April Lady

The morning light was faintly illumining the scene when the party dispersed on the steps of the club. Mr Hethersett, who knew that it might be days before he again found the opportunity to approach Dysart, considerably surprised him by suggesting that they should bear one another company on the way to their respective lodgings. ‘Duke Street, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘Take a look in at my place, and play off your dust! All on our way, and the night’s young yet.’

Dysart

looked at him, suspecting him of being slightly mellow. He showed no sign of it, but Dysart, perfectly well aware of his disapprobation, could think of no other reason to account for his sudden friendliness. Before he had had time to answer him, Mr Fancot, who lived in St James’s Square, and had sent the porter out to procure a hackney, generously offered to take both him and Mr Hethersett up, and to set them down again at their lodgings.

‘Very much obliged to you,’ responded Mr Hethersett, a shade of annoyance in his face. ‘Think I’ll walk, however. Devilish stuffy in the club tonight: need a breath of air!’ He met the Viscount’s alert, speculative gaze, and said curtly: ‘Got something to tell you!’

‘Have you though?’ said Dysart, considerably intrigued. ‘I’ll go along with you, then!’

They left the club together, but were overtaken almost immediately by a gregarious gentleman, who fell into step with them, saying chattily that since his destination was in King Street he would walk with them. His company was accepted cheerfully by Dysart, and by Mr Hethersett, who foresaw that he would be difficult to shake off, with resignation. It would be a hard task to avoid the necessity of including him in his invitation to Dysart, but he was determined to do it, however much it went against the grain with him to appear inhospitable.

He managed to perform this feat at the cost of standing patiently at the corner of Ryder Street and St James’s, while the Viscount and Mr Wittering maintained for twenty minutes an argument which had been started before the party had crossed over to the south side of Piccadilly. It was pursued with considerable animation, and it afforded Mr Hethersett, mildly contributing his mite whenever he was granted the opportunity, with a novel view of the Viscount. The victory of Bonaparte at Lützen over General Wittgenstein, commanding the combined forces of Russia and Prussia, had not long been known in London, and was still being much discussed. Shaking his head over the disaster, Mr Wittering expressed the opinion that there was no doing anything against Boney, and never would be. Since this pessimism was shared by many, such remarks having been heard for years past at any social gathering, Mr Hethersett did not think it worth while to reply. It was otherwise with the Viscount. He was ready to agree that none of the foreign generals could have the smallest hope of defeating Boney, but he recommended Mr Wittering to wait and see how quickly Wellington would knock him into flinders. Mr Wittering said disparagingly that a victory or two in Spain made no odds; the Viscount instantly offered to bet a monkey that the English army would be over the Pyrenees before the year was out; and the argument rapidly became heated. Mr Wittering, no supporter of the Wellesleys, was unwise enough to say that Wellington’s victories had been exaggerated; and within a very few minutes was not only being dragged relentlessly through the previous year’s campaigns, but was being given a lesson in strategy into the bargain. To Mr Hethersett’s surprise, the Viscount, whom he had always supposed to be perfectly feather-headed, not only appeared to be passionately interested in the subject, but had very obviously studied it with some thoroughness. Mr Wittering, on the retreat, acknowledged that Wellington was a good defensive general, but added that he was too cautious, and had no brilliance in attack.

‘No brilliance in attack?’ demanded the Viscount. ‘After Salamanca?’

‘Well, I don’t know about Salamanca,’ said Mr Wittering unguardedly. ‘All I say is –’

But the Viscount cut him short. Mr Hethersett, standing in patient boredom while armies manœuvred about him, and the Viscount drew invisible lines on the flagway with the point of his cane, reflected that it would henceforward be impossible for Mr Wittering to say (if there was any truth in him) that he didn’t know about Salamanca. When Dysart, passing from the general to the particular, spoke of Le Marchant’s charge, he did so with so much enthusiasm that Mr Hethersett was moved to say that he seemed to know as much about it as if he had taken part in it.

‘By Jove, don’t I wish I had!’ Dysart said impulsively.

‘Well,’ said Mr Wittering, preparing to take his leave, ‘what you ought to do, Dy, is to join! I shouldn’t wonder at it if you got to be a general. You go and tell old Hook-nose what you want him to do! There’s no saying but what it might make him break up from cantonments before the summer’s over!’

With this Parthian shot, he went off down the street, leaving the Viscount to explain to Mr Hethersett that the lack of news from Wellington’s headquarters undoubtedly presaged some brilliant move, probably in an unexpected direction. ‘Everyone thinks he means to march on Madrid again, but you mark my words if he don’t strike north! He’s kept his plans mighty dark this time, but I’ve been talking to a cousin of mine. You know my cousin Lionel?’ Mr Hethersett believed he had not that pleasure. ‘Been serving on one of our frigates,’ said the Viscount. ‘Sent home a month ago, on sick-furlough. Plain as a pikestaff all those fellows have been warned to keep their mummers dubbed, but one thing he did let slip: we’ve been landing stores along the northern coast. You can say they’re for that guerrilla-fellow, Longa, if you choose, but it don’t look like it to me. No need to keep the thing so dark if that’s all it is.’

Mr Hethersett did not avail himself of this permission, but said instead, glancing curiously up at his tall companion’s profile: ‘Why don’t you join?’

‘Oh, I don’t know!’ replied Dysart, with a return to his customary insouciance. ‘I rather thought I should like to at one time, but I daresay I shouldn’t. Anyway, my father won’t hear of it.’

Mr Hethersett did not pursue the matter. He could only be thankful that his question seemed to have cast a damper over the Viscount’s desire to fight past battles again. They had by this time reached his lodging. He ushered his guest into the comfortable parlour he rented on the entrance floor of the house, begged him to take a chair, and produced from a large sideboard a bottle of smuggled French cognac. ‘Eye-water?’ he enquired. ‘Mix you a Fuller’s Earth, if you like it better; or I’ve got a pretty tolerable madeira here.’

The Viscount said he would take a drop of eye-water. He watched Mr Hethersett pour some of the cognac into two heavy glasses, and remarked with engaging frankness that he was damned if he knew what Mr Hethersett wanted with him. ‘Thought at first you must be a bit on the go, but you don’t seem to be,’ he said.

Mr Hethersett handed him one of the glasses. ‘Got something to tell you,’ he replied briefly.

‘You haven’t had a tip for the Chester races, have you?’ asked Dysart hopefully.

‘No: nothing like that.’ Mr Hethersett took a fortifying sip of brandy. ‘Awkward sort of business. Been teasing me all day.’

‘It sounds to me like a dashed havey-cavey business!’ said Dysart, eyeing him in astonishment.

‘No, it ain’t exactly that, though I don’t mind telling you I’d as lief not break it to you,’ said Mr Hethersett, who was finding his self-imposed task even more difficult to accomplish than he had foreseen.

‘Good God, you ain’t going to tell me you’ve been set on to tell me my father’s slipped his wind?’ exclaimed Dysart, sitting up with a jerk.

‘No, of course I haven’t!’ said Mr Hethersett, irritated. ‘Is it likely that I’d be the man to break that sort of news to you?’

‘No, but if it comes to that you ain’t the man to invite me at half-past four in the morning either!’ retorted Dysart. ‘It’s no use bamming me you’ve got a sudden fancy for my company, for I know dashed well you haven’t.’

‘Never said anything of the sort. No objection to your company, mind, but it wasn’t that I wanted. The thing is, it’s a deuced delicate matter!’

‘Well, I can’t guess what the devil it can be, but there’s no need to skirt around it!’ said Dysart encouragingly. ‘In fact, I’d lief you cut line: I can stand a knock or two!’

Mr Hethersett tossed off the rest of the brandy in his glass. ‘Concerns your sister,’ he said.

The Vis

count stared at him. ‘Concerns my sister?’ he repeated. ‘What the devil – ?’