An Infamous Army (Alastair-Audley Tetralogy 4)

‘You are not,’ said the Colonel. ‘You are merely an unconditioned cub in need of kicking, and the only satisfaction I could enjoy would be to have you under me for just one month!’

Peregrine resumed his study of the window blinds. It seemed that Colonel Audley had not yet finished. He spoke of Harriet, and Peregrine flushed scarlet, and presently blurted out: ‘I know, I know! Oh, damn you, that will do! It’s all true—every word of it! But I couldn’t help it! I—’ He stopped, and sank into a chair by the table, and covered his face with his hands.

Audley said nothing, but walked over to the fireplace, and stood there, leaning his arms on the mantelpiece, and looking down at the fire irons.

After a few minutes, Peregrine raised his head, and said haltingly: ‘You think me a low, despicable fellow, and I daresay I am, but on my honour I never meant to—Oh, what’s the use of trying to explain?’

‘It is quite unnecessary.’

‘Yes, but you don’t understand! I never realised till it was too late, and even then I didn’t think—I mean, I knew it was you she cared for, only when I’m with her I forget everything else! She’s so beautiful, Audley!’

‘Yes,’ said the Colonel. ‘I understand all that. The remedy is not to see any more of her.’

‘But I shall see her! I must!’

‘Oh no, you must not! I imagine you do not expect her to elope with you?’

‘No, no! Good God, such an idea never—’

‘Very well then. The only thing you can do, Peregrine, since the sight of her is so disastrous, is to leave Brussels.’

A long silence fell. Peregrine said at last, in a dejected tone: ‘I suppose it is. But how can I? There’s Stuart’s ball tomorrow, and the Duke’s on the 7th, and—’

‘A civil note to Stuart will answer the purpose,’ replied the Colonel, with the tremor of a smile. ‘Your wife’s indisposition is sufficiently well known to provide you with a reasonable excuse. If you need more, you can inform your friends that the recent activities on the frontier have made you realise the propriety of conveying your family back to England.’

‘Yes, but—damn it, Charles, I won’t dash off at a moment’s notice like that!’

‘A packet leaves Ostend on Monday,’ said the Colonel. ‘You may easily settle your affairs here tomorrow, and be off to Ghent on Sunday. That will enable you to reach Ostend in good time on Monday.’

Peregrine looked at him. ‘You mean that I’m not to go to Stuart’s tomorrow?’

‘Yes, I do.’

‘I ought at least to take my leave of Lady Barbara.’

‘I will convey your apologies to her.’

Another silence fell. Peregrine got up. ‘Very well. You are right, of course. I have been a fool. Only—you must know—how it is when she smiles at one. It—I never—oh, well!’

The Colonel walked over to the table, and picked up his hat and gloves. ‘Yes, I know. But don’t begin to think yourself in love with her, Perry. You’re not.’

‘No. Of course not,’ said Peregrine, trying to speak cheerfully.

The Colonel held out his hand. ‘I daresay I shan’t see you tomorrow, so I’ll say goodbye now.’

Peregrine gripped his hand. ‘Goodbye. You’re a damned good fellow, Charles, and I’m devilish sorry! I—I wish you very happy. She never thought of me, you know.’

‘Thank you! Very handsome of you,’ said the Colonel, with a smile. ‘My compliments to Lady Taverner, by the way. Don’t forget to make my excuses for not going up to take leave of her!’

‘No. I’ll tell her,’ said Peregrine, opening the door, and escorting him out into the hall. ‘Goodbye! Come safely through the war, won’t you?’

‘No fear of that! I always take good care of my skin!’ replied the Colonel, and raised his hand in a friendly salute, and ran down the steps into the street.

Peregrine went slowly upstairs to the salon. He had probably never been so unhappy in his life. Harriet was seated by the window, with some sewing in her hands. They looked at one another. Peregrine’s lip quivered. He did not know what to say to her, or how to reassure her when his own heart felt like lead in his chest. All that came into his head to say was her name, spoken in an uncertain voice.

She saw suddenly that he was looking ashamed and miserable. The cause receded in her mind; it was not forgotten, it would never, perhaps, be forgotten, but it became a thing of secondary importance before the more pressing need to comfort him. She perceived that he was no older than his own son, as much in need of her reassurance as that younger Perry, when he had been naughty, and was sorry. She got up, throwing her stitchery aside, and went to Peregrine, and put her arms round him. ‘Yes, Perry. It’s no matter. It doesn’t signify. I was silly.’

He clasped her to him; his head went down on her shoulder; he whispered: ‘I’m sorry, Harry. I don’t know what—’