'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Mons, merely stated that he had found a picket of French Lancers on the Bavay road, and that the troops at Quivrain had been replaced by a handful of National wards and Gendarmes.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
