On the following morning the only news was of Sir Thomas Picton's arrival in Brussels. He was putting up at the Hotel d'Angleterre with two of his aides-de-camp, Captain Chambers of the 1st Footguards, and an audacious young gentleman who ought to have been in London with the 1st battalion of that regiment, but who had procured leave, and contrived to get himself enrolled on Sir Thomas Picton's staff as honorary aide-de-camp. It seemed reasonable to Mr Gronow to suppose that he could quite well take part in a battle in Belgium and be back again in London in time to resume his duties at the expiration of his leave.
While Sir Thomas, a burly figure in plain clothes - for the trunks containing his uniforms had not yet arrived in Brussels - was seated at breakfast, Colonel Canning came in to say that the Duke wished to see him immediately. He finished his breakfast, and went off to Headquarters. He met Wellington in the Park, walking with the Duke of Richmond and Lord Fitzroy-Somerset. All three were deep in conversation. Sir Thomas strode up to them, accosting his chief with his usual lack of ceremony, and received a chilling welcome.
"I am glad you are come, Sir Thomas," said his Lordship stiffly. He looked down his nose at the coarse, square-jowled face in front of him. He valued old Picton for his qualities as a soldier, but he had never been able to like him. "As foul-mouthed an old devil as ever lived," he had once said of him. Picton's familiarity annoyed him; he delivered one of his painful snubs.
"The sooner you get on horseback the better," he said. "No time is to be lost. You will take the command of the troops in advance. The Prince of Orange knows by this time that you will go to his assistance."
A slight bow, and it was plain that his lordship considered the interview at an end. Picton was red-faced, and glaring. Richmond, sorry for the rough old man's humiliation, said something civil, but Picton was too hurt and angry to respond. He moved away, muttering under his breath, and his lordship resumed his conversation.
No further news having arrived from the frontier, Brussels continued its normal life. It was generally supposed that the previous night's report had been another false alarm. The usual crowd of fashionables promenaded in the Park; ladies looked over their gowns for the Duchess of Richmond's ball; gentleman hurried to the market to order posies for their inamoratas.
Colonel Audley had left his brother's house before Juith was up, but he came in about midday for a few minutes. There was no news; he told her briefly that the chances were that the concentration on Maubeuge was a prelude to a feint; and was able to assure her that no alarm was felt at Headquarters. The Duchess of Richmond's ball would certainly take place; the Prince of Orange was coming in from Braine-le-Comte to dine with the Duke about three; Lord Hill was already in Brussels; and Uxbridge and a host of divisional and brigade commanders were expected to arrive during the course of the afternoon, for the purpose of attending the ball. This certainly did not seem as though an outbreak of hostilities was expected; any further confirmation was later received from Georgiana Lennox, who, meeting Judith on a shopping errand during the afternoon, was able to report that Lord Hill had called in the Rue de la Blanchisserie, and had disclaimed any knowledge of movement on the frontier.
The Prince of Orange arrived in Brussels shortly after two o'clock, in his usual spirits, and after changing his dress in his house in the Rue de Brabant, went round to Headquarters. He had heard no further news , set very little store by the previous night's report, and had ridden in light-heartedly to take part in the evening's festivities, leaving Constant de Rebecque in charge at Braine-le-Comte.
"Well, well!" drawled Fremantle, when his Highness had gone off upstairs to pay his respects to the Duke "Our Corps Commander! One comfort is that old Constant will do much better without him. Think there's anything brewing, Canning?"
"I don't know. Another hum, I daresay. Muffling has heard nothing: he was in here a few minutes ago."
The Duke dined early, sitting down to table with the Prince of Orange and the various members of his staff. At three o'clock a despatch was brought in for the Prince, from Braine-le-Comte. It was from Constant, containing a report received from General Behr at Mons, just after the Prince's departure from his headquarters. The 2nd Prussian Brigade of Ziethen's 1st Corps had been attacked early that morning, and alarm guns fired all along the line. The attack seemed to be directed on Charleroi.
The Duke ran his eye over the despatch. "H'm! Sent off at 9.30, I see. Doesn't tell us much."
"Behr had it from General Steinmetz, through Van Vlerlen," said the Prince. "That would put the attack in the small hours, for Steinmetz's despatch you see, was sent off from Fontaine-l'Eveque. Sir, do you think -?"
"Don't think anything," said his lordship. "I shall hear from Grant presently."
At four o'clock Muffling came in with a despatch from General Ziethen, which was dated 9a.m. from Charleroi. It contained the brief information that the Prussians had been engaged since 4a.m. Thuin had been captured by the French, and the Prussian outposts driven back. General Ziethen hoped the Duke would concentrate his army on Nivelles, seven miles to she west of the main Charleroi-Brussels chaussee.
The Duke remained for some moments deep in thought. Muffling presently said: "How will you assemble your army, sir?"
The Duke replied in his decided way: "I will order all to be ready for instant march, but I must wait for advice from Mons before fixing a rendezvous."
"Prince Blucher will concentrate on Ligny, if he has not already done so."
"If all is as General Ziethen supposes," said the Duke, "I will concentrate on my left wing the Corps of the Prince of Orange. I shall then be a portee to fight in conjunction with the Prussian Army."
He gave back Ziethen's despatch and turned away. It was evident to Muffling that he had no more to say, but he detained him for a moment with the question. Where would he concentrate his army? The Duke repeated: ": must wait for advice from Mons."
He spoke in a calm voice, but a little while after Muffling had left the house he showed signs of some inward fret, snapping at Canning for not having immediately understood a trivial order. Canning came away with a rueful face, and enquired of Lord Fitzroy, what had gone wrong.
"No word from Grant," replied Fitzroy. "It's very odd: he's never failed us yet."
"Looks as though the whole thing's nothing but a feint," remarked Fremantle. "Trust Grant to send word if there were anything serious on hand!"
This belief began to spread through the various offices: if Colonel Grant, who was the cleverest intelligence officer the army had ever had, had not communicated with Headquarters, it could only be because he had nothing of sufficient importance te report.
The afternoon wore on, with everyone kept at his post in case of emergency, but a general feeling over all that the affair would turn out to be a false alarm. Previous scares were recalled; someone argued that if Bonaparte had been in Paris on June 10th with the Imperial Guard, it was impossible for him yet to have reached the frontier.
At five o'clock a dragoon arrived from Braine-le-Comte with despatches for Lord Fitzroy. The Duke was in his office with Colonel de Lancey, but be broke off his conversation as Fitzroy came in, and barked out:
"Despatches from Sir George Berkeley, sir, enclosing reports from General Dornberg, Baron Chasse, and Baron van Merlen."
"Dornberg, eh?" His lordship's eye brightened. "Has he heard from Grant?"
"No, sir," replied Fitzroy, laying the papers before "General Dornberg's letter, as your lordship will see, is dated only 9.30a.m."
"Nine-thirty!" An explosion seemed imminent; his Lordship picked up the letters and read them with a cold eye and peevishly pursed lips. Dornberg, at Mons, merely stated that he had found a picket of French Lancers on the Bavay road, and that the troops at Quivrain had been replaced by a handful of National wards and Gendarmes. All the French troops appeared to be marching towards Beaumont and Philippeville.
The Duke gave the despatch to De Lancey without comment, and picked up Chase's and Van Merlen's reports. Van Merlen, writing at an early hour of the morning from Saint Symphorien, stated that the Prussians under General Steinmetz were retiring from Binche to Gosselies, and that if pressed the I Corps would concentrate at Fleurus.
De Lancey looked up with a worried frown from the despatch in his hand. He was finding the post of Quartermaster-General arduous; he had brought young bride with him to Brussels, too, and was beginning to look rather careworn. "Then it comes to this, sir, that we have no intelligence later than nine this morning."
"No. All we know is that there has been an attack on the Prussian outposts and that the French have taken Thuin. I can't move on that information."
His lordship said no more, but both De Lancey and Fitzroy knew what was in his mind. He had always been jealous of his right, for in that direction lay his communication lines. It was his opinion that the French would try to cut him off from the seaports; he was suspicious of the attack on the Prussians: it looked to him like a feint. He would do nothing until he received more certain information.
Between six and seven o'clock he issued his first orders. The Quartermaster-General's staff woke to sudden activity. Twelve messages had to be written and carried to their various destinations. The whole of the English cavalry was to collect at Ninove that night: General Dornberg's brigade of Light Dragoons of the Legion to march on Vilvorde; the reserve artillery to be ready to move at daybreak; General Colville's 4th Infantry Division, except the troops beyond the Scheldt, to march eastward on Grammont; the 10th Brigade, just arrived from America under General Lambert and stationed at Ghent, to move on Brussels; the 2nd and 5th Divisions to be at Ath in readiness to move at a moment's notice; the 1st and 3rd to concentrate at Enghien and Braine-le-Comte. The Brunswick Corps was to concentrate on Brussels; the Nassau contingent upon the Louvain road; and the 2nd and 3rd Dutch-Belgic divisions under Generals Perponcher and d'Aubreme were ordered to concentrate upon Nivelles. His lordship had received no intelligence from Mons, and was still unwilling to do more than to put his Army in a state of readiness to move at a moment's notice. The Quartermaster-General's office became a busy hive, with De Lancey moving about in it with his sheaf of papers, and frowning over his maps as he worked out the details for the movements of the divisions, sending out his messages, and inwardly resolving to be done with the Army when this campaign was over. He was a good officer, but the responsibility of his post oppressed him. Too much depended on his making no mistakes. The Adjutant-General had to deal with the various duties to be distributed, with morning-states of men and horses, and with the discipline of the Army, but the Quartermaster-General's work was more harassing. On his shoulders rested the task of arranging every detail of equipment, of embarkation, of marching, halting, and quartering the troops. It was not easy to move an army; it would be fatally easy to create chaos in concentrating troops that were spread over a large area. De Lancey checked up his orders again, referred to the maps, remembered that such-and-such a bridge would not bear the passage of heavy cavalry, that this or that road had been reported in a bad state. At the back of his busy mind another and deeper anxiety lurked. He would sen Magdalene to Ghent, into safety. He hoped she woul consent to go; he would know no peace of mind if she were left in this unfortified and perilously vulnerable town.
The stir in the Quartermaster-General's office, the departure of deputy-assistants charged with the swift delivery of orders to the divisions of the Army, infected the rest of the staff with a feeling of expectation and suppressed excitement. A few moderate spirits continued to maintain their belief in the attack's being nothing more than an affair of outposts; but the general opinion was that the Anglo-Allied Army would shortly be engaged. Colonel Audley went to his brother's house at seven, to dress for the ball, and on his way through the Park encountered a tall rifleman with a pair of laughing eyes, and a general air of devil-may-care. He thrust out his hand. "Kincaid!"
The rifleman grinned at him. "A staff officer with a worried frown! What's the news?"
"There's damned little of it. Are you going to the ball tonight?"
"What, the Duchess of Richmond's? Now, Audley. do I move in those exalted circles? Of course I'm not! However, several of ours are, so the honour of the regiment will be upheld. They tell me there's going to be a war. A real guerra al cuchillo!"
"Where do you get your information?" retorted the Colonel.
"Ah, we hear things, you know! Come along, out with it! What's the latest from the frontier?"
"Nada, nada, nada!" said the Colonel.
"Yes, you look as though there were nothing. All alike, you staff officers: close as oysters! My people have been singing Ahe Marmont all the afternoon."
"There's been no news sent off later than nine this morning. Are your pack-saddles ready?"
Kincaid cocked an eyebrow. "More or less. They won't be wanted before tomorrow, at all events, will they."
"I don't know, but I'll tell you this, Johnny: if you've any preparations to make, I wouldn't, if I were you, delay so long. Goodbye!"
Kincaid gave a low whistle. "That's the way it is, is it? Thank you, I'll see to it!"
Colonel Audley waved to him and strode on. When he reached Worth's house he found that both Worth and Judith were in their rooms, dressing for the ball. He ran up the stairs to his own apartment, and began to strip off his clothes. He was standing before the mirror in his shirt and gleaming white net pantaloons, brushing his hair, when Worth presently walked in.
"Hallo, Charles! So you go to the ball, do you? Is there any truth in the rumours that are running round the town?"
"The Prussians were attacked this morning. That's all we know. The Great Man's inclined to think it a feint. He doesn't think Boney will advance towards Charleroi: the roads are too bad. It's more likely the real attack will be on our right centre. Throw me over that sash, there's a good fellow!"
Worth gave it him, and watched him swathe the silken folds round his waist, so that the fringed ends fell gracefully down one thigh. The Colonel gave a last touch to the black stock about his neck, and struggled into his embroidered coat.
"Are you dining with us?"
"No, I dined early with the Duke. I don't know when I shall get to the ball: we've orders to remain at Headquarters."
"That sounds as though something is in the wind."
"Oh, there is something in the wind," said the Colonel, flicking one hessian boot with his handkerchief "God knows what, though! We're expecting to hear from Mons at any moment."
He picked up his gloves and cocked hat, charged Worth to make his excuses to Judith, and went back to the Rue Royale.
The Duke was in his dressing-room when, later in the evening, Baron Muffling came round to Headquarters with a despatch from Gneisenau, at Namur, but he called the Baron in to him immediately. The despatch confirmed the earlier tidings sent by Ziethen, and announced that Blucher was concentrating at Sombreffe, near the village of Ligny. General Gneisenau wanted to know what the Duke's intentions were, but the Duke was still obstinately awaiting news from Mons. He stood by the table, in his shirt-sleeves, an odd contrast to the Prussian in his splendid dress-uniform, and said with a note of finality in his voice which the Baron had begun to know well: "It is impossible for me to resolve on a point of concentration till I shall have received the Intelligence from Mons. When it arrives I will Immediately advise you."
There was nothing for Muffling to do but to withdraw. If he chafed at the delay, he gave no sign of it. He was aware of the Duke's obsession that the attack would fall on his right, and though he did not share this belief he was wise enough to perceive that nothing would be gained by argument. He went back to his own quarters to make out his report to Blucher, keeping a courier at his door to be in readiness to ride off as soon as he should have discovered the Duke's intentions.
The long-awaited news from Mons came in soon after he left the Duke. There had been no further Intelligence from Ziethen all day: what had occurred before Charleroi was still a matter for conjecture; and the despatch from Mons contained no tidings from Colonel Grant, but had been sent in by General Dornberg, who reported that he had no enemy in front of him, but believed the entire French Army to be turned toward Charleroi.
It now seemed certain that a concerted move was being made upon Charleroi, but whether the town had fallen or was still in Prussian hands, how far the French had penetrated across the frontier, was still unknown. After a few minutes' reflection, the Duke sent for De Lancey, and dictated his After-Orders. The Disposition of the Dutch-Belgic divisions at Nivelles was to remain unchanged; the 1st and 4th British Divisions were ordered to move on Braine-le-Comte and Enghien; Alten's 3rd Division to move from Braine-le-Comte to Nivelles, and all other divisions to march on Mont St Jean.
The Duke gave his directions in his clear, concise way, finished his toilet, and, a little time before midnight, drove round to General Müffling's quarter . Muffling had been watching the clock for the past hour. but he received the Duke without the least appearance of impatience.
"Well! I've got news from Dornberg," said his lordship briskly. "Orders for the concentration of my Army at Nivelles and Quatre-Bras are already despatched. Now, I'll tell you what, Baron: you and I will go to the Duchess's ball, and start for Quatre-Bray in the morning. You know all Bonaparte's friends in this town will be on tiptoe. The well-intentioned will be pacified if we go, and it will stop our people from getting into a panic."
The ball had been in progress for some time when the Duke's party arrived in the Rue de la Blanchisserie. All the Belgian and Dutch notables were present; the Prince of Orange, the Duke of Brunswick, the British Ambassador, the foreign commissioners, the Earl o: Uxbridge, Lord Hill, and such a host of generals with their aides-de-camp, fashionable young Guardsmen and officers of cavalry regiments, that the lilac crape and figured muslins were rendered insignificant by the scarlet and gold which so overpoweringly predominated. Jealous eyes dwelled from time to time on Barbara Childe, who, with what Lady Francis Webster almost tearfully described as fiendish cunning, had appeared midway through the evening in a gown of unrelieved white satin, veiled by silver net drapery a l'Ariane. Nobody else had had such forethought; indeed, complained Lady John Somerset, who but Bab Childe would have the audacity to wear a gown like a bridal robe at a ball? The puces swore faintly at the scarlet uniforms; the celestial blues and the pale greens died; but the white satin turned all the gold-encrusted magnificence into a background to set it off.
"One comfort is that that head of hers positively shrieks at the uniforms!" said a lady in a Spanish Bodice and petticoat.
Barbara had come with the Vidals, but Lavisse was missing from her usual escort. None of the officers invited from General Perponcher's division had put in an appearance, a circumstance which presently began to cause a little uneasiness. No one knew just what was happening on the frontier, but wild rumours had been current all day, and the news of the Army's having been but in motion had begun to spread.
It was a very hot night, and the young people, overcoming the prudence of their elders, had had the windows opened in the ballroom. But hardly a breath of air stirred the long curtains, and young gentlemen in tight socks and high collars had begun to mop their brows and agonise over the possible wilting of the starched points of shirt-collars, so nattily protruding above the folds of their black cravats.
The ballroom formed a wing of its own to the left of the hall, and had an alcove at one end and a small ante-room at the other. It was prepared with a charming trellis pattern of roses and had several french windows on each side of it. It opened on to a passage that ran the length of the house, bisecting the hall in the middle. At the back of the hall, and immediately opposite the front door, was the entrance to the garden, with the dining-room on one side of it and two small apartments, one of which the Duke of Richmond used as a study, on the other. A fine staircase and billiard-room flanked the front door. The Duke's study was inhospitably closed, but every other room on the ground floor had been flung open. Candles burned everywhere; and banks of roses and lilies, anxiously sprinkled from time to time by the servants, overcame the hot smell of wax with their heavier scent.
Everything that could make the ball the most brilliant of the season had been done. There was no Catalani in Brussels to sing at the party, but the Duchess had a much more original surprise for her guests than the trills of a mere prima donna. She had contrived to get some of the sergeants and privates of the 42nd Royal Highlanders and the 92nd Foot to dance reels and strathspeys to the music of their own pipes. It was a spectacle that enchanted everyone scarlet, and rifle-green, and the blaze of hussar jacket were at a discount when the weird sound of the pipes began and the Highlanders came marching in with their kilts swinging, tartans swept over their left shoulders, huge white sporrans bobbing, and the red chequered patterns of their stockings twinkling in the quick steps of the reel. A burst of clapping greeted their appearance; the strathspeys and the sword-dance called forth shouts of Bravo! One daring young lady threw the rose she had been wearing at a blushing private; everyone began to laugh, one or two ladies followed her example, and the Highlanders retired presently, almost overwhelmed by the admiration they had evoked.
But when the skirl of the pipes had died away and the orchestra struck up a waltz, the brief period of forgetfulness left the company. The young people thronged on to the floor again, but older guests gathered into little groups, discussing the rumours, and buttonholing every general officer who happened to be passing. None of the generals could give the anxious any news; they all said they had heard nothing fresh even Uxbridge and Hill, who, it was thought, must have received certain intelligence. Hill wore his habitual placid smile; Uxbridge was debonair, and put all questions aside with a light-heartedness he was far from feeling. He had had, earlier in the evening, a somewhat disconcerting interview with the Duke. He stood next to him in seniority, and would have liked a little Information himself. He had been warned not to ask questions of the Duke if he wished to avoid a snub, but he had prevailed upon Alava, whom he knew to be a personal friend of Wellington, to pave the way for him. But it had not been very successful. "Plans! I have no plans!" had exclaimed his lordship. "I shall be guided by circumstances." Uxbridge had stood silent. His Lordship, using a milder tone, had clapped him on the shoulder, and added: "One thing is certain: you and I will both do our duty, Uxbridge."
The Duke's absence from the ball increased the uneasiness that had lurked in everyone's mind all day. When he arrived soon after midnight, Georgiana Lennox darted off the floor towards him, dragging Lord Hay by the hand, and demanded breathlessly "Oh, Duke, do pray tell me! Are the rumours true? Is it war?"
He replied gravely: "Yes, they are true: we are off tomorrow."
She turned pale; his words, overheard by those standing near, were repeated, and spread quickly round the ballroom. The music went on, and some of the dancing, but the chatter died, only to break out again voices sharper, and a note of excitement audible in the medley of talk. Officers who had ridden in from a distance to attend the ball hurried away to rejoin their regiments, some with sober faces, some wildly elate: some lingering to exchange touching little keepsakes with girls in flower-like dresses who had stopped laughing, and clung with frail, unconscious hands to scarlet sleeve, or the fur border of a pelisse. One or two general officers went up to confer with the Duke, and then returned to their partners, saying cheerfully that there was no need for anyone to be alarmed: they were not going to the war yet; time enough to think of that when the ball was over.
From scores of faces the polite company mask seemed to have slipped. People had forgotten that at balls they must smile, and hide whatever care or grief they owned under bright, artificial fronts. Some of the senior officers were looking grave; here and there a rigid, meaningless smile was pinned to a mother's white face, or a girl stood with a fallen mouth, and blank eyes fixed on a scarlet uniform. A queer, almost greedy emotion shone in many countenances. Life had become suddenly an urgent business, racing towards disaster, and the craving for excitement, the breathless moment compound of fear, and grief, and exaltation, when the mind sharpened, and the senses were stretched as taut as the strings of a violin, surged up under the veneer of good manners, and shone behind the dread in shocked young eyes. For all the shrinking from tragedy looming ahead, there was yet an unacknowledged eagerness to hurry to meet whatever horror lurked in the future; if existence were to sink back to the humdrum, there would be disappointment behind the relief, and a sense of frustration.
The ball went on; couples, hesitating at first, drifted back into the waltz; Sir William Ponsonby seized a girl in a sprigged muslin dress round the waist, and said gaily: "Come along! I can't miss this! It is quite my favourite tune!"
Georgiana felt a tug at her sleeve, and turned to find Hay stammering with excitement, his eyes blazing. "Georgy We're going to war! Going into action against Boney himself! Oh, I say, come back and dance this! Was there ever anything so splendid?"
"How can you, Hay?" she exclaimed. "You don't know what you are talking about!"
"Don't I, by Jove! Why, we've been living for this moment!"
"I won't listen to you! It's not splendid: it's the most dreadful thing that has ever happened!"
"But, Georgy -!"
"Go and find someone else to dance with you!" she said, almost crying, and turned away from him to seek refuge beside Lady Worth.
Hay stared after her in a good deal of astonishment. but was diverted from his purpose of following her to make his peace by having his arm grasped by a kindred spirit. "Hay, have you heard?" said Harry Alastair eagerly. "Ours have been ordered to Braine-le-Comtz I'm off immediately! Are you coming? Oh no, of course You'll stay for General Maitland. By Jove, won't we give the French a hiding! There's Audley! I must speak to him before I go!"
He darted off to where the Colonel was standing in conversation with Lord Robert Manners, and stood impatient but decorous, until it should please the Colonel to notice him. This Audley soon did, smiling tc see him so obviously fretting to be off.
"Hallo, Harry! You've got your wish, you see!"
"By Gad, haven't I just! I only came up to say goodbye and wish you luck. I'm off to Braine-le-Comte, you know. It's my first engagement! Lord won't some of the fellows at home be green with envy!"
"Well, mind you capture an Eagle," said the Colonel holding out his hand. "I daresay I shall run up against you sometime or other, but in case I don't, the best of luck to you. Take care of yourself!"
Lord George Alastair came striding out of the ante-room behind them as Harry wrung the Colonel's hand. He merely nodded to the Colonel, but said curtly to his brother: "Are you off, Harry? I'll go with you as far as the centre of the town. I'm for Ninove. Where are you for?"
"Braine-le-Comte. You don't look very cheerful, I must say. Been bidding someone a tender farewell?"
"That's it: come along, now!"
"Wait a bit, here's Bab!"
Colonel Audley turned his head quickly, and saw Barbara coming across the room towards him. Her eyes were fixed on her brothers, but, as though she were conscious of his gaze, she glanced in his direction and blushed.
Colonel Audley thrust a hand which he found to be shaking slightly in Lord Robert's arm, and walked away with him.
The Duke had gone to sit beside Lady Helen Dalrymple on the sofa. She found him perfectly amiable but preoccupied, breaking off his conversation with her every now and then to call some officer to him to receive a brief instruction. The Prince of Orange and the Duke of Brunswick both conferred with him for some minutes, and then left the ball together, the Prince heedless of everything but the excitement of the moment, the Duke calm, bestowing his grave smile on an acquaintance encountered in the doorway, not forgetting to take his punctilious leave of his hostess.
A few minutes later, Colonel Audley went up to Judith and touched her arm, saying quietly: "I'm off, Judith. Tell Worth, will you? I haven't time to look for him."
She clasped his hands. "Oh, Charles! Where?"
"Only to Ath, with a message, but it's urgent. I'm unlikely to return to Brussels tonight. Don't be alarmed will you? You will see what a dressing we shall give Boney!"
The next instant he was gone, slipping out of the ballroom without any other leave-taking than a word to his hostess. Others followed him, but in spite of the many departures there seemed to be no empty places in the dining-room when the guests presently went in to supper. Tables were arranged round the room; the junior officers, under the wing of Lord William Lennox with an arm in a sling and bandages and sticking plaster adorning his head, crowded round the sideboard, and were honoured by Lord Uxbridge' calling out to them, with a brimming glass held in his hand: "A glass of wine with the sidetable!"
The Duke sat with Georgiana beside him, he seemed to be in good spirits; his loud laugh kept breaking out; he had given Georgiana a miniature of himself, done by a Belgian artist, and was protesting jokingly at her showing it to those seated near them.
Supper had hardly begun when the Prince of Orange came into the room, looking very serious. He went straight to the Duke, and bent over him, whispering in his ear.
A despatch had been brought in by one of his aides-de-camp from Baron Constant at Braine-le-Comte. It was dated as late as 10.30p.m., and reported that Charleroi had fallen not two hours after Ziethen's solitary message had been sent off that morning. The French had advanced twenty miles into Belgian territory. The Prussians had been attacked at Sombreffe by Grouchy, with Vandamme's Corps in support, and had fallen back on Fleurus; Ney had pushed forward on the left to Frasnes, south of Quatre-Bras, with an advance guard of cavalry, but had encountered there Prince Bernhard of Saxe-Weimar, who, taking the law courageously into his own hands, had moved forward from Genappe with one Nassau battalion and a battery of horse artillery. A skirmish had taken place, but Ney had apparently had insufficient infantry to risk an engagement. He had made some demonstrations, but the handful of troops opposed to him had held their ground, and at seven o'clock he had bivouacked for the aight. Prince Bernhard had reported the affair to General Perponcher, who, wisely ignoring the Duke's positive orders to assemble his division at Nivelles, had directed it instead on the hamlet and crossroads of Quatre-Bras.
The Duke listened to these tidings with an unmoved countenance. He saw that everyone in the room was watching him, and said in a loud voice: "Very well! I have no fresh orders to give. I advise your Royal highness to go back to your quarters and to bed."
The Prince, whose air of suppressed excitement had escaped no one, withdrew; the Duke resumed his conversation. But the impression created by the prince's reappearance was not to be banished; except among those who had no relatives engaged in the operations, conversation had become subdued, and faces that had worn smiles an hour earlier now looked a little haggard in the glare of the candlelight. No one was surprised when the Duke went up to his host. saying cheerfully: "I think it's time for me to go to bed likewise." In the distance could be heard the ominous sound of bugles calling to arms; dancing seemed out of place, the Duke's departure was for most of those present a welcome sign of the party's breaking up .Wives exchanged nods with their husbands; mothers tried to catch heedless daughters' eyes; Georgiana Lennox stole away to help her brother March pack up.
The Duke said under his breath: "Have you a got map in the house, Richmond?"
Richmond nodded, and led him to his study. The Duke shut the door and said abruptly: "Napoleon has humbugged me, by God! He has gained twenty-four hours' march on me."
He walked over to the desk, and bent over the map Richmond had spread out on it, and studied it for moment or two in silence.
Richmond stood watching him, startled by what he had said and wondering a little that no anxiety shoul be apparent in his face. "What do you intend doing?" he asked presently.
"I've ordered the Army to concentrate on Quatre Bras," replied his lordship. "But we shan't stop him there, and if so, I must fight him here." As he spoke he drew his thumbnail across the map below the village of Waterloo, and straightened himself. "I'll be off home and get some sleep."
In the ballroom a few determined couples were stilt dancing, but with the departure of the officers the zest had gone from the most carefree young female. Ladies were collecting their wraps, carriages were being called for, and a stream of guests were filing past the Duchess of Richmond, returning thanks and taking leave.
Judith, who had gone upstairs to fetch her cloak, was startled, on her way down again, to encounter Barbara, her train caught over her arm, and in her face an expression of the most painful anxiety. She put out her hand impulsively, grasping Judith's wrist, and said in a strangled voice: "Charles! Where is he?"
"My brother-in-law left the ball before supper," replied Judith.
"0 God!" The hand left Judith's wrist and gripped the banister-rail. "He is in Brussels? Yes, yes, he is still in Brussels! Tell me, confound you, tell me!"
There was a white agony in her face, but Judith was unmoved by it. She said: "He is not in Brussels, nor will he return. I wish you goodnight, Lady Barbara."
She passed on down the stairs to where Worth stood waiting for her. Their carriage was at the door; in another minute they had entered it, and were being driven out of the gates in the direction of the centre of the town.
Judith leaned back in her corner, trying to compose her spirits. Worth took her hand presently, and held it lightly in his own. "What is it, my dear?"
"That woman!" she said in a low voice. "Barbara Childe! She dared to ask me where Charles had gone. I could have struck her in the face for her effrontery! She let Charles go like that - unhappy, all his old gaiety quite vanished!" She found that tears were running down her face, and broke off to wipe them away. "Don't let us speak of it! I am tired, and stupid. I shall be better directly."
He was silent, but continued to hold her hand. After a minute or two she said in a calmer tone: "That noise. It seems to thud in my brain. What is it?"
"The drums beating to war," he replied. "The Reserve is being put into motion at once."
She shuddered. As the carriage drew nearer to the Park, the coachman was obliged to curb his horses to a walk, and sometimes bring them to a complete standstill. There was scarcely a house in Brussels where soldiers were not billeted; the sound of the trumpet and the drums brought them out, knapsacks slung over their shoulders, coats unbuttoned, and shakos crammed on askew. Some had wives running beside them; others had their arms round Belgian sweethearts; one Highlander was carrying a little boy on his shoulder while the child's parents, who had been his hosts walked beside with his knapsack and his musket.
In the great Place Royale a scene of indescribable confusion resigned. The sky was already paling towards dawn, and in the ghostly grey light men, horses. wagons, gun-carriages seemed to be inextricably mixed. Wagons were being loaded, and commissariat trains harnessed; the air was full of a medley of noises: the stamp of hooves on the cobbles, the rumble of wheels, the jingle of harness, the sudden neigh of a horse and the indistinguishable chatter of many voices. An officer called sharply; someone was whistling a popular air; a mounted man rode past; a Colour waved. Soldiers were sitting on the pavement, some sleeping on packs of straw, others checking the contents of their knapsacks.
Judith, who had been leaning forward in the carriage, intent upon the scene, turned suddenly towards Worth.
"Let us get out!"
"Do you care to? You are not too tired?"
"No. I want to see."
He opened the door and stepped down on to the cobbles, and turned to give his hand to her. She stood beside him while he spoke with the coachman, and then took his arm. They made their way slowly across the Place. No one paid any heed to them; occasionally a soldier brushed past them, or they had to draw aside to allow a wagon to go by, or to pick their way through a tangle of ropes, canteens, corn-sacks, bill-hooks, nose-bags, and all the paraphernalia of an army on the move.
They reached the farther side of the Place at length, and stood for some time watching order grow out of the confusion. Regiments were forming one after the other, and marching down the Rue de Namur towards the Namur Gate. The steady tramp of boots made an undercurrent of sound audible through the shrill blare of the trumpets and the ceaseless beat of the drums. Some of the men sang; some whistled; the riflemen began to form up, and a voice from their ranks shouted: 'The first in the field and the last out of it: the bloody, sighting Ninety-fifth!" A roar went up; hundreds of voices chanted the slogan. Indifferent-eyed Flemish women, driving market-carts full of vegetables into Brussels from the neighbouring countryside, stared incuriously; an order rang out; another regiment moved forward.
Once Worth bent over Judith, asking: "Are you not tired? Shall we go home?"
She shook her head.
At four o'clock the sun was shining. In the Park, the pipes were playing Hieland Laddie. The sound of them drew nearer, the tread of feet grew to a rhythmic thunder. The Highland Brigade came marching through the Place in the first rays of the sunlight pipe-majors strutting ahead, ribbons fluttering from the bagpipes, huge fur headdresses nodding, and kilts swinging.
"Were they some of those men who danced for us tonight?" Judith asked, recognising a tartan.
"Yes."
She was silent, watching them pass through the Place and out of sight. When the music of the pipes was faint in the distance, she said, with a sigh: "Let us go home now, Julian. I shall remember this night as long as I live. I think."