An Infamous Army (Alastair-Audley Tetralogy 4)

‘Easily. I shall laugh if you find the Duke has labelled the despatch “Quick”.’

‘If there’s any “Quick” about it, you shall take it,’ promised Gordon.

‘Not I! You offered to go, and you shall go. Young Mr Cathcart will enlarge his military experience by kicking his heels here; and Colonel Audley will seize a well-earned rest from his arduous duties.’ He picked up his hat from a chair as he spoke, and with a wave to Gordon and an encouraging nod to Cathcart, made for the door. There he collided with a very burly young man, whose bulk almost filled the aperture. He recoiled, and said promptly: ‘In the very nick of time! Captain Lord Arthur Hill will be in reserve. Don’t be shy, Hill! Come in! You know Gordon likes to have you near him: it’s the only time he looks thin.’

Lord Arthur, who enjoyed the reputation of being the fattest officer in the Army, received this welcome with his usual placid grin, and remarked as the Colonel disappeared down the stairs: ‘You fellows are always funning. What’s happened to put Audley in such spirits? I suppose he hasn’t heard the latest scandal? They tell me—’

‘Oh, never mind what they tell you!’ Gordon said, with such unaccustomed sharpness that Lord Arthur blinked in surprise. He added more gently: ‘I’m sorry, but Audley’s a friend of mine, and I don’t propose to discuss his affairs or to listen to the latest scandal about his fiancée. It’s probably grossly exaggerated in any case.’

‘Oh, quite so!’ said Lord Arthur hastily. ‘I daresay there’s nothing in it at all.’

Fifteen

Leaving Wellington’s Headquarters, Colonel Audley made his way across the Park to Vidal’s house. Barbara was not in, and as the butler was unable to tell Colonel Audley where she was to be found, he went back into the Park, and walked slowly through it in the direction of the Rue de Belle Vue. He was not rewarded by any glimpse of Barbara, but on reaching his brother’s house he found Lady Taverner sitting with Judith, and indulging in a fit of weeping. He withdrew, nor did Judith try to detain him. But when Harriet had left the house he went back to the salon, and demanded an explanation of her grief.

Judith was reluctant to tell him the whole, but after listening for some moments to her glib account of nervous spasms, ridiculous fancies, and depression of spirits, he interrupted her with a request to be told the truth. She was obliged to confess that Peregrine’s infatuation with Barbara was the cause of Harriet’s tears. She described first the incident in the Park, feeling that it was only fair that he should know what had prompted Barbara’s outrageous conduct.

He listened to her with a gradually darkening brow. ‘Do you expect me to believe that Bab is encouraging Peregrine’s advances out of spite?’ he asked.

‘I should not have used that word. Revenge, let us say.’

‘Revenge! We need not employ the language of the theatre, I suppose! What more have you to tell me! I imagine there must be more, since I understand that the whole town is talking of the affair.’

‘It is very unfortunate. I blame Harriet for the rest. She quarrelled with Perry, and I have no doubt made him angry and defiant. You know what a boy he is!’

He replied sternly: ‘He is not such a boy but that he knew very well what he was about when he made advances to my promised wife!’

‘It was very bad,’ she acknowledged. ‘But, though I do not like to say this to you, Charles, I believe it was not all his fault.’

‘No! That is evident!’ he returned. He walked over to the window and stood staring out. After a slight pause, he said in a quieter voice: ‘Well, now for the rest, if you please.’

‘I do not like the office of talebearer.’

He gave a short laugh. ‘You need not be squeamish, Judith. I suppose I have only to listen to what the gossips are saying to learn the whole of it.’

‘You would hear a garbled version, I assure you.’

‘Then you had better let me hear the true version.’

‘I only know what Harriet has told me. I am persuaded that had it not been for her conduct, which, you know, was very bad, the affair would never have gone beyond that one unfortunate evening in the suburbs. But she cut Lady Barbara in the rudest way! That began it. I could see how angry Lady Barbara was: indeed, I didn’t blame her. I hoped her anger would cool. I think it might have—I think, in fact, it had cooled. Then came the Duchess of Richmond’s party. I saw Lady Barbara look round the hall when she arrived, and I can vouch for her having made no sign to Perry. I don’t think she gave him

as much as a civil bow. There was a lull in the conversation; everyone was staring at Lady Barbara—you know how they do!—and Harriet made a remark there could be no misunderstanding. It was stupid and ill-bred: I know I felt ready to sink. She then told Perry that she wished to remove into the salon, saying that the hall was too hot for her. Lady Barbara could not but hear. It was said, moreover, in such a tone as to leave no room for anyone to mistake its meaning.’

She paused. The Colonel had turned away from the window, and was attending to her with a look of interest. He was still frowning, but not so heavily, and at the back of his eyes she fancied she could perceive the suspicion of a smile. ‘Go on!’ he said.

She laughed. ‘Worth said that in its way it was perfect. I suppose it was.’

‘He did, did he? What happened?’

‘Well, Lady Barbara just took Perry away from Harriet. It is of no use to ask me how, for I don’t know. It may sound absurd, but I saw it with my own eyes, and I am ready to swear she neither moved nor spoke. She looked at him, and smiled, and he walked right across the room to her side.’

He was now openly laughing. ‘Is that all? Of course, it was very bad of Bab, but I think Harriet deserved it. It must have been sublime!’

‘Yes,’ she agreed, but with rather a sober face.

He regarded her intently. ‘Is there more, Judith?’

‘I am afraid there is. As I told you, Harriet quarrelled with Perry. You remember, Charles, that you were in Ghent. It seems that Perry rode out with Lady Barbara before breakfast next morning. I believe she is in the habit of riding in the Allée Verte every morning.’