Джорджетт Хейер - Devil’s Cub

“I see,” said Miss Challoner. “And how do you propose to achieve all this, my lord?”

“There are still Protestants in France, my dear. All I have to do is to find a pastor. But it may not be easy, and until I have done it you will have to remain hidden in my house. I can’t trust my aunt or I’d place you in her charge.” He paused. “There is of course my obese great-uncle Armand de Saint-Vire. No. His tongue wags too much.”

“You would appear to have many relatives in Paris, sir,” remarked Miss Challoner. “I felicitate you.”

“You need not,” said Vidal. “I am more in the habit, myself, of consigning ’em all to the devil. Not only is my mother a Frenchwoman, but my paternal grandmother must needs have been one too. The result, ma’am, is that my damned French cousins litter Paris. There is the aunt in whose charge I’ll not place you. She is more properly a cousin, but is known to my generation as Tante Elisabeth. You’ll meet her. She has a fondness for me. The rest of the family need not concern you. I never permit ’em to disturb me.”

“And your obese great-uncle?” inquired Miss Challoner.

“Ah, he don’t belong to that side of the family. He’s the head of my mother’s family. He married upon coming into the title, very late in life. He is a friend of my father’s, and like him, has one son, my cousin Bertrand. You’ll meet him, too.”

“Shall I?” said Miss Challoner. “When?”

“When I’ve married you.”

“The prospect is naturally alluring, sir,” said Miss Challoner, rising, “but even these treats in store don’t tempt me to marriage.” Upon which she curtsied gracefully and walked to the door.

“Vixen,” said his lordship, as she opened it.

Miss Challoner curtsied again, and withdrew.

Upon the following morning she found his lordship partaking of a substantial breakfast, and since he seemed to be very much better, she made no demur. The surgeon visited the inn at noon, and although he exclaimed aloud against Vidal’s intention to travel that day, he had no objection, he said, to his patient leaving his bed for a short time. When he had gone Miss Challoner prevailed upon the Marquis to postpone their departure one more day. She spent the afternoon in her own room, but came down to the private salle shortly before the dinner hour, and walked plump into an agitated conference at the foot of the stairs.

Several excited persons were gathered about a neat and unemotional gentleman in travelling dress of unmistakable English cut. M. Plançon, the landlord, was apparently trying to make himself intelligible to this gentleman, but in the intervals of volubility, he cast up despairing hands to heaven, while two serving-men and an ostler took up the tale with the maximum amount of gesticulation and noise.

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. Plançon 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.

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.”