Page 250 of The Armor of Light

We’re in trouble now, Kit thought.

Wellington recovered fast. He looked at a map. Two roads leading from Charleroi were like the hands of a clock at two o’clock. ‘Which way did the Prussians retreat, exactly?’

‘North-east.’ Müffling ran his finger along the hour hand to where the number two would be and stopped at the town of Ligny. ‘Blücher will make a stand here.’

Wellington put a finger on the minute hand, a long, straight road that ran due north to Brussels. There were coal mines near Charleroi, and Kit knew that a constant stream of heavy carts drawn by ox teams trundled up this road to bring coal to the manufactories and fireplaces of Brussels. Wellington said: ‘Is the coal road now left unguarded? Or has Blücher got it covered?’

‘I’m not sure.’

Kit felt panicked. The coal road was on the border between Prussian and British forces, and he now realized that there had been no discussion in the general staff about who should defend it.

Wellington held his nerve. ‘So we must guard against any French attack along that road.’

He then ordered General Picton’s division to march from Brussels twelve miles south, to block the coal road at the village of Mont St-Jean.

Then, to Kit’s amazement, Wellington went to the ball.

*

Elsie looked lovely.

She was not generally thought of as a beautiful woman. For conventional beauty, her mouth was too wide and her nose too big. Now Amos wondered if convention had got it all wrong. Her wide-smiling mouth suited her generous spirit, and her soft hazel eyes fitted with her warm heart. Or perhaps she was one of those women who became more alluring in middle age. And then again, maybe what she was wearing suited her particularly well. Her dress was a gift from Spade, and made by his sister Kate from silk in two colours, flame red and bright yellow. It hardly needed to be enhanced by jewellery, but most of the women at the ball would be glittering with diamonds, so she had borrowed a necklace from Arabella.

Whatever the reason, Amos’s heart fluttered as he looked at her. This reaction confused him. They were just friends, partners in running a Sunday school. He knew her better than any other woman, even Jane. This was an odd feeling to have about a friend. They sat opposite one another in the carriage, both smiling for no reason Amos could think of.

The Richmond residence was in the rue de la Blanchisserie. Ablanchisseriewas a laundry, and the duke of Richmond sometimes referred to his home jokingly as ‘the wash-house’.

There was a queue of carriages in the street, and a crowd of spectators gathered to stare at the rich and noble guests as they arrived, the women in elaborately draped silk and flamboyant jewellery, most of the men in uniform.

The ballroom was not in the house but in a very large separatebuilding which, Amos had been told, had formerly been a showroom for a carriage-maker. Stepping inside, Amos was astonished by the blaze of light: there were hundreds of candles, perhaps thousands, and more flowers than he had ever seen in one place. It made him feel a little light-headed, as if he had just downed a glass of champagne.

Elsie said: ‘This is more lavish than anything we’ve seen in the Kingsbridge Assembly Rooms.’

‘It’s amazing.’

They were welcomed by the duchess of Richmond, an attractive woman in her forties. Elsie said: ‘Your grace, may I present Mr Amos Barrowfield, a dear friend of mine.’

Amos bowed. The duchess looked coquettish and said: ‘The countess of Shiring told me that Mr Barrowfield was the handsomest man in the west of England, and I see what she meant.’

Amos was taken aback by her flirting, and said the first thing that came into his head. ‘It was kind of you to invite me, your grace.’

‘Keep him close, Mrs Mackintosh, or someone will steal him from you.’

Now she was implying that Amos and Elsie were a romantic couple, which was not true.

Elsie nudged him and they left the duchess and walked farther into the room. A waiter appeared with champagne on a tray, and they each took a glass.

Amos said: ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know how to respond to that sort of nonsense. It’s so embarrassing.’

‘She was being playful. Your being bashful is part of the game. Don’t worry, you did fine.’

‘I suppose most men at these affairs are used to it, and know what to say.’

‘Yes, and I’m glad you don’t. I like you the way you are.’

‘I feel the same about you. Let’s not change.’

She smiled, seeming pleased.