Judith did not go after her sister-in-law. She had very little hope of inducing Harriet to apologise, nor, upon reflection, did she feel inclined to make the attempt. She could not think Barbara blameless in the affair. However well she might have behaved in extending an olive branch, the original fault was one for which Judith could find little excuse. If Barbara wanted to dine in the suburbs (which, in itself, was a foolish whim) she might as well have chosen an evening when Charles could have been free to have escorted her.
Judith acquitted her of wanting to make mischief. It had all been the result of thoughtlessness, and had Harriet behaved like a sensible woman nothing more would have come of it. But Harriet had chosen to do the one thing that would lend colour to whatever gossip was afoot, and had besides made an enemy of a dangerous young woman. It still made Judith blush to think of the scene. In Barbara's place she would, she acknowledged, have been angry enough to have boxed Harriet's ears. But such sudden anger was usually short-lived. She hoped that a period of calm reflection would give Barbara's thoughts a more proper direction, and determined to say nothing of the occurrence Charles.
She heard her name spoken, and came out of reverie to find herself confronting Lord Fitzroy Somerset, who, with his elder brother, Lord Edward and their nephew, Henry Somerset, was strolling along the path down which her unconscious footsteps had taken her.
Greetings and handshakes followed. Judith was acquainted with Lord Edward, but Lieutenant Somerset, who was acting as his uncle's aide-de-camp had to be presented to her. Lord Edward had only lately arrived from England, to command the brigade of Household Cavalry. He was twelve years Lord Fitzroy's senior, and did not much resemble him. Fitzroy was fair, with an open brow, and very regular features. Lord Edward was harsh-featured and dark with deep lines running down from the corners of his jutting nose and his close-lipped mouth, and two clefts between his brows. His eyes were rather hard, and he did not look to have that sweetness of disposition which made his brother universally beloved; but he was quite unaffected, laughed and talked a great deal, and seemed perfectly ready to be agreeable. Judith enquirerd after his wife; he had not brought her to the Netherlands; he thought - saving Lady Worth's presence! - that the seat of an approaching war way not the place for females.
"Your husband is not engaged in the operations, and so the case is different," he said. "But I assure you, the women who would persist in following the Army in Spain were at times a real hindrance to us. Nothing could stop them! Very courageous, you will say, and I won't deny it, but they were the devil to deal with on the march, choking the roads with their gear!"
She smiled, and agreed that it must have been so. She had turned to retrace her steps with the Somersets, and as the path was not broad enough to allow of their walking abreast, Lord Fitzroy and his nephew had gone ahead. She indicated Fitzroy with a nod, and remarked that his brother must not speak so in his hearing.
"Oh, Fizroy knows what I think!" replied Lord Edward. "However, he is not an old married man like me, so he must be pardoned. Not but what I think it a great piece of folly on his part. Of course, you know Lady Fitzroy has lately been confined?"
"Indeed I do, and I am one of her daughter's chief admirers!"
"I daresay. A nice thing it would have been had she been obliged to remove in a hurry!"
"Depend upon it, had there been any fear of that her uncle must have known of it, and she could have retired without the least hurry to Antwerp. He does not appear to share your prejudice against us poor females!"
"The Duke! No, that he does not!" replied Lord Edward, laughing. "But, come, enough of the whole subject, or I can see I shall be quite out of favour with you! I understand I have to congratulate Audley upon his engagement?"
She acknowledged it, but briefly. He said in his downright way: "I don't know how you may regard the matter, but I should have said Audley was too good man for Bab Childe."
She found herself so much in accordance with the opinion that she was unable to forbear giving him very speaking glance.
"Just so," he said, with a nod. "I have known the whole family for years - got one of them in my brigade now: handsome young devil, up to no good - and shouldn't care to be connected with any of them. As for Audley, he's the last man in the world I should havt expected to be caught by Bab's tricks. Great pity though I shouldn't say so to you, I suppose."
"Lady Barbara is very beautiful," Judith replied, with a certain amount of reserve.
He gave a somewhat scornful grunt, and said no more. They had reached one of the gates opening on to the Rue Royale at this time, and Lord Edward, who was on his way to Headquarters, took his leave of Judith, and strode off up the road with his nephew.
Lord Fitzroy gave Judith his arm. He had to pay a call at the Hotel de Belle Vue, and was thus able to accompany her to her door. They walked in that direction through the Park, talking companionably of Lady Fitzroy's progress, of the infant daughter's first airing, and other such mild topics, until presently they were joined by Sir Alexander Gordon, very smart in a new coat and sash, on which Lord Fitzroy immediately quizzed him.
Judith listened, smiling, to the interchange of friendly raillery, occasionally being appealed to by one of them, to give her support to some outrageous libel on the other.
"Gordon," Fitzroy informed her, "is one of our dressier colleagues. He has seventeen pairs of boots. That's called upholding the honour of the family."
"One of Fitzroy's grosser lies, Lady Worth. Now, the really dressy member of the family is Charles."
"He has the excuse of being a hussar. They can't help being dressy, Lady Worth. However, the strain of trying to procure a sufficiency of silver lace in Spain wore the poor fellow out, and in the end he was quite thankful to be taken into the family. I say, Gordon, why didn't you join a hussar regiment? Was it because you were too fat?"
"A dignified silence," Gordon told Judith, "is the only weapon to use against vulgar persons."
"Very true. It is all jealousy, I daresay. I feel sure you could set off a hussar uniform to admiration."
"Fill it out, don't you mean?" enquired Fitzroy.
Sir Alexander was diverted from his purpose of retaliating in kind by catching sight of Barbara Childe between two riflemen. "When does that marriage take place, Lady Worth?" he asked.
"The date is not fixed."
"There's hope yet, then. That's Johnny Kincaid with her - the tall lanky one on her right. Perhaps he'll cut Charles out. Very charming fellow, Kincaid."
Fitzroy shook his head. "No chance of that. Kincaid loves Juana Smith - or so I've always fancied."
Judith said: "Is that how you feel, Sir Alexander? About Charles's engagement, I mean?"
"I beg pardon! I shouldn't have said it."
"You may say what you please. I am forced in general to be very discreet, but you are both such particular friends of Charles's that I may be allowed to speak my mind - which is that it would be better if the marriage never took place."
"Of course it would be better! There was never anything more unfortunate! We laughed at Charley when it began, but it has turned out to be no laughing matter. It was all the Prince's fault for making the introduction in the first place."
"Nonsense, Gordon! If he had not someone else would have done it. I am afraid Charles is pretty hard hit, Lady Worth."
"I am afraid so, too. I wish he were not, but what can one do?"
"One can't do anything," said Gordon. "That's the sad part of it: to be obliged to watch one of your best friends making a fool of himself."
"Do you dislike Lady Barbara?"
"No. I like her, but the thing is that I like Charley much more, and I can't see him tied to her for the rest of his life."
"It may yet come to nothing."
"That's what I say, but Fitzroy will have it that if Babs throws him over it will be the end of him."
"No, I didn't say that," interposed Lord Fitzroy. "But you can't live with a man for as long as I've lived with Charles, and come through tight places with him, and work with him, day in, day out, without getting to know him pretty well, and I do say that I believe him to be in earnest over this. I expect he knows his own business best - only I do wish he would stop burning the candle at both ends!"
"He can't," said Gordon. "You have to run fast if you mean to keep pace with Bab."
They had reached the Rue du Belle Vue by this time, and no more was said. Lord Fitzroy took his leave, Sir Alexander escorted Lady Worth to her own door, and she went in, feeling despondent and quite out of spirits.
The Duchess of Richmond held an informal party that evening, at her house off the Rue de la Blanchisserie, which was situated in the northern quarter of the town, not far from the Allee Verte. The Duke of Wellington had, from its locality, irreverently named it the Wash-house, but it was, in fact, a charming abode, placed in a large garden extending to the ramparts, and with a smaller house, or cottage, in the grounds which was occupied, whenever he was in Brussels, by Lord March.
The Duchess's parties were always popular. She had a great gift for entertaining, knew everyone, and had such a numerous family of sons and daughters that her house was quite a rendezvous for the younger set. Besides the nursery party, which consisted of several lusty children who did not appear in the drawing-room unless they had prevailed upon some indulgent friend, like the Duke of Wellington, to beg for them to come downstairs, there was a cluster of pretty daughters, and three fine sons: Lord March, Lord George Lennox, and Lord William.
Lord March was not present at the party, being at Braine-le-Comte with the Prince of Orange; and Lord William, who had had such a shocking fall from his horse, was still confined to his room; but Lord George. one of Wellington's aides-de-camp, was there; and of course the four daughters of the house: Lady Mary. Lady Sarah, Lady Jane, and Lady Georgiana.
The Duke of Wellington did not gratify the company, by putting in an appearance. The redoubtable Duchess d'Angouleme had lately arrived in Ghent, and he had gone there to pay his respects to her, taking Colonal: Audley with him. But although the party was composed mostly of young people, several major-generals were present with their wives, quite a number of distinguished civilians, and of course Sir Sydney Smith, working his startling brows up and down, flashing his eyes about the room, and drawing a great deal of attention to himself with his theatrical eccentricities.
Lady Worth, who arrived rather late with her husband, was glad to see that Harriet had torn herself from her couch and had come with Peregrine. It was evident that she had entered the lists against Barbara. for she was wearing one of her best gowns, had had her hair dressed in a new style, and had even improved her complexion with a dash of rouge. She seemed to be in spirits, and Judith was just reflection on the beneficial results of a spasm of jealousy when in walked Barbara, ravishing in a white satin slip under a robe of celestial blue crape, caught together down the front with clasps of flowers. Judith's complacency was ended. Peregrine, like nearly everyone else, was gazing at the vision. Who, Judith wondered despairingly, would look twice at Harriet in her figured muslin and her amethysts, when Barbara stood laughing under the great chandelier, flirting a fan of frosted crape which twinkled in the candlelight, the brilliants round her neck no more sparkling than her eyes?
She glanced round the room, blew a kiss to Georgiana, nodded at Judith. Her gaze swept past Peregrine, and Judith found herself heaving a sigh of relief: she was going to be good, then! The next instant her spirit quailed again, for she caught sight of Harriet's face, set in rigid lines of disdain, and heard her say in a clear, hard little voice to the lady standing beside her: "My dear ma'am, of course it is dyed! I should not have thought it could have deceived a child. Perry, let me remove into the salon: I find this place a little too hot for me."
That her words had reached Barbara's ears was evident to Judith. The green eyes rested enigmatically on Harriet's face for a moment, and then travelled on to Peregrine. A little tantalising smile hovered on the lovely mouth; the eyes unmistakably beckoned.
"In a minute!" said Peregrine. "I must say how do you do to Lady Bab first."
He left Harriet's side as he spoke, and walked right across the room to where Barbara stood, waiting for him to come to her. She held out her hand to him; he kissed it; she murmured something, and he laughed, very gallantly offered his arm, and went off with her towards the glass doors thrown open into the garden.
"But what finesse!" said Worth's languid voice. immediately behind Judith. "I make her my compliments. In its way, perfect!"
"I should like to box her ears, and Harriet's, and Peregrine's, and yours too!" replied Judith in a wrathful whisper.
"In that case, my love, I will remove one temptatioin at least out of your way."
She detained him. "Worth, you must speak to Perry!"
"I shall do no such thing."
"It is your duty: after all, he is your ward!"
"Oh no, he is not! He was my ward. That is a very different matter. Moreover, my heart wouldn't be in it: Harriet offered battle, and has been defeated in one brilliant engagement. I cannot consider it to be any concern of mine - though I shall be interested to see the outcome."
"If you have taken it into your head to save your brother at the expense of mine, Julian, I tell you now that I won't have it!" said Judith.
He smiled, but returned no answer, merely moving away to join a group of men by the stairs.
The rest of the evening passed wretchedly enough for Judith. It was some time before Peregrine reappeared, and when he did at last come back from the garden he was in high fettle. Harriet, employing new tactics, had joined the younger guests in the ballroom, and was behaving in a manner quite unlike herself, chattering and laughing, and promising more dances than the night could possibly hold. Never remarkable for his perception, Peregrine beamed with pleasure, and told her that he had known all along that she would enjoy herself.
"I am afraid you have come too late, Peregrine!" she said, very bright eyed. "Every dance is booked!"
"Oh, that's capital!" he replied. "Don't bother your head over me: I shall do famously!"
After this well-meaning piece of tactlessness, he withdrew from the ballroom, and was next seen in the salon, turning over the leaves of her music for Barbara, who had been persuaded to sing Mr Guest's latest ballad, The Farewell.
On the following morning, while she sat at breakfast, a note was brought round to Judith by hand. It was directed in a fist that showed unmistakable signs of agitation, and sealed with a lilac wafer set hopelessly askew.
"Harriet!" said Judith in long-suffering accents. She tore the sheet open, and remarked: "Blotched with tears! She wants me to go to her immediately."
"Will you have the carriage ordered at once, or will you delay your departure long enough to pour me out some more coffee?" enquired the Earl.
"I haven't the least intention of going until I have finished my breakfast, spoken with my housekeeper, and seen my son," replied Judith, stretching out her hand for his cup. "If Harriet imagines I shall sympathise with her she very much mistakes the matter. her behaviour was odiously rude, and I am out of all patience with her. Depend upon it, she has crowned her folly by quarrelling with Perry. Well, I wash my hands of it! Do you think Perry is really in love with that horrid creature?"
"Certainly not," he answered. "Perry is a trifle intoxicated, and extremely callow. His present conduct reminds me irresistibly of his behaviour when he first discovered in himself an aptitude for sailing. He has not altered in the smallest degree."
"Oh, Worth, it would be a dreadful thing if this wretched affair were to come between him and Harriet!"
"Very dreadful," he agreed, picking up the Gazette.
"It is all very well for you to say 'Very dreadful' in that hateful voice, just as if it didn't signify an atom, but I am extremely anxious! I wonder why Harriet wants me so urgently?"
It appeared, when Judith saw her an hour later, that Harriet wanted to announce the tidings of her imminent demise. "I wish I were dead!" she moaned, from behind a positive rampart of bottles of smelling salts, hartshorn, and lavender drops. "I shall die, for Perry has been so wickedly cruel, and my heart is broken, and I feel quite shattered! I hope I never set eyes on either of them again, and if Perry means to dine at home I shall lock myself in my room, and go home to Mama!"
"You might, if you were silly enough, perform one of those actions," said Judith reasonably, "but I do not see how you can accomplish both. For heaven's sake, stop crying, and tell me what is the matter."
"Perry has been out riding before breakfast with That Woman!" announced Harriet in tragic accents.
Judith could not help laughing. "Dear me, is that all, you goose?"
"In the Allee Verte!"
"Shocking!"
"By appointment with her!"
"No!"
"And alone!"
"My dear, if there is more to come I shall be obliged to borrow your smelling salts, I fear."
"How can you laugh? Have you no sensibility? He actually told me of it! He was brazen, Judith! He said she was the most stunning creature he had ever laid eyes on! He said that to me!"
"If he said it to you it is a sure sign that his affections are not seriously engaged. If I were you I would take him back to Yorkshire and forget the whole affair."
"He won't go!" said Harriet, burying her face in her handkerchief. "He said so. We have had a terrible quarrel! I told him -"
Judith flung up her hands. "I can readily imagine what you told him! Perry is nothing but a heedless boy! I daresay he never dreamed of being in love with Lady Barbara. He thought of her as Charles's fiancée, he found her good company, he admired her beauty. And what must you do but put it into his head to fall in love with her! Oh, Harriet, Harriet, what a piece of work you have made of it!"
This was poor comfort for an afflicted lady, and provoked Harriet to renewed floods of tears. It was some time before she was able to regain any degree of calm, and even when her tears were dried Judith saw that no advice would be attended to until she had had time to recover from the ill-effects of her first quarrel with Peregrine. She persuaded her to take the air in an open carriage, and sat beside her during the drive, endeavouring to engage her interest in everyday topics. Nothing would do, however. Harriet sat with her veil down; declined noticing the flowers in the Park, the barges on the canal, or the pigeons on the steps of St Gudule; and was morbidly convinced that she was an object of pity and amusement to every passer-by who bowed a civil greeting. Judith was out of all patience long before the drive came to an end, and when she at last set Harriet down at the door of her lodging her sympathies lay so much with Peregrine that she was able to wave to him, when she caught sight of him presently, with a perfectly good will.
Such feelings were not of long duration. A second note from Harriet, received during the evening, informed her that Peregrine had returned home only to change his dress, and had gone out again without having made the least attempt to see his wife. Harriet declared herself to be in no doubt of his destination, and ended an incoherent and blistered letter by the expression of a strong wish to go home to her mama.
By the following day every suspicion had been confirmed: Peregrine had indeed been in Barbara's company. He had made one of a party bound for the neighbourhood of Hal, and had picnicked there on the banks of the Senne, returning home only with the dawn. To make matters worse, it had been he whom Barbara had chosen to escort her in her phaeton. Every gossiping tongue in Brussels was wagging; Harriet had received no less than five morning calls from thoughtful acquaintances who feared she might not have heard the news; and more than one matron had felt it to be her duty to warn Judith of her young brother's infatuation. Loyalty compelled Judith to make light of the affair, but soon her patience had become so worn that the only person towards whom her sympathy continued to be extended was Charles Audley.
He had not made one of the picnic party, and from the circumstance of his being employed by the Duke all the following morning it was some time before any echo of the gossip came to his ears. It reached him in the end through the agency of Sir Colin Campbell, the Commandant, who, not supposing him to be within earshot, said in his terse fashion to Gordon: "The news is all over town that that young woman of Audley's is breaking up the Taverner household."
"Good God, Sir, you don't mean it? Confound her, why can't she give Charles a little peace?"
Sir Colin grunted. "He'll be well rid of her," he said sourly. He turned, and saw Colonel Audley standing -perfectly still in the doorway. "The devil!" he ejaculated. "Well, you were not meant to hear, but since you have heard there's no helping it now. I'm away to see the Mayor."
Colonel Audley stood aside to allow him to pass out of the room, and then shut the door, and said quietly: "What's all this nonsense, Gordon?"
"My dear fellow, I don't know! Some cock-and-bull story old Campbell has picked up - probably from a Belgian, which would account for its being thoroughly garbled. Did I tell you that I found him bewildering the maitre d'hotel the other day over the correct way to lay a table? He kept on saying: 'Beefsteak, venez ici: Petty-patties, allez la!' till the poor man thought he was quite mad."
"Yes, you told me," replied Audley. "What is the news that is all over town?"
A glance at his face convinced Sir Alexander that evasion would not answer. He said, therefore, in a perfectly natural tone: "Well, you came in before I had time to ask any questions, but according to Campbell there's a rumour afloat that Taverner is making a fool of himself over Lady Bab."
"That doesn't seem to me any reason for accusing Bab of breaking up his household."
"None at all. But you know what people are."
"There's not a word of truth in it, Gordon."
"No."
There was a note of constraint in Gordon's voice which Audley was quick to hear. He looked sharply across at his friend, and read concern in his face, and suddenly said: "Oh, for God's sake - ! You needn't look like that! The very notion of such a thing is absurd!"
"Steady!" Gordon said. "It isn't my scandal."
"I know. I'm sorry. But I am sick to death of this town, and the gossip that goes on in it!" He sighed, and walked over to the desk, and laid some papers down on it. "You had much better tell me, Gordon. What is it now? I suppose you've heard talk?"
"Charles, dear boy, if I had I wouldn't bring it to you," replied Gordon. "I don't know what's being said, or care."
Colonel Audley glanced up and suddenly laughed. "Damn you, don't look so sorry for me! What a set you are! I'm the happiest man on earth!"
"Famous! If you are, stop wearing a worried frown, and try going to bed at night for a change." He lounged over to where Audley was standing, and gripped his shoulder, slightly shaking him. "Damned fool! Oh, you damned fool!"
"I daresay. Thank God, I'm not a fat fool, however!"
He drove a friendly punch at Gordon's ribs. "Layers of it. What you need is a nice, hard campaign, my boy, to take some of it off."
"Not a chance of it! We'll be in Paris a month from now. I'll give you a dinner at a little restaurant I know there they have the best Chambertin in the whole city."
"I shall hold you to that. Where is it? I thought I knew all the restaurants in Paris."
"Ah, you don't know this one! It's in the Rue de - Rue de - confound it, I forget the name of the street, but I shall find it quick enough. Hallo, here's the Green Baby!"
Lieutenant the Honourable George Cathcart, lately enrolled as an extra aide-de-camp, had come into the room. He owed his appointment to the Duke's friendship with his father, the British Ambassador at St Petersburg. He was only twenty-one years old, but during the period of Lord Cathcart's office as military commissioner to the Russian Army, he had acted as his aide-de-camp, and was able to reply now with dignity "I am not a green baby. I have seen eight general actions. And what's more," he added, as the two elder men laughed, "Napoleon commanded in them all!"
"One to you, infant," said Audley. "You have us on the hip."
"Do you think Boney knows he's with us?" said Gordon anxiously.
"Oh, not a doubt of it! He has his spies everywhere."
"Ah, then, that accounts for him holding off so long: He's frightened."
"Oh, you - you -!" Cathcart sought for a word sufficiently opprobrious to describe Sir Alexander, and could find none.
"Never mind!" said Gordon. "You won't be the babe much longer. We shall have his Royal Highness the Hereditary Prince of Nassau-Usingen with us soon. and we understand he's only nineteen."
"He can't be of any use. What the devil do we want him for?"
"We don't want him. We're just having him to lend tone to the family. Charles, are you going to Braine-le-Comte?"
"Yes, I'm waiting for the letters now. Any message?"
"No. Such is my nobility of character that I'll go in your stead. Now, don't overwhelm me with thanks: Sacrifice is a pleasure to me."
"I shan't. Pure self-interest gleams in your eye. Give my compliments to Slender Billy, and don't outstay your welcome. Is he giving a dinner party?"
"This ingratitude! How can you, Charles?" Gordon said.
"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 pciked up his hat from a chair as he spoke, and witt 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 aparture. 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."