He agreed that they must be going, and said in a rallying tone, as he shook hands with Judith: ‘Your ladyship will bear me out in assuring this little puss that there is no need for all this alarm. Ah, you may shake your head as much as you please, Missy, but you won’t make your old uncle believe that you haven’t lost that soft heart of yours to some handsome officer!’
No answer was vouchsafed; Lucy pressed Judith’s hand, bowed slightly to Barbara, and hurried out of the room. Mr Fisher begged Judith not to think of accompanying them to the door, again thanked her for receiving him, became aware that the butler was holding open the door for him, and bowed himself out.
A long, painful silence fell in the salon. Barbara had parted the curtains and was looking out into the street. ‘It is still raining,’ she remarked presently.
‘The thunder is less violent, I believe.’
‘Yes.’
Judith sat down, smoothing a crease from her dress. She said, without raising her eyes from her skirt: ‘I do not believe he cares for her.’
It was a moment before Barbara answered. She said then, in a level tone: ‘If he does, I have come by my deserts.’
There could be no gainsaying it. Judith said with a wry smile: ‘I wanted him to, you know.’
‘Don’t you still?’
‘No. These days seem to have altered everything. I did not want to receive you in my house, but your strength has supported me as I would not have believed it could. Whatever happened in the past, or whatever is to happen in the future, I can never forget the comfort your presence is to me now.’
Barbara turned her head. ‘You are generous!’ she said, a note of mockery in her voice. ‘But the other side of my character is true, too. Don’t set me up on a pedestal! I should certainly tumble down from it.’
At that moment Worth came into the room. He had changed into dry clothes, and said, in answer to Judith’s surprised exclamation, that he had come in while Mr Fisher and Miss Devenish were sitting with her. The next question was inevitable: ‘Is there any news?’
‘Yes, there is news,’ he replied. ‘It is disquieting, but I believe it may be accounted for by the Prussian defeat. The Allied Army is said to be retreating.’
Judith gazed at him in horror. Barbara said: ‘The devil it is! Confound you, I don’t believe it!’
‘It is a pity your sanguine temperament is not shared by others,’ he said dryly. ‘The whole town is in an uproar. I
am informed on credible authority that as much as a hundred napoleons have been offered for a pair of horses to go to Antwerp.’ He flicked open his snuff box and added in a languid tone: ‘My opinion of the human race has never been high, but the antics that are being performed at this moment exceed every expectation of folly with which I had previously indulged my fancy.’
‘I hope you observe that we at least are preserving our dignity!’ retorted Barbara.
‘I do, and I am grateful to you.’
‘But, Worth! A retreat!’ Judith cried.
‘Don’t disturb yourself, my love. Recollect that Wellington is a master in retreat. If the Prussians have fallen back, we must be obliged to do the same to maintain our communications with them. Until we hear that the retreat is a rout, I must—regretfully, of course—decline to join the rabble on the road to Antwerp.’
Judith could not help laughing, but said with a good deal of spirit: ‘Nothing, indeed, could be more odious. We certainly shall not talk of flight yet awhile.’
They dined at an early hour, but although both ladies were very tired from the exertions and the nervous stress they had undergone, neither could think of retiring to bed until further news had been received from the Army. They sat in the salon, trying to occupy themselves with ordinary sewing tasks, until Worth, with a glance at the clock, got up, saying that he would walk round to Stuart’s to discover if anything more had been heard. He left the room, and went downstairs to the hall. At the same moment, the ladies heard a knock on the street door, followed an instant later by the confused murmur of voices in the hall.
Twenty
Judith ran out to the head of the stairs. Worth called up to her: ‘It is Charles, Judith. All is well!’
‘Oh, bring him up! Bring him up!’ she begged. ‘Charles, I am so thankful! Come up at once!’
‘I’m in no fit state to enter your drawing-room, you know,’ Colonel Audley replied in a tired but cheerful voice.
‘Good God, what does that signify?’ She caught sight of him as she spoke, and exclaimed: ‘You are drenched to the skin! You must change your clothes immediately or Heaven knows what will become of you!’
He mounted the stairs, and as he came into the light cast by a sconce of candles Judith saw that his face was grey with fatigue, and his embroidered ball dress, which he still wore, saturated with rain and mud, a tear in one sleeve and the wristband of his shirt stained with blood.
‘You are hurt!’ she said quickly.
‘No, I assure you I am not. Nothing but a cut from a bayonet: it scarcely broke the skin. I am only sleepy, and very hungry, upon my honour!’