Devil's Cub (Alastair-Audley Tetralogy 2)

‘Hammond?’ said the Marquis sharply. He strode up to Mr Comyn, his eyes suddenly eager. ‘Then you’ve not done it? Quick, man, it was a lie?’

‘It was a lie, my lord,’ answered Mr Comyn quietly.

Lord Rupert listened open-mouthed to this interchange, and glanced hopelessly at the Duchess. Her eyes had begun to twinkle, and she said frankly: ‘It is quite incomprehensible, mon vieux. Me, I know nothing, and no one tells me.’

‘Plague take it, I won’t have it!’ roared his lordship, goaded beyond endurance. ‘What’s a lie? Who’s this fellow Hammond? Oh, I’ll end in Bedlam, devil a doubt!’

‘Shall I tell the English monsieur that M. Comyn is engaged?’ asked the landlord doubtfully.

‘Bring him in here at once!’ commanded Rupert. ‘Don’t stand there goggling, fatwit! Go and fetch him!’

‘Yes, go and fetch him,’ said the Marquis. He was still looking at Mr Comyn, but he was frowning no longer. ‘Good God, Comyn, do you know how near to death you have been?’ he asked softly.

Mr Comyn smiled. ‘I am aware, my lord. The heat of the moment – excusable, you will agree – being happily past, I can make allowances for the very natural fury of a man deeply in love.’

‘Mighty good of you,’ said his lordship with a rather rueful grin. ‘I’ll admit I’m a thought too ready with my hands.’ He turned as the door was once more opened to admit a gentleman dressed in a black habit and bands, and a Ramillies wig. ‘Mr Hammond?’ he said. ‘In a very good hour, sir!’

The cleric looked him over with patent disapproval. ‘I have not the pleasure, I think, of your acquaintance, sir,’ he said frigidly. ‘I am come here, much against my will, at the request of Mr – ah – Comyn.’

‘But it is I who need your services, sir,’ said his lordship bris

kly. ‘My name’s Alastair. You are, I believe, making the Grand Tour in charge of Lord Edward Crewe?’

‘I am, sir, but I fail to understand what interest this can be to you.’

Light broke upon Lord Rupert with dazzling radiance. Suddenly he smote his knee and called out: ‘By the holy Peter, I have it! The man’s a parson, and that is why you came to Dijon! Lord, it’s as plain as the nose on your face!’

Mr Hammond looked at him with acute dislike. ‘You have the advantage of me, sir.’

‘Eh?’ said Rupert. ‘Oh, my name’s Alastair.’

Mr Hammond flushed angrily. ‘Sir, if this is a pleasantry it is one that in no way amuses me. If you summoned me here, Mr Comyn, for some boorish jest –’

Léonie got up, and came towards him. ‘But do not be enraged, m’sieur,’ she said kindly. ‘No one jests, I assure you. Will you not be seated?’

Mr Hammond thawed a little. ‘I thank you, ma’am. If I might know whom I have the honour of addressing – ?’

‘Oh, her name’s Alastair, too,’ said Rupert, who was fast lapsing into a rollicking mood.

Mr Comyn intervened hastily as the divine showed signs of deep offence. ‘Permit me, my lord! Let me make you known to her grace the Duchess of Avon, sir. Also her grace’s son, my Lord Vidal, and her grace’s brother-in-law, Lord Rupert Alastair.’

Mr Hammond recoiled perceptibly, and stared in horror at the Marquis. ‘Do I understand that this is none other than that Marquis of Vidal who – sir, if I had known, no persuasion would have sufficed to draw me into this house!’

The Marquis’s brows lifted. ‘My good sir,’ he said, ‘you are not sent for to condemn my morals, but to marry me to a certain lady at present staying in this inn.’

Léonie cried out, aghast: ‘But you cannot, Dominique! You said that she is married to M. Comyn!’

‘So I thought, madame, but she is not.’

‘Sir,’ said Mr Hammond very furiously, ‘I shall perform no marriage service!’

Lord Rupert looked at him through his quizzing glass. ‘Who is this fellow?’ he inquired haughtily. ‘I don’t like him, stap me if I do!’

‘Dominique,’ Léonie said urgently. ‘I cannot talk to you here, with all these people. You say you will marry this girl, but it seems to me that it is not all necessary, for first she runs away with you, and then with M. Comyn, so that I see very well she is like that mother and sister whom I have met.’

He took her hands. ‘Maman, when you have seen her you will know that she is not like them. I am going to marry her.’ He drew her over to the window, and said gently: ‘Ma chère, you told me to fall in love, did you not?’

‘Not with a girl like this one,’ she replied, with a small sob.