An Infamous Army (Alastair-Audley Tetralogy 4)

‘Thank you,’ Judith said. ‘It was kind of you, but there is now no question of our leaving Brussels. My brother-in-law is severely wounded. Worth has gone to bring him in.’

He looked genuinely concerned, and pressed her hand in the most speaking way. ‘I am excessively sorry to hear of this! But once you have Colonel Audley in your care you will see how quickly he will recover!’

‘We hope—Do you and Mrs Creevey mean to go to Antwerp?’

‘No, it is out of the question to move Mrs Creevey in her present state of health. I don’t scruple to tell you, my dear ma’am, that General Barnes’s prognostications do not convince me that all is over. Hamilton tells me he was shot through the body at about five o’clock, and borne off the field. I cannot but feel that if the battle had been lost we must by now have received intelligence of it. Do you know what I judge by? Why, I’ll tell you! The baggage-train is still moving towards the battlefield! To my mind, that proves that all is well.’

‘I had not thought of that. Yes, indeed: you must be right. You put us quite at our ease, Mr Creevey. Thank you again for coming to us!’

He saw that the result of the battle was of less importance to her at the moment than Colonel Audley’s fate, and after lingering only for a few moments to express his sympathy, took his leave and went back to the Rue du Musée.

After he had gone, no further interruptions occurred. The evening was mild, with a fitful moonlight shining through the lifting storm-clouds. Barbara had drawn back the blinds and opened one of the windows, and sat by it almost without stirring. In the street below a few people passed, but the sounds that drifted to the salon were muffled, as though Brussels were restless but quiet.

Once Judith said: ‘Would you like to lie down upon your bed for a little while? I would wake you the instant he comes.’

‘I could not rest. But you—’

‘No, nor I.’

The brief conversation died. Another hour crept by. As the church clocks struck the hour of one, the clatter of horses’ feet on the cobbles reached the ladies’ straining ears. Lanterns, dipping and rocking with the lurch of a chaise, were seen approaching down the street, and in another moment Worth’s chaise-and-four had drawn up outside the house.

Barbara picked up the branch of candles from the table. ‘Go down. I will light the stairs,’ she said.

Judith ran from the room, feeling her knees shaking under her. The butler and Worth’s valet were already at the door: there was nothing for her to do, and, almost overpowered by dread, she remained upon the landing, leaning against the wall, fighting against the nervous spasm that turned her sick and faint. She saw Barbara standing straight and tall in her pale dress, at the head of the stairs, holding the branch of candles up in one steady hand. A murmur of voices reached her ears. She heard the butler exclaim, and Worth reply sharply, a groan, and she knew that Charles lived, and found that the tears were pouring down her cheeks. She wiped them away, and, regaining command of herself, ran back into the salon, and snatching up a companion to the chandelier Barbara held, bore it up the second pair of stairs to the Colonel’s room. She had scarcely had time to turn back the sheets from the bed before Worth and Cherry carried Colonel Audley into the room.

Judith could not suppress an exclamation of horror. The Colonel

had been wrapped in his own cloak, but this fell away as he was lowered on to the bed, revealing a bloodstained shirt hanging in tatters about him. His white buckskins were caked with mud, and had been slit down the right leg to permit of the flesh wound on his thigh being dressed. His curling brown hair clung damply to his brow; his face, under the blackening smoke, was ghastly; but worst of all was the sight of the bandaged stump where so short a time ago his left arm had been. He was groaning, and muttering, but although his pain-racked eyes were open it was plain that he was unconscious of his surroundings.

‘Razor!’ Worth said to his valet, who had followed him up the stairs with a heavy can of hot water. ‘These boots off first!’ He glanced across at the two women. ‘This is no fit sight for you. You had better go.’

‘Fool!’ Barbara said, in a low, fierce voice.

‘As you please,’ he shrugged, and, taking the razor from his valet’s hand began to slit the seams of the Colonel’s Hessians.

While he got the boots off, Barbara knelt down by the bed and sponged away the dirt from the Colonel’s livid face. Judith stood beside her, holding the bowl of warm water. Over Barbara’s head, she spoke to Worth: ‘Will he live?’

‘He is very ill, but I believe so. I have sent for a surgeon to come immediately. The worst is this fever. The jolting of the chaise has been very bad for him. I thought at one time I should never get through to Waterloo: the road is choked—wagons lying all over it, baggage spilt and plundered, and horses shot in their traces. There was never anything so disgraceful!’

‘The battle?’

‘I know no more than you. I met Charles in a common tilt-wagon half way through the Forest, being brought to Brussels with a dozen others. Everything is turmoil on the road: I could come by no certain intelligence; but I conjecture that all must be well, or the French much by now have penetrated at least to the Forest.’

He moved up to the head of the bed, and while he and his valet stripped the clothes from the Colonel’s body, Barbara poured away the tainted water in the bowl and filled it with fresh. She looked so pale that Judith feared she must be going to faint, and begged her to withdraw. She shook her head. ‘Do not heed me! I shall not fail.’

By the time an over-driven surgeon had arrived, the Colonel was lying between clean sheets, restlessly trying to twist from side to side. At times it needed all Worth’s strength to prevent him from turning on to his injured left side; occasionally he made an effort to wrench himself up; once he said quite clearly: ‘The Duke! I’ve a message to deliver!’ But mostly his utterance was indistinct, and interrupted by deep groans.

The surgeon looked grave, and saw nothing for it but to bleed him. Judith could not help saying with a good deal of warmth: ‘I should have thought he had lost enough blood!’

She was not attended to; the surgeon had been at work among the wounded since the previous morning, and was himself tired and harassed. He took a pint of blood from the Colonel, and it seemed to relieve him a little. He ceased his restless tossing and fell into a kind of coma. The surgeon gave Worth a few directions, and went away, promising to return later in the morning. It was evident that he did not take a very hopeful view of the Colonel’s state. He would not permit of the bandages being removed to enable him to inspect the injuries to the thigh and the left side of the body. ‘Better not disturb him!’ he said. ‘If Hume attended to him, you may depend upon it the wounds have been properly dressed. I will see them later. There is nothing for it now but to keep him quiet and hope for the fever to abate.’

He hurried away. Worth bent over the Colonel, feeling his hand and brow. Over his shoulder, he addressed the two women: ‘Settle it between yourselves, but one of you must go and rest. Charles is in no immediate danger.’

‘There can be no doubt which of us must go,’ said Judith. ‘Come, my poor child!’

‘Oh no! You go!’

‘No, Bab. It is you Charles will want when he comes to himself, and if you sit up now you will drop in the end, and think how shocking that would be! It is of no use to argue; I am quite determined.’