merrymakers, but in spite of rumours and alarms the theatre parties, the concerts, and the balls had still gone on, and only a few prudent souls had left Brussels. There was, however, a general feeling of uneasiness.
Vienna, where the Duke of Wellington was attending Congress, was a long way from Brussels, and whatever the Prince of Orange's personal daring might be it was not felt that two years spent in the Peninsula as one of the Duke's aides-de-camp were enough to qualify a young gentleman not yet twenty-four for the command of an army to be pitted against Napoleon Bonaparte. Indeed, the Prince's first impetuous actions, and the somewhat indiscreet language he held, alarmed serious people not a little. The Prince entertained no doubt of being able to account for Bonaparte; he talked of invading France at the head of the Allied troops; wrote imperative demands to England for more men , more munitions; invited General Kleist to march his Prussians along the Meuse to effect a junction with him and showed himself in general to be so magnificently oblivious of the fact that England was not at war with France, that the embarrassed Government in some haste despatched Lieutenant-General Lord Hill to explain the peculiar delicacy of the situation to him.
The choice of mentor was a happy one. A trifle elated the Prince of Orange was in a brittle mood, ready to resent the least interference in his authority. General Clinton, whom he disliked, and Sir Hudson Lowe , whom he thought a Prussianised martinet, found themselves unable to influence his judgment, and succeeded only in offending. But no one had ever been known to take offence at Daddy Hill. He arrived in Brussels looking more like a country squire than a distinguished general, and took the jealous young commander gently in hand. The anxious breathed again; the Prince of Orange might be in a little huff at the prospect of being soon relieved of his command, but he was no longer refractory, and was soon able to write to Lord Bathurst, in London, announcing the gratifying intelligence that although it would have been mortifying to him to give up his command to anyone else, to the Duke he could do it with pleasure; and could even engage to serve him with as great a zeal as when he had been his aide-de-camp.
'I shall never forget that period of my life,' wrote the Prince, forgetting his injuries in a burst of enthusiasm. 'I owe everything to it; and if I now may hope to be of use to my country it is to the experience I acquired under him that I have to attribute it.'
Such a frame of mind augured well for the future; but the task of controlling the Prince's martial activities continued to be a difficult one. The British Ambassador to The Hague transferred his establishment to Brussels with the principal motive of assisting Lord Hill in his duty, and found it so arduous that he more than once wrote to the Duke to tell him how necessary was his presence in Brussels. 'You will see that I have spared no efforts to keep the Prince quiet,' wrote Sir Charles Stuart in his plain style… 'Under these circumstances I leave you to judge of the extreme importance we all attach to your early arrival.'
Meanwhile, though the Congress at Vienna might declare Napoleon to be hors la loi, every day saw French Royalists hurrying a little ignominiously over the frontier. Louis XVIII, yet another of Europe's uninspiring monarchs, removed his Court from Paris to Ghent, and placidly explained that he had been all the while impelled, in France, to employ untrustworthy persons because none whom he could trust were fit to be employed. Certainly it did not seem as though anyone except his nephew, the Duc d'Angouleme, had made the least push to be of use in the late crisis. That gentleman had raised a mixed force at Nimes, and was skirmishing in the south of France, egged on by a masterful wife. His brother, the Duc de Berri, who had accompanied his uncle into Belgium, found less dangerous employment in holding slightly farcical reviews of the handful of Royalist troops under his command at Alost.
These proceedings were not comforting to the anxious, but the proximity of the Prussian Army was more reassuring. But as General Kleist's notions of feeding this Army consisted very simply of causing it to subsist upon the country in which it was quartered, the King of the Netherlands, who held quite different views on the subject, and was besides on bad terms with his Prussian relatives, refused to permit of its crossing , the Meuse. This not unnaturally led to a good deal of bad feeling.
'Your Lordship's presence is extremely necessary to combine the measures of the heterogeneous force which is destined to defend this country,' wrote Sir Charles Stuart to the Duke, with diplomatic restraint.
Everyone agreed that the Duke's presence was necessary; everyone was sure that once he was in command all the disputes and the difficulties would be immediately settled, even Mr Creevey, who had not been used to set much store by any of 'those damned Wellesleys'.
It was wonderful what a change was gradually coming over Mr Creevey's opinions; extraordinary to hear him adverting to the Duke's past victories in Spain, just as though he had never declared them to have been grossly exaggerated. He was still a little patronising about the Duke, but he was going to feel very much safer, tied as he was to Brussels by an ailing wife, when the Duke was at the head of the Army.
But he thought it very strange that Worth should have had no news from his brother in Vienna. Probe as he might, nothing could be elicited. Colonel Audley had not mentioned the subject of his Chiefs coming.
Mr Creevey was forced to go away unsatisfied. Sir Peregrine lingered. 'I must say, I agree with him, that it's odd of Charles not to have told you when he expects to be here,' he complained.
'My dear Perry, I daresay he might not know,' said Lady Worth.
'Well, when one considers that he has been on the Duke's personal staff since he went back to the Peninsula after your marriage in August of 1812 it seems quite extraordinary he should be so little in Wellington's confidence,' said Sir Peregrine.
His sister drew her worktable towards her, and began to occupy herself with a piece of embroidery. 'Perhaps the Duke himself is uncertain. Depend upon it, he will be here soon enough. It is very worrying, but he must know what he is about.'
He took a turn about the room. 'I wish I knew what I should do!' he exclaimed presently. 'It's all very well for you to laugh, Judith, but it's curst awkward! Of course, if I were a single man I should join as a volunteer. However, that won't do.'
'No, indeed!' said Judith, rather startled. 'Worth, what do you mean to do? Do you stay?'
'Oh, I think so!' replied the Earl.
Sir Peregrine's brow lightened. 'Oh! Well, if you judge it to be safe I don't suppose you would keep Judith and the child here if you did not?'
'I don't suppose I should,' agreed the Earl.
'What does Harriet wish to do?' enquired Lady Worth.
'Oh, if it can be considered safe for the children, she don't wish to go!' Sir Peregrine caught sight of his reflection in the mirror over the fireplace, and gave the starched folds of his cravat a dissatisfied twitch. Before his marriage he had aspired to dizzy heights of dandyism, and although he now lived for the greater part of the year on his estates in Yorkshire, he was still inclined to spend much thought and time on his dress. 'This new man of mine is no good at all!' he said, with some annoyance. 'Just look at my cravat!'
'Is that really necessary?' said the Earl. 'For the past hour I have been at considerable pains not to look at it.'
A grin dispersed Sir Peregrin's worried frown. 'Oh, be damned to you, Worth! I'll tell you what it is, you did a great deal for me when I was your ward, but if you had taught me the way you have of tying your cravats I should have been more grateful than ever I was for any of the rest of the curst interfering things you did.'
'Very handsomely put, Perry. But the art is inborn, and can't be taught.'
Sir Peregrine made a derisive sound, and, abandoning the attempt to improve the set of his cravat, turned from the mirror. He glanced down at his sister, tranquilly sewing, and said in a burst of confidence: 'You know, I can't help being worried. I don't want to run home, but the thing is that Harriet is in a delicate situation again.'
'Good God, already?' exclaimed Judith.
'Yes, and you see what an anxious position it puts me in. I would not have her upset for the world. However, it seems certain Boney can't move against us yet. I shall wait until the Duke comes before I decide. That will be best.'
The Earl agreed to it with a solemnity only belied by the quivering of a muscle at the corner of his mouth. Sir Peregrine adjured him to let him have any reliable news he might chance to hear and took himself off, his mind apparently relieved of its care.
His sister was left to enjoy a laugh at his expense. 'Julian, I think you must have taken leave of your senses when you permitted Perry to marry Harriet! Two children, and another expected! It is quite absurd! He is only a child himself.'
'Very true, but you should consider that if he were not married we should have him enlisting as a
