Devil’s Cub at-2 Page 2

  At that moment Mr. John Marling came across the room towards his mother. He was a good-looking young man of rather stocky build, dressed very neatly in Spanish-brown velvet. He was in his thirtieth year, but the staidness of his demeanour made him appear older. He greeted Davenant with a bow and a grave smile, and had begun to inquire politely after the older man’s health, when his mother interrupted him.

  “Pray, John, where is your sister? I was put out to see that young Comyn was present here to-night I do trust you have not let her slip off with him?”

  “No,” John said. “She is with Vidal.”

  “Oh!” A curiously thoughtful expression came into her ladyship’s face. “Well, I make no doubt they were glad to see each other.”

  “I don’t know,” John said painstakingly. “Juliana cried out: `Why, my dear Dominic, you here?’ or some such thing, and Vidal said: ‘Good God! Have I stumbled on a family gathering?’”

  “That is just his way,” Lady Fanny assured him. She turned her limpid gaze upon Davenant. “Vidal has a great kindness for his cousin, you know, Hugh.”

  Davenant did not know it, but he was perfectly well aware of Lady Fanny’s ambition. Whatever might be the imperfections of Vidal’s character, he was one of the biggest prizes on the matrimonial market, and for years her ladyship had cherished hopes which she fondly believed to be secret.

  John seemed disposed to argue the matter. “For my part I do not believe that Vidal cares a fig for Juliana,” he said. “And as for her, I very much fear this Frederick Comyn has taken her fancy to an alarming degree.”

  “How can you be so teasing, John?” Fanny demanded petulantly. “You know very well she is nothing but a child, and I am sure no thought of—of marriage, or love, or any such folly has entered her head. And if it had, it is no great matter, and when she has been in Paris a week, she will have forgotten the young man’s very existence.”

  “Paris?” said Hugh, foreseeing that John was going to try and convince his mother for her own good. “Is Juliana going to Paris?”

  “Why yes, Hugh. Have you forgotten that my dear mamma was a Frenchwoman? I am sure it is no matter for wonder that the child should visit her French relatives. They are quite wild to know her, so John is to take her next week. I don’t doubt they will make so much rout with her she will hardly wish to come home again.”

  “But I do not feel at all hopeful that it win answer the purpose,” said John heavily.

  “Pray, John, do not be so provoking!” implored Lady Fanny, somewhat tartly. “You make it sound as though I were one of those odious scheming females whom I detest.”

  Hugh thought it time to withdraw, and tactfully did so, leaving mother and son to argue in comfort.

  Meanwhile, Miss Juliana Marling, a charming blonde dressed in blue lustring with spangled shoes, and her curls arranged a la Gorgonne, had dragged her cousin into one of the adjoining saloons. “You are the very person I wished to see!” she informed him.

  The Marquis said with conspicuous lack of gallantry: “If you want me to do something for you, Juliana, I warn you I never do anything for anybody.”

  Miss Marling opened her blue eyes very wide. “Not even for me, Dominic?” she said soulfully.

  His lordship remained unmoved. “No,” he replied.

  Miss Marling sighed and shook her head. “You are horridly disobliging, you know. It quite decides me not to marry you.”

  “I hoped it might,” said his lordship calmly.

  Miss Marling made an effort to look affronted, but only succeeded in giggling. “You needn’t be afraid. I am going to marry someone quite different,” she said.

  His lordship evinced signs of faint interest at that “Are you?” he inquired. “Does my aunt know?”

  “You may be very wicked, and quite hatefully rude,” said Miss Marling, “but I will say one thing for you, Dominic: you do not need to have things explained to you like John. Mamma does not mean me to marry him, and that is why I am to be packed off to France next week.”

  “Who is ‘he?’ Ought I to know?” inquired the Marquis.

  “I don’t suppose you know him. He is not at all the sort of person who would know your set,” said Miss Marling severely.

  “Ah, then I was right,” retorted my lord. “You are contemplating a mesalliance.”

  Miss Marling stiffened in every line of her small figure. “It’s no such thing! He may not be a brilliant match, or have a title, but all the men I have met who are brilliant matches are just like you, and would make the most horrid husbands.”

  “You may as well let me know the worst,” said my lord. “H you think it would annoy Aunt Fanny, I’ll do what I can for you.”

  She clasped both hands on his arm. “Dear, dear Dominic! I knew you would! It is Frederick Comyn.”

  “And who,” said the Marquis, “might he be?”

  “He comes from Gloucestershire—or is it Somerset? Well, it doesn’t signify—and his papa is Sir Malcolm Comyn, and it is all perfectly respectable, as dear Aunt Léonie would say, for they have always lived there, and there is an estate, though not very large, I believe, and Frederick is the eldest son, and he was at Cambridge, and this is his first stay in town, and Lord Carlisle is his sponsor, so you see it is not a mesalliance at all.”

  “I don’t,” said his lordship. “You may as well give up the notion, my dear. They’ll never let you throw yourself away on this nobody.”

  “Dominic,” said Miss Marling with dangerous quiet.

  My lord looked lazily down at her.

  “I just want you to know that my mind is made up,” she said, giving him back look for look. “So that it is no use to talk to me like that.”

  “Very well,” said my lord.

  “And you will make a push to help us, won’t you, dearest Dominic?”

  “Oh certainly, child. I will tell Aunt Fanny that the alliance has my full approval.”

  “You are quite abominable,” said his cousin. “I know you dislike of all things to bestir yourself, but recollect, my lord, if once I am wed you need not be afraid any more that mamma will make you marry me.”

  “I am not in the least afraid of that,” replied his lordship.

  “I declare it would serve you right if I did marry you!” cried Miss Marling indignantly. “You are being quite atrocious and all I want you to do is to write a letter to Tante Elisabeth in Paris!”

  His lordship’s attention seemed to have wandered, but at this he brought his gaze back from the contemplation of a ripe blonde who was trying to appear unconscious of his scrutiny, and looked down into Miss Marling’s face.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “If s perfectly plain, Dominic, I should have thought. Tante Elisabeth so dotes on you she win do whatever you wish, and if you were to solicit her kindness for a friend of yours about to make his debut in Paris “

  “Oh, that’s it, is it?” said the Marquis. “Much good will a letter from me avail you if my respected Aunt Fanny has already warned Tante against your nobody.”

  “She won’t do that,” Miss Marling replied confidently. “And he is not a nobody. She has no notion, you see, that Frederick means to follow me to Paris. So you will write, will you not, Dominic?”

  “No, certainly not,” said my lord. “I’ve never set eyes on the fellow.”

  “I knew you would say something disagreeable like that,” said Miss Marling, unperturbed. “So I told Frederick to be ready.” She turned her head and made a gesture with her fan, rather in the manner of a sorceress about to conjure up visions. In response to the signal a young man who had been watching her anxiously disengaged himself from a knot of persons near the door, and came towards her.

  He was not so tall as Vidal, and of a very different ton. From his moderate-sized pigeon’s-wing wig to his low-heeled black shoes, there did not seem to be a hair or a pin out of place. His dress was in the mode, but not designed to attract attention. He wore Lunardi lace at his throat and wrists, and a black solitaire ador
ned his cravat Such usual adjuncts to •a gentleman’s costume as quizzing-glass, fobs, and watches, he had altogether dispensed with, but he had a snuff-box in one hand, and wore a cameo-ring on one finger.

  The Marquis watched his approach through his quizzing-glass. “Lord!” he said. “What’s the matter with you Ju?”

  Miss Marling chose to ignore this. She sprang up as Mr. Comyn reached them, and laid her hand on his arm. “Frederick, I have told my cousin all!” she said dramatically. “This is my cousin, by the way. I dare say you know of him. He is very wicked and kills people in duels. Vidal, this is Frederick.”

  His lordship had risen. “You talk too much, Juliana,” he drawled. His dark eyes held a distinct menace, but his cousin remained unabashed. He exchanged bows with Mr. Comyn. “Sir, your most obedient.”

  Mr. Comyn, who had blushed at his Juliana’s introduction, said that he was honoured.

  “Vidal is going going to write to my French aunt about you,” stated Miss Marling blithely. “She is really the only person in the family who is not shocked by him. Except me, of course.”

  The Marquis caught her eye once more. Knowing that dangerous look of old, Miss Marling capitulated. “I won’t say another word,” she promised. “And you will write, will you not, dear Dominic?”

  Mr. Comyn said in his grave young voice: “I think my Lord Vidal must require to know my credentials. My lord, though I am aware that I must sound like a mere adventurer, I can assure you it is no such thing. My family is well known in the West of England, and my Lord Carlisle will speak for me at need.”

  “Good God, sir! I’m not the girl’s guardian!” said his lordship. “You had better address all this to her brother.”

  Mr. Comyn and Miss Marling exchanged rueful glances.

  “Mr. Marling and Lady Fanny can hardly be unaware of my estate, sir, but—but in short I cannot flatter myself that they look upon my suit with any favour.”

  “Of course they don’t,’’ agreed the Marquis. “You’ll have to elope with her.”

  Mr. Comyn looked extremely taken aback. “Elope, my lord!” he said.

  “Or give the chit up,” replied his lordship.

  “My lord,” said Mr. Comyn earnestly, “I ask you to believe that in journeying to Paris, I have no such impropriety in mind. It was always my father’s intention that I should visit France. Miss Marling’s going there but puts my own journey forward.”

  “Yes,” said Juliana thoughtfully, “but for all that I’m not sure it wouldn’t be a very good thing to do, Frederick. I must say, Vidal, you do take some prodigious clever notions into your head! I wonder I did not think of it myself.”

  Mr. Comyn regarded her with a hint of sternness in his frank gaze, “Juliana—madam! You could not suppose that I would steal you away clandestinely? His lordship was jesting.”

  “Oh no, indeed he wasn’t. It is just the kind of thing he would do himself. It is no good being proper and respectable, Frederick; we may be forced to elope in the end. Unless

  —” She paused, and looked doubtfully up at Vidal. “You don’t suppose, do you, Dominic, that my Uncle Justin could be induced to speak for us to mamma?”

  My lord answered this without hesitation. “Don’t be a fool, Ju.”

  She sighed. “No, I was afraid he would not. It is a vast pity, for mamma always does what Uncle Justin says.” She caught sight of a stocky .figure at the far end of the room. “There’s John! You had best go away, Frederick, for it will not do at all for John to see you talking to my cousin.”

  She watched him bow, and retreat, and turned enthusiastically to the Marquis. “Is he not a delightful creature, Vidal?” she demanded.

  My lord looked at her frowningly. “Juliana,” he said, “do I understand that you prefer him as a husband to myself?”

  “Infinitely,” Miss Marling assured him.

  “You have very bad taste, my girl,” said my lord calmly.

  “Indeed, cousin! And may I ask whether you prefer that yellow-haired chit I saw you with at Vauxhall as a wife to me?” retorted Juliana.

  “Ill-judged, my dear. I do not contemplate marriage either with her or you. Nor am I at all certain which yellow-haired chit you mean.”

  Miss Marling prepared to depart. She swept a dignified curtsey, and said: “I do not mix with the company you keep, dear cousin, so I cannot tell you her name.”

  The Marquis bowed gracefully. “I still live, dear Juliana.”

  “You are shameless and provoking,” Miss Marling said crossly and left him.

  Chapter II

  in the sunny withdrawing-room which overlooked the street sat the Duchess of Avon, listening to her sister-in-law, Lady Fanny Marling, who had called to pay her a morning visit, and to talk over the week’s doings over a cup of chocolate and little sweet biscuits.

  Lady Fanny no longer looked her best in the crude light of day, but her grace, though turned forty now, still retained a youthful bloom in her cheeks, and had no need at all to shrink from the sunlight. Lady Fanny, who had taken care to seat herself with her back to the window, could not help feeling slightly resentful. There really seemed to be so little difference between her grace, and the boy-girl whom Avon had brought to England twenty-four years ago. Léonie’s figure was as slim as ever, her Titian hair, worn just now en négligé, was untouched by grey, and her eyes, those great dark-blue eyes which had first attracted the Duke, held all their old sparkle. Twenty-four years of marriage had given her dignity—when she chose to assume it, and much feminine wisdom, which she had lacked in the old days, but no wifely or motherly responsibility, no weight of honours, of social eminence had succeeded in subduing the gamin spirit in her. Lady Fanny considered her far too impulsive, but since she was, at the bottom of her somewhat shallow heart, very fond of her sister-in-law, she admitted that Léonie’s impetuosity only added to her charm.

  To-day, however, she was in no mood to admire the Duchess. Life was proving itself a tiresome business, full of unpaid bills, and undutiful daughters. Vaguely it annoyed her that Léonie (who had a thoroughly unsatisfactory son if only she could be brought to realize it) should look so carefree.

  “I vow,” she said rather sharply, “I do not know why we poor creatures slave and fret our lives out for our children, for they are all ungrateful and provoking and only want to disgrace one.”

  Léonie wrinkled her brow at that. “I do not think,” she said seriously, “that John would ever want to disgrace you, Fanny.”

  “Oh, I was not talking of John!” said her ladyship. “Sons are another matter, though to be sure I should not say so to you, for you have trouble enough with poor dear Dominic, and indeed I wonder how it is he has not turned your hair white with worry already, and young as he is.”

  “I do not have trouble with Dominique,” said Léonie flatly. “I find him fort amusant.”

  “Then I trust you will find his latest exploit fort amusant,” said Lady Fanny tartly. “I make no doubt he will break his neck over it, for what must he do at the drum last night but wager young Crossly—as mad a rake as ever I set eyes on, and I should be prodigious sorry to see my son in his company—that he would drive his curricle from London to Newmarket in four hours. Five hundred guineas on it, so I heard—play or pay!”

  “He drives very well,” Léonie said hopefully. “I do not think that he will break his neck, but you are quite right, tout même, Fanny: it makes one very anxious.”

  “And not content with making absurd wagers, which of course he must lose—”

  “He will not lose,” cried her grace indignantly. “And if you like I will lay you a wager that he will win!”

  “Lord, my dear, I don’t know what you would have me stake,” said Lady Fanny, forgetting the main issue for the moment. “It’s very well for you with all the pin money and the jewels Avon gives you, but I give you my word I expect to find myself at any moment in that horrid place Rupert used to be clapped up in. If you can believe it I’ve not won once at loo this past mont
h or at silver-pharaoh, and as for whist, I vow and declare to you I wish the game had never been thought of. But that’s neither here nor there, and at least I have not to stand by and watch my only son make himself the talk of the town with his bets and his highwaymen, and I don’t know what more beside.”

  Léonie looked interested at this. “But tell!” she commanded. “What highwayman?’

  “Oh, it was nothing but just to match the rest of his conduct. He shot one last night on Hounslow Heath, and must needs leave the body upon the road.”

  “He is a very good shot,” Léonie said. “For me, I like best to fight with swords, and so does Monseigneur, but Dominique chooses pistols.”

  Lady Fanny almost stamped her foot. “I declare you are as incorrigible as that worthless boy himself!” she cried. “It’s very well for the world to call Dominic Devil’s Cub, and place all his wildness at poor Avon’s door, but for my part I find him very like his mamma.”

  Léonie was delighted. “Voyons, that pleases me very much!” she said. “Do you really think so?”

  What Fanny might have been goaded to reply to this was checked by the quiet opening of the door behind her. She had no need to turn her head to see who had come in, for Léonie’s face told her.

  A soft voice spoke. “Ah, my dear Fanny,” it said, “lamenting my son’s wickedness as usual, I perceive.”

  “Monseigneur, Dominique has shot a highwayman!” Léonie said, before Fanny had time to speak.

  His Grace of Avon came slowly to the fire, and stretched one thin white hand to the blaze. He carried an ebony stick, but it was noticeable that he leaned on it but slightly. He was still very upright, and only his lined face showed his age. He wore a suit of black velvet with silver lacing, and his wig, which was curled in the latest French fashion, was thickly powdered. His eyes held all their old mockery, and mockery sounded in his voice as he answered: “Very proper.”

  “And left the body to rot on the road!” snapped Lady Fanny.

  His grace’s delicate brows rose. “I appreciate your indignation, my dear. An untidy ending.”

  “But not at all, Monseigneur!” Léonie said practically. “I do not see that a corpse is of any use at all.”