Everything that could make the ball the most brilliant of the season had been done. There was no Catalani in Brussels to sing at the party, but the Duchess had a much more original surprise for her guests than the trills of a mere prima donna. She had contrived to get some of the sergeants and privates of the 42nd Royal Highlanders and the 92nd Foot to dance reels and strathspeys to the music of their own pipes. It was a spectacle that enchanted everyone: scarlet, and rifle-green, and the blaze of hussar jackets were at a discount when the weird sound of the pipes began and the Highlanders came marching in with their kilts swinging, tartans swept over their left shoulders, huge white sporrans bobbing, and the red chequered patterns of their stockings twinkling in the quick steps of the reel. A burst of clapping greeted their appearance; the strathspeys and the sword-dances called forth shouts of Bravo! One daring young lady threw the rose she had been wearing at a blushing private; everyone began to laugh, one or two ladies followed her example, and the Highlanders retired presently, almost overwhelmed by the admiration they had evoked.
But when the skirl of the pipes had died away and the orchestra struck up a waltz, the brief period of forgetfulness left the company. The young people thronged on to the floor again, but older guests gathered into little groups, discussing the rumours, and buttonholing every general officer who happened to be passing. None of the generals could give the anxious any news; they all said they had heard nothing fresh—even Uxbridge and Hill, who, it was thought, must have received certain intelligence. Hill wore his habitual placid smile; Uxbridge was debonair, and put all questions aside with a light-heartedness he was far from feeling. He had had, earlier in the evening, a somewhat disconcerting interview with the Duke. He stood next to him in seniority, and would have liked a little information himself. He had been warned not to ask questions of the Duke if he wished to avoid a snub, but he had prevailed upon Alava, whom he knew to be a personal friend of Wellington, to pave the way for him. But it had not been very successful. ‘Plans! I have no plans!’ had exclaimed his lordship. ‘I shall be guided by circumstances.’ Uxbridge had stood silent. His lordship using a milder tone, had clapped him on the shoulder, and added: ‘One thing is certain: you and I will both do our duty, Uxbridge.’
The Duke’s absence from the ball increased the uneasiness that had lurked in everyone’s mind all day. When he arrived soon after midnight, Georgiana Lennox darted off the floor towards him, dragging Lord Hay by the hand, and demanded breathlessly: ‘Oh, Duke, do pray tell me! Are the rumours true? Is it war?’
He replied gravely: ‘Yes, they are true: we are off tomorrow.’
She turned pale; his words, overheard by those standing near, were repeated, and spread quickly round the ballroom. The music went on, and some of the dancing, but the chatter died, only to break out again, voices sharper, and a note of excitement audible in the medley of talk. Officers who had ridden in from a distance to attend the ball hurried away to rejoin their regiments, some with sober faces, some wildly elated, some lingering to exchange touching little keepsakes with girls in flower-like dresses who had stopped laughing, and clung with frail, unconscious hands to a scarlet sleeve, or the fur border of a pelisse. One or two general officers went up to confer with the Duke, and then returned to their partners, saying cheerfully that there was no need for anyone to be alarmed: they were not going to the war yet; time enough to think of that when the ball was over.
From scores of faces the polite company masks seemed to have slipped. People had forgotten that at balls they must smile,
and hide whatever care or grief they owned under bright, artificial fronts. Some of the senior officers were looking grave; here and there a rigid, meaningless smile was pinned to a mother’s white face, or a girl stood with a fallen mouth, and blank eyes fixed on a scarlet uniform. A queer, almost greedy emotion shone in many countenances. Life had become suddenly an urgent business, racing towards disaster, and the craving for excitement, the breathless moment compound of fear, and grief, and exaltation, when the mind sharpened, and the senses were stretched as taut as the strings of a violin, surged up under the veneer of good manners, and shone behind the dread in shocked young eyes. For all the shrinking from tragedy looming ahead, there was yet an unacknowledged eagerness to hurry to meet whatever horror lurked in the future; if existence were to sink back to the humdrum, there would be disappointment behind the relief, and a sense of frustration.
The ball went on; couples, hesitating at first, drifted back into the waltz; Sir William Ponsonby seized a girl in a sprigged muslin dress round the waist, and said gaily: ‘Come along! I can’t miss this! It is quite my favourite tune!’
Georgiana felt a tug at her sleeve, and turned to find Hay stammering with excitement, his eyes blazing. ‘Georgy! We’re going to war! Going into action again Boney himself! Oh, I say, come back and dance this! Was there ever anything so splendid?’
‘How can you, Hay?’ she exclaimed. ‘You don’t know what you are talking about!’
‘Don’t I, by Jove! Why, we’ve been living for this moment!’
‘I won’t listen to you! It’s not splendid: it’s the most dreadful thing that has ever happened!’
‘But, Georgy—!’
‘Go and find someone else to dance with you!’ she said, almost crying, and turned away from him to seek refuge beside Lady Worth.
Hay stared after her in a good deal of astonishment, but was diverted from his purpose of following her to make his peace by having his arm grasped by a kindred spirit. ‘Hay, have you heard?’ said Harry Alastair eagerly. ‘Ours have been ordered to Braine-le-Comte. I’m off immediately! Are you coming? Oh no, of course! You’ll stay for General Maitland. By Jove, won’t we give the French a hiding! There’s Audley! I must speak to him before I go!’
He darted off to where the Colonel was standing in conversation with Lord Robert Manners, and stood, impatient but decorous, until it should please the Colonel to notice him. This Audley soon did, smiling to see him so obviously fretting to be off.
‘Hallo, Harry! You’ve got your wish, you see!’
‘By Gad, haven’t I just! I only came up to say goodbye and wish you luck. I’m off to Braine-le-Comte, you know. It’s my first engagement! Lord, won’t some of the fellows at home be green with envy!’
‘Well, mind you capture an Eagle,’ said the Colonel, holding out his hand. ‘I daresay I shall run up against you sometime or other, but in case I don’t, the best of luck to you. Take care of yourself!’
Lord George Alastair came striding out of the ante-room behind them as Harry wrung the Colonel’s hand. He merely nodded to the Colonel, but said curtly to his brother: ‘Are you off, Harry? I’ll go with you as far as the centre of the town. I’m for Ninove. Where are you for?’
‘Braine-le-Comte. You don’t look very cheerful, I must say. Been bidding someone a tender farewell?’
‘That’s it: come along, now!’
‘Wait a bit, here’s Bab!’
Colonel Audley turned his head quickly, and saw Barbara coming across the room towards him. Her eyes were fixed on her brothers, but as though she were conscious of his gaze she glanced in his direction, and flushed.
Colonel Audley thrust a hand which he found to be shaking slightly in Lord Robert’s arm, and walked away with him.
The Duke had gone to sit beside Lady Helen Dalrymple on the sofa. She found him perfectly amiable but preoccupied, breaking off his conversation with her every now and then to call some officer to him to receive a brief instruction. The Prince of Orange and the Duke of Brunswick both conferred with him for some minutes, and then left the ball together, the Prince heedless of everything but the excitement of the moment, the Duke calm, bestowing his grave smile on an acquaintance encountered in the doorway, not forgetting to take his punctilious leave of his hostess.
A few minutes later, Colonel Audley went up to Judith and touched her arm, saying quietly: ‘I’m off Judith. Tell Worth, will you? I haven’t time to look for him.’
She clasped his hands. ‘Oh, Charles! Where?’
‘Only to Ath, with a message, but it’s urgent. I’m not likely to return to Brussels tonight. Don’t be alarmed, will you? You will see what a dressing we shall give Boney!’
The next instant he was gone, slipping out of the ballroom without any other leave-taking than a word to his hostess. Others followed him, but in spite of the many departures there seemed to be no empty places in the dining-room when the guests presently went in to supper. Tables were arranged round the room; the junior officers, under the wing of Lord William Lennox, with an arm in a sling and bandages and sticking-plaster adorning his head, crowded round the sideboard, and were honoured by Lord Uxbridge’s calling out to them, with a brimming glass held in his hand: ‘A glass of wine with the side-table!’