Devil's Cub Read online

  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.’

  ‘La, child, will you never lose those callous notions of yours?’ demanded Fanny. ‘It might be Vidal himself speaking! All he would say was that he could not bring a corpse to the drum. Yes, Avon; that is positively the only excuse he gave for his inhuman conduct.’

  ‘I did not know that Vidal had so much proper feeling,’ remarked his grace. He moved towards a chair and sat down. ‘Doubtless you had some other reason for visiting us to-day – other than to mourn Vidal’s exploits.’

  ‘Of course, I might have known you would uphold him, just to be disagreeable,’ said Lady Fanny crossly.

  ‘I never uphold Vidal – even to be disagreeable,’ replied his grace.

  ‘Indeed, and I cannot conceive how you should. I was only saying to Léonie when you came in that I have never seen my son in such scrapes as he is always in. I do not believe John has ever caused me one moment’s anxiety in all his life.’

  The Duke opened his snuff-box – a plain gold case delicately painted en grisaille by Degault and protected by cristal de roche. ‘I can do nothing about it, my dear Fanny,’ he said. ‘Recollect that you wanted to marry Edward.’

  Under her rouge additional and quite natural colour rose in Fanny’s cheeks. ‘I won’t hear one word against my sainted Edward!’ she said, her voice quivering a little. ‘And if you mean that John is like his dear father, I am sure I am thankful for it.’

  Léonie interposed hurriedly. ‘Monseigneur did not mean anything like that, did you, Monseigneur? And me, I was always very fond of Edward. And certainly John is like him, which is a good thing, just as Juliana is very like you, only not, I think, as pretty as you were.’

  ‘Oh my dear, do you say so indeed?’ Lady Fanny’s angry flush died down. ‘You flatter me, but I believe I was accounted something of a beauty in my young days, was I not, Justin? Only I hope I was never so headstrong as Juliana, who is likely to ruin everything by her stupid behaviour.’ She turned to Avon. ‘Justin, it is too provoking! The childish chit has taken a fancy to the veriest nobody, and I am forced – yes, forced to pack her off to France till she has got over it.’

  Léonie at once pricked up her ears. ‘Oh, is Juliana in love? But who is he?’

  ‘Pray do not put such an idea into her head!’ besought Lady Fanny. ‘It’s no such matter, I’ll be bound. Lord, if I had married the first man whom I fancied I loved – ! It’s nothing but a silly girl’s first affair, but she is such a headstrong child I vow I do not know what she will be at next. So off she goes to France. John is to take her.’

  ‘Who,’ inquired his grace languidly, ‘is the nobody?’

  ‘Oh, no one of account, my dear Justin. Some country squire’s son whom young Carlisle is sponsoring.’

  ‘Is he nice?’ Léonie asked.

  ‘I dare say, my love, but that’s nothing to the point. I have other plans for Juliana.’ She gave her laces a little shake, and went on airily: ‘I am sure we have spoken of it often enough, you and I, and I cannot help feeling that it would be a charming match, besides fulfilling my dearest wish. And I have always thought them remarkably well suited, and I make no doubt at all that everything would have been on the road to being settled by now had Juliana not taken it into her head to flout me in this way, though to be sure, I do not in the least blame her for appearing cold to him, for it is no more than he deserves.’

  She paused for breath, and shot a look at Avon out of the corners of her eyes. He was quite unperturbed; a faint smile hovered over his thin lips, and he regarded his sister with an air of cynical amusement. ‘I find your conversation somewhat difficult to follow, my dear Fanny,’ he said. ‘Pray enlighten me.’

  Lady Fanny said shrewdly: ‘Indeed, and I think you follow me very well, Justin.’

  ‘But I don’t,’ Léonie said. ‘Who deserves that Juliana should be cold? It is not the poor nobody?’

  ‘Of course not!’ replied her ladyship impatiently. She seemed strangely loth to explain herself. Léonie glanced inquiringly at the Duke.

  He had opened his snuff-box again, and held a pinch to one nostril before he spoke. ‘I apprehend, my love, that Fanny is referring to your son.’

  A blank look came into Léonie’s face. ‘Dominique? But –’ She stopped and looked at Fanny. ‘No,’ she said flatly.

  Lady Fanny was hardly prepared for anything so downright. ‘Lord, my dear, what can you mean?’

  ‘I do not at all want Dominique to marry Juliana,’ Léonie explained.

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Lady Fanny, sitting very erect in her chair, ‘you will be good enough to explain what that signifies.’

  ‘I am sorry if I seemed rude,’ Léonie apologised. ‘Did I, Monseigneur?’

  ‘Very,’ he answered, shutting his snuff-box with an expert flick of the finger. ‘But, unlike Fanny, beautifully frank.’

  ‘Well, I am sorry,’ she repeated. ‘It is not that I do not like Juliana, but I do not think it would amuse Dominic to marry her.’

  ‘Amuse him!’ Fanny turned with pardonable exasperation to her brother. ‘If that is all – ! Have you also forgotten the plans we made, Avon, years back?’

  ‘Acquit me, Fanny. I never make plans.’

  Léonie interrupted a heated rejoinder to say: ‘It is true, Fanny: we did say Dominique should marry Juliana. Not Monseigneur, but you and I. But they were babies, and me, I think it is all quite different now.’

  ‘What is different, pray?’ demanded her ladyship.

  Léonie reflected. ‘Well, Dominique is,’ she replied naïvely. ‘He is not enough respectable for Juliana.’

  ‘Lord, child, do you look to see him bring home one of his opera dancers on his arm?’ Lady Fanny said with a shrill little laugh.

  From a doorway a cool, faintly insolent voice spoke. ‘My good aunt interests herself in my affairs, I infer.’ The Marquis of Vidal came into the room, his chapeau-bras under his arm, the wings of his riding coat clipped back, French fashion, and top boots on his feet. There was a sparkle in his eyes, but he bowed with great politeness to his aunt, and went towards the Duchess.

  She flew out of her chair. ‘Ah, my little one! Voyons, this makes me very happy!’

  He put his arms around her. The red light went out of his eyes, and a softer look transformed his face. ‘“My dear and only love,” I give you good morrow,’ he said. He shot a glance of mockery at his aunt, and took both Léonie’s hands in his. ‘‘‘My dear – and – only – love,”’ he repeated maliciously, and kissed her fingers.

  The Duchess gave a little crow of laughter. ‘Truly?’ she inquired.

  Fanny saw him smile into her eyes, a smile he kept for her alone. ‘Oh, quite, my dear!’ he said negligently. Upon w