She saw that she could not talk him round to her way of thinking, and allowed the conversation to drop.
They had scarcely got up from the breakfast table, a little later, when they received a morning call from Mr and Mrs Fisher.
‘She has confessed, then!’ Judith exclaimed when the visitors’ cards were brought to her.
‘In floods of tears, I’d lay my last guinea!’ said Barbara.
‘It is not to be wondered at if she did weep!’
‘I abominate weeping females. Do you wish for my support at this interview?’
‘Oh yes, they will certainly desire to see you.’
‘Very well, but I’ll be hanged if I’ll be held accountable for George’s sins.’
It was as Judith had supposed. Lucy had confessed the whole to her aunt and uncle. They were profoundly shocked, and Mr Fisher seemed almost bewildered. He said that he could not understand how such a thing could have come to pass, and so far from blaming Barbara for her brother’s conduct, several times apologised to her for it. Mrs Fisher, torn between a sense of propriety and a love of romance, was inclined to find excuses for the young people, in which occupation Judith gladly assisted her. Mr Fisher agreed, but with a very sober face, that since the marriage had actually taken place there was nothing to do but to forgive Lucy. Barbara’s presence prevented him from expressing his opinion of Lord George’s character, but it was plain that this was not high. He sighed deeply several times, and shook his head over his poor girl’s chances of happiness. Mrs Fisher exclaimed, with the tears springing to her eyes: ‘Oh! If only she is not even now, perhaps, a widow!’
This reflection made them all silent. After a moment, her husband said heavily: ‘You are very right, Mrs Fisher. Ah, poor child, who knows what this day may not bring upon her? You must know, Lady Worth, that she is already quite overcome by her troubles, and is laid down upon her bed with the hartshorn.’
‘I am sure it is no wonder,’ Judith responded, avoiding Barbara’s eye.
The Fishers soon took their leave, and the rest of the morning was spent by Judith and Barbara in rendering all the assistance in their power to those nursing the wounded in the tent by the Namur Gate. Returning together just before four o’clock they found visitors with Worth in the salon, and walked in to discover these to be none other than the Duke and Duchess of Avon, who had arrived in Brussels scarcely an hour previously.
Barbara stood on the threshold, staring at them. ‘What the devil—? Grandmama, how the deuce do you come to be here?’
The Duke, a tall man with grizzled hair and fiery dark eyes, said: ‘Don’t talk to your grandmother like that! What’s this damnable story I hear about that worthless brother of yours?’
Barbara bent to kiss her grandmother, a rather stout lady, with a straight back, and an air of unshakable imperturbability: ‘Dear love! Did you come for my sake?’
‘No, I came because your grandfather would do so. But this is very surprising, this news of George’s marriage. Tell me, shall I like his wife?’
‘You’ll have nothing to do with her!’ snapped his Grace. ‘Upon my word, I’m singularly blessed in my grandchildren! One is such a miserable poltroon that he takes to his heels the instant he hears a gun fired; another makes herself the talk of the town; and a third marries a damned Cit’s daughter. You may as well tell me what folly Harry has committed, and be done with it. I wash my hands of the pack of you! There is no understanding how I came to have such a set of grandchildren.’
‘Vidal’s behaviour is certainly very bad,’ agreed the Duchess. ‘But I find nothing remarkable about George’s and Bab’s conduct, Dominic. Only I’m sorry George should have married in such a hole-and-corner fashion. It will make it very awkward for his wife. You have not told me if I shall like her, Bab.’
‘You will think her very dull, I daresay.’
‘You will not receive her at all!’ stated his Grace.
The Duchess replied cal
mly: ‘Your mother received me, Dominic.’
‘Mary!’
‘Well, my dear, but the circumstances were far more disgraceful, weren’t they?’
‘I suppose you will say that I am to blame for George’s conduct?’
‘At all events, you are scarcely in a position to condemn him,’ she said, smiling. ‘You made a shocking mésalliance yourself. Dear me, how rude we are, to be sure! Here is Lady Worth come in, and not one of us pays the least heed! How do you do, my dear child? You must let me thank you for your kindness to my granddaughter. I am afraid she has not used your family very well.’
‘Oh, ma’am, that is all forgotten!’ Judith said, taking her hand. ‘I cannot find words to express to you what it has meant to me to have her here during this terrible time!’ She turned, towards the Duke, saying with a quiver in her voice: ‘This is not a moment for reproaches! If you knew what we have seen—what may even now be happening—forgive me, but every consideration but the one seems so trivial, so—’ Her voice failed, she averted her face, groping in her reticule for her handkerchief. She recovered her composure with a strong effort, and said in a low tone: ‘Excuse me! We have been among the wounded the whole morning, and it has a little upset me.’
Barbara pushed her into a chair, saying: ‘Confound you, Judith, if you set me off crying, I’ll never forgive you!’ She looked at the Duke. ‘Well, sir, my compliments! You must be quite the only man to come into Brussels today! Did you come because there was a battle being fought, or in despite of it?’
‘I came,’ replied his Grace, ‘on account of the intelligence received by your grandmother from Vidal. So you have jilted Charles Audley, have you? I congratulate you!’
‘Your congratulations are out of place. I never did anything more damnable in my life.’