These Old Shades (Alastair-Audley Tetralogy 1)

‘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.