Devil’s Cub at-2 Read online

  “My lord, it is a communication I should have desired to impart to you alone, but if you wish I will speak now.”

  “Tell me and be done with it,” said my lord curtly, and resumed his study of the fire.

  Mr. Comyn bowed again. “Very well, sir. I must first inform your lordship that when I had the honour of making Miss Challoner’s acquaintance at the house of Mme. de Char-bonne in Paris—”

  Léonie had sat down in the armchair, but started up again. “Mon Dieu, the friend of Juliana! Why did I not perceive that that must be so?”

  “Because if anyone spoke a word about aught save Dijon you would not listen,” said Rupert severely. “And that reminds me, Vidal: what in thunder brought you here? I’ve been puzzling over it all the way, and stap me if I can make it out.”

  “I had a reason.” Vidal answered briefly.

  “It does not matter in the least,” said her grace. “But it was very stupid of me not to see that of course the friend of Juliana must be this Mary Challoner. It was stupid of you too, Rupert. More stupid.”

  “Stupid of me? Lord, how the devil should I guess Vidal would take his—” He encountered a sudden fiery glance from his nephew, and stopped short. “Oh, very well!” he said. “I’m mum.”

  “So you went to Tante Elisabeth?” cried Juliana. “I see!”

  Mr. Comyn, who had waited in vain for the interruptions to cease, saw that he must be firm if he wished to make himself heard in this vociferous family. He cleared his throat, and continued loudly: “As I was saying, my lord, when I first had the honour of making Miss Challoner’s better acquaintance I was under the impression that not only was your lordship’s suit disagreeable to her, but that you yourself were constrained to wed the lady out of consideration—which I confess surprised me—for her reputation, and were not prompted by any of the tenderer feelings. Being convinced of this, I had little compunction, upon Miss Marling’s sundering our secret betrothal, in offering for Miss Challoner’s hand; an arrangement which I believed would be preferable to her than a marriage with your lordship.”

  My Lord Rupert, who had been listening in rapt admiration to this speech, said in what he imagined to be a whisper:

  “Wonderful, ain’t it, Léonie? Never heard aught to equal it. The boy always talks like that, y’know.”

  Juliana said throbbingly: “Indeed, Frederick? And the marriage was, I need hardly ask, more to your taste than our contract?”

  “Madam,” replied Mr. Comyn, looking steadily across at her, “when you informed me that you had no desire to wed one so far removed from your world as myself, it mattered very little to me whom I married. I had for Miss Challoner a profound respect; and on this I believed it would be possible to lay the foundations of a tolerably happy marriage. Miss Challoner was so obliging as to accept of my offer, and we set forth immediately for this town with what speed we could muster.”

  “Hold a minute!” besought Rupert, suddenly alert. “Why Dijon? Tell me that!”

  “You take the devil of a time arriving at the point of your story,” struck in the Marquis impatiently. “Be a little more brief, and to hell with your periods.”

  “I will endeavour, my lord. Upon the journey—”

  “Damn it, am I never to know why you came to Dijon?” said Rupert despairingly.

  “Hush, Rupert! Let Mr. Comyn speak!” reproved Léonie.

  “Speak? The dratted fellow’s never ceased speaking for the past ten minutes,” complained his lordship. “Well, go on, man, go on!”

  “Upon the journey,” repeated Mr. Comyn with unwearied patience, “I was gradually brought to realize that Miss Challoner’s affections were more deeply involved than I had supposed. Yet I could not but agree with her that a marriage with your lordship would be unsuitable in the extreme. My determination to marry her remained unshaken, for I believed your lordship to be indifferent to her. But when the late accident occurred it was apparent to anyone of the meanest intelligence that you felt for the lady all the most tender passions which any female could wish for in her future husband.”

  The Marquis was watching him intently. “Well, man? Well?”

  The question was destined to remain unanswered. A fresh interruption occurred. The landlord scratched on the door, and opened it to say: “There is another English monsieur desires to see M. Comyn. He calls himself M. Hammond.”

  “Tell him to go to the devil!” said Lord Rupert irritably.

  “Never heard of the fellow in my life! He can’t come in now.”

  “Hammond?” said the Marquis sharply. He strode up to Mr. Comyn, his eyes suddenly eager. “Then you’ve not done it? Quick, man, it was a lie?”

  “It was a lie, my lord,” answered Mr. Comyn quietly.

  Lord Rupert listened open-mouthed to this interchange, and glanced hopelessly at the Duchess. Her eyes had begun to twinkle, and she said frankly: “It is quite incomprehensible, mon vieux. Me, I know nothing, and no one tells me.”

  “Plague take it, I won’t have it!” roared his lordship, goaded beyond endurance. “What’s a lie? Who’s this fellow Hammond? Oh, I’ll end in Bedlam, devil a doubt!”

  “Shall I tell the English monsieur that M. Comyn is engaged?” asked the landlord doubtfully.

  “Bring him in here at once!” commanded Rupert. “Don’t stand there goggling, fatwit! Go and fetch him!”

  “Yes, go and fetch htm,” said the Marquis. He was still looking at Mr. Comyn, but he was frowning no longer. “Good God, Comyn, do you know how near to death you have been?” he asked softly.

  Mr. Comyn smiled. “I am aware, my lord. The heat of the moment—excusable, you will agree—being happily past, I can make allowances for the very natural fury of a man deeply in love.”

  “Mighty good of you,” said his lordship with a rather rueful grin. “I’ll admit I’m a thought too ready with my hands.” He turned as the door was once more opened to admit a gentleman dressed in a black habit and bands, and a Ramillies wig. “Mr. Hammond?” he said. “In a very good hour, sir!”

  The cleric looked him over with patent disapproval. “I have not the pleasure, I think, of your acquaintance, sir,” he said frigidly. “I am come here, much against my will, at the request of Mr.—ah—Comyn.”

  “But it is I who need your services, sir,” said his lordship briskly. “My name’s Alastair. You are, I believe, making the Grand Tour in charge of Lord Edward Crewe?”

  “I am, sir, but I fail to understand what interest this can be to you.”

  Light broke upon Lord Rupert with dazzling radiance. Suddenly he smote his knee and called out: “By the holy Peter, I have it! The man’s a parson, and that is why you came to Dijon! Lord, it’s as plain as the nose on your face!”

  Mr. Hammond looked at him with acute dislike. “You have the advantage of me, sir.”

  “Eh?” said Rupert. “Oh, my name’s Alastair.” Mr. Hammond flushed angrily. “Sir, if this is a pleasantry it is one that in no way amuses me. If you summoned me here, Mr. Comyn, for some boorish jest—”

  Léonie got up, and came towards him. “But do not be enraged, m’sieur,” she said kindly. “No one jests, I assure you. Will you not be seated?”

  Mr. Hammond thawed a little. “I thank you, ma’am. If I might know whom I have the honour of addressing—?”

  “Oh, her name’s Alastair, too,” said Rupert, who was fast lapsing into a rollicking mood.

  Mr. Comyn intervened hastily as the divine showed signs of deep offence. “Permit me, my lord! Let me make you known to her grace the Duchess of Avon, sir. Also her grace’s son, my Lord Vidal, and her grace’s brother-in-law, Lord Rupert Alastair.”

  Mr. Hammond recoiled perceptibly, and stared in horror at the Marquis. “Do I understand that this is none other than that Marquis of Vidal who—sir, if I had known, no persuasion would have sufficed to draw me into this house!” The Marquis’s brows lifted. “My good sir,” he said, “you are not sent for to condemn my morals, but to marry me to a certain lady at present