Juana had declined going to walk about the town with him. Harry had so often drawn pictures of what they would do together as soon as they set foot in England, that the thought of being in Portsmouth without him for some time threatened to overpower her. She had promised to be good, however, and knew enough about men to realize that Tom would like nothing less than to be obliged to escort all the way to London a sister-in-law who was labouring under all the miseries of homesickness and grass-widowhood. When he returned to the inn, he found her sitting by the window in the parlour, watching the busy quayside. Her eyes were rather red, but he was too excited to notice that, and he found nothing to complain of in her demeanour, which was subdued, but perfectly cheerful. He had hired a post-chaise-and-pair to carry them to London, and the question now occupying his mind was to which hotel he should take Juana.

‘You know, we shan’t get to London until late,’ he said. ‘I daresay Harry would wish me to take you to Grillon’s, or Fenton’s, for he said you were to have everything of the best, but the thing is that we haven’t much money, until I can see my father, and those grand hotels are devilish dear.’

‘Oh, don’t take me to a grand hotel!’ begged Juana. ‘I have been watching a party of ladies, and I know my dress is quite out of fashion.’

‘Well, I must say I should prefer to go to a good inn, but the thing is, would you be comfortable?’

That made her laugh. ‘Oh, Tom, how foolish of you! Do you remember the cottage at Pobes, when I slept on the table because of the bugs?’

‘Well, that you won’t have to do, at any rate!” grinned Tom. ‘The post-boy says the coaches set down passengers at the Angel, at St Clement’s-in-the-Strand, a tolerable sort of a place. Shall we go there for a night at least?’

She was quite agreeable, so the post-boy was told to carry them to the Angel, and off they set.

The Angel was found to be a busy, cheerful inn, its proprietor too well accustomed to having shabby, sunburned officers from the Peninsula set down at his door to think the arrival of a gentleman in a green jacket and a black shako in any way remarkable. The discovery that the gentleman’s companion was a Spanish lady was something entirely out of the way, however, and Juana found herself being stared at so hard that she began to blush. Then Tom had to explain that she was not his wife, but his sister-in-law, whose husband had gone to America; and the landlord evidently thought it all very odd and said that he for one didn’t hold with this American war, dragging on and on, and, if anyone wanted his opinion, the sooner it was over the better. From having been in the habit of accommodating foreign visitors for many years, he was able to speak a little bad French, but as none of the chambermaids could understand anything but the few English words Juana knew, she was obliged to make known her wants by signs, and began to wonder, with a sinking heart, how she would fare in London, once Tom was no longer at hand to act as her interpreter. They spent the following morning looking for suitable lodgings. Juana was quite bewildered by the size of London. Every street seemed to be full of traffic, chairs, hackneys, elegant barouches, and sporting curricles seeming to jostle one another on all sides; while nattily-dressed gentlemen on horseback picked their way through the crowd of vehicles. The shops seemed very fine, particularly in Bond Street where Juana and Tom encountered the elite of fashion promenading, and Juana felt herself to be quite a dowd. However, chancing to see a very pretty hat of satin-straw trimmed with pomona-green ribbons, in one of the shop-windows, she prevailed on Tom to go into the shop with her to buy it. He said he felt a fool in milliners’ shops, but Juana reminded him with paralysing frankness that he had not seemed to feel a fool in Toulouse, when he had bought an Angouleme bonnet of white thread-net for the lady then living under his protection.

‘Now, Juanita, for the Lord’s sake don’t talk so!’ begged Tom. ‘You know, it won’t do in England! People wouldn’t understand! You must forget all those bits of muslin, really you must!’

‘Well, I don’t want to remember them,’ said Juana. ‘I thought your bit of muslin was a very vulgar person.’

‘You never clapped eyes on her!’

‘Yes, I did. I saw you with her at the theatre, and Harry told me she was your Cyprian.’ ‘Well, upon my word! There’s a brother for you!’ said Tom indignantly. ‘You won’t go and tell my family, will you?’

‘No, of course not, stupid! But can I have that hat?’

‘Oh, very well!’ Tom replied. ‘But it’s three o’clock already, and we still haven’t found an eligible lodging for you, and now here you are wanting to buy hats!’ But Juana’s desire to buy a hat turned out to be a most fortunate circumstance, for, upon entering the shop, she discovered that the milliner was a Frenchwoman, and at once fell into conversation with her. Madame Celeste was much affected by her story, and, learning that she was in search of a lodging, at once recommended her to go to Panton Square, where, at No. 11, a French émigrée resided, a most respectable widow, with five children, who eked out her slender means by boarding one or two select visitors.

The prospect of lodging with a woman who would be able to converse with her made Juana feel much more cheerful. Tom, discovering that Panton Square was situated quite close to St James’s, pronounced the locality to be unexceptionable-indeed, a most fashionable quarter-so as soon as the satin-straw hat had been paid for, and packed into a bandbox, a hackney was called for, and they drove off hopefully to Panton Square. When the hackney turned into the Square, it was found to be a quiet little cul-de-sac, rather than a square, surrounded on three sides by flat-fronted, narrow houses built mostly of weathered bricks, each with its area guarded by iron railings. Some of the houses were larger than others, with their front doors flanked by sash windows; and some had been covered with stucco, in conformity with the prevailing fashion; but No. 11 was found to be a modest, three-storey residence, with a row of dormer-windows set in the roof, and a green front-door with a bright brass knocker on it. The shallow door-step was gleamingly white, and the curtains in the windows clean, which had not always been the case in the lodgings Juana had seen.

As luck would have it, Madame Dupont was able to offer Juana a pair of tolerable rooms upon the first floor. Her terms, to the wife of an officer engaged for seven years in helping to bring about the ruin of the Corsican Monster, were most reasonable. She was very sympathetic when she heard of Juana’s temporary widowhood, and privately assured Tom that he need have no qualms at leaving his sister-in-law in her charge. Since the Angel, being situated in the Strand, was a noisy inn where it was almost impossible to sleep at night, it was arranged that Juana should remove to Panton Square without loss of time.

Tom, who was obliged to report his arrival in England to the army medical authorities, was relieved to have found a safe harbourage for Juana. He promised to visit her frequently, if the doctors did not clap him into hospital; warned her that she would very likely receive a visit from his married sister, who lived just out of London, at Clapton; bade her be a good girl; kissed her in a brotherly fashion; and took himself off.

He was not condemned to a hospital, but as Juana seemed to be quite comfortable in her lodgings, he thought he should take a journey into Cambridgeshire to visit his family. Feeling very much as though her one sheet anchor were being taken away from her, Juana said bravely that of course he must go. Being well aware of his besetting sin, she added that considering he had not written to his father or sisters for years, the least he could do was to visit them without an instant’s loss of time.

‘You know, if you cared to come with me they would be delighted to see you,’ he suggested. ‘Oh, no! Please, no, Tom!’ she said. ‘You have such a large family, and it quite frightens me!’

‘Well, I daresay you’re right, but there are only eleven of us, besides Grandmamma and my aunts. And Stona’s married now, you know, as well as Alice; and my sister Eleanor writes that Charlie lives with my Uncle Davie almost entirely.’

But even this assurance failed to persuade Juana to go with him. She sent instead her humble duty to her father-in-law, and the trifles Harry had purchased for his sisters in Bordeaux, and sped Tom on his way with adjurations to explain to his family what her reasons were for remaining in London.

2

With the departure of Tom for Whittlesey, Juana, having enjoyed the luxury of crying bitterly in the privacy of her bedchamber, resolutely bathed her swollen eyes, and determined at once to occupy herself in learning to speak English. Madame Dupont not unnaturally thought that a female would be a better teacher for her young guest than a man, but after enduring several depressing hours in the company of a genteel spinster, employed for many years at a Seminary for the Daughters of Gentlemen, Juana announced that she liked men better than women, and begged Madame to look about her for a suitable professor. Miss Price bridled when Juana’s excuses were conveyed to her, but she was really quite relieved to be rid of a pupil whose unconventionality bordered, she thought, on impropriety. Since the few English phrases at Juana’s command had been picked up from the rank-and-file of the Light division, it was no wonder that the poor lady should feel a certain degree of dismay. The circumstances were explained to her, of course, but the notion of a female’s following the drum was so repugnant to her, that she could not rid herself of the belief that Juana must be a very ungenteel young person.

Madame Dupont next found Mr Frederick Stone for Juana, an elderly gentleman with a sense of humour, with whom she professed herself very well satisfied. He made her read Thomson’s Seasons aloud to him, and while her tongue struggled with the difficult English words, her imagination followed Harry across the Atlantic, or dwelt again amongst the Pyrenees. She could almost hear the challenge to Portuguese sentries: ‘Sentre alerte?-Alerte soy!’ and came back to the unhappy present to find Mr Stone correcting a mispronunciation.

Several wounded acquaintances from the Light division were in England, and she received visits from those who were well enough to go about town; but most of them had gone on leave to their homes in different parts of the country; nor were any of them, with the exception of Colonel Ross, of the 3rd battalion, close friends.

She soon learned to find her way about the bewildering streets of London; and she would very often accompany Madame Dupont on her shopping expeditions. She would not. admit that London was comparable to Madrid, but secretly she was much impressed by it, and quite gasped when Madame took her to the Pantheon Bazaar, in Oxford Street. Hyde Park she thought very pretty, but when she went for walks there, and saw the smart London ladies floating along in their diaphanous gowns, on the arms of dandies who would have put to shame all the Counts in the army, she felt very lonely, and sometimes had to wink hard to stop the tears coming into her eyes.

When Tom came back from Whittlesey, she greeted him in English, saying proudly: ‘’Ow do you do?’ which made him laugh at her.

‘Do not queez me!’ she scolded. ‘I spik very well already! And now we will talk in Spanish, please. Was your father well? Were your sisters glad to see you?’

Yes, Tom had received a much warmer welcome than such a neglectful son deserved, but he said it had been melancholy to see his home without his mother. However, Betsy was a famous housekeeper; Eleanor, dear, dreamy soul! was the same as ever; and little Anna had grown out of all knowledge.

‘She’s rather like you, only older, of course. They all sent their love to you, and Eleanor-she’s our scholar, you know-gave me a letter for you, written in French. My father wishes so much that you would go down to live with them, but I said there was no chance of that. My sisters would give their eyes to see you! They would have me describe you to them over and over again, and Betsy said she was convinced of your being a female of the noblest character! Such a good joke, Juana!-they are quite afraid of your being like the haughty Spanish dames one reads about! Nothing will make them believe all Spaniards are not so! Then they would pronounce your name wrong, sounding the J as we English do. It sounded quite odd, and not a bit like you. And now I have to go out to Clapton to visit my sister Sargant! It is a great bore, but I promised my father I would do so.’ ‘Yes, of course, but tell me, Tom: are the horses at Whittlesey? Is Tiny well?’ ‘Oh, by Jove, if I was not forgetting! My father told me to say that Tiny is in famous shape, but he wonders that Harry should mount you on such an unmanageable horse! Old Chap is still poorly. My father fears he will never be good for much again, but never mind! he has his eye on just such a hunter as would suit Harry.’