These Old Shades Read online

  Hugh gathered up his cards.

  ‘How should I know, Lavoulère? Doubtless he has a reason. And – forgive me – I am weary of the subject.’

  ‘He is so – so arresting,’ apologised Lavoulère. ‘The page. Red hair – oh, but of a radiance! – and blue, blue eyes. Or are they purple-black? The little oval face, and the patrician nose – ! Justin is wonderful. You do not think so, Henri?’

  ‘Oh, without doubt!’ Saint-Vire answered. ‘He should have been an actor. Quant à moi, I would humbly suggest that enough notice has been taken of the Duc and his page. Your play, Marchérand.’

  At Avon’s table one of the gamblers yawned, pushing back his chair.

  ‘Mille pardons, but I thirst! I go in search of refreshment.’

  The game had come to an end, and Justin was toying with his dice-box. He glanced up now, and waved to Château-Mornay to keep his seat.

  ‘My page will fetch wine, Louis. He is not only to be gazed upon. Léon!’

  Léon slipped from behind Avon’s chair, from where he had been an intent spectator of the game.

  ‘Monseigneur?’

  ‘Canary and burgundy, at once.’

  Léon withdrew, and nervously threaded his way between the tables to the buffet. He returned presently with a tray, which he presented to Justin, on one knee. Justin pointed silently to where Château-Mornay sat, and blushing for his mistake, Léon went to him, and again presented the tray. When he had served each one in turn he looked inquiringly up at his master.

  ‘Go to M. Davenant, and ask him if he has commands for you,’ said Justin languidly. ‘Will you hazard a throw with me, Cornalle?’

  ‘Ay, what you will.’ Cornalle pulled a dice-box from his pocket. ‘Two ponies? Will you throw?’

  Justin cast his dice carelessly on the table, and turned his head to watch Léon. The page was at Davenant’s elbow. Davenant looked up.

  ‘Well, Léon? What is it?’

  ‘Monseigneur sent me, m’sieur, to see if you had commands for me.’

  Saint-Vire shot him a quick look, leaning back in his chair, one hand lying lightly clenched on the table.

  ‘Thank you, no,’ Hugh replied. ‘Unless – Saint-Vire, will you drink with me? And you, messieurs?’

  ‘I thank you, Davenant,’ said the Comte. ‘You have no thirst, Lavoulère?’

  ‘At the moment, no. Oh, if you all must drink, then so will I!’

  ‘Léon, will you fetch burgundy, please?’

  ‘Yes, m’sieur,’ bowed Léon. He was beginning to enjoy himself. He walked away again, looking about him appreciatively. When he returned he made use of the lesson just learned at Avon’s table, and presented the silver tray first to Saint-Vire.

  The Comte turned in his chair, and picking up the decanter, slowly poured out a glassful, and handed it to Davenant. He poured out another, his eyes on Léon’s face. Conscious of the steady regard, Léon looked up, and met Saint-Vire’s eyes frankly. The Comte held the decanter poised, but poured no more for a long minute.

  ‘What is your name, boy?’

  ‘Léon, m’sieur.’

  Saint-Vire smiled.

  ‘No more?’

  The curly head was shaken.

  ‘Je ne sais plus rien, m’sieur.’

  ‘So ignorant?’ Saint-Vire went on with his work. As he picked up the last glass he spoke again. ‘Methinks you have not been long with M. le Duc?’

  ‘No, m’sieur. As m’sieur says.’ Léon rose, and looked across at Davenant. ‘M’sieur?’

  ‘That is all, Léon, thank you.’

  ‘So you have found a use for him, Hugh? Was I not wise to bring him? Your servant, Lavoulère.’

  The soft voice startled Saint-Vire, and his hand shook, so that a little liquid was spilled from his glass. Avon stood at his side, quizzing-glass raised.

  ‘A very prince of pages,’ smiled Lavoulère. ‘How is your luck to-night, Justin?’

  ‘Wearisome,’ sighed the Duke. ‘For a week it has been impossible to lose. From the dreamy expression on Hugh’s face I infer that it is not so with him.’ He went to stand behind Hugh’s chair, laying a hand on his shoulder. ‘Belike, my dear Hugh, I shall bring you better luck.’

  ‘I have never known you do that yet,’ retorted Davenant. He set down his emptied glass. ‘Shall we play again?’

  ‘By all means,’ nodded Saint-Vire. ‘You and I are in a sad way, Davenant.’

  ‘And shall soon be in a sadder,’ remarked Hugh, shuffling the pack. ‘Remind me, Lavoulère, that in future I only play with you as my partner.’ He dealt the cards round, and as he did so, spoke quietly to the Duke, in English. ‘Send the child downstairs, Alastair. You have no need of him.’

  ‘I am as wax in your hands,’ replied his Grace. ‘He has served his turn. Léon, you will await me in the hall.’ He stretched out his hand to pick up Hugh’s cards. ‘Dear me!’ He laid them down again, and watched the play in silence for a while.

  At the end of the round Lavoulère spoke to him.

  ‘Where is your brother, Alastair? The so charming youth! He is quite, quite mad!’

  ‘Lamentably so. Rupert, for all I know, is either languishing in an English sponging house, or living upon my hapless brother-in-law’s bounty.’

  ‘That is Miladi Fanny’s husband, yes? Edward Marling, n’est-ce pas? You have only the one brother and sister?’

  ‘They more than suffice me,’ said his Grace.

  Lavoulère laughed.

  ‘Voyons, it amuses me, your family! Is there no love between you at all?’

  ‘Very little.’

  ‘And yet I have heard that you reared them, those two!’

  ‘I have no recollection of it,’ said Justin.

  ‘Come now, Justin, when your mother died you kept a hand on the reins!’ expostulated Davenant.

  ‘But lightly, my dear. Enough only to make both a little afraid of me; no more.’

  ‘Lady Fanny is very fond of you.’

  ‘Yes, I believe she is occasionally,’ agreed Justin calmly.

  ‘Ah, Miladi Fanny!’ Lavoulère kissed his finger-tips. ‘Behold! How she is ravissante !’

  ‘Also behold that Hugh wins,’ drawled his Grace. ‘My compliments, Davenant.’ He shifted his position slightly, so that he faced Saint-Vire. ‘Pray how is Madame, your charming wife, dear Comte?’

  ‘Madame is well, I thank you, m’sieur.’

  ‘And the Vicomte, your so enchanting son?’

  ‘Also.’

  ‘Not here to-night, I think?’ Avon raised his glass, and through it surveyed the room. ‘I am desolated. No doubt you deem him too young for these delights? He is but nineteen, I believe?’

  Saint-Vire laid his cards face downwards on the table, and looked angrily up at that handsome, enigmatic countenance.

  ‘You are most interested in my son, M. le Duc!’

  The hazel eyes widened and narrowed again.

  ‘But how could it be otherwise?’ asked the Duke politely.

  Saint-Vire picked up his cards again.

  ‘He is at Versailles, with his mother,’ he said curtly. ‘My play, Lavoulère?’

  Three

  Which Tells of a Debt Unpaid

  When Davenant returned to the house in the Rue St-Honoré, he found that although Léon had long since come in, and was now in bed, his Grace was still out. Guessing that Avon had gone from Vassaud’s to visit his latest light o’ love, Hugh went into the library to await him. Soon the Duke sauntered in, poured himself out a glass of canary wine, and came to the fire.

  ‘A most instructive evening. I hope my very dear friend Saint-Vire recovered from the sorrow my early departure must have occasioned him?’

  ‘I think so,’ smiled Hugh. He rested his head back against the cushions of his chair, and looked at the Duke with rather a puzzled expression on his face. ‘Why do you so hate one another, Justin?’

  The straight brows rose.

  ‘Hate? I? My dear Hugh!’

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