An Infamous Army (Alastair-Audley Tetralogy 4)

She looked doubtful. He saw it, and said rather harshly: ‘Oblige me in this, if you please! What I have to ask him will not take me long.’

‘To ask him?’ she repeated.

‘Yes, ma’am, to ask him! Audley saw my brother die, and I want to know where in that charnel-house to search for his body!’

She put out her hand impulsively. ‘Ah, poor boy! Of course you shall see him! Worth will take you up at once.’

‘Thank you,’ he said with a slight bow, and limped to the door, and opened it for Worth to lead the way out.

Judith was left to her own melancholy reflections, but these were interrupted in a very few minutes by yet another knock on the street door. She paid little heed, expecting merely to have a card brought in to her with kind enquiries after the state of Colonel Audley’s health, but to her astonishment the butler very soon opened the door into the salon and announced the Duke of Wellington.

She started up immediately. The Duke came in, dressed in plain clothes, and shook hands, saying: ‘How do you do? I have come to see poor Audley. How does he go on?’

She was quite overpowered. She had never imagined that in the midst of the work in which he must be immersed he could find time to visit the Colonel. She had even doubted his sparing as much as a thought for his aide-de-camp. She could only say in a moved voice: ‘How kind this is in you! We think him a little better. He will be so happy to receive a visit from you!’

‘Better, is he? That’s right! Poor fellow, they tell me he has had to lose his arm.’

She nodded, and, recollecting herself a little, began to congratulate him upon his great victory.

He stopped her at once, saying hastily: ‘Oh, do not congratulate me! I have lost all my dearest friends!’

She said in a subdued voice: ‘You must feel it, indeed!’

‘I am quite heart-broken at the loss I have sustained,’ he replied, taking a quick turn about the room. ‘My friends, my poor soldiers—how many of them have I to regret! I have no feeling for the advantages we have acquired.’ He stopped, and said in a serious tone: ‘I have never fought such a battle, and I trust I shall never fight such another. War is a terrible evil, Lady Worth.’

She could only throw him a speaking glance; her feelings threatened to overcome her; she was glad to see Worth come back into the room at that moment, and to be relieved of the necessity of answering the Duke. She sank down into a chair while Worth shook hands with his lordship. He, too, offered congratulations and comments on the nature of the engagement. The Duke replied in an animated tone: ‘Never did I see such a pounding-match! Both were what you boxers call gluttons. Napoleon did not manœuvre at all. He just moved forward in the old style, in columns, and was driven off in the old style. The only difference was that he mixed cavalry with his infantry, and supported both with an enormous quantity of artillery.’

‘From what my brother has said, I collect that the French cavalry was very numerous?’

‘By God, it was! I had the infantry for some time in squares, and we had the French cavalry walking about us as if they had been our own. I never saw the British infantry behave so well!’

‘It has been a glorious action, sir.’

‘Yes, but the glory has been dearly bought. Indeed, the losses I have sustained have quite broken me down. But I must not stay: I have very little time at my disposal, as you may imagine. I came only to see Audley.’

‘I will take you to him at once, sir. Nothing, I am persuaded, will do him as much good as a visit from you.’

‘Oh, pooh! Nonsense!’ the Duke said, going with him to the door. ‘I shall be in a bad way without him, and the others whom I have lost, I can tell you!’

He followed Worth upstairs to Colonel Audley’s room, only to be brought up short on the threshold by the sight of Lord George, standing by the bed. A frosty glare was bent on him; a snap was imminent; but Audley, startled by the sight of his Chief, still kept his wits about him, and said quickly: ‘Lord George Alastair, my lord, who has been sent in to have his wounds attended to, and has been kind enough to visit me on his way back to the brigade.’

‘Oh!’ said his lordship. ‘Avon’s grandson, are you? I’m glad to see you’re alive, but get back to your brigade, sir! There’s too much of this going on leave!’

Thankful to have escaped with only this mild reproof, George effaced himself. The Duke stepped up to the bed, and clasped Colonel Audley’s hand. ‘Well! We have given the French a handsome dressing!’ he said heartily. ‘But I’m sorry to see you like this, my poor fellow! Never mind! Fitzroy’s had the misfortune to lost his right arm, you know. I’ve just seen him: he’s perfectly free from fever, and as well as anybody could be under such circumstances.’

‘His right arm!’ the Colonel said. ‘Oh, poor Fitzroy!’

‘There, don’t distress yourself! Why, what do you think! He’s already learning to write with his left hand, and will be back with me again before I’ve had time to turn round.’

Audley struggled up on his elbow. ‘Sir, what of Gordon?’

A shadow crossed the Duke’s face. He said in a broken voice: ‘Ah, poor Gordon! He lived long enough to be informed by myself of the glorious success of our actions. They carried him to my Headquarters at Waterloo, you know. Hume called me at three this morning to go to him, but he was dead before I got there.’

The Colonel gave a groan and sank back upon his pillows. ‘A little restaurant in Paris!’ he whispered. ‘O God!’

Barbara moved forward, and slid her hand into his. His fingers gripped it feebly; he lay silent, while the Duke, turning to Worth, asked in his blunt fashion: ‘Who has him in charge? Has Hume been here?’

‘Not yet,’ Worth replied. ‘I am extremely anxious to get him, but there seems to be no possibility of securing his services.’