An Infamous Army (Alastair-Audley Tetralogy 4)

‘Perhaps, yes,’ he acknowledged. ‘He exercises far greater power in the Army he commands than Prince von Blücher does in ours. It is not the custom, I find, to criticise or control your commander-in-chief. With us it is different. On our staff everything is discussed openly, in the hearing of all the officers, which is, I find, not so good, for time is wasted, and there are always what the Marshal calls Trübsals-Spritzen—I think you say, trouble-squirts?’

‘No, you won’t find the Duke discussing his plans with his officers,’ said Worth. ‘He is not held to be over-and-above fond of being asked questions, either.’

The Baron replied in a thoughtful tone: ‘He allows questions. It would be more correct to say that he dismisses all such as are unnecessary. There is certainly an impatience to be observed sometimes, but his character is distinguished by its openness and rectitude, and must make him universally respected. There should be the utmost harmony between him and the Marshal, and the exertions of myself and of your estimable Colonel Hardinge must be alike directed towards this end.’

‘Yes, indeed,’ said Judith faintly. ‘I am sure—And how do you like being in Brussels, Baron? I hope you do not agree with General von Röder in thinking us very frivolous!’

‘Madame, it is not possible!’ he said, with a gallant bow. ‘Everyone is most amiable! One envies the English officers the beautiful wives who follow them so intrepidly to the seat of war.’

She could not help laughing. ‘Oh! Are you married, Baron?’

‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘I am the possessor of a noble-minded wife and three hopeful children.’

‘How—how delightful!’ said Judith, avoiding her husband’s eye.

But in spite of the occasionally paralysing remarks he made, Baron Müf

fling was a man of considerable shrewdness, and he soon learned not only to adapt himself to his company but to induce the Duke to trust him. He was perfectly frank with his lordship. ‘Prince Blücher will never make difficulties when the talk is of advancing and attacking. In retrograde movements his vexation sometimes overpowers him, but he soon recovers himself,’ he told the Duke. ‘General Gneisenau is chivalrous and strictly just, but he believes that you should always require from men more than they can perform, which is a principle which I consider as dangerous as it is incorrect. As for our infantry, it does not possess the same bodily strength or powers of endurance as yours. The greater mass of our troops are young and inexperienced. We cannot reckon on them obstinately continuing a fight from morning till evening. They will not do it.’

‘Oh! I think very little of soldiers running away at times,’ said his lordship. ‘The steadiest troops will occasionally do so—but it is a serious matter if they do not come back.’

‘You may depend upon one thing,’ Müffling assured him. ‘When the Prince has agreed to any operation in common, he will keep his word.’

Yes, the Duke could be more than ever sure that he and old Blücher would be able to do the business, in spite of his infamous Army, his inexperienced staff, and every obstacle put in his way by the people at home. His personal staff had been augmented by Lieutenant-Colonel Canning, who had served him in the Peninsula, and had had the temerity to beg to be employed again as an aide-de-camp; and by Major the Honourable Henry Percy, whom he had enrolled as an extra. He had nothing to complain of in his own family at least, though he was inclined to think it a great pity that Audley should not have recovered from his affair with Barbara Childe. However, it did not seem to be interfering with his work, which was all that signified.

Colonel Audley had, in fact flung himself into his work with an energy that must have pleased General Röder, had he been there to see it. It did not help him to forget Barbara, but while he was busy he could not be thinking of her, picturing the glimmer of her eyes, the lustre of her hair, the lovely smile that lifted the corners of her mouth; or torturing himself with wondering what she was doing, whether she was happy, or perhaps secretly sad, and, most of all, who was with her.

There was very little room for doubt about that, he knew. She would be with Lavisse, riding with him, or waltzing with him, held too close in his arms for propriety, his black head close to her flaming one, his lips almost brushing her ear as he murmured his expert lovemaking into it. She was behaving outrageously; even those who had grown accustomed to her odd flights were shocked. She had borrowed Harry’s clothes, and had gone swaggering through the streets with George for a vulgar bet; she had won a race in her phaeton against a wild young ne’er-do-well in whose company no lady of breeding would have permitted herself to have been seen. She had appeared at the Opera in a classical robe which left one shoulder bare and revealed beneath its diaphanous folds more than even the most daring creature would have cared to show; she had set a roomful of gentlemen in a roar by singing in the demurest way a couple of the most shocking French ballads. The ladies present had been unable to follow the words of the songs, which were extremely idiomatic, but they knew when their husbands were laughing at improper jokes, and there was not a married man there who had not to endure a curtain lecture that night.

Lord Vidal was furious. He threatened to turn his sister out of doors, which made her laugh. He could not do it, of course, for ten to one she would simply install herself at one of the hôtels, and a pretty scandal that would create. There was only one person to whom she might possibly attend, and that was her grandmother. Vidal had written to that wise old lady the very night the engagement was broken off, begging her to exert her influence, but apparently she did not choose to do so, for she had neither answered his letter nor written one to Barbara.

Even Augusta was taken aback by Barbara’s behaviour, and remonstrated with her. Barbara turned on her with a white face and blazing eyes. ‘Leave me alone!’ she said. ‘I’ll do what I choose, and if I choose to go to the devil it is my business, and not yours!’

‘Oh, agreed!’ said Augusta, shrugging bored shoulders. ‘But I find your conduct very odd, I must say. If you are hankering after your staff officer—’

A harsh little laugh cut her short. ‘Pray do not be ridiculous, Gussie! I had almost forgotten his existence!’

‘I am happy to hear you say so, but I fail to see the purpose of all this running about. Why can you not be still?’

‘Because I can’t, because I won’t!’

‘Do you mean to have Lavisse?’

‘Oh, don’t talk to me of more engagements. I have had enough of being tied, I can assure you.’

‘Take care he does not grow tired of your tricks. In my opinion you are playing a dangerous game.’ She added maliciously: ‘You are not irresistible, you know. Colonel Audley seems to have had no difficulty in consoling himself elsewhere. How do you like to be supplanted by a little nobody like Lucy Devenish?’

She had the satisfaction of seeing a quiver run over Barbara’s face. Barbara replied, however, without hesitation: ‘Oh, she’ll make him a capital wife! I told him so.’

Lord George received the news of the broken engagement with careless unconcern. ‘I daresay you know your own business best,’ he said. ‘I never thought him our sort.’

But Lord Harry nearly wept over it. ‘The nicest fellow that ever was in love with you, and you jilt him for a damned frog!’ he exclaimed.

‘If you mean Lavisse, he is a Belgian, and not a Frenchman, and I did not jilt Charles Audley. He was perfectly ready to let me go, you know,’ replied Barbara candidly.

‘I don’t believe it! The truth is you played off your tricks till no man worth his salt would stand it! I know you!’

She twisted her hands in her lap, gripping her fingers together. ‘If you know me you must admit that we were not suited.’