Sir Tristram picked up a vinaigrette from the table by the bed and held it under his great-uncle’s nose. ‘You’re tiring yourself, sir.’
‘Damn you!’ said Sylvester faintly. He lifted his hand with a perceptible effort and took the bottle, and lay in silence for a time, breathing its aromatic fumes. After a minute or two his lips twitched in a wry smile, and he murmured: ‘I would give much to have been able to see the three of you together. What did you talk of ?’
‘Ludovic,’ replied Shield with a certain cool deliberation.
Sylvester’s hand clenched suddenly; the smile left his face. He said scarcely above a whisper: ‘I thought you knew his name is never to be mentioned in this house! Do you count me dead already that you should dare?’
‘You’re not a greater object of awe to me on your deathbed, Sylvester, than you have ever been,’ said Shield.
Sylvester’s eyes flashed momentarily, but his sud
den wrath vanished in a chuckle. ‘You’re an impudent dog, Tristram. Did you ever care for what I said?’
‘Very rarely,’ said Shield.
‘Quite right,’ approved Sylvester. ‘Damme, I always liked you for it! What have you been saying about the boy?’
‘Eustacie wanted to hear the story. Apparently you told her he was dead.’
‘He is dead to me,’ said Sylvester harshly. ‘Of what use to let her make a hero of him? You may depend upon it she would. Did you tell her?’
‘Basil told her.’
‘You should have stopped him.’ Sylvester lay frowning, his fingers plucking a little at the gorgeous coverlet. ‘Basil believed the boy’s story,’ he said abruptly.
‘I have never known why, sir.’
Sylvester flashed a glance at him. ‘You didn’t believe it, did you?’
‘Did any of us, save only Basil?’
‘He said we should have let him stand his trial. I wonder. I wonder.’
‘He was wrong. We did what we could for Ludovic when we shipped him to France. Why tease yourself now?’
‘You never liked him, did you?’
‘You have only to add that I am something of a collector of antique jewellery, Sylvester, and you will have said very much what Basil has been saying, far more delicately, below stairs.’
‘Don’t be a fool!’ said Sylvester irritably. ‘I told you he’d do what he could to spoil your chances. Send him about his business!’
‘You will have to excuse me, sir. This is not my house.’
‘No, by God, and nor is it his!’ said Sylvester, shaken by a gust of anger. ‘The estate will be in ward when I die, and I have not made him a trustee!’
‘Then you are doing him an injustice, sir. Who are your trustees?’
‘My lawyer, Pickering, and yourself,’ answered Sylvester.
‘Good God, what induced you to name me?’ said Shield. ‘I have not the smallest desire to manage your affairs!’
‘I trust you, and I don’t trust him,’ said Sylvester. ‘Moreover,’ he added with a spark of malice, ‘I’ve a fancy to make you run in my harness even if I can only do it by dying. Pour me out a little of that cordial.’
Sir Tristram obeyed his behest, and held the glass to Sylvester’s lips. Perversely, Sylvester chose to hold it himself, but it was apparent that even this slight effort was almost too great a tax on his strength.
‘Weak as a cat!’ he complained, letting Shield take the glass again. ‘You’d better go downstairs before that fellow has time to poison Eustacie’s mind. I’ll have you married in this very room just as soon as I can get the parson here. Send Jarvis to me; I’m tired.’
When Sir Tristram reached the drawing-room again the tea-table had been brought in. Beau Lavenham inquired after his great-uncle, and upon Sir Tristram’s saying that he found him very much weaker, shrugged slightly, and said: ‘I shall believe Sylvester is dead when I see him in his coffin. I hope you did not forget to tell him that I am dutifully in attendance?’