An Infamous Army (Alastair-Audley Tetralogy 4)

She gave him her hand. ‘Oh, so did I, but you know how it is! Besides, Gussie tells me I shall soon be quite passée. Have you seen her? She is here somewhere.’

‘I caught a glimpse, but to tell you the truth I have been the whole evening shaking hands with strangers. Who is the lucky man? I hope he is one of my fellows?’

‘In a way I suppose you may say that he is. He’s on the Duke’s staff, however—Charles Audley. But tell me, Harry: are you glad to be here?’

‘Yes,’ he replied instantly. ‘Oh, I know what you are thinking, but that’s old history now!’

She laughed. ‘It is an enchanting situation! Do you find it awkward?’

‘Not a bit!’ he said, with cheerful unconcern. ‘I go on very well with Wellington, and shall do the same with the fellows under me, when they get to know me—and I them. What’s forming? A quadrille! Now, Bab, you must and you shall dance with me—for old time’s sake!’

‘How melancholy that sounds! You must settle it with Colonel Audley, who is coming to claim it. I daresay he won’t give it up, for I told him that you were my first love, you know. Charles, I must make you known to Lord Uxbridge.’

‘How do you do? Bab tells me you should by rights be one of my people. By the by, you must let me congratulate you: you are a fortunate fellow! I have been Bab’s servant any time these ten years—knew her when she had her hair all down her back, and wouldn’t sew her sampler. You are to be envied.’

‘I envy you, sir. I would give much to have known her then.’

‘She was a bad child. Now, if you please, you are to fancy yourself back in your regiment, and under my command. I have to request you, Colonel Audley (but I own it to be a dastardly trick!), to relinquish this dance to me.’

The Colonel smiled. ‘You put me in an awkward position, sir. My duty, and all the Service Regulations, oblige me to obey you with alacrity; but how am I to do so without offending Bab?’

‘I will make your peace with her, I promise you,’ replied Uxbridge.

‘Very well, sir: I obey under strong protest.’

‘Quite irregular! But I don’t b

lame you! Come, you witch, or it will be too late.’

He led Barbara into the set that was forming. A hand clapped Colonel Audley on the shoulder. ‘Hallo, Charles! Slighted, my boy?’

The Colonel turned to confront Lord Robert Manners. ‘You, is it? How are you, Bob?’

‘Oh, toll-loll!’ said Manners, giving his pelisse a hitch. ‘I have just been telling Worth all the latest London scandal. You know, you’re a paltry fellow to be enjoying yourself on the staff in stirring times like these, upon my word you are! I wish you were back with us.’

‘Enjoying myself! You’d better try being one of the Beau’s ADCs, my boy! You don’t know when you’re well off, all snug and comfortable with the Regiment!’

‘Pho! A precious lot of comfort we shall have when we go into action. When you trot off in your smart cocked hat, with a message in your pocket, think of us, charging to death or glory!’

‘I will,’ promised the Colonel. ‘And when you’re enjoying your nice, packed charge, spare a thought for the lonely and damnably distinctive figure galloping hell for leather with his message, wishing to God every French sharpshooter didn’t know by his cocked hat he was a staff officer, and wondering whether his horse is going to hold up under him or come down within easy reach of the French lines: he will very likely be me!’

‘Oh, well!’ said Lord Robert, abandoning the argument. ‘Come and have a drink, anyway. I have a good story to tell you about Brummell!’

The story was told, others followed it; but presently Lord Robert turned to more serious matters, and said, over a glass of champagne: ‘But that’s enough of London! Between friends, Charles, what’s happening here?’

‘It’s pretty difficult to say. We get intelligence from Paris, of course, and what we don’t hear Clarke does: but one’s never too sure of one’s sources. By what we can discover, the French aren’t by any means unanimous over Boney’s return. All this enthusiasm you hear of belongs to the Army. It wouldn’t surprise me if Boney finds himself with internal troubles brewing. Angoulême failed, of course; but we’ve heard rumours of something afoot in La Vendée. One thing seems certain: Boney’s in no case yet to march on us. We hear of him leaving Paris, and of his troops marching to this frontier—they are marching, but he’s not with them.’

‘What about ourselves? How do we go on?’

‘Well, we can put 70,000 men into the field now, which is something.’

‘Too many 2nd Battalions,’ said Lord Robert. ‘Under strength, aren’t they?’

‘Some of them. You know how it is. We’re hoping to get some of the troops back from America. But God knows whether they’ll arrive in time! We miss Murray badly—but we hear we’re to have De Lancey in his place, which will answer pretty well. By the by, he’s married now, isn’t he?’

‘Yes: charming girl, I believe. What are the Dutch and Belgian troops like? We don’t hear very comfortable reports of them. Disaffected, are they?’

‘They’re thought to be. It wouldn’t be surprising: half of them have fought under the Eagles. I suppose the Duke will try to mix them with our own people as much as possible, as he did with the Portuguese. Then there will be the Brunswick Oels Jägers: they ought to do well, though they aren’t what they were when we first had them with us.’