Madame Dupont, who, from being able to remember how handsome the Regent had been before he grew so fat, was inclined to sentimentalize over him, and Juana grew quite tired of having items of Court news read to her from the Gazette. She was more interested to hear that Lord Fitzroy Somerset had lately been married to one of the Duke’s lovely nieces, the Lady Emily Wellesley Pole, but the only news that could be really welcome to her was news from America, and of that there was none.

She did not see Mrs Sargant again, because her sister-in-law had gone away to Cromer for the month of August. London had become insufferably hot and dusty; the flies were as numerous as in Portugal; and the meaner streets were so malodorous from the rubbish accumulating in the kennels that everyone longed for a day of heavy rain to wash away the filth. There did not seem to be anything for a foreigner to do in London but to wander about the hot streets, looking in at shop-windows; to stroll in the Park; to visit the Bayswater Tea Gardens; or the Botanical Gardens; and these were amusements which soon palled. Juana thought how much more enjoyable it was to spend the summer campaigning under scorching Spanish skies, and wondered drearily how many years it would be before she saw Harry again. Madame Dupont pooh-poohed such melancholy notions, but Juana knew that it was now more than five years since Harry had set foot in England. If the war with America dragged on, five more years might lag by without a sight of him. I shall be twenty-one years old, Juana thought, seeing middle-age creeping upon her. September came without bringing a letter from Harry. He was receding into a past that was beginning to seem dream-like. Only the periodic visits of their friends still made the Peninsular years real to Juana. They noticed that she no longer recalled the old days; she explained simply that she was silly, and found that talking about the past made her cry. But Harry came swiftly back into the present when a packet arrived in Panton Square from Whittlesey. It was addressed in his father-in-law’s hand, but when Juana opened it, out tumbled a letter from Harry.

It had been sent off in August, from Bermuda, where the Royal Oak had been delayed through having had her mizzen-top blown away in a terrific gale. Harry was well, but he missed his queridissima muger every moment of the day, through all his dreams at night. His scrawl covered pages of thin, crackling paper, which soon grew limp through being kept in Juana’s bosom, and constantly drawn out for rereading.

He was enjoying a capital passage; Admiral Malcolm was the best fellow in the world; one of the lieutenants, called Holmes, was his particular friend: Juana must picture him pacing up and down the deck, talking of her to Holmes-always so sympathetic! Ross was very affable and fatherly, but Harry could not say that he inspired him with the opinion that he was the officer Colborne regarded him as being. He was very cautious in responsibility-awfully so! Harry thought he would be found to lack that dashing enterprise so essential in a soldier. He was organizing his force into three brigades, and Harry had been put in orders as Deputy-Adjutant-General. Admiral Cochrane, commanding one hundred and seventy pennons of all descriptions on the coast of America, had proposed a rendezvous in Chesapeake Bay as soon as possible. Prices were very high in Bermuda: what did Juana think of fifteen Spanish dollars for one miserable turkey?

There was no word in all this of a possible return to England. Indeed, how should there be, when Harry had not yet arrived in America?

Tears watered the thin sheets, and had to be carefully wiped away. Vitty jumped up on to Juana’s lap, licking her hands, and begging her with flattened ears and wagging tail not to cry.

‘Yes, yes, Vitty, a letter from Master! Oh, my little perrilla, when shall we see Master again?’

4

During the afternoon of the 20th September, the Iphigenia anchored off Spithead, and pretty soon the rumour that there were three officers aboard her, bringing home dispatches from the Chesapeake, began to circulate through Portsmouth. A Naval Captain, and two military Staff-officers, one of them apparently a sick man, came ashore in the Captain’s gig, and went to the George Inn. The news reached the ears of one Mr Meyers, general agent, tailor, and outfit-merchant to the army: that gentleman meditatively bit the tip of one finger, announced mysteriously to the wife of his bosom that there might be a little profit in the news, and sallied forth to nose out the names of the officers at the George. He found that they had already bespoken a chaise-and-four to carry them to London. ‘I wonder who they are?’ he said invitingly.

The landlord knew exactly who they were. ‘Captain Wainwright of the Tonnant; Captain Smith, attached to General Ross; and Captain Falls of the 20th,’ he replied. ‘Ah!’ said Mr Meyers, brightening. ‘If it is Captain Harry Smith of the 95th, I know him. I will step into the coffee-room.’

He did so. Captain Wainwright was not there, but one military gentleman was standing by the window, holding an unmistakable box under one arm, while the other sat in a chair, wrapped in his cloak.

‘Good afternoon, sir!’ said Mr Meyers politely. ‘I am very glad to see you safely in England again. Dear me, sir, I do believe I have not laid eyes on you since I had the honour of supplying you with some necessaries to take to South America! A long time! It quite makes one think!’ Harry turned. He had a very good memory, and after frowning for a moment at Mr Meyers, his brow cleared, and he said: ‘Meyers! That’s who you are!’

‘Always at your service, sir,’ bowed Mr Meyers. ‘Hearing that you had landed from the Iphigenia-from the Chesapeake, I apprehend?-I took the liberty of coming to pay my respects.’

‘Devilish civil of you!’ said Harry, alert with suspicion.

He encountered an absurdly roguish look. ‘That little box under your arm contains, I see, dispatches,’ suggested Mr Meyers.

‘Well?’ said Harry. ‘What of that?’

“If,’ said Mr Meyers coaxingly, ‘you will tell me their general import, whether good news or bad, I will make it worth your while. Your refit, now! An expensive business, sir, as I well know.’

‘I’ll see you damned first!” exclaimed Harry, controlling a strong desire to knock his visitor down. ‘Of what use, pray, would such general information be to you?’ “I could get a man on horseback to London two hours before you,’ replied Mr Meyers, in a persuasive tone. ‘Good news or bad on ’Change is my object. Now do you understand, sir?’

‘Perfectly!’ said Harry. ‘And when I return to America I shall expect a capital outfit from you for all the valuable information I have afforded you! Good-bye, Meyers!’ Not, apparently, in the least put out of countenance, Mr Meyers bowed himself out. ‘Well, if that don’t beat all!’ said Tom Falls. ‘Old Fox! Do you mean to get to London tonight?’

‘By Jupiter, I should just think I do! That is, if you can stand the journey?’ ‘Oh lord, don’t worry about me! I shall do very well. What a curst thing this dysentery is!’ Ten minutes later, Captain Wainwright, bearing naval dispatches for my Lords at the Admiralty, came back to the inn; and by five o’clock he, Harry, Tom, and West were bowling out of Portsmouth on the London road in a post-chaise-and-four.

‘I wish to God I hadn’t come in the same chaise with you!’ said Wainwright, when Harry let down the window to shout to the post-boys to drive faster. “There’s no need to crowd all sail, you young madman!’

‘Oh, but there is!’ Harry said, drawing up the window again, and showing his companions a thin, burnt face in which his narrow eyes seemed to be on fire with impatience. ‘My wife, Wainwright, my wife!’

Captain Wainwright caught at an arm-sling to steady himself as the chaise bounced over a shocking patch in the road. ‘To be sure, yes! Is she in London?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Harry. ‘I parted from her in Bordeaux, four months ago! I don’t know where she is, whether she’s well, or-or alive, even!’

Wainwright could see no reason for supposing that Juana should be either unwell or deceased, but as it was plainly useless to expect the least degree of rational thought from Harry, he attempted no argument, but merely grunted, and said that he fully expected the chaise to lose a wheel before they had accomplished as much as half their journey. This gloomy prophecy was not fulfilled, but by the time the chaise had reached Liphook, a couple of hours later, Wainwright, bitterly regretting that no accident had befallen them, climbed stiffly down at the Anchor Inn, and announced his irrevocable intention of partaking of supper.

‘We shan’t have above another hour of daylight,’ objected Harry.

‘My abominable young friend, here’s where I haul to. Damme, if I don’t spend the night here!’

‘Oh, sir, don’t say that! Think of your precious dispatches!’ Harry begged. ‘Who’s going to read dispatches in the middle of the night? Stop fidgeting about, or I will sleep here!’

Harry’s face of scarcely curbed impatience, however, touched the Captain’s heart, and after consuming a quantity of bread-and-butter, and several cups of tea with plenty of good English cream in it, he consented to resume the journey to town.

‘I must say, I wish you wouldn’t insist on driving so fast,’ he remarked, not with any hope of being attended to, but in a tone of resignation. ‘After the scenes we’ve witnessed, I like to feast my eyes on a placid countryside.’

‘By God, and so do I,’ Harry responded quickly. ‘No burning villages, no starving, wretched peasants! I have had seven years of that The excitement bears a soldier happily through it all, but this makes one realize the damnable, accursed thing war is!’ ‘No burning citadels either,’ murmured Tom from his corner.