Beauchamps Career | Page 8

the Channel to get at them in an
open boat.
The lady governing his uncle Everard's house, Mrs. Rosamund Culling,
entered his room and found him writing with knitted brows. She was
young, that is, she was not in her middleage; and they were the dearest
of friends; each had given the other proof of it. Nevil looked up and
beheld her lifted finger.
'You are composing a love-letter, Nevil!' The accusation sounded like
irony.
'No,' said he, puffing; 'I wish I were!
'What can it be, then?'
He thrust pen and paper a hand's length on the table, and gazed at her.
'My dear Nevil, is it really anything serious?' said she.
'I am writing French, ma'am.'
'Then I may help you. It must be very absorbing, for you did not hear
my knock at your door.'
Now, could he trust her? The widow of a British officer killed nobly
fighting for his country in India, was a person to be relied on for active
and burning sympathy in a matter that touched the country's honour.
She was a woman, and a woman of spirit. Men had not pleased him of

late. Something might be hoped from a woman.
He stated his occupation, saying that if she would assist him in his
French she would oblige him; the letter must be written and must go.
This was uttered so positively that she bowed her head, amused by the
funny semi-tone of defiance to the person to whom he confided the
secret. She had humour, and was ravished by his English boyishness,
with the novel blush of the heroical-nonsensical in it.
Mrs. Culling promised him demurely that she would listen, objecting
nothing to his plan, only to his French.
'Messieurs de la Garde Francaise!' he commenced.
Her criticism followed swiftly.
'I think you are writing to the Garde Imperiale.'
He admitted his error, and thanked her warmly.
'Messieurs de la Garde Imperiale!'
'Does not that,' she said, 'include the non-commissioned officers, the
privates, and the cooks, of all the regiments?'
He could scarcely think that, but thought it provoking the French had
no distinctive working title corresponding to gentlemen, and suggested
'Messieurs les Officiers': which might, Mrs. Culling assured him,
comprise the barbers. He frowned, and she prescribed his writing,
'Messieurs les Colonels de la Garde Imperiale.' This he set down. The
point was that a stand must be made against the flood of sarcasms and
bullyings to which the country was exposed in increasing degrees,
under a belief that we would fight neither in the mass nor individually.
Possibly, if it became known that the colonels refused to meet a
midshipman, the gentlemen of our Household troops would advance a
step.
Mrs. Calling's adroit efforts to weary him out of his project were

unsuccessful. He was too much on fire to know the taste of absurdity.
Nevil repeated what he had written in French, and next the English of
what he intended to say.
The lady conscientiously did her utmost to reconcile the two languages.
She softened his downrightness, passed with approval his compliments
to France and the ancient high reputation of her army, and, seeing that a
loophole was left for them to apologize, asked how many French
colonels he wanted to fight.
'I do not WANT, ma'am,' said Nevil.
He had simply taken up the glove they had again flung at our feet: and
he had done it to stop the incessant revilings, little short of positive
contempt, which we in our indolence exposed ourselves to from the
foreigner, particularly from Frenchmen, whom he liked; and precisely
because he liked them he insisted on forcing them to respect us. Let his
challenge be accepted, and he would find backers. He knew the stuff of
Englishmen: they only required an example.
'French officers are skilful swordsmen,' said Mrs. Culling. 'My husband
has told me they will spend hours of the day thrusting and parrying.
They are used to duelling.'
'We,' Nevil answered, 'don't get apprenticed to the shambles to learn
our duty on the field. Duelling is, I know, sickening folly. We go too
far in pretending to despise every insult pitched at us. A man may do
for his country what he wouldn't do for himself.'
Mrs. Culling gravely said she hoped that bloodshed would be avoided,
and Mr. Beauchamp nodded.
She left him hard at work.
He was a popular boy, a favourite of women, and therefore full of
engagements to Balls and dinners. And he was a modest boy, though
his uncle encouraged him to deliver his opinions freely and argue with

men. The little drummer attached to wheeling columns thinks not more
of himself because his short legs perform the same strides as the
grenadiers'; he is happy to be able to keep the step; and so