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 Allée 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 by noon 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 meant it? Confound her, why can’t she give Charles a little peace?’
Sir Colin grunted. ‘He’ll be well rid of her,’ he said dourly. 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 maître d’hôtel the other day over the correct way to lay a table? He kept on saying: “Beefsteak, venez ici! Petty-patties, allez là!” till the poor man thought he was quite mad.’