An Infamous Army (Alastair-Audley Tetralogy 4)

‘You shall have dinner the instant you are out of those wet clothes,’ she promised, taking his hand between both of hers and clasping it for a moment. ‘You are worn out! Oh, dear Charles, the relief of knowing you to be safe!’

She could say no more; he smiled, but seemed to have no energy to waste in answering her. Worth took him by the arm and led him towards the second pair of stairs. ‘Come along!’ he said. ‘The appearance you present is quite appalling, believe me!’

Judith ran back into the salon and tugged at the bell pull. Barbara was standing just inside the door, watching Colonel Audley as he mounted the stairs to his bedroom. She said with a shaky laugh: ‘His beautiful ball dress quite ruined! When I think how smart he was, only two nights ago, it makes me want to weep! Was there ever anything so confoundedly silly?’

Upstairs, Worth rang the bell for his valet, and began to help the Colonel to peel off his sodden coat. Through the torn sleeve of a shirt that was clinging to his body could be seen a strip of sticking-plaster, covering a slash upon the upper arm. The blood had dried upon the shirtsleeve, and Audley winced a little as he stripped the shirt off.

‘I take it that’s not serious?’ said Worth.

‘Good God, no! A scratch.’

‘How did you come by it?’

‘Trying to rally those damned Dutch-Belgians!’ replied the Colonel bitterly. He added, with the flash of a smile: ‘I don’t know that I blame them, though, poor devils! They got the brunt of it at the start, and then, to add to their troubles, what must some of our fellows do but mistake a party of them for the French, and open fire on them! It’s all the fault of their accursed uniforms, and those bell-topped shakos of theirs.’

‘Where’s the Army?’

‘Before Mont St Jean, rather more than a couple of miles south of Waterloo, bivouacking for the night.’

Worth raised his brows. ‘That seems somewhat close to Brussels.’

‘No help for it. Old Blücher’s gone eighteen miles to his rear, to Wavre. We had to do likewise, of course. But don’t worry! We’re in a better case than at Quatre-Bras: the ground there was damnable for cavalry.’

The valet came into the room just then, and conversation was suspended while the Colonel’s mud-caked Hessians were pulled off, his pantaloons peeled from his legs, and warm water fetched to wash away the dirt, and the sweat and the bloodstains from his tired body. By the time he came downstairs again, in his service uniform, a tray had been brought to the salon and a table spread. He walked into the room just ahead of his brother, smiled rather wearily at Judith, and then saw Barbara standing by the fireplace. A frown creased his brow; his eyes, heavy and bloodshot, blinked at her in a puzzled way. His brain felt clogged; he did not know how she came to be there, and felt too tired to speculate much about the circumstance. A nightmare of estrangement lay between them, but he had been in the saddle almost continuously for two days, had taken part in a fierce battle against superior odds, and knew that perhaps the most serious engagement of his life was ahead of him. His mind refused to grapple with personal considerations; he merely held out his hand, and said: ‘I didn’t know you were here, Bab. How do you do?’

Judith, who had expected some show at least of surprise, and had been prepared to whisk herself and Worth out of the room, felt that this calm greeting must affect Barbara like a douche of cold water. But Barbara just took the Colonel’s hand, and answered: ‘Yes, Charles. I am here. Never mind that now. You are hungry and tired.’

‘I don’t know when I have been more so,’ he admitted, turning from her, and seating himself at the table. He accepted a plate of cold beef from Judith, and added: ‘Both your brothers are safe. I think George got a scratch or two today, but nothing serious. I suppose Canning gave you an account of our engagement at Quatre-Bras, Julian?’

‘Yes, and I heard more later from Creevey, who had seen Hamilton, of Barnes’s staff.’

‘Oh, did you?’ said Colonel, his mouth rather full of beef. ‘Then I expect you know all that happened.’

‘Very briefly. Hamilton left the field before the engagement ended.’

‘The Guards settled it. Cooke’s division came up at about half past six, I suppose. Maitland sent Lord Saltoun in with the Light Infantry of the brigade to clear Bossu wood of the French, which he did. I don’t really know where Byng’s brigade was placed. It was almost impossible to make out anyone’s position. One of Halkett’s fellows told me they had seen the French actually sending a man galloping ahead to plant a flag as a point for their troops to charge on. You’ve no idea what the crops are like there. I’ve never seen rye grown to such a height.’

‘When did Halkett arrive? I collect you mean Sir Colin, not his brother?’

‘Yes, of course. Hew Halkett’s Hanoverians weren’t at Quartre-Bras at all. Alten brought up the 3rd Division somewhere between four and five in the afternoon, and, by God! They were not a moment too soon. Picton’s division was pretty well crippled. I don’t know which of the brigades suffered the most, Kempt’s or Pack’s. To make matters worse, Brunswick had been carried off the field, and his men were badly shaken. Olferman couldn’t hold them, and they were retreating in a good deal of haste when old Halkett came up. You know Halkett!—or rather you don’t, but he told Olferman without mincing matters what he thought of the retreat, and brought the Brunswickers up under cover of a ditch, like the famous old fighter he is!’

‘And the Dutch-Belgians?’

The Colonel shrugged. ‘Well, there’s no doubt Perponcher saved the situation by moving on Quatre-Bras as he did, and Prince Bernhard’s Nassauers behaved splendidly. They had one horse battery with them—Stevenart’s, I think—and by Jove, those fellows were heroes! Bylandt’s brigade suffered rather severely at the start, and as for the rest—it’s a case of the least said the soonest mended.’

‘How did the Prince of Orange do?’

‘Ask Halkett,’ replied the Colonel, with a wry smile. ‘Poor Slender Billy! He will get so excited!’

Worth refilled his glass. ‘At his age that was to be expected. What has he been up to?’

The Colonel drank some of the wine, and picked up his knife and fork again. ‘Oh, Halkett galloped forward to the front with one of his ADCs, saw a corps of cavalry forming, and of course returned at once to his brigade, and gave the order to form squares. The 69th—that’s Colonel Morice’s regiment—were in the act of doing so when up came Slender Billy, and wanted to know what the devil they were about. “Preparing to meet cavalry”—“Oh, cavalry be damned!” says Billy. “There’s none within five miles of you! Form column, and deploy into line at once!” Morice had no choice but to obey, of course. The regiment was actually engaged on the movement when about eight hundred cuirassiers came charging down on the brigade. The 30th and the 33rd were firmly in square, but the cuirassiers rode right through the unfortunate 60th, scattered the Belgian and Brunswick cavalry, got as far as Quatre-Bras itself, and completely turne

d our position. If it hadn’t been for the Duke’s directing the 92nd Highlanders himself, God knows what might not have happened!’

‘Yes, we heard about that, but not about the Prince’s folly!’

‘You might not. Don’t spread the story! I happened to have been sent with a message to Halkett just before the charge, and was in one of the squares beside him. Poor Morice was killed, and scores of others.’