These Old Shades (Alastair-Audley Tetralogy 1)

‘That is another matter.’

‘I do not see that that is fair,’ remarked Léon, sotto voce.

Some time after dinner the two men set out for Vassaud’s. When Hugh realised that Léon was to accompany them he frowned, and took Avon aside.

‘Justin, have done with this affectation! You can have no need of a page at Vassaud’s, and it’s no place for such a child!’

‘My very dear Hugh, I do wish you would allow me to know my own mind,’ answered Justin sweetly. ‘The page goes with me. Another whim.’

‘But why? The child should be in bed!’

Justin flicked a speck of snuff from his coat.

‘You force me to remind you, Hugh, that the page is mine.’

Davenant compressed his lips, and swung out of the door. Nonchalantly his Grace followed.

Vassaud’s was crowded, early in the evening though it was. The two men left their cloaks with the lackey in the vestibule, and proceeded, with Léon in their wake, across the hall to the broad stairway which led to the gaming-rooms on the first floor. Hugh saw a friend standing at the foot of the stairs, and paused to exchange a greeting, but Avon swept on, bowing slightly to right and left as some chance acquaintance hailed him. He did not stop to speak to anyone, although several called to him as he passed, but went on his regal way with just a faint smile on his lips.

Léon followed him close, his blue eyes wide with interest. He attracted some attention, and many were the curious glances cast from him to the Duke. He flushed delicately when he encountered such a glance, but his Grace appeared to be quite unaware of the surprise he had created.

‘What ails Alastair now?’ inquired the Chevalier d’Anvau, who was standing with one De Salmy in a recess on the staircase.

‘Who knows?’ De Salmy shrugged elegantly. ‘He must ever be unusual. Good evening, Alastair.’

The Duke nodded to him.

‘I rejoice to see you, De Salmy. A hand of piquet later?’

De Salmy bowed.

‘I shall be delighted.’ He watched Avon pass on, and shrugged again. ‘He bears himself as though he were the king of France. I mislike those strange eyes. Ah, Davenant, well met!’

Davenant smiled pleasantly.

‘You here? A crowd, is it not?’

‘All Paris,’ agreed the Chevalier. ‘Why has Alastair brought his page?’

‘I have no idea, Justin is never communicative. I see Destourville is back.’

‘Ah yes, he arrived last night. You have no doubt heard the scandal?’

‘Oh, my dear Chevalier, I never listen to scandal!’ Hugh laughed, and went on up the stairs.

‘Je me demande,’ remarked the Chevalier, watching Hugh’s progress through his eyeglass, ‘why it is that the good Davenant is a friend of the bad Alastair?’

The salon on the first floor was brilliantly lighted, and humming with gay, inconsequent conversation. Some

were already at play, others were gathered about the buffet, sipping their wine. Hugh saw Avon through the folding doors that led into a smaller salon, the centre of a group, his page standing at a discreet distance behind him.

A muttered exclamation near him made him turn his head. A tall, rather carelessly dressed man was standing beside him, looking across the room at Léon. He was frowning, and his heavy mouth was shut hard. Through the powder his hair glinted red, but his arched brows were black, and very thick.

‘Saint-Vire?’ Hugh bowed to him. ‘You are wondering at Alastair’s page? A freak, is it not?’

‘Your servant, Davenant. A freak, yes. Who is the boy?’

‘I do not know. Alastair found him yesterday. He is called Léon. I trust Madame your wife is well?’