Devil’s Cub at-2 Page 13

  Miss Challoner hesitated, mindful of his lordship’s instructions, but at that moment the traveller said in a placid voice: “I regret, my good fellows, that I do not understand more than one word in ten of your extremely obliging advice, but I am English—Anglais, vous savez, and I do not speak French. Ne comprenny pas.”

  Miss Challoner’s motherly instincts were aroused. She moved forward. “If I could be of assistance, sir?”

  The neat gentleman turned quickly, and executed a bow. “You are very kind, madam. I find myself unable to converse with these fellows. It is amazing to me that amongst them all there is not one with a knowledge of the English tongue.”

  Miss Challoner smiled. “It is most reprehensible, sir, I agree. But if you will explain your difficulties to me, I may be able to interpret them to the landlord.”

  “I shall be excessively indebted to you, ma’am. Permit me to make myself known to you. My name is Comyn, and I have but this moment landed from the packet. It is my intention to travel by the stage-coach to Paris, and I was endeavouring when you came upon me to ascertain from these fellows when and where I may find the diligence.”

  “I will ask Plançon,” said Miss Challoner, and turned to the landlord.

  Perceiving that she had constituted herself interpreter, M. Plangon opened negotiations with an impassioned plea to be preserved from these mad Englishmen who expected honest Frenchmen to understand their own barbarous language—and this in France, voyez-vous!

  At the end of an animated dialogue lasting for five minutes, Miss Challoner was able to inform Mr. Comyn that the diligence would start for Paris in an hour’s time, and from this very inn.

  Mr. Comyn thanked her, and begged that she would add to her kindness by informing the landlord that he required dinner immediately.

  Cheered by this information, M. Plançon disappeared to execute the order, and his hirelings drifted away upon their respective businesses.

  Mr. Comyn said that he had been prodigiously fortunate to have found a countrywoman in Dieppe, and inquired politely whether Miss Challoner was also bound for Paris.

  Miss Challoner replied tranquilly that her plans were uncertain, and was about to retreat to the shelter of the parlour when Timms came down the stairs, bowed to her and said with distressing clarity: “His lordship’s compliments, madam, and he will do himself the honour of dining with you at five o’clock.”

  Miss Challoner blushed scarlet, felt herself quite unable to meet Mr. Comyn’s look of mild surprise, and fled.

  Ten minutes later, one of the inn-servants scratched at Vidal’s door, and upon being bidden to come in, presented his lordship with a note.

  Vidal was seated before the dressing-table. He took the note and read in Miss Challoner’s handwriting: “Pray, my lord, be careful. There is an Englishman here, of the name of Comyn. I fear I have been indiscreet, but I was obliged to speak with him, and while I was still in his company, your message was delivered to me, so that I was quite undone.”

  My lord swore softly and appeared to meditate for a moment. Then he tore up the note and resumed his toilet. In a few minutes he was ready, and made his way downstairs to the coffee-room. Mr. Comyn was standing by the window, consulting his watch. He looked up as the Marquis came in, and exclaimed: “Lord Vidal! So it was—” He broke off, and coughed.

  “It was,” said his lordship. “But why in the fiend’s name you must needs come to Dieppe is a matter passing my comprehension.”

  “I cannot conceive why it should pass your comprehension, sir,” replied Mr. Comyn. “Considering that it was yourself who told me to journey to France.”

  “I seem to spend my time telling people to do things I have not the smallest desire they should do,” said the Marquis bitterly. “Mr. Comyn, you have, I think, met a lady in this inn.”

  “I have, sir.”

  The Marquis said: “Contrive to forget it”

  “Certainly,” said Mr. Comyn, bowing.

  Vidal smiled. “Egad, I’m beginning to like you, my prospective relative. That lady is shortly to become my wife.”

  “You surprise me,” said Mr. Comyn truthfully.

  “I am sure I do. Permit me to inform you that her presence in this inn is due, not to her own choice, but to my forcible abduction of her. She is a lady of unimpeachable virtue, and I shall be obliged if you will forget that you have ever seen her in my company.”

  “Sir,” said Mr. Comyn, a stickler for exactitude, “I never have seen her in your company, and I have therefore nothing to forget.”

  “You’re a good fellow,” said his lordship, with unusual kindness. “I’ll trust you.” He sat himself down in the window, and favoured Mr. Comyn with a brief, unvarnished account of the happenings of the past two days.

  Mr. Comyn listened with grave attention, and remarked at the end that it was an edifying story. He added that he was honoured by his lordship’s confidence, and begged to proffer his felicitations upon his approaching nuptials.

  “Oh, go to the devil!” snapped the Marquis, exasperated.

  Chapter IX

  His lordship’s remarks to Miss Challoner on the impropriety and folly of addressing strangers in French inns were caustic and denunciatory, but had no visible effect upon the lady. She continued to eat her dinner, lending no more than a polite ear to his homily, and appeared to consider Mr. Comyn’s inability to speak French an adequate excuse. My lord speedily undeceived her. “You do not seem to me to comprehend the extreme delicacy of your situation,” he said.

  Miss Challoner subjected a dish of sweetmeats to close inspection, and finally selected the best of them. “I do,” she replied. “I have had plenty of time for reflection, my lord, and I cannot but realize that I’ve not a shred of reputation left to me.”

  The Marquis laughed. “You’re mighty cool over it, ma’am.”

  “You should be glad of that,” Miss Challoner said serenely. “The task of conveying to Paris a female suffering from a series of strong hysterics would, I imagine, be vastly distasteful to you.”

  “It would,” said the Marquis with conviction.

  “Moreover,” pursued Miss Challoner, once more inspecting the dish of sweetmeats, “I cannot discover that a display of agitation on my part would achieve much beyond my own exhaustion and your annoyance.” She bit into a sugar plum. “Also,” she said meditatively, “you have upon several occasions threatened me with extreme violence, so that I should be excessively fearful of the results of driving you to distraction.”

  The Marquis brought his open hand down upon the table, and the glasses jumped. “Don’t lie!” he said. “You are not in the least afraid of what I may do to you! Are you?”

  “Not at the moment, sir,” she admitted. “But when you have broached your second bottle, I own to some qualms.”

  “Let me inform you, ma’am, that I am not considered dangerous until the third bottle.”

  Miss Challoner looked at him with a faint smile. “My lord,” she said frankly, “you become dangerous immediately your will is crossed. I find you spoiled, impetuous, and shockingly overbearing.”

  “Thank you,” said his lordship. “Perhaps you prefer the sedate demeanour of your friend Mr. Comyn?”

  “He seemed to be a gentleman of ordinary propriety, certainly,” concurred Miss Challoner.

  “I, on the other hand, am a gentleman of extraordinary impropriety, of course.”

  “Oh, not a gentleman, sir, a nobleman,” said Miss Challoner with irony.

  “You hit hard, ma’am. Pray, was there anything else in Mr. Comyn that you found worthy of remark?”

  “To be sure, sir. His manners were of the most amiable.”

  “I’ve none at all,” said his lordship blandly. “Being a nobleman, ma’am, I don’t need ’em. Pray let me pass you this second, dish of comfits which has apparently escaped your notice.”

  “Thank you,” said Miss Challoner.

  The Marquis sipped his wine, watching her over the rim of his glass. “I think
it only fair to warn you, ma’am, that this paragon is secretly contracted to a cousin of mine. In fact, his business in Paris, and I mistake not, is to elope with her.”

  “Indeed?” Miss Challoner said innocently. “Your cousin is no doubt very like you?”

  “Oh, just a family likeness, ma’am,” retorted his lordship. “She should be pleased with you,” he added thoughtfully.

  “I cannot conceive why, sir.”

  “She’d be pleased with any female who married me.”

  Miss Challoner looked at him curiously. “She is so fond of you?”

  “No, that ain’t the reason. Her mamma, my ambitious Aunt Fanny, intends her to be my bride—a prospect Juliana dislikes as much as I do.”

  Miss Challoner said quickly: “Juliana?”

  “My cousin.”

  “Yes, I understand that, my lord. But what is her surname?”

  “Marling,” said his lordship. “Now what’s to do?”

  Miss Challoner jumped in her chair. “Your cousin! Juliana Marling! But I know her!”

  “Do you?” said Vidal, not visibly excited. “A mad piece, ain’t she?”

  “Oh, she was my very dearest friend!” Miss Challoner said. “But I never dreamed she was your cousin! We were at the same seminary, you see.”

  “I’ll wager Juliana learned precious little there,” remarked Vidal.

  “Not very much,” allowed Miss Challoner. “They nearly sent her away once, for—er—flirting with the drawing-master. She always said they only forgave her because her uncle was a duke.”

  “Kissed the drawing-master, did she? She would!”

  “Is she really going to marry Mr. Comyn?” inquired Miss Challoner.

  “She says so. But she can’t run off with him now until our affair is settled. Egad, it’s providential that you know her!” He pushed back his chair and got up. “She’s staying with my cousin Elisabeth—bundled off too young to be out of Comyn’s way. I’ll go and pay my respects to her immediately we reach Paris, and tell her the whole story. She’s a rattle-pate, but she’s fond of me, and she’ll do as I bid her. She shall have met you in Paris, just as you were on the point of returning to England with—oh, an aunt, or some such thing. She will tell Tante Elisabeth that she has prevailed upon you to visit her for a week or two and you will go to the Hotel Charbonne surrounded by a positive fog of respectability. From whence, my dear, I shall presently elope with you—before, I trust, Tante has had time to discover the truth.”

  Miss Challoner was thinking fast. If Juliana were in Paris, Juliana could help her to obtain a post in some genteel household. Knowing that lively damsel, she had no fear that she might be shocked at her friend’s extraordinary escapade. “Yes, my lord, that is a very good notion—some of it, but I believe you have not perceived the whole good of Juliana’s presence in Paris. You have said yourself, sir, that I shall be surrounded by a positive fog of respectability. I have only to pretend to my mother that Juliana was with you from the start of our journey, and my reputation is saved.”

  He shook his head. “I fear not, Mary. It’s a good lie, but too many people would know it for a lie. Moreover, my dear, if I know aught of your mamma, her first care will have been to apprise my parents of your abduction, and to create as much stir as possible. I am well aware that she meant to try and force me into marriage with Sophia by some such method. Didn’t she?”

  “Yes,” said Miss Challoner, flushing and shamefaced.

  The Marquis touched her cheek with a careless finger as he passed her chair. “No need to look like that, child; I know. Happily, these plans will be delayed a little by the absence of both my parents from town. My father was to have left for the races at Newmarket upon the day I took my leave of him; and my mother was to have gone with him as far as Bedford, where she will be at this moment, staying with the Vanes. We have, therefore, at least a fortnight’s grace, I imagine, but certainly not longer. Write to your mother, apprising her of your betrothal: that should silence her.”

  “And you?” she said, watching him as he wandered restlessly about the room. “Do you intend to write your father?”

  An involuntary smile twisted his mouth. He refrained from telling her that it was not his libertine behaviour that would annoy his grace, but his honourable intention to marry. He said only: “No need: his grace is not likely to concern himself with my affairs.”

  “I do not desire to speak with any disrespect of your father, sir, but from the little I have heard of him I take it that though he might not concern himself with your more clandestine affairs, he would do all in his power to prevent your marriage with one so unsuitable as myself.”

  “I devoutly hope you are wrong, my dear,” replied his lordship humourously. “For when my father uses every means to achieve an end, he invariably does achieve it.”

  Miss Challoner got up, smiling a little ironically. “Vastly pretty, my lord. I could almost suppose that you wanted to marry me.”

  She moved towards the door which his lordship held open for her. “I assure you, ma’am, I am becoming hourly more reconciled to the prospect,” he said, and surprised her by taking her hand and kissing it, very much in the grand manner.

  She reflected on her way upstairs that the sooner she left his lordship’s protection the better it would be for her peace of mind.

  Upon the following day they resumed their journey, travelling by easy stages, and, at Miss Challoner’s request, at a moderately decorous pace.

  She was somewhat amused at the Marquis’s entourage. Besides the chaise that carried her, there was a light coach bearing a quantity of luggage, and Mr. Timms. His lordship rode, and seemed to be accompanied by half his household. Miss Challoner remarked on the size of the cortege, and learned that the Marquis had thought himself to be travelling light. He described his mother’s frequent progresses, and made her feel sad to think that she would never meet the Duchess of Avon. Her grace, it appeared, had only two ways of travelling. Either she set forth carrying all her wardrobe, and most of her furnishings, with a small army of servants preceding her to make ready at every inn she stopped at, or she started out in an immense hurry, forgetting to provide herself with so much as a change of dress.

  Miss Challoner soon discovered that the Marquis adored his mother, and by the end of the journey she had learned much concerning the engaging Duchess. She learned something, too, of the Duke, enough to make her feel thankful that the sea separated her from him. He seemed to be a somewhat sinister person, with uncanny powers of penetration.

  They spent four days upon the road to Paris, and the Marquis only twice lost his temper. The first occasion was at Rouen, when Miss Challoner slipped off to see the cathedral, narrowly escaped being seen by a party of English persons, and was treated by her return to a furious tirade; and the second was induced by her refusal to wear the clothes of his lordship’s providing. This quarrel began to assume alarming proportions, and when the Marquis announced his intention of dressing Miss Challoner with his own hands, she thought it prudent to capitulate. His eyes were still smouldering when she reappeared in a gown of blue dimity, and it took her some time to coax him out of his wrath.

  Upon their arrival in Paris his lordship conducted Miss Challoner immediately to the Hotel Avon and left her there while he went in search of his cousin. It was already late in the evening, and neither Miss Marling nor Mme. de Char-bonne was to be found at home. The Marquis learned that they had gone to a ball at the house of one Mme. de Chateau-Morny, and promptly followed them there. He had taken the precaution of changing his travelling clothes for a coat of yellow velvet rather heavily laced with gold, and satin breeches. Mr. Timms, on his mettle in this land of exquisites, managed to powder his raven locks with fair thoroughness, and further to fix a diamond buckle over the black riband that tied them back. There were diamond buckles on the Marquis’s shoes, and a diamond pin in the foaming lace at his throat. Mr. Timms would dearly have liked to slip a few rings on to my lord’s long white fingers, but th
e Marquis pushed them all aside, and would wear nothing but his gold signet. He was impatient of the hares-foot, and the patch-box, but when Timms besought him almost in tears not to go to a ball in Paris with his face entirely free from rouge, he laughed, and submitted. Consequently when he took his leave of Miss Challoner, cosily ensconced beside the fire in the big library, she thought for a moment that a stranger had entered the room. The sight of his lordship in full ball dress with diamonds glinting, ruffles of the finest lace falling over his hands, his hah: adequately powdered and arranged in neat curls, and a patch at the corner of his mouth, almost took her breath away. She laughed at him, but thought privately that he looked magnificent. He grimaced at his reflection in the mirror over the mantelpiece. “I look like a damned Macaroni, dont I?” he said. “If I know anything of Juliana, I shall find her at some ball or rout. Don’t go to bed till I get back.”

  He had no difficulty in entering Mme. de Chateau-Morny’s hotel, and when he reached the head of the stairway Madame herself greeted him with a cry of mingled surprise and delight, and laughed to scorn his apology for coming uninvited to her party. He escaped from her presently, and, entering the ballroom, stood looking round through his eye-glass. His very height at once attracted attention; several persons hailed him, demanding to know whence he had sprung, and more than half the young ladies in the room determined to dance with him before the night was done.

  Miss Marling, at the moment of the Marquis’s entry, was going down the dance with a slim young gentleman dressed in the very latest mode. She caught sight of her cousin, gave an unmaidenly shriek, and seizing her partner by the hand, left the dance without ceremony, and rushed to greet him.

  “Vidal!” she exclaimed, and gave him both her hands.

  Half the young ladies in the room regarded her enviously. “Don’t be a hoyden, Ju,” said his lordship, raising first one hand and then the other to his lips. “God defend me, is it you, Bertrand?”