towards Ligny, but it doesn't seem to have been engaged at all. As for us, we had only 25,000, after the flight of the Dutch; but instead of renewing the attack Ney did nothing. At ten o'clock the Duke ordered the infantry to retire in successive brigades through the defile of Genappe, to the position of Mont St Jean. They did this in perfect order, all except two battalions of the 95th Rifles, which the Duke kept at Quatre-Bras, with all the cavalry." He gave a grin, swallowed a mouthful of bread and cheese, and said: "Old Hookey sat down to read the letters and newspapers from England which had arrived, and then went to sleep by the side of the road, with a paper spread over his face. When he woke up, he had another look at the enemy through his glass, and found them still not under arms. We began to think they might possibly be retreating. However, about two o'clock, Vivian, who was with the Duke, saw a glitter of steel in the sunlight in the direction of Ligny, and we found that it was caused by huge masses of cavalry moving towards us. At the same time, Ney began to show himself on our front. By the by, it was the most curious effect I ever saw in my life. There was an enormous storm cloud blowing up from the north. We were all in a sort of twilight, but the sun was still shining on the French. Queerest thing I ever saw. The Duke ordered the cavalry, and the horse artillery, and the rifles, to fall back steadily, and went on ahead to dine at Genappe, leaving Uxbridge to do the business, which he did beautifully, withdrawing the cavalry in three columns, and keeping Norman Ramsay's troop to guard the rear. We heard the guns in Genappe just about the time the storm burst, and I went back to see what was happening. Apparently the French opened fire on us, but without doing much damage. They seemed to be concentrating their attacks on our centre column - Somerset's and Ponsonby's heavy brigades, and a rearguard of the 7th Hussars and the 23rd Light Dragoons. By the time they were drawn up on the high ground beyond Genappe, the French lancers were in the town. Uxbridge sent in the 7th to clear them out; they were driven back, rallied, went in again gallantly, time after time, but suffered pretty severely. Uxbridge withdrew them at last, and ordered the light dragoons to advance, but as they didn't seem to relish the task, he snapped out: 'The Life Guards shall have this honour!' and ordered them up. Of course they asked nothing better than to show us what Hyde Park soldiers could do. Uxbridge sent a couple of squadrons into the town. They rode in like thunder-bolts - magnificent to watch - and completely overthrew the lancers."

"George?" Barbara said.

He turned his head, as though suddenly recollecting her presence. "Yes, he took part in it. He was not hurt, merely plastered with mud!" He smiled, and said, looking at Worth again: "That was the funniest part of the business, the Life Guards getting tumbled in the mud. I never remember such a storm. Within half an hour the horses were sinking to their knees, and some of the fields looked like lakes. The 95th were watching the Life Guards from beyond the town - you know what the riflemen are! Kincaid swore that every time one of them suffered a fall he got up covered in mud, and retired to the rear, as though no longer fit to appear on parade! I can tell you, they had to bear a good deal of roasting! Some of the fellows of the 95th shouted to them: 'The uglier, the better the soldier!' which is one of our Peninsular sayings. However, even if they did look absurdly ashamed of their dirt they did famously."

"There was no serious engagement?"

"No, nothing but very pretty manoeuvres and skirmishing. Uxbridge is a good man, and, what's more, his work today has given his men faith in him. While all the skirmishing was going on, Whinyates began firing off his beloved rockets, with the idea of amusing our cavalry, drawn up beyond Genappe. The main thing was that it didn't amuse the French at all: they hate rockets."

"What are rockets?" asked Judith, who was sitting with her chin in her hands, listening to him.

"Well, they're just rockets," replied the Colonel vaguely. "No use asking me: I'm not an artillery man. All I know is that they're fired from a small iron triangle, which is set up wherever you want it. Port-fire is applied, the horrid thing begins to spit sparks, and wriggle its tail as though it were alive, and then suddenly darts off. I'm frightened to death of the things: you never know where they will go! Even Whinyates admits that no two of them ever follow the same course. They go whizzing off, and if you are lucky the shells in their heads burst among the French. But they have been known to turn back on themselves, and one fellow swears one chased him about like a squib, and nearly was the end of him." He pushed back his chair from the table, and stood up, and went to the window, drawing back the curtains a little way. The rain still beat against the panes. "A Wellington night!" he said, and let the curtain fall back into place. He looked over his shoulder at Worth. "I want one of your horses, Julian. My poor brute could scarcely stand up under me when I brought him in."

"You had better take the bay: he's a stayer."

"You may not see him again," said the Colonel, with the flicker of a smile.

"I daresay I shan't. How many have you lost so far?"

"Only one. Judith, will you let me raid the larder? We're devilish short of rations."

"Of course: take what you want," she answered readily. "But must you go back yet? Is it not possible for you to rest for a while?"

He shook his head. "No; I must be back at Headquarters by midnight, you know. It's nearly ten now, and in this wet and darkness it will take me two hours, or more."

"Where are the Duke's Headquarters?" asked Worth.

"At Waterloo." He picked up his cloak from the chair on which he had laid it, and clasped it round his neck. His cocked hat in its oilskin cover lay ready to his hand; he tucked it under his arm, and said, with a little hesitation: "Judith, if you should see Miss Devenish..." He paused, as though he did not know how to continue.

"I shall, I expect," she replied. "Do you desire some message to her?"

"No - only that I wish you will tell her that you have seen me tonight, and that all is well."

"Certainly," she said.

"Thank you. Don't forget, will you?" He kissed her cheek in a brotherly fashion, and said, with something of his old gaiety: "You are a capital creature, you know" You understand how important it is to feed a man well!"

"Cold beef!" she protested.

"Nothing could have been better, I assure you. Don't be alarmed if you hear some cannonading tomorrow! We shall have at least one Prussian corps with us, and we don't mean to lose this war, I promise you." He gave her shoulder a pat, and turned towards Barbara. She was looking pale, but perfectly composed, and held out her hand. He took it. "I don't know why you are here, but I'm glad you are," he said. "Forgive me if I seem dull and stupid. There is so much to say, but I've not time, and this is not the moment. I believe your friend Lavisse to be unhurt. I should have told you before."

"I am glad, but he is not so much my friend that it can concern me."

"Tired of him, Bab?" he said.

She winced. He said at once: "I'm sorry! That was shockingly rude of me." His hand gripped hers more tightly. "Goodbye, my dear. Now, Worth, if you please."

He released her hand, and turned from her to his brother. The corner of his heavy cloak just brushed her dress as he swung round on a spurred heel; he took Worth's arm, and walked to the door with him. "I'll take a couple of bottles of your champagne, Julian," he said, and the next instant was gone from Barbara's sight. She heard his voice on the stairs, as he went down with Worth. "By the by, the 10th did damned well today. They might have been on the parade ground. However, the rain put an end to the skirmishing."

Judith walked quickly to the door and shut it. "Skirmishing! Champagne!" she said with a strong indignation. "How could he? As though he had not a thought in his head but of divisions, and brigades, and regiments!"

"He hasn't," said Barbara.

"When I think of the suspense you have been in, what you have suffered from the circumstance of - And he behaved as though nothing were of the least consequence but this dreadful war!"

Barbara gave a laugh. "Is anything else of consequence? I like him for that!"

"You are made to be a soldier's wife! I was put out of all patience! Oh, Bab, that message! What can he have meant by it?"

Barbara looked at her with glinting eyes, and the lifting smile that meant danger. "I could take him away from that chit in a week. Less! A day!"

"I daresay you might: indeed, I've no doubt of it. But I wish you would not talk so."

"Do not alarm yourself. I shan't do it. If only he comes safe back he may have her - yes, and I'll smile and be glad!" Her face broke up; she cried out: "No. not that! but I won't make mischief - I promise I won't make mischief!"

Twenty minutes later Worth re-entered the room to find both ladies seated on the sofa, in companionable silence. He said in his calm way: "Take my advice, and go to bed. There is no danger tonight, but I may be obliged to convey you to the coast tomorrow. So get what rest you can now."

"Has Charles gone?" Judith asked.

"Yes - and your Sunday dinner with him."

"Oh dear! But it does not signify. I wish it would stop raining! I do not like to think of him riding all that way in this downpour!"

"He will do very well, I assure you. If you wish to be pitying anyone, pity the poor devils who are bivouacking out in the open tonight."

She rose. "I do pity them. Come, Bab! he is right; we should go to bed."

The words were hardly spoken when they heard a knock on the street door. Even Worth looked a little surprised, and raised his brows. The butler had not yet retired to bed; they heard him go to the door and open it; and a moment later the stairs creaked under his heavy tread. He entered the salon, but before he could announce the visitor, Lucy Devenish had rushed past him into the room.

A wet cloak and hood enveloped her; she was pale, and evidently in great agitation. She looked wildly round the room, and then, fixing her eyes on Judith's astonished countenance, faltered: "My uncle heard that Colonel Audley had been at Sir Charles Stuart's!"

"He has been there, and here, too, but I am afraid he has this moment gone," said Judith. "My dear child, surely you did not come alone, and in this shocking storm? Let me take your cloak! How imprudent this is of you!"

"Oh, I know, I know! But I could not sleep without trying to get news! No one knows that I am not in my bed - it is wrong of me, but indeed, indeed I had to come!"

Judith removed the dripping cloak from her shoulders. "Hush, Lucy! There is no need for this alarm. Charles is safe, and all is well, upon my honour!"

Miss Devenish pushed the hair from her brow with one distracted hand. "I ran the whole way! I hoped to see him - but it is no matter!" She made an effort to be calm, and sank down upon a chair, saying: "I am so glad he is safe! Did he tell you what had been happening? Was there any news? What did he say?"

"Yes, indeed; he has been describing to us how our Army has been obliged to retreat to Mont St Jean. It appears there has been no very serious fighting today nothing but some cavalry skirmishes, which he said were extremely pretty, if you please!"

"Oh - ! Please tell me! I - we have heard so little all day, you see," Lucy said, with a forced laugh.

"There was nothing of any consequence, my dear. Indeed, from what he said I gathered that only some hussars and the Life Guards have been actually engaged with the enemy. Charles himself -"

She stopped, for Lucy had sprung up, her face so ghastly and her manner so distraught that for a moment Judith almost feared that she had taken leave of her senses. "Charles? What is he to me?" Lucy said hoarsely. "It is George - George! Was there no word? No message for me? Lady Barbara, for God's sake tell me, or I shall go mad with this suspense!"

"George?" gasped Judith, grasping a chairback for support.

"Yes, George!" Lucy cried fiercely. "I can bear no more! I must know what has become of him, I tell you!"

"He is perfectly safe," said Barbara coolly.

Lucy gave a long sigh and dropped on to the sofa. "Oh, thank God, thank God!" she sobbed. "What I have undergone -The torture! The suspense!"

Across the room, Barbara's eyes met Judith's for a moment; then she glanced down at Lucy's bowed head, and said: "Oh, confound you, must you cry because he is safe?"

Judith stepped up to the sofa and laid her hand on Lucy's shoulder. "Lucy, what is this folly?" she asked. "What can Lord George be to you?"

Lucy lifted her face from her hands. "He is my husband!" she said.

A dumbfounded silence fell. Barbara was staring at her with narrowed eyes, Judith in utter incredulity. With deliberation, the Earl polished his quizzing glass, and raised it, and gazed at Lucy in a dispassionately considering fashion.

"George actually married you?" said Barbara slowly. "When?"

"Last year - in England!" Lucy replied, covering her face with her hands.

"Then all these months -!" Judith ejaculated. "Good God, how is this possible?"

"It is true. I am aware of what your feelings must be, but oh, if you knew how bitterly I have been punished, you would pity me!"

"I do not know what to say! It is not for me to reproach you! But what can have prompted you to commit such an act of folly? Why this long secrecy? I am utterly at a loss!"

"Ah, you are not acquainted with my grandfather!" said Barbara. "The secrecy is easily explained. What, however, passes my comprehension is how the devil you persuaded George into marriage!"

"He loves me!" Lucy said, rearing up her head.

"He must indeed do so. Odd! I should not have thought you the girl to catch his fancy."

"Oh, Bab, pray hush!" besought Judith.

"Nonsense! If Miss Devenish - I beg pardon! - if Lady George has become my sister the sooner she grows accustomed to the language I use the better it will be. So George was afraid to confess the whole to my grandfather, was he?"

"Yes. I cannot tell you all, but you must not blame him! Mine was the fault. I allowed myself to be swept off my feet. The marriage took place in Sussex. George was in the expectation of gaining his promotion -"

"Ah, I begin to understand you! My grandfather was to have given him the purchase money, eh? Instead he was obliged to spend it hushing up the Carroway affair, and was disinclined to assist George further."

"Yes," said Lucy. "Everything went awry! That scandal - but all that is over now! Indeed, indeed, George loves me, and there can be no more such affairs!"

"My poor innocent! But continue!"

"He said we must wait. His circumstances were awkward: there were debts; and I was unhappily aware of my uncle's dislike of him. I feared nothing but anger could be met with in that quarter. My uncle thinks him a spendthrift, and that, in his eyes, outweighs every consideration of birth or title. To have declared our marriage would have meant George's ruin. But the misery of my position, the necessity of deceiving my uncle and my aunt, the wretchedness of stolen meetings with George - all these led to lowness of spirits in me, and in him the natural irritation of a man tied in such a way to one who -" Her utterance was choked by sobs; she overcame them, and continued: "Misunderstandings, even quarrels, arose between us. I began to believe that he regretted a union entered into so wrongly. When my uncle and aunt decided to come to Brussels in January, I accompanied them willingly, feeling that nothing could be worse than the life I was then leading. But the separation seemed to draw us closer together! When George arrived in this country all the love which I thought had waned seemed in an instant to re-animate towards me! He would have declared our marriage then: it was I who insisted on the secret still being kept! Think me what you will! I deserve your censure, but my courage failed. Situated as I was, in the midst of this restricted society, believed by all to be a single woman, I could not face the scandal that such a declaration would have caused! I was even afraid to be seen in his company lest anyone should suspect an attachment to exist between us. All the old wretchedness returned! George - oh, only to tease me into yielding! - began to devote himself to other and more beautiful females. I have come near to putting an end to my existence, even! Then the war broke out. I saw George at the Duchess's ball. Every misunderstanding seemed to vanish, but we had so little time together! He was forced to leave me: had it not been for Colonel Audley's promising to send me word if he could, I must have become demented!"

"Then Charles knew?" Judith exclaimed.

"Yes! On the very night that his engagement was put an end to he found me in great distress, and persuaded me to confide in him. His nature, so frank and upright, must have revolted from the duplicity of mine, but he uttered no word of blame. His sympathy for my situation, the awkwardness of which he understood immediately, his kindness - I cannot speak of it! I had engaged his silence as the price of my confidence. His promise was given, and implicitly kept."

"Good God!" said Judith blankly. She raised her eyes from Lucy's face, and looked at Barbara. She gave an uncertain laugh. "Oh, Bab, the fools we have been!"

"Yes! And the wretch Charles has been! Infamous!" Barbara walked up to the sofa, and laid her hand on Lucy's shoulder. "Dry your tears! Your marriage is in the best tradition of my family, I assure you."

Lucy clasped her hand. "Can you ever forgive me?"

"What the devil has my forgiveness to do with it? You have not injured me. I wish you extremely happy."

"How kind you are! I do not deserve to be happy!"

"You are very unlikely to be," said Barbara, somewhat dryly. "George will make you a damnable husband."

"Oh no, no! If only he is not killed!" Lucy shuddered.

It was some time before she could regain her composure, and nearly an hour before she left the house. Worth had ordered the horses to be put to, and undertook to escort her to her uncle's lodgings. Judith and Barbara found themselves alone at last.

"Well!" Barbara said. "You will allow that at least I never contracted a secret marriage!"

"I have never been so deceived by anyone in my life!" Judith replied, in a shocked tone.