‘Dear Mary,’ said his lordship, ‘hold your tongue!’
‘Very well, sir,’ replied Miss Challoner obediently.
‘First,’ Vidal said, ‘I must ask you to keep within doors while we remain in Dieppe. I don’t want a chance traveller to see you here.’
Miss Challoner wrinkled her brow thoughtfully. ‘I will do as you wish, of course, but I do not think I number among my acquaintance anyone likely to be visiting France at this season.’
‘Possibly not,’ answered the Marquis. ‘But I number many. Second, I much regret that it will not be possible for me to marry you immediately we arrive in Paris.’
‘Do you mean, sir, that you have, upon reflection, perceived the wisdom of my plans?’
‘No, ma’am, I do not,’ Vidal said. ‘I mean that there are certain difficulties attendant upon the marriage of English Protestants in France.’
‘Oh!’ said Miss Challoner hopefully.
‘The obvious course is to visit the Embassy,’ said my lord, ‘but since the Ambassador is related to me and I know personally at least three of the Secretaries, the Embassy is the last place I shall visit.’
‘If,’ said Miss Challoner, ‘you feel so much aversion from displaying me to your numerous friends, sir, I wonder that you still persist in this determination to wed me.’
‘And if,’ said the Marquis with some asperity, ‘you would put yourself to the trouble of employing the brain I imagine you must possess, you might possibly perceive that my reluctance to display you to my numerous friends arises from motives of the most disinterested chivalry.’
‘Indeed?’ Miss Challoner said, unabashed. ‘Well, I could scarce be expected to think that, could I?’
‘Oho!’ said his lordship. ‘So you’ve claws, have you?’ Miss Challoner said nothing. ‘To put it plainly, Miss Challoner, the Ambassador, my esteemed cousin, and his Secretaries, my unregenerate friends, have not infrequently visited my hôtel when a lady was there to act as hostess. They would not consider the presence of a lady under my roof worthy of comment. But were I to walk into the Embassy with a request to be married at once to a lady, living already under my protection, I should cause, not comment, but something in the nature of an uproar. Within a week, my dear, it would be all over town that you’d run off with me, and trapped me into wedding you.’
‘Oh!’ said Miss Challoner, flushing.
‘Precisely, my love,’ said his lordship sardonically. ‘So since the reason for our marriage is to stop any breath of scandal attaching to your fair name, we shall be wed as quietly as I can contrive. After which, I can easily make it appear that I met you, very properly, in Paris, where you were sojourning with friends, and married you, most romantically, out of hand.’
‘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.
Nine
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 realise 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.’
‘Let me inform you, ma’am, that I am not considered dangerous until the third bottle.’
Miss Challoner looked at him with a faint smile. ‘My lord,’ she said frankly, ‘you become dangerous immediately your will is crossed. I find you spoiled, impetuous, and shockingly overbearing.’
‘Thank you,’ said his lordship. ‘Perhaps you prefer the sedate demeanour of your friend Mr Comyn?’
‘He seemed to be a gentleman of ordinary propriety, certainly,’ concurred Miss Challoner.
‘I, on the other hand, am a gentleman of extraordinary impropriety, of course.’
‘Oh, not a gentleman, sir, a nobleman,’ said Miss Challoner with irony.
‘You hit hard, ma’am. Pray, was there anything else in Mr Comyn that you found worthy of remark?’
‘To be sure, sir. His manners were of the most amiable.’
‘I’ve none at all,’ said his lordship blandly. ‘Being a nobleman, ma’am, I don’t need ’em. Pray let me pass you this second dish of comfits which has apparently escaped your notice.’
‘Thank you,’ said Miss Challoner.
The Marquis sipped his wine, watching her over the rim of his glass. ‘I think it only fair to warn you, ma’am, that this paragon is secretly contracted to a cousin of mine. In fact, his business in Paris, and I mistake not, is to elope with her.’
‘Indeed?’ Miss Challoner said innocently. ‘Your cousin is no doubt very like you?’
‘Oh, just a family likeness, ma’am,’ retorted his lordship. ‘She should be pleased with you,’ he added thoughtfully.
‘I cannot conceive why, sir.’
‘She’d be pleased with any female who married me.’
Miss Challoner looked at him curiously. ‘She is so fond of you?’
‘No, that ain’t the reason. Her mamma, my ambitious Aunt Fanny, intends her to be my bride – a prospect Juliana dislikes as much as I do.’
Miss Challoner said quickly: ‘Juliana?’
‘My cousin.’
‘Yes, I understand that, my lord. But what is her surname?’
‘Marling,’ said his lordship. ‘Now what’s to do?’
Miss Challoner jumped in her chair. ‘Your cousin! Juliana Marling! But I know her!’
‘Do you?’ said Vidal, not visibly excited. ‘A mad piece, ain’t she?’
‘Oh, she was my very dearest friend!’ Miss Challoner said. ‘But I never dreamed she was your cousin! We were at the same seminary, you see.’
‘I’ll wager Juliana learned precious little there,’ remarked Vidal.
‘Not very much,’ allowed Miss Challoner. ‘They nearly sent her away once, for – er – flirting with the drawing-master. She always said they only forgave her because her uncle was a duke.’
‘Kissed the drawing-master, did she? She would!’
‘Is she really going to marry Mr Comyn?’ inquired Miss Challoner.
‘She says so. But she can’t run off with him now until our affair is settled. Egad, it’s providential that you know her!’ He pushed back his chair and got up. ‘She’s staying with my cousin Elisabeth – bundled off too young to be out of Comyn’s way. I’ll go and pay my respects to her immediately we reach Paris, and tell her the whole story. She’s a rattle-pate, but she’s fond of me, and she’ll do as I bid her. She shall have met you in Paris, just as you were on the point of returning to England with – oh, an aunt, o
r some such thing. She will tell Tante Elisabeth that she has prevailed upon you to visit her for a week or two and you will go to the Hôtel Charbonne surrounded by a positive fog of respectability. From whence, my dear, I shall presently elope with you – before, I trust, Tante has had time to discover the truth.’
Miss Challoner was thinking fast. If Juliana were in Paris, Juliana could help her obtain a post in some genteel household. Knowing that lively damsel, she had no fear that she might be shocked at her friend’s extraordinary escapade. ‘Yes, my lord, that is a very good notion – some of it, but I believe you have not perceived the whole good of Juliana’s presence in Paris. You have said yourself, sir, that I shall be surrounded by a positive fog of respectability. I have only to pretend to my mother that Juliana was with you from the start of our journey, and my reputation is saved.’
He shook his head. ‘I fear not, Mary. It’s a good lie, but too many people would know it for a lie. Moreover, my dear, if I know aught of your mamma, her first care will have been to apprise my parents of your abduction, and to create as much stir as possible. I am well aware that she meant to try and force me into marriage with Sophia by some such method. Didn’t she?’
‘Yes,’ said Miss Challoner, flushing and shamefaced.
The Marquis touched her cheek with a careless finger as he passed her chair. ‘No need to look like that, child; I know. Happily, these plans will be delayed a little by the absence of both my parents from town. My father was to have left for the races at Newmarket upon the day I took my leave of him; and my mother was to have gone with him as far as Bedford, where she will be at this moment, staying with the Vanes. We have, therefore, at least a fortnight’s grace, I imagine, but certainly not longer. Write to your mother, apprising her of your betrothal: that should silence her.’
‘And you?’ she said, watching him as he wandered restlessly about the room. ‘Do you intend to write to your father?’
An involuntary smile twisted his mouth. He refrained from telling her that it was not his libertine behaviour that would annoy his grace, but his honourable intention to marry. He said only: ‘No need: his grace is not likely to concern himself with my affairs.’