‘Oh, that’s capital!’ he replied. ‘Don’t bother your head over me: I shall do famously!’
After this well-meaning piece of tactlessness, he withdrew from the ballroom, and was next seen in the salon, turning over the leaves of her music for Barbara, who had been persuaded to sing Mr Guest’s latest ballad, The Farewell.
On the following morning, while she sat at breakfast, a note was brought round to Judith by hand. It was directed in a fist that showed unmistakable signs of agitation, and sealed with a lilac wafer set hopelessly askew.
‘Harriet!’ said Judith in long-suffering accents. She tore the sheet open, and remarked: ‘Blotched with tears! She wants me to go to her immediately.’
‘Will you have the carriage ordered at once, or will you delay your departure long enough to pour me out some more coffee?’ enquired the Earl.
‘I haven’t the least intention of going until I have finished my breakfast, spoken with my housekeeper, and seen my son,’ replied Judith, stretching out her hand for his cup. ‘If Harriet imagines I shall sympathise with her she very much mistakes the matter. Her behaviour was odiously rude, and I am out of all patience with her. Depend upon it, she has crowned her folly by quarrelling with Perry. Well, I wash my hands of it! Do you think Perry is really in love with that horrid creature?’
‘Certainly not,’ he answered. ‘Perry is a trifle intoxicated, and extremely callow. His present conduct reminds me irresistibly of his behaviour when he first discovered in himself an aptitude for sailing. He has not altered in the smallest degree.’
‘Oh, Worth, it would be a dreadful thing if this wretched affair were to come between him and Harriet!’
‘Very dreadful,’ he agreed, picking up the Gazette.
‘It is all very well for you to say “Very dreadful” in that hateful voice, just as if it didn’t signify an atom, but I am extremely anxious! I wonder why Harriet wants me so urgently?’
It appeared, when Judith saw her an hour later, that Harriet wanted to announce the tidings of her imminent demise. ‘I wish I were dead!’ she moaned, from behind a positive rampart of bottles of smelling salts, hartshorn, and lavender drops. ‘I shall die, for Perry has been so wickedly cruel, and my heart is broken, and I feel quite shattered! I hope I never set eyes on either of them again, and if Perry means to dine at home I shall lock myself in my room, and go home to Mama!’
‘You might, if you were silly enough, perform one of those actions,’ said Judith reasonably, ‘but I do not see how you can accomplish both. For heaven’s sake, stop crying, and tell me what is the matter.’
‘Perry has been out riding before breakfast with That Woman!’ announced Harriet in tragic accents.
Judith could not help laughing. ‘Dear me, is that all, you goose?’
‘In the Allée Verte!’
‘Shocking!’
‘By appointment with her!’
‘No!’
‘And alone!’
‘My dear, if there is more to come I shall be obliged to borrow your smelling salts, I fear.’
‘How can you laugh? Have you no sensibility? He actually told me of it! He was brazen, Judith! He said she was the most stunning creature he had ever laid eyes on! He said that to me!’
‘If he said it to you it is a sure sign that his affections are not seriously engaged. If I were you I would take him back to Yorkshire and forget the whole affair.’
‘He won’t go!’ said Harriet, burying her face in her handkerchief. ‘He said so. We have had a terrible quarrel! I told him—’
Judith flung up her hands. ‘I can readily imagine what you told him! Perry is nothing but a heedless boy! I daresay he never dreamed of being in love with Lady Barbara. He thought of her as Charles’s fiancée, he found her good company, he admired her beauty. And what must you do but put it into his head to fall in love with her! Oh, Harriet, Harriet, what a piece of work you have made of it!’
This was poor comfort for an afflicted lady, and provoked Harriet to renewed floods of tears. It was some time before she was able to regain any degree of calm, and even when her tears were dried Judith saw that no advice would be attended to until she had had time to recover from the ill-effects of her first quarrel with Peregrine. She persuaded her to take the air in an open carriage, and sat beside her during the drive, endeavouring to engage her interest in everyday topics. Nothing would do, however. Harriet sat with her veil down; declined noticing the flowers in the Park, the barges on the canal, or the pigeons on the steps of St Gudule; and was morbidly convinced that she was an object of pity and amusement to every passer-by who bowed a civil greeting. Judith was out of all patience long before the drive came to an end, and when she at last set Harriet down at the door of her lodging her sympathies lay so much with Peregrine that she was able to wave to him, when she caught sight of him presently, with a perfectly good will.
Such feelings were not of long duration. A second note from Harriet, received during the evening, informed her that Peregrine had returned home only to change his dress, and had gone out again without having made the least attempt to see his wife. Harriet declared herself to be in no doubt of his destination, and ended an incoherent and blistered letter by the expression of a strong wish to go home to her mama.
By the following day every suspicion had been confirmed: Peregrine had indeed been in Barbara’s company. He had made one of a party bound for the neighbourhood of Hal, and had picnicked there on the banks of the Senne, returning home only with the dawn. To make matters worse, it had been he whom Barbara had chosen to escort her in her phaeton. Every gossiping tongue in Brussels was wagging; Harriet had received no less than five morning calls from thoughtful acquaintances who feared she might not have heard the news; and more than one matron had felt it to be her duty to warn Judith of her young brother’s infatuation. Loyalty compelled Judith to make light of the affair, but by noon her patience had become so worn that the only person towards whom her sympathy continued to be extended was Charles Audley.
He had not made one of the picnic party, and from the circumstance of his being employed by the Duke all the following morning it was some time before any echo of the gossip came to his ears. It reached him in the end through the agency of Sir Colin Campbell, the Commandant, who, not supposing him to be within earshot, said in his terse fashion to Gordon: ‘The news is all over town that that young woman of Audley’s is breaking up the Taverner household.’
‘Good God, Sir, you don’t meant it? Confound her, why can’t she give Charles a little peace?’
Sir Colin grunted. ‘He’ll be well rid of her,’ he said dourly. He turned, and saw Colonel Audley standing perfectly still in the doorway. ‘The devil!’ he ejaculated. ‘Well, you were not meant to hear, but since you have heard there’s no helping it now. I’m away to see the Mayor.’
Colonel Audley stood aside to allow him to pass out of the room, and then shut the door, and said quietly: ‘What’s all this nonsense, Gordon?’
‘My dear fellow, I don’t know! Some cock-and-bull story old Campbell has picked up—probably from a Belgian, which would account for its being thoroughly garbled. Did I tell you that I found him bewildering the maître d’hôtel the other day over the correct way to lay a table? He kept on saying: “Beefsteak, venez ici! Petty-patties, allez là!” till the poor man thought he was quite mad.’
‘Yes, you told me,’ replied Audley. ‘What is the news that is all over town?’
A glance at his face convinced Sir Alexander that evasion would not answer. He said, therefore, in a perfectly natural tone: ‘Well, you came in before I had time to ask any questions, but according to Campbell there’s a rumour afloat that Taverner is making a fool of himself over Lady Bab.’
‘That doesn’t seem to me any reason for accusing Bab of breaking up his household.’
‘None at all. But you know what people are.’
‘There’s not a word of truth in it, Gordon.’
‘No.’
There wa
s a note of constraint in Gordon’s voice which Audley was quick to hear. He looked sharply across at his friend, and read concern in his face, and suddenly said: ‘Oh, for God’s sake—! You needn’t look like that! The very notion of such a thing is absurd!’
‘Steady!’ Gordon said. ‘It isn’t my scandal.’
‘I know. I’m sorry. But I am sick to death of this town, and the gossip that goes on in it!’ He sighed, and walked over to the desk, and laid some papers down on it. ‘You had much better tell me, Gordon. What is it now? I suppose you’ve heard talk?’
‘Charles, dear boy, if I had I wouldn’t bring it to you,’ replied Gordon. ‘I don’t know what’s being said, or care.’
Colonel Audley glanced up and suddenly laughed. ‘Damn you, don’t look so sorry for me! What a set you are! I’m the happiest man on earth!’
‘Famous! If you are, stop wearing a worried frown, and try going to bed at night for a change.’ He lounged over to where Audley was standing, and gripped his shoulder, slightly shaking him. ‘Damned fool! Oh, you damned fool!’
‘I daresay. Thank God, I’m not a fat fool, however!’ He drove a friendly punch at Gordon’s ribs. ‘Layers of it! What you need is a nice, hard campaign, my boy, to take some of it off.’
‘Not a chance of it! We’ll be in Paris a month from now. I’ll give you a dinner at a little restaurant I know where they have the best Chambertin in the whole city.’
‘I shall hold you to that. Where is it? I thought I knew all the restaurants in Paris.’
‘Ah, you don’t know this one! It’s in the Rue de—Rue de—confound it, I forget the name of the street, but I shall find it quick enough. Hallo, here’s the Green Baby!’
Lieutenant the Honourable George Cathcart, lately enrolled as an extra aide-de-camp, had come into the room. He owed his appointment to the Duke’s friendship with his father, the British Ambassador at St Petersburg. He was only twenty-one years old, but during the period of Lord Cathcart’s office as military commissioner to the Russian Army, he had acted as his aide-de-camp, and was able to reply now with dignity: ‘I am not a green baby. I have seen eight general actions. And what’s more,’ he added, as the two elder men laughed, ‘Napoleon commanded in them all!’
‘One to you, infant,’ said Audley. ‘You have us on the hip.’
‘Do you think Boney knows he’s with us?’ said Gordon anxiously.
‘Oh, not a doubt of it! He has his spies everywhere.’
‘Ah, then, that accounts for him holding off so long! He’s frightened.’
‘Oh, you—you—!’ Cathcart sought for a word sufficiently opprobrious to describe Sir Alexander, and could find none.
‘Never mind!’ said Gordon. ‘You won’t be the baby much longer. We shall have his Royal Highness the Hereditary Prince of Nassau-Usingen with us soon, and we understand he’s only nineteen.’
‘He can’t be of any use. What the devil do we want him for?’
‘We don’t want him. We’re just having him to lend tone to the family. Charles, are you going to Braine-le-Comte?’
‘Yes, I’m waiting for the letters now. Any message?’
‘No. Such is my nobility of character that I’ll go in your stead. Now, don’t overwhelm me with thanks! Sacrifice is a pleasure to me.’
‘I shan’t. Pure self-interest gleams in your eye. Give my compliments to Slender Billy, and don’t outstay your welcome. Is he giving a dinner party?’
‘This ingratitude! How can you, Charles?’ Gordon said.
‘Easily. I shall laugh if you find the Duke has labelled the despatch “Quick”.’
‘If there’s any “Quick” about it, you shall take it,’ promised Gordon.
‘Not I! You offered to go, and you shall go. Young Mr Cathcart will enlarge his military experience by kicking his heels here; and Colonel Audley will seize a well-earned rest from his arduous duties.’ He picked up his hat from a chair as he spoke, and with a wave to Gordon and an encouraging nod to Cathcart, made for the door. There he collided with a very burly young man, whose bulk almost filled the aperture. He recoiled, and said promptly: ‘In the very nick of time! Captain Lord Arthur Hill will be in reserve. Don’t be shy, Hill! Come in! You know Gordon likes to have you near him: it’s the only time he looks thin.’
Lord Arthur, who enjoyed the reputation of being the fattest officer in the Army, received this welcome with his usual placid grin, and remarked as the Colonel disappeared down the stairs: ‘You fellows are always funning. What’s happened to put Audley in such spirits? I suppose he hasn’t heard the latest scandal? They tell me—’
‘Oh, never mind what they tell you!’ Gordon said, with such unaccustomed sharpness that Lord Arthur blinked in surprise. He added more gently: ‘I’m sorry, but Audley’s a friend of mine, and I don’t propose to discuss his affairs or to listen to the latest scandal about his fiancée. It’s probably grossly exaggerated in any case.’
‘Oh, quite so!’ said Lord Arthur hastily. ‘I daresay there’s nothing in it at all.’
Fifteen
Leaving Wellington’s Headquarters, Colonel Audley made his way across the Park to Vidal’s house. Barbara was not in, and as the butler was unable to tell Colonel Audley where she was to be found, he went back into the Park, and walked slowly through it in the direction of the Rue de Belle Vue. He was not rewarded by any glimpse of Barbara, but on reaching his brother’s house he found Lady Taverner sitting with Judith, and indulging in a fit of weeping. He withdrew, nor did Judith try to detain him. But when Harriet had left the house he went back to the salon, and demanded an explanation of her grief.
Judith was reluctant to tell him the whole, but after listening for some moments to her glib account of nervous spasms, ridiculous fancies, and depression of spirits, he interrupted her with a request to be told the truth. She was obliged to confess that Peregrine’s infatuation with Barbara was the cause of Harriet’s tears. She described first the incident in the Park, feeling that it was only fair that he should know what had prompted Barbara’s outrageous conduct.
He listened to her with a gradually darkening brow. ‘Do you expect me to believe that Bab is encouraging Peregrine’s advances out of spite?’ he asked.
‘I should not have used that word. Revenge, let us say.’
‘Revenge! We need not employ the language of the theatre, I suppose! What more have you to tell me! I imagine there must be more, since I understand that the whole town is talking of the affair.’
‘It is very unfortunate. I blame Harriet for the rest. She quarrelled with Perry, and I have no doubt made him angry and defiant. You know what a boy he is!’
He replied sternly: ‘He is not such a boy but that he knew very well what he was about when he made advances to my promised wife!’
‘It was very bad,’ she acknowledged. ‘But, though I do not like to say this to you, Charles, I believe it was not all his fault.’
‘No! That is evident!’ he returned. He walked over to the window and stood staring out. After a slight pause, he said in a quieter voice: ‘Well, now for the rest, if you please.’
‘I do not like the office of talebearer.’
He gave a short laugh. ‘You need not be squeamish, Judith. I suppose I have only to listen to what the gossips are saying to learn the whole of it.’
‘You would hear a garbled version, I assure you.’
‘Then you had better let me hear the true version.’
‘I only know what Harriet has told me. I am persuaded that had it not been for her conduct, which, you know, was very bad, the affair would never have gone beyond that one unfortunate evening in the suburbs. But she cut Lady Barbara in the rudest way! That began it. I could see how angry Lady Barbara was: indeed, I didn’t blame her. I hoped her anger would cool. I think it might have—I think, in fact, it had cooled. Then came the Duchess of Richmond’s party. I saw Lady Barbara look round the hall when she arrived, and I can vouch for her having made no sign to Perry. I don’t think she gave him
as much as a civil bow. There was a lull in the conversation; everyone was staring at Lady Barbara—you know how they do!—and Harriet made a remark there could be no misunderstanding. It was stupid and ill-bred: I know I felt ready to sink. She then told Perry that she wished to remove into the salon, saying that the hall was too hot for her. Lady Barbara could not but hear. It was said, moreover, in such a tone as to leave no room for anyone to mistake its meaning.’
She paused. The Colonel had turned away from the window, and was attending to her with a look of interest. He was still frowning, but not so heavily, and at the back of his eyes she fancied she could perceive the suspicion of a smile. ‘Go on!’ he said.
She laughed. ‘Worth said that in its way it was perfect. I suppose it was.’
‘He did, did he? What happened?’
‘Well, Lady Barbara just took Perry away from Harriet. It is of no use to ask me how, for I don’t know. It may sound absurd, but I saw it with my own eyes, and I am ready to swear she neither moved nor spoke. She looked at him, and smiled, and he walked right across the room to her side.’
He was now openly laughing. ‘Is that all? Of course, it was very bad of Bab, but I think Harriet deserved it. It must have been sublime!’
‘Yes,’ she agreed, but with rather a sober face.
He regarded her intently. ‘Is there more, Judith?’
‘I am afraid there is. As I told you, Harriet quarrelled with Perry. You remember, Charles, that you were in Ghent. It seems that Perry rode out with Lady Barbara before breakfast next morning. I believe she is in the habit of riding in the Allée Verte every morning.’
‘You need not tell me that,’ he interrupted. ‘I know. She appointed Perry to ride with her?’
‘So I understand. He made no secret of it, which makes me feel that he cannot have intended the least harm. But Harriet was suffering from such an irritation of nerves that she allowed her jealousy to overcome her good sense; they quarrelled; Perry left the house in anger; and, I dare say out of sheer defiance, joined a party Lady Barbara had got together to picnic in the country that evening. The gossip arose out of being the one chosen to drive with her in her phaeton. I am afraid he has done little to allay suspicion since. It is all such a stupid piece of nonsense, but oh, Charles, if you would but use your influence with Lady Barbara! Harriet is in despair, and indeed it is very disagreeable, to say the least of it, to have such a scandal in our midst!’