She might be a little uneasy about his evident admiration for Barbara, but as she had no suspicion of how far matters between them had already gone, she felt no very acute anxiety, and was able to welcome the Colonel home on the following evening without misgiving.
The Earl having an engagement to dine with some officers at the Hôtel d’Angleterre, Judith had invited Miss Devenish to keep her company, and was seated with her in the salon when Colonel Audley walked in.
Both ladies looked up; Judith exclaimed: ‘Why, Charles, are you back so soon? This is delightful! I believe I need not introduce you to Miss Devenish.’
‘No, indeed: I had the pleasure of meeting Miss Devenish the other evening,’ he replied, shaking hands, and drawing up a chair. ‘Is Worth out?’
‘Yes, at the Hôtel d’Angleterre. Is the Duke back in Brussels? Lord Harrowby and Sir Henry too?’
‘No, the visitors are all on their way home to England. The Duke is here, however, but I am afraid you will be obliged to make up your mind to exist without him for a little while,’ he said, with a droll look. ‘Are you like my sister, Miss Devenish? Do you suffer from nightmares when the Duke is not here to protect you from Boney?’
She smiled, but shook her head. ‘Oh no! I am too stupid to understand wars and politics, but I feel sure the Duke would never leave Brussels if there were any danger to be apprehended in his doing so.’
He seemed amused; Judith enquired why she must do without the Duke, and upon being informed of his intention to visit the Army, professed herself very well satisfied with such an arrangement.
The tea tray was brought in a few moments later, and Judith had the satisfaction of hearing her protégée and Colonel Audley chatting with all the ease of old acquaintances over her very choice Orange Pekoe. Nothing could have been more comfortable! she thought. Charles, she knew well, had a sweetness of disposition which made him appear to be pleased with whatever society he found himself in, but she fancied there was more warmth in his manner than was dictated by civility. He was looking at Lucy with interest, taking pains to draw her out; and presently, when the carriage was bespoken to convey her to her uncle’s lodging, he insisted on escorting her.
When he returned he found his sister-in-law still sitting in the salon with her embroidery, and the Earl not yet come home from his dinner engagement. He took a seat opposite to Judith, and glanced idly through the pages of the Cosmopolite.
‘No news more of the Duc d’Angoulême, I see,’ he remarked.
‘No. There was something in the Moniteur, some few days ago, about his having had a success near Montélimart. I believe he has advanced into Valence.’
‘I doubt of his enjoying much success. If he favours his brother, I should judge his venture to have been hopeless from the start. You never saw such a set of fellows as the French at Ghent! The worst is that they, most of them, seem to think the war lost before ever it is begun.’
She lowered her embroidery. ‘What, even now that the Duke is here?’
‘Oh yes! They are quite ready to admit that he did very well in Spain, but now that he is to meet Boney in person they think the result a foregone conclusion.’
‘And the King?’
‘There’s no telling. But whether we can succeed in putting him back on the Throne—However, that’s none of my business.’
‘What an odd creature he must be! What does he feel about it all, I wonder?’
‘I haven’t a notion. He seems to care for nothing in the world but comfort and a quiet life. Poor devil! Fitzroy has been making us laugh with some of his tales of what goes on at the Court.’
‘Oh, has Lord Fitzroy come back with you? I am glad.’
‘So are we all,’ said the Colonel, his eyes twinkling. ‘Headquarters without Fitzroy are apt to become a trifle sultry. By the by, how in the name of all that’s wonderful did that Devenish child come to have such a queer stick of an uncle?’
‘He is only her uncle by marriage,’ Judith answered. ‘Her aunt is perfectly ladylike, you know. And she—’
‘My dear Judith, I meant nothing against her! I daresay she will make some fortunate fellow a capital wife. An heiress, isn’t she?’
She said archly: ‘Yes, a considerable heiress. And yet she doesn’t squint like a bag of nails!’
He put the Cosmopolite down, wrinkling his brow in perplexity. ‘Squint like a bag of nails? You’re quizzing me, Judith! What is the joke?’
‘Have you forgotten my first meeting with you?’
‘Good God, I never can have said such a thing of you!’
‘Very nearly, I assure you! You came into the room where I was standing with your brother, and demanded: “Where is the heiress? Does she squint like a bag of nails? Is she hideous? They always are!’’’
He burst out laughing. ‘Did I indeed? No, I will admit that Miss Devenish doesn’t squint like a bag of nails. She is a very pretty girl—but I wonder what troubles her?’
‘Troubles her?’ she repeated in accents of surprise. ‘Why, what should trouble her?’
‘How should I know? I thought perhaps you might.’
‘No, indeed! You have certainly imagined it. She is reserved, I know, and I could wish that that were not so, but I believe it to be due to a shyness very understandable in a girl living in her circumstances. Do you find it objectionable?’
‘Not in the least. I merely feel a little curiosity to know what causes it. There is a look in the eye—but you will say I am indulging my fancy!’
‘But, Charles, what can you mean? There is a gravity, I own. I have found it particularly pleasing in this age of volatile young females.’
‘Oh, more than that!’ he said. ‘I had almost called it a guarded look. I am sure she is not quite happy. But it is infamous of me to be discussing her in this way, after all! It is nothing but nonsense, of course.’
‘I hope it may be found so,’ replied Judith. ‘I have been told nothing of any secret sorrow, I assure you.’
She said no more, but she was not ill-pleased. Charles seemed to have been studying Lucy closely, and although she could not but be amused at the romantic trend of his reflections, she was glad to find that he had found her young friend of so much interest.
But at seven o’clock next morning Charles was riding down the Allée Verte, no thought of Lucy Devenish in his head. He cantered to the bridge at the end of the Allée without encountering Barbara, and dismounted there to watch the painted barges drifting up the canal. Fashionable people were not yet abroad, but a couple of Flemish wagons, drawn by teams of fat horses, passed over the bridge. The drivers walked beside him, guiding the horses by means of cord reins passed through haims studded with brass nails. Bright tassels and fringes decorated the horses’ harness, and the blue smocks worn by the drivers were embroidered with worsted. They wore red nightcaps on their heads, and wooden sabots on their feet, over striped stockings. The horses, like all Colonel Audley had seen in the Netherlands, were huge beasts, and very fat. Good forage to be had, he reflected, thinking of the English cavalry and horse artillery on the way to Ostend. From what he had seen of the country it was rich enough to supply forage for several armies. Wherever one rode one found richly cultivated fields, with crops of flax and wheat growing in almost fabulous luxuriance. The Flemish farmers manured their land lavishly; very malodorous it could be, he thought, remembering his journey through the Netherlands the previous year. Except for the woods and copses dotted over the land the whole country seemed to be under cultivation. There should be no difficulty in feeding the Allied Army: but the Flemish were a grasping race, he had been told.
A gendarme in a blue uniform, with white grenades, and high, gleaming boots, rode over the bridge, glancing curiously at the Colonel, who was still leaning his elbows on the parapet and watching the slow canal traffic. He passed on, riding towards Brussels, and for some little time the Colonel’s solitude was undisturbed. But presently, glancing down the Allée he saw a horse approaching in the distance, and caug
ht the flutter of a pale blue skirt. He swung himself into the saddle, and rode to meet the Lady Barbara.
She came galloping towards him and reined in. Cheeks and eyes were glowing; she stretched out her hand, and exclaimed: ‘I thought you still in Ghent! This is famous!’
He leaned forward in the saddle to take her hand; it grasped his strongly. ‘I have been bored to death!’ Barbara said. ‘Confound you, I have missed you damnably!’
‘Excellent! There is only one remedy,’ he said.
‘To marry you?’
He nodded, still holding her hand.
She said candidly: ‘So I feel today. You are haunting me, do you know? But in a week, who knows but that I may have changed my mind?’
‘I’ll take that risk.’
‘Will you?’ She considered him, a rather mischievous smile hovering on her lips. ‘You have not kissed me, Charles,’ she murmured.
He caught the gleam under her long lashes, and laughed. ‘No.’
‘Don’t you want to—dear Charles?’
‘Yes, very much.’
‘Oh, this is a pistol held to my head! If I want to be kissed I must also be married. Is that it?’ she asked outrageously.
‘That is it, in a nutshell.’
Her eyes began to dance. ‘Kiss me, Charles: I’ll marry you,’ she said.
Seven
Colonel Audley was very late for breakfast. He came into the parlour to find his brother standing by the window, glancing through the Gazette de Bruxelles, and his sister-in-law with her chair already pushed back from the table. She looked searchingly at him as he entered, for she had heard the front door slam a minute earlier and knew that he had been out riding again. Her heart sank; she had never seen quite that radiant look on his face before. ‘Well, Charles,’ she said. ‘You’ve been out already?’
‘Yes.’ He held out his hands to her. ‘Wish me joy!’ he said.
She let him take her hands, but faltered: ‘Wish you joy? What can you mean?’
‘Lady Barbara has promised to be my wife,’ he answered.
She snatched her hands away. ‘Impossible! No, no, you’re joking!’
He looked down at her, half laughing, half surprised. ‘I assure you I am not!’
‘You scarcely know her! You cannot mean it!’
‘But, my dear Judith, I do mean it! I am the happiest man on earth!’
The dismay she felt was plainly to be read in her face. He drew back. ‘Don’t you intend to wish me joy?’ he asked.
‘Oh, Charles, how could you? She will never make you happy! You don’t know—’
‘She has made me happy,’ he interrupted.
‘She is fast—a flirt!’
‘You must not say that to me, you know,’ he said, quite gently, but with a note that warned her of danger.
The Earl, who had lowered his paper at the Colonel’s first announcement, now laid it down, and said in his calm way: ‘This is very sudden, Charles.’
‘Yes.’
Judith would have spoken again, but Worth engaged her silence by the flicker of a glance in her direction. ‘Your mind is, in fact, quite made up?’ he said.
‘Quite!’
‘Then of course I wish you joy,’ said Worth. ‘When do you mean to be married?’
‘Nothing is decided yet. I must see her grandfather. She is her own mistress, but I don’t want to—It is not as though I were a very eligible parti, you know.’
‘You are a great deal too good for her!’ exclaimed Judith.
He turned his head, and said with a smile: ‘Oh no, Judith! It is she who is a great deal too good for me. When you know her better you will agree.’
She replied as cheerfully as she was able: ‘I do wish you very happy, Charles. I will try to know Lady Barbara better.’
He looked at her in rather a troubled way as she went out of the room. But when he had closed the door behind her the trouble vanished from his eyes, and he walked back to the table, and sat down at it, and began to eat his breakfast.
The Earl watched him for some moments in silence. Presently he said: ‘Is your engagement to be publicly announced, Charles?’
‘Why, I suppose so! There is no secret about it, you know.’
‘It is very wonderful,’ Worth observed. ‘What did she find in you to like so well?’
The Colonel grinned. ‘I don’t know.’
‘You would not, of course,’ Worth said dryly. ‘Forgive my curiosity, but does Lady Barbara mean to follow the drum?’
‘She would, I think, and like it very well. Women do, you know—have you ever met Juana, Harry Smith’s wife?’
‘I have not met Juana, nor have I met Harry Smith.’
‘He’s a rifleman: a rattling good fellow, mad as a coot! He went out to America with Pakenham, more’s the pity! He married a Spanish child after Badajos: it’s too long a story to tell you now, but you never saw such a little heroine in your life! I believe she would go with Harry into action if he would let her. I have seen her fording a river with the water right up to her horse’s girths. She will sleep out in the open by a camp fire, wrapped up in a blanket, and never utter a word of complaint. Bab is made of just that high-spirited stuff.’
‘I hope you may be right,’ said Worth, unable to picture the Lady Barbara in any such situations.
Not very far away, in the Rue Ducale, Lady Vidal shared this mental inability and did not scruple to say so. She had looked narrowly at her sister-in-law when she had come in to breakfast, and had not failed to notice the flame in Barbara’s eyes and the colour in her cheeks. ‘What have you been doing?’ she asked. ‘You look quite wild, let me tell you!’
‘Oh yes! I am quite wild!’ Barbara answered. ‘I have taken your advice, Gussie! There! Aren’t you pleased?’
‘I wish I knew what you meant!’
‘Why, that I am engaged to be married, to be sure!’
Her brother’s attention was caught by these words. ‘What’s that? Engaged? Nonsense!’
Lady Vidal exclaimed: ‘Bab! Are you serious? It is Lavisse?’
‘Lavisse?’ repeated Barbara, as though dragging the name up from the recesses of her memory. ‘No! Oh no! My staff officer!’
‘Are you mad? Charles Audley? You cannot mean it!’
‘Yes, I do—today, at least!’
Augusta said bitterly: ‘I never reckoned stupidity among your faults. Good God, Bab, how can you be such a fool? With your looks and birth you may marry whom you please: the lord knows you’ve had chances enough! and you choose a penniless soldier! I will not believe it of you!’
‘Charles Audley?’ said Vidal. He looked at his sister over frowningly, but not displeased. ‘Well, I must say I am surprised. A very good family—perfectly eligible!’
Augusta broke in angrily: ‘Eligible! A penniless younger son with no chance of inheriting the title! Pray, how do you propose to live, Bab? Do you see yourself in the tail of an army, sharing all the discomforts of a campaign with your Charles?’
‘I might, I think,’ said Barbara, considering it. ‘It would be something new—exciting!’
‘I have no patience with such folly!’
Vidal interposed to say in his heavy fashion: ‘It is not a brilliant match—by no means brilliant! I could wish him wealthier, but as for his being penniless—pooh! I daresay he has a very respectable competence.’
‘Then Bab will have to learn to live upon a competence,’ said Augusta. ‘I hope, my dear love, that you have not forgotten the terms of your late husband’s will?’
‘Oh, who cares! With a handsome fortune I had never enough money, so I may as happily live in debt on a mere competence.’
This ingenious way of looking at the matter had the effect of pulling down the corners of Vidal’s mouth. He began to read his sister a homily, but she interrupted him with a little show of temper, and ran out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
Lady Vidal remarked that if one thing were more certain than another it was that the e
ngagement would be of short duration.
‘I hope not,’ replied Vidal. ‘Audley is a very good sort of fellow, very well-liked. If she throws him over it will go hard with her in the eyes of the world. What I fear is that a sensible man will never bear with her tantrums. I wish to God she had stayed in England!’ He added with an inconsequence Augusta found irritating: ‘We must ask him to dine with us. I wish you will write him a civil note.’
‘By all means!’ she returned. ‘The more Bab sees of him the sooner she’ll be bored by him. He may dine with us tonight, if he chooses, and accompany us to Madame van der Capellan’s party afterwards.’
The civil note was, accordingly sent round by hand to the British Headquarters, where it found Colonel Audley in the company of the Prince of Orange and Lord Fitzroy Somerset.
The Colonel took the note, and tore it open with an eagerness which did not escape the Prince. That young gentleman, observing the elegance of the hot-pressed paper and the unmistakably feminine character of the handwriting, winked at Lord Fitzroy, and said: ‘Aha! The affair progresses!’
The Colonel ignored this sally, and moved across to a desk and sat down at it to write an acceptance of the invitation. The Prince strolled after him, and perched on the opposite side of the desk, swinging his thin legs. ‘It is certainly an assignation,’ he said.
‘It is. An invitation to dinner,’ replied the Colonel, rejecting one quill and choosing another.
‘And it was I who set your feet on the road to ruin! Fitzroy, Charles is in love!’
Lord Fitzroy’s small, firm mouth remained grave, but a smile twinkled in his eyes. ‘I thought he seemed a little elated. Who is she?’
‘The Widow!’ answered the Prince.
‘What widow?’
The Prince flung up his hands. ‘He asks me what widow! Mon Dieu, Fitzroy, don’t you know there is only one? The Incomparable, the Dashing, the Fatal Barbara!’