The Spanish Bride (56 page)

‘Depend upon it, the Duke has been forced to retreat to maintain his communications with the Prussians,’ said Lambert. ‘We’ll push on, if you please.’

There was not much accommodation to be had at Epinay, but Harry put his General and his wife into a tolerable cottage, and left them there while he went off to see the brigade bivouacked for the night. More foreign troops came galloping from the front, spreading a story that the enemy cavalry was actually threatening the Duke’s communication with Brussels; bugles began to blow; the soldiers hastily stowed away the rations they had not had time to eat, and ran to the alarm-posts in front of the village.

Harry rode back to Lambert’s headquarters, and found him sitting quietly down to dinner with Juana and his ADC.

‘Well, Smith, what’s all the commotion?’

‘Some Belgian troops who have just passed through the village, Sir John, say that the enemy’s cavalry are threatening the Duke’s communication lines.’ ‘Oh, do they?’ said Lambert. ‘A pretty set of fellows! Let the troops dismiss: it’s all nonsense! Depend upon it, there is not a French soldier in the rear of his Grace! Sit down to dinner! My butler bought a fine turbot in Brussels, and we are just about to eat it.’ ‘Save some for me, sir. I’ll go and reconnoitre a little.’

‘If that husband of yours doesn’t wear himself out before he’s thirty, he’ll make a very fine General one of these days,” remarked Lambert, as the door shut behind Harry. ‘I never knew such an energetic fellow in my life! Are you sure that habit of yours is quite dry, my dear?’ It was some time before Harry returned. He reported that he had ridden through the forest to the village of Waterloo, just beyond it, and had found a long line of baggage there, retreating in a leisurely fashion that made it certain that the alarm had been false. He was plastered with dirt, and he said that the road was in a deplorable condition, and all the surrounding country deep in mud. As far as he had been able to ascertain from the various conflicting stories he had listened to, the army was retiring to a position in front of the village of Mont St Jean, a little to the south of Waterloo, on the Charleroi chaussee. It seemed to be true enough that the Prussians had suffered a heavy defeat at Ligny, on the previous day, and had fallen back on Wavre, eighteen miles to the rear; but everyone he had spoken to was agreed that the action at Quatre-Bras had ended in the Duke’s favour. ‘Ha!’ said Lambert. ‘That’s not the real thing. We shall see a major engagement tomorrow.’ ‘If the weather’s anything to go by, we shall,’ agreed Harry. ‘We’re in for a true Wellington-night.’

6

The rain continued all night, and a ceaseless rumble of baggage-wagons passing through the village towards Brussels made sleep almost impossible. In the small hours, orders came for the brigade to move up to Mont St Jean. The troops assembled at the alarm-posts at dawn, and were about to move on when Sir George Scovell, AOJMG at headquarters, came up, saying that he had been sent by the Duke to see that the rear was clear. ‘Clear, my God!’ he exclaimed. ‘It’s choked all the way to the front, and here’s his lordship expecting to be attacked immediately! Your brigade must clear the road before you move on, Smith.’

‘The devil it must! Well, I can tell you this, Scovell, our fellows are so on fire to get up to the front they’ll clear the road quicker than any magician could! But how is it going?’ ‘Oh, we licked Ney, and Boney licked Blücher, and the result is that the Duke has drawn the army up where he always meant to. If the Prussians come up, there’ll be an end to Boney; if they don’t, may the Lord help us! Picton’s holding the left wing, but he’s devilish weak. His losses at Quatre-Bras were shocking, you know. I fancy you’ll be ordered up to support him, if Blücher can’t get there in time.’

Harry went off to report the order to clear the road to Lambert. He found Juana just finishing a very early breakfast, and said abruptly: ‘I’m sending you back to Brussels with West.’ Her face fell ludicrously. ‘Oh, Enrique, no!’

‘Yes, don’t argue! I’ve just seen Scovell, and it’s as plain as a pikestaff that we’re in for a stiff fight. You must stay with the baggage: God knows what the end is going to be!’ “The Duke has never lost a battle, Enrique!’

‘No, and by Jupiter he won’t today! But you’ll stay with the baggage, for all that. It’s an order, querida.’

She swallowed a lump in her throat. ‘Muy bien. But I think you do not know the agony of waiting in the rear, out of reach, not knowing what may have become of you!’ ‘Yes, my darling, I do know, but I dare not let you stay here. If we were forced to fall back suddenly, you might even be taken prisoner. Come! you are too good a soldier to question your orders!”

She nodded. ‘It is true. I will go.’ ‘Kiss me then—un beso de despedida!’

She clung to him, passionately embracing him. ‘Enrique, mi querido, mi esposo!’ ‘Till we meet again!’ he said, holding her tightly.

‘Enrique, if—

if we do not meet again, I want to tell you how happy I have been, how very happy!’ ‘And I, my soul! But what is this nonsense? Viva Enrique!’

‘I am afraid, more afraid than ever before! This time it is Napoleon himself! Oh, if I could only go with you, stay beside you, share it all with you!’

‘Very much in the way you’d be, hija, I assure you! One last kiss!’ ‘Don’t say that!’ she cried sharply. ‘It is a bad omen!’ But he only laughed, and told her not to be a goose.

West soon had the Brass Mare saddled; he put Juana into the saddle, and handed Vitty up to her; and in a few minutes they had started on their ride back to Brussels. It took them some time to reach the town, and when they got there they found Juana’s own groom standing guard over her baggage in the market-place, while Matty sat upon her bundle, from time to time wiping her eyes with the corner of her shawl. She had been bewailing her lot to Jenkins, and regretting that she had ever been fool enough to leave dear, safe Whittlesey, but she quite cheered up when she saw Juana, and began to think that now, surely, she would be able to go into a house, instead of sitting in the open. But just as Juana rode into Brussels, an order came for the whole baggage-train to evacuate the town, and move on the road towards Antwerp. Since Harry had ordered her to remain with the baggage-train, she felt obliged to accompany it, but it was with a very heavy heart that she left Brussels. The movement of the train of carts and sumpters was necessarily slow; it was a long time before it had all passed out of the northern gate, and when the canal, some miles beyond Brussels, was at last crossed, it was going on for four o’clock in the afternoon. No firing was heard in the rear, a circumstance which made Juana feel lighter-hearted, until she overheard one of the mule-drivers remarking that the wind was in the wrong quarter to carry any sound from the front to Brussels.

The train halted at a village on the other side of the canal; Juana and Matty went into a small inn, while West, leaving Jenkins to mind the horses, tried to induce the innkeeper, who seemed quite distracted, to prepare some kind of a meal for his mistress. He had just seen a pan of bacon and eggs put on the stove, when the alarm was sounded. He ran out, to be met by the intelligence that the French had carried the day, and were upon them. How much truth there was in the story he had no opportunity of ascertaining, for the whole village was instantly plunged into confusion. His master’s orders had been definite; he shouted to Juana to come downstairs quickly, and ran to bring the Brass Mare to the door of the inn. ‘But what has happened?’ Juana cried.

‘I don’t know, missus, but they do say as the French are coming. There’s no time to be lost: you must go to Antwerp at once. Ah, stand, will you?’

The last sentence was addressed to the Brass Mare, who had taken fright at all the commotion round her, and was plunging and rearing in some alarm. It was as much as West could do to toss Juana into the saddle. She managed to reach it at last, and to settle herself securely. ‘Vitty, West! Give me Vitty!’ she commanded patting the mare’s neck soothingly. Still retaining his grasp on the bridle, above the bit, West bent, lifted Vitty by the scruff of her fat little neck, and put her into Juana’s lap. Thinking that he was holding the mare, Juana let the rein fall for a moment, while she disposed the pug more safely. At the same instant, West let go of the bridle. The Brass Mare, finding herself held only on a light snaffle, leaped forward, nearly unseating Juana, and bolted down the road at full stretch. The snaffle was almost useless, for no amount of pulling on it had any effect on the mare. So headlong was the pace, and so hampered was Juana by having poor, frightened Vitty in her lap, that for the first mile or two she had the greatest difficulty in retaining her seat. The heavy rainstorm of the previous day had turned the road into a slough of black mud, with water lying in all the pits and ruts, and it was not long before she was plastered with dirt. Every effort to recover the loose curb-rein failed; the mare bore straight on without the least check, galloping through the small town of Malines with such fury that Juana’s heart was in her mouth; and rapidly overhauling on the road every horseman, or carriage bound for Antwerp. There were plenty of these, the stream of fugitives from Brussels having continued to leave the capital ever since the first sounds of firing had been heard two days before, but Juana had no leisure to observe them with any particularity. She was quite out of breath, but not too much alarmed to reflect that the Brass Mare was exhibiting a staying-power and a turn of speed which made her invaluable as a campaigner.

She had galloped quite a mile beyond Malines before Juana was able to check her. A wagon, lying upset across the road, loomed ahead; Juana tried with all the strength remaining to her to turn the mare, but she would not answer to the snaffle, and bore straight on, charging down upon the wagon. It was far too large an obstacle for any horse to clear, and for a few rather horrible moments it seemed certain to Juana that she was going to be dashed to pieces. The Brass Mare gathered herself for the leap, but as she did so the loose curb-rein caught, and she came to a sudden stop, which threw Juana, still clutching Vitty, forward on to her neck.

Fortunately, the mare was as out of breath as her mistress. Juana managed to get back into the saddle before she could career off again, and to possess herself of the curb-rein. The mare still seemed very much excited, but with the curb held firmly between her fingers Juana felt herself safe. She straightened her habit, tucked away the strands of hair which had been blown from under her hat, and, hearing the sound of horses coming up behind her, looked round. To her dismay, she saw some five or six men, whom she took to be French Dragoons, bearing down upon her. She was so exhausted that she, made no attempt, to escape, but told Vitty in a despairing way that if she was to be taken prisoner she might as well surrender at once.

However, the first of the horsemen to reach her was her own groom. With remarkable presence of mind, he had seized the second of the horses Harry had bought at Newmarket as soon as he saw the Brass Mare bolting with his mistress, and had made off after her as fast as he could, and without so much as listening to West’s commands to him on no account to go off with Master’s charger.

‘Oh, thank heaven it is you, Jenkins!’ said Juana. ‘I was afraid those men were French Dragoons!’

‘Not they, mum. Deserters, that’s what they are!’ exclaimed Jenkins scornfully. ‘Fair scared out of their wits, the way you’d think they’d be ashamed for anyone to see them! Still, two of ’em’s Germans, and one’s a Commissary.’

‘Oh, a Commissary!’ said Juana, with a great deal of contempt. ‘If that is all—!’ But it was not quite all. Upon the horsemen’s drawing abreast of her, she discovered that one of them was an English Hussar officer. She was very much shocked to see him escaping in such a way, but as this was no time for indulging in quite useless demonstrations of disdain, she ranged along beside him, asking in her broken English if there were any danger.

‘Danger!’ he exclaimed. ‘When I left Brussels, the French were in pursuit down the hill!’ ‘Oh, sir, what shall I do?’ Juana cried, appalled by this news.

‘Come on to Antwerp with me! I’ll take care of you.’

She was too much shocked to reflect that an officer who deserted his regiment in a moment of danger would hardly be likely to prove a very trustworthy escort. He did not show any disposition to pull up; he had not, in fact, drawn rein at all; so, as the Brass Mare seemed to have plenty of life left in her, Juana galloped on beside her new-found acquaintance. She naturally wanted to know all he could tell her about the battle, but although he seemed willing enough to talk it was evident that he had left the field too early in the day to be able to tell her much. He said that the French were opposed to them in great numbers, and with an overwhelming force of cavalry. The action had begun at eleven o’clock, with such a cannonade as he had never in his life experienced. One of the semi-fortified country houses of the district, called the Chateau de Hougoumont, which was being held by a detachment of Coldstream Guards, under Colonel MacDonnell, in advance of the extreme right of the line, had immediately been assailed by Reille’s division; it must by this time, the Hussar thought, have fallen into the enemy’s hands, for it had been set on fire by bursting shells before he had left the field, and it must have been impossible for a single brigade of Guards to have held it in the teeth of the whole of Reille’s division. The rest of his narrative was too disjointed to be readily understood. He spoke in a hurried way of huge columns of Frenchmen advancing down the hill like a mighty tide upon the attenuated British line on the reverse slope; he said that a whole brigade of Belgians had broken before them, and had fled to’ the shelter of the forest; that there was no sign of any Prussian troops coming up in support; that there could be no standing up against the weight of men and of artillery opposed to them. He knew nothing of Lambert’s brigade, nor could he tell where the 95th Rifles were placed. He had the impression that he had left all in the most dreadful confusion. She gave a moan of dismay, which reached the ears of the other Englishman in the party, the Commissary, a narrow-faced man, who said roughly: ‘You deserve no pity! You may well be fatigued, carrying that dog! Throw it down!’