These Old Shades (30 page)

“Thunder an’ turf!” he told himself. “He’s fallen in love with the chit!”

Tuesday brought no Gaston, and Avon’s frown grew blacker.

“Of a certainty Madame has died,” Léonie said wickedly. “
Tiens
,
c’est bien drôle!”

“You have a perverted sense of humour, child,” said his Grace. “I have often remarked it. We start for Paris on Friday, Gaston or no Gaston.”

But soon after noon on Wednesday there was some bustle in the village street, and Rupert, seated by the parlour window, craned his neck to see if it were Gaston at last.

A hired coach of large dimensions drew up at the door, followed by another, piled high with baggage. From this vehicle Gaston leaped nimbly down, and ran to the door of the first coach. One of the lackeys let down the steps, the door was opened, and a serving maid climbed out. Behind her came a little lady enveloped in a large travelling cloak. Rupert stared, and burst out laughing.

“Egad, ‘tis Fanny! Lord, who’d have thought it?”

Léonie ran to the window.

“It is! it is!
Mon Dieu, que c’est amusant
! Monseigneur, it is Lady Fanny!”

His Grace went in a leisurely fashion to the door.

“So I understand,” he said placidly. “I fear your unfortunate duenna is indeed dead, infant.” He opened the door. “Well, Fanny?”

Lady Fanny came briskly in, embraced him, and let fall her cloak to the ground.

“La, what a journey I have had! My sweetest love, are you safe indeed?” She embraced Léonie. “I have been in a fever of curiosity, I give you my word! I see you are wearing the muslin I sent you. I knew ‘twould be ravishing, but never tie your sash like that, child! Oh, and there is Rupert! Poor boy, you look quite too dreadfully pale!”

Rupert held her off.

“Have done, Fan, have done! What in thunder brought you over?”

Lady Fanny stripped off her gloves.

“Since my cousin was nigh dead with the vapours, what would you?” she protested. “Besides, ‘twas so monstrous exciting I declare I could not be still!”

The Duke put up his glass.

“May I ask whether the worthy Edward is aware that you have joined us?” he drawled.

My lady dimpled.

“I am so tired of Edward!” she said. “He has been most provoking of late. I doubt I have spoiled him. Only fancy, Justin, he said I must not come to you!”

“You astonish me,” said his Grace. “Yet I observe that you are here.”

“A pretty thing ‘twould be an I let Edward think he could order me as he chooses!” cried her ladyship. “Oh, we have had a rare scene. I left a note for him,” she added naively.

“That should console him, no doubt,” said his Grace politely.

“I do not think it will,” she answered. “I expect he will be prodigious angry, but I pine for gaiety, Justin, and Gaston said you were bound for Paris!”

“I do not know that I shall take you, Fanny.”

She pouted.

“Indeed and you shall! I won’t be sent home. What would Léonie do for a chaperon if I went? For Harriet is in bed, my dear, and vows she can no more.” She turned to Léonie. “My love, you are vastly improved, ‘pon rep you are! And that muslin becomes you sweetly. La, who gave you those pearls?”

“Monseigneur gave them to me,” Léonie said. “They are pretty
, n’est-ce pas
?”

“I would sell my eyes for them,” said her ladyship frankly, and shot a curious glance at her impassive brother. She sank down into a chair with much fluttering of skirts. “I implore you, tell me what happened to you, for Harriet is such a fool, and so taken up with her vapours that she can tell me naught but enough to whet my curiosity. I am nigh dead with it, I vow.”

“So,” said his Grace, “are we. Where do you come from, Fanny, and how have you had speech with Harriet?”

“Speech with her?” cried my lady. “Oh lud, Justin! ‘My head, my poor head!’ she moans, and: ‘She was ever a wild piece!’ Never a word more could I get from her. I was near to shaking her, I give you my word!”

“Be hanged to you, Fan, for a chatterbox!” exclaimed Rupert. “How came you to Avon?”

“Avon, Rupert? I protest I’ve not seen the place for nigh on a twelvemonth, though indeed I took some notion to visit my dearest Jennifer the other day. But it came to naught, for there was my Lady Fountain’s rout, and I could scarce leave——”

“Devil take Lady Fountain’s rout! Where’s my cousin?”

“At home, Rupert. Where else?”

“What, not with Edward?”

Fanny nodded vigorously.

“She should suit his humour,” murmured the Duke.

“I doubt she will not,” said Fanny pensively. “What a rage he will be in, to be sure! Where was I?”

“You were not, my dear. We are breathlessly awaiting your arrival.”

“How disagreeable of you, Justin! Harriet! Of course! Up she came to town in Gaston’s charge, and was like to expire in my arms. Some rigmarole she wept down my best taffeta, and at last held out your letter, Justin. She vowed she’d not come to France, do what you would. Then I had more wailings of her sickness did she so much as set eyes on the sea. Oh, I had a pretty time with her, I do assure you! She could but moan of an abduction, and Rupert’s hat found in Long Meadow, hard by the wood, and of some man come to find a horse, and you setting off for Southampton, Justin. ‘Twas like the threads of a sampler with naught to stitch ‘em to. Gaston could tell me little more—la, Justin, why will you have a fool to valet?—and the end of it was that I was determined to come and see for myself and find what ‘twas all about. Then, if you please, what says Edward but that I am not to go! ‘Pon rep, things have come to a pretty pass between us, thought I! So when he went away to White’s—no, it was the Cocoa Tree, I remember, for he was to meet Sir John Cotton there—I set Rachel to pack my trunks, and started off with Gaston to come to you.
Me voici
, as Léonie would say.”

“Voyons!”
Léonie’s eyes sparkled. “I think it was very well done of you, madame! Will you come to Paris too? I am to make my curtsy to the World, Monseigneur says, and go to balls. Please come, madame!”

“Depend upon it, I shall come, my love. ‘Tis the very thing for which I have been pining. My sweetest life, there is a milliner in the Rue Royale who has the most ravishing styles! Oh, I will teach Edward a lesson!”

“Edward,” remarked his Grace, “is like to follow you demanding my blood. We must await his coming.”

“Dear Edward!” sighed my lady. “I do hope that he will not come, but I dare swear he will. And now for the love of heaven let me have your story! I shall die of curiosity else.”

So Léonie and Rupert poured forth the tale of their adventures once more into a most sympathetic ear. Fanny interspersed the recital with suitable exclamations, flew up and embraced Rupert before he could save himself when she heard of his narrow escape, and at the end of it all stared in amazement at his Grace, and burst out laughing.

The Duke smiled down at her.

“It makes you feel middle-aged, my dear? Alas!”

“No indeed!” My lady fanned herself. “I felt an hundred in my boredom, but this adventure—faith, ‘tis the maddest ever I heard—throws me back into my teens, ‘pon rep it does! Justin, you should have cut him to pieces with your small-sword, the villain!”

“That is what I think,” Léonie struck in. “I wanted to make him sorry, madame. It was a great impertinence.”

“A very proper spirit, my love, but if you in sooth flung a cup of hot coffee over him I’ll wager you made him sorry enough. La, what a hoyden you are, child! But I vow I envy you your courage. Saint-Vire? Ay, I know him well. A head of hair that could set six hayricks ablaze, and the most unpleasant eyes of any I know. What did he want with you, sweet?”

“I do not know,” Léonie answered. “And Monseigneur will not tell.”

“Oh, so you know, Justin? I might have guessed it! Some fiendish game you will be playing.” My lady shut her fan with a click. “It’s time I took a hand indeed! I’ll not have this child endangered by your mad tricks, Justin. Poor angel, I shudder to think of what might have befallen you!”

“Your solicitude for my ward’s safety is charming, Fanny, but I believe I am able to protect her.”

“Of course he is!” said Léonie. “Do I not belong to him?” She put her hand on his Grace’s arm, and smiled up at him.

My lady looked, and her eyes narrowed. On Rupert’s face she surprised a knowing grin, and of a sudden jumped up, saying that she must see to the bestowal of her boxes.

“Faith, the inn won’t hold them!” chuckled Rupert. “Where are you to sleep, Fan?”

“I do not care an I sleep in an attic!” said my lady. “ ‘Deed, I almost expect to sleep in the stables! It would be fitting in such a venture.”

“I believe we need not put that upon you,” said his Grace. “Gaston shall remove my trunks into Rupert’s chamber. Thus you may have my room.”

“My dear, ‘twill do excellently well! You shall show me the way, Léonie. ‘Pon rep, child, you grow more lovely each day!” She put her arm about Léonie’s waist, and went out with her.

“Egad, here’s a fine muddle!” said Rupert, when the door was shut behind the ladies. “Fan’s in a mighty good humour, but lord! is she to come with us?”

“I imagine that the worthy Edward will have a word to say to that,” Avon replied.

“How Fan could have chosen such a dull dog, and you abetted her, I don’t know!” said Rupert.

“My dear boy, I abetted her because he was dull enough to sober her. And he has money.”

“There’s that, of course, but, faith, he’d turn the milk sour if he smiled at it! Will you take Fan alone?”

“I almost think that I shall,” said Avon. “I could find no better hostess.”

Rupert stared.

“Are you going to entertain, Justin?”

“Lavishly, Rupert. It will be most fatiguing, but I have a duty as Léonie’s guardian which I must endeavour to perform.”

Rupert sat up in his chair, and spoke briskly.

“You may count on my presence for the season, Justin.”

“I am honoured, of course,” bowed his Grace.

“Ay, but—but will you let me join your party?” Rupert asked.

“You will add quite a cachet to my poor house,” Avon drawled. “Yes, child, you may join us, provided you behave with proper circumspection, and refrain from paying my very dear friend back in his own coin.”

“What, am I not to call him out?” demanded Rupert.

“It is so clumsy,” sighed his Grace. “You may leave him to my—er—tender mercies—with a clear conscience. The hole in your shoulder is added to the debt he owes me. He shall pay—in full.”

“Poor devil!” said Rupert, feelingly. He saw into his brother’s eyes, and ceased to smile. “My God, Justin, do you hate him so?”

“Bah!” said his Grace. “—I borrow the word from my infant’s vocabulary—does one hate an adder? Because it is venomous and loathsome one crushes it underfoot, as I shall crush this Comte.”

“Because of what happened twenty years ago—to you?” Rupert asked, greatly daring.

“No, boy. Not that, though it weighs also in the scale.”

“Because of what he did to Léonie, then?”

“Because of what he did to my infant,” softly echoed his Grace. “Yes, child.”

“There’s more to this than meets the eye,” said Rupert with conviction.

“Much more,” agreed his Grace. The unaccustomed harshness went from his face, and left it inscrutable as ever.’ “Remind me, boy, that I owe you a diamond pin. It was a single stone, I think, of a peculiar beauty?”

“Ay, you gave it me, years ago.”

“I wonder what can have possessed me?” said his Grace. “No doubt you were—er—’basking in the sunshine of my approval.’ ”

CHAPTER XXIII

Mr. Marling Allows himself to be Persuaded

Lady Fanny partook of breakfast in bed next morning, and was sipping her hot chocolate when Léonie scratched on the door. My lady put up her hands to her pretty nightcap and patted her golden curls before she called “Come in!”

“Oh, ‘tis you, child! Mercy, are you riding out so early?”

Léonie was in riding dress, with polished boots, and leathern gauntlets, tasselled, and a big black beaver on her head with a long feather that swept her shoulder.

“Yes, madame, but only if you do not need me. Monseigneur said that I must ask you.”

Lady Fanny nibbled at a sweet biscuit and regarded the bed-post with rapt interest.

“No, child, no. Why should I need you? Lud, what roses you have, I’d give my best necklet for your complexion. To be sure, I had it once. Go, my love. Don’t keep Justin waiting. Is Rupert up?”

“His valet dresses him, madame.”

“I’ll bear him company in the parlour,” said her ladyship, and pushed her cup and saucer away. “Away with you, child! Stay! Send Rachel to me, my love, if you will be so good.”

Léonie went with alacrity. Half an hour later my lady, having bustled exceedingly, came tripping into the parlour dressed in a flowered muslin, and her fair hair unpowdered beneath a becoming cap. Rupert looked up as she entered, and put down the book over which he had been yawning.