‘Yes,’ she acknowledged. ‘Lady Barbara dances very well.’
‘Audley’s a fortunate fellow,’ said the Duke decidedly. ‘Won’t thank me for taking him away from Brussels, I daresay. Don’t blame him! But it can’t be helped.’
‘You are leaving us, then?’
‘Oh yes—yes! for a few days. No secret about it: I have to visit the Army.’
‘Of course. We shall await your return with impatience, I assure you, praying the Ogre may not descend upon us while you are absent!’
He gave one of his sudden whoops of laughter. ‘No fear of that! It’s all nonsense, this talk about Bonaparte! Ogre! Pooh! Jonathan Wild, that’s my name for him!’ He saw her look of astonishment, and laughed again, apparently much amused, either by her surprise or by his own words.
She was conscious of disappointment. He had been described to her as unaffected: he seemed to her almost inane.
Eight
Upon the following day was published a General Order, directing officers in future to make their reports to the Duke of Wellington. Upon the same day, a noble-browed gentleman with a suave address and great tact, was sent from Brussels to the Prussian Headquarters, there to assume the somewhat arduous duties of military commissioner to the Prussian Army. Sir Henry Hardinge had lately been employed by the Duke in watching Napoleon’s movements in France. He accepted his new rôle with his usual equanimity, and commiserated with by his friends on the particularly trying nature of his commission, merely smiled, and said that General von Gneisenau was not likely to be as tiresome as he was painted.
The Moniteur of this 11th day of April published gloomy tidings. In the south of France, the Duc d’Angoulême’s enterprise had failed. Angoulême had led his mixed force on Lyons, but the arrival from Paris of a competent person of the name of Grouchy had ended Royalist hopes in the south. Angoulême and his masterful wife had both set sail from France, and his army was fast dwindling away.
It was not known what King Louis, in Ghent, made of these tidings, but those who were acquainted with his character doubted whether his nephew’s failure would much perturb him. Never was there so lethargic a monarch: one could hardly blame France for welcoming Napoleon back.
The news disturbed others, however. It seemed as though it were all going to start again: victory upon victory for Napoleon; France overrunning Europe. Shocking to think of the Emperor’s progress through France, of the men who flocked to join his little force, of the crowds who welcomed him, hysterical with joy! Shocking to think of Marshal Ney, with his oath to King Louis on his conscience, deserting with his whole force to the Emperor’s side! There must be some wizardry in the man, for in all France there had not been found sufficient loyal men to stand by the King and make it possible for him to hold his capital in Napoleon’s teeth. He had fled, with his little Court, and his few troops, and if ever he found himself on his throne again it would be once more because foreign soldiers had placed him there.
But how unlikely it seemed that he would find himself there! With Napoleon at large, summoning his Champ de Mai assemblies, issuing his dramatic proclamations, gathering together his colossal armies, only the very optimistic could feel that there was any hope for King Louis.
Even Wellington doubted the ability of the Allies to put King Louis back on the throne, but this doubt sprang more from a just appreciation of the King’s character than from any fear of Napoleon. Sceptical people might ascribe the Duke’s attitude to the fact of his never having met Napoleon in the field, but the fact remained that his lordship was one of the few generals in Europe who did not prepare to meet Napoleon in a mood of spiritual defeat.
He accorded the news of Angoulême’s failure a sardonic laugh, and laid the Moniteur aside. He was too busy to waste time over that.
He kept his staff busy too, a circumstance which displeased Barbara Childe. To be loved by a man who sent her brief notes announcing his inability to accompany her on expeditions of her planning was a new experience. When she saw him at the end of a tiring day, she rallied him on his choice of profession. ‘For the future I shall be betrothed only to civilians.’
He laughed. He had been all the way to Oudenarde and back, with a message for General Colville, commanding the 4th Division, but he had found time to buy a ring of emeralds and diamonds for Barbara, and although there was a suggestion of weariness about his eyelids, he seemed to desire nothing as much as to dance with her the night through.
Waltzing with him, she said abruptly: ‘Are you tired?’
‘Tired! Do I dance as though I were tired?’
‘No, but you’ve been in the saddle nearly all day.’
‘Oh, that’s nothing! In Spain I have been used to ride fifteen or twenty miles to a ball, and be at work again by ten o’clock the next day.’
‘Wellington trains admirable suitors,’ she remarked. ‘How fortunate it is that you dance so well, Charles!’
‘I know. You would not otherwise have accepted me.’
‘Yes, I think perhaps I should. But I should not dance with you so much. I wish you need not leave Brussels just now.’
‘So do I. What will you do while I am away? Flirt with your Belgian admirer?’
She looked up at him. ‘Don’t go!’
He smiled, but shook his head.
‘Apply to the Duke for leave, Charles!’
He looked startled. As his imagination played with the scene her words evoked, his eyes began to dance. ‘Unthinkable!’
‘Why? You might well ask the Duke!’
‘Believe me, I might not!’
She jerked up a shoulder. ‘Perhaps you don’t wish for leave?’
‘I don’t,’ he said frankly. ‘Why, what a fellow I should be if I did!’
‘Don’t I come first with you?’
He glanced down at her. ‘You don’t understand, Bab.’
‘Oh, you mean to talk to me of your duty!’ she said impatiently. ‘Tedious stuff!’
‘Very. Tell me what you will do while I am away.’
‘Flirt with Etienne. You have already said so. Have I your permission?’
‘If you need it. It’s very lucky: I leave Brussels on the 16th, and Lavisse will surely arrive on the 15th for the dinner in honour of the Prince of Orange. I daresay he’ll remain a day or two, and so be at your disposal.’
‘Not jealous, Charles?’
‘How should I be? You wear my ring, not his.’
His guess was correct. The Comte de Lavisse appeared in Brussels four days later to attend the Belgian dinner at the Hôtel d’Angleterre. He lost no time in calling in the Rue Ducale, and on learning that Lady Barbara was out, betook himself to the Park, and very soon came upon her ladyship, in company with Colonel Audley, Lady Worth and her offspring, Sir Peregrine Taverner, and Miss Devenish.
The party seemed to be a merry one, Judith being in spirits and Barbara in a melting mood. It was she who held Lord Temperley’s leading strings, and directed his attention to a bed of flowers. ‘Pretty lady!’ Lord Temperley called her, with weighty approval.
‘Famous!’ she said. She glanced up at Judith, and said with a touch of archness: ‘I count your son one of my admirers, you see!’
‘You are so kind to him I am sure it is no wonder,’ Judith responded, liking her in this humour.
‘Thank you! Charles, set him on your shoulder, and let us take him to see the swans on the water. Lady Worth, you permit?’
‘Yes indeed, but I don’t wish you to be teased by him!’
‘No such thing!’ She swooped upon the child, and lifted him up in her arms. ‘There! I declare I could carry you myself!’
‘He’s too heavy for you!’
‘He will crush your pelisse!’
She shrugged as these objections were uttered, and relinquished the child. Colonel Audley tossed him up on to his shoulder, and the whole party was about to walk in the direction of the pavilion when Lavisse, who had been watching from a little distance, came forward, and clicked his
heels together in one of his flourishing salutes.
Lady Worth bowed with distant civility; Barbara looked as though she did not care to be discovered in such a situation; only the Colonel said with easy good humour: ‘Hallo! You know my sister, I believe. And Miss Devenish—Sir Peregrine Taverner?’
‘Ah, I have not previously had the honour! Mademoiselle! Monsieur!’ Two bows were executed; the Count looked slyly towards Barbara, and waved a hand to include the whole group. ‘You must permit me to compliment you upon the pretty tableau you make; I am perhaps de trop, but shall beg leave to join the party.’
‘By all means,’ said the Colonel. ‘We are taking my nephew to see the swans.’
‘You cannot want to carry him, Charles,’ said Judith in a low voice.
‘Fiddle!’ he replied. ‘Why should I not want to carry him?’
She thought that the picture he made with the child on his shoulder was too domestic to be romantic, but could scarcely say so. He set off towards the pavilion with Miss Devenish beside him; Barbara imperiously demanded Sir Peregrine’s arm; and as the path was not broad enough to allow of four persons walking abreast, Judith was left to bring up the rear with Lavisse.
This arrangement was accepted by the Count with all the outward complaisance of good manners. Though his eyes might follow Barbara, his tongue uttered every civil inanity required of him. He was ready to discuss the political situation, the weather, or mutual acquaintances, and, in fact, touched upon all these topics with the easy address of a fashionable man.
Upon their arrival at the sheet of water by the pavilion his air of fashion left him. Judith was convinced that nothing could have been further from his inclination than to throw bread to a pair of swans, but he clapped his hands together, declaring that the swans must and should be fed, and ran off to the pavilion to procure crumbs for the purpose.
He came back presently with some cakes, a circumstance which shocked Miss Devenish into exclaiming against such extravagance.
‘Oh, such delicious little cakes, and all for the swans! Some stale bread would have been better!’
The Count said gaily: ‘They have no stale bread, mademoiselle; they were offended at the very suggestion. So what would you?’
‘I am sure the swans will much prefer your cakes, Etienne,’ said Barbara, smiling at him for the first time.
‘If only you may not corrupt their tastes!’ remarked Audley, holding on to his nephew’s skirts.
‘Ah, true! A swan with an unalterable penchant for cake: I fear he would inevitably starve!’
‘He might certainly despair of finding another patron with your lavish notions of largess,’ observed Barbara.
She stepped away from the group, in the endeavour to coax one of the swans to feed from her hand; after a few moments the Count joined her, while Colonel Audley still knelt, holding his nephew on the brink of the lake, and directing his erratic aim in crumb throwing.
Judith made haste to relieve him of his charge, saying in an undervoice as she bent over her son: ‘Pray, let me take Julian. You do not want to be engaged with him.’
‘Don’t disturb yourself, my dear sister. Julian and I are doing very well, I assure you.’
She replied with some tartness: ‘I hope you will not be stupid enough to allow that man to take your place beside Barbara! There, get up! I have Julian fast.’
He rose, but said with a smile: ‘Do you think me a great fool? Now I was preening myself on being a wise man!’
He moved away before she could answer him, and joined Miss Devenish, who was sitting on a rustic bench, drawing diagrams in the gravel with the ferrule of her sunshade. In repose her face had a wistful look, but at the Colonel’s approach she raised her eyes, and smiled, making room for him to sit beside her.
‘Of all the questions in the world I believe What are you thinking about? to be the most impertinent,’ he said lightly.
She laughed, but with a touch of constraint. ‘Oh—I don’t know what I was thinking about! The swans—the dear little boy—Lady Worth—how I envy her!’
These last words were uttered almost involuntarily. The Colonel said: ‘Envy her? Why should you do so?’
She coloured, and looked down. ‘I don’t know how I came to say that. Pray do not regard it!’ She added in a stumbling way: ‘One does take such fancies! It is only that she is so happy, and good . . . ’
‘Are you not happy?’ he asked. ‘I am sure you are good.’
She gave her head a quick shake. ‘Oh no! At least, I mean, of course I am happy. Please do not heed me! I am in a nonsensical mood today. How beautiful Lady Barbara looks in her bronze bonnet and pelisse.’ She glanced shyly at him. ‘You must be very proud. I hope you will be very happy too.’
‘Thank you. I wonder how long it will be before I shall be wishing you happy in the same style?’ he said, with a quizzical smile.
She looked started. A blush suffused her cheeks, and her eyes brightened all at once with a spring of tears. ‘Oh no! Impossible! Please do not speak of it!’
He said in a tone of concern: ‘My dear Miss Devenish, forgive me! I had no notion of distressing you, upon my honour!’
‘You must think me very foolish!’
‘Well,’ he said, in a rallying tone, ‘do you know, I do think you a little foolish to speak of your marriage as impossible! Now you will write me down a very saucy fellow!’
‘Oh no! But you don’t understand! Here is Lady Barbara coming towards you: please forget this folly!’
She got up, still in some agitation of spirit, and walked quickly away to Judith’s side.
‘Good God! did my approach frighten the heiress away?’ asked Barbara, in a tone of lively amusement. ‘Or was it your gallantry, Charles? Confess! You have been trifling with her!’
‘What, in such a public place as this?’ protested the Colonel. ‘You wrong me, Bab!’
She said with a gleam of fun: ‘I thought you liked public places, indeed I did! Parks—or Allées!’
‘Allées!’ ejaculated Lavisse. ‘Do not mention that word, I beg! I shall not easily forgive Colonel Audley for discovering, with the guile of all staff officers (an accursed race!), that you ride there every morning.’
The Colonel laughed. Barbara took his arm saying: ‘I have made such a delightful plan, Charles. I am quite tired of the Allée Verte. I am going further afield, with Etienne.’
‘Are you?’ said the Colonel. ‘A picnic? I don’t advise it in this changeable weather, but you won’t care for that. Where do you go?’
It was Lavisse who answered. ‘Do you know the Château de Hougoumont, Colonel? Ah, no! How should you, in effect? It is a little country seat which belongs to a relative of mine, a M. de Lunéville.’
‘I know the Château,’ interrupted the Colonel. ‘It is near the village of Merbe Braine, is it not, on the Nivelles road?’
The Count’s brows rose. ‘You are exact! One would say you knew it well.’
‘I had occasion to travel over that country last year,’ the Colonel responded briefly. ‘Do you mean to make your expedition there? It must be quite twelve or thirteen miles away.’
‘What of that?’ said Barbara. ‘You don’t know me if you think I am so soon tired. We shall ride through the Forest, and take luncheon at the Château. It will be capital sport!’
‘Of whom is this party to consist?’ he enquired.
‘Of Etienne and myself, to be sure.’
He returned no answer, but she saw a grave look in his face, which provoked her into saying: ‘I assure you Etienne is very well able to take care of me.’
‘I don’t doubt it,’ he replied.
Lady Worth had joined them by this time, and was listening to the interchange in silence, but with a puckered brow. The whole party began to walk away from the lake, and Judith, resigning her son into Peregrine’s charge, caught up with Barbara, and said in a low voice: ‘Forgive me, but you are not in earnest?’
‘Very seldom, I believe.’
&n
bsp; ‘This expedition with the Count: you cannot have considered what a singular appearance it will give you!’
‘On the contrary: I delight in singularity.’
Judith felt her temper rising; she managed to control it, and to say in a quiet tone: ‘You will think me impertinent, I daresay, but I do most earnestly counsel you to give up the scheme. I can have no expectation of my words weighing with you, but I cannot suppose you to be equally indifferent to my brother’s wishes. He must dislike this scheme excessively.’
‘Indeed! Are you his envoy, Lady Worth?’
Judith was obliged to deny it. She was spared having to listen to the mocking rejoinder, which, she was sure, hovered on the tip of Barbara’s tongue, by Colonel Audley’s coming up to them at that moment. He stepped between them, offering each an arm, and having glanced at both their faces, said: ‘I conclude that I have interrupted a duel. My guess is that Judith has been preaching propriety, and Bab announcing herself a confirmed rake.’
‘I have certainly been preaching propriety,’ replied Judith. ‘It sounds odious, and I fear Lady Barbara has found it so.’
‘No! Confoundedly boring!’ said Barbara. ‘I am informed, Charles, that you will dislike my picnic scheme excessively. Shall you?’
‘Good God no! Go, by all means, if you wish to—and can stand the gossip.’
‘I am quite accustomed to it,’ she said indifferently.
Judith felt so much indignation at the lack of feeling shown by this remark that she drew her hand away from the Colonel’s arm, and dropped behind to walk with her brother. This left Miss Devenish to the Count’s escort, an arrangement which continued until Barbara left the party. The Count then requested the honour of being allowed to conduct her home; Colonel Audley, who was obliged to call at Headquarters, made no objection, and Miss Devenish found herself once more in the company of Sir Peregrine, Lady Worth and Colonel Audley walking ahead of them.