The gentleman opened his snuff-box, and took a pinch delicately. “If you succeeded in protecting your virtue, my dear Miss Challoner, I can readily believe—knowing his lordship—that your methods must have been exceedingly drastic. You perceive me positively agog with curiosity.”
“I shot him,” she said bluntly.
The hand that was raising the pinch of snuff to one nostril was checked for a brief moment. “Accept my compliments,” said the gentleman calmly, and inhaled the snuff.
“It was not a very bad wound,” she told him. “But it sobered him, you see.”
“I imagine that it might do so,” he conceded.
“Yes, sir. He began to realize that I was not—not vulgarly coy, but in deadly earnest.”
“Did he indeed? A gentleman of intuition, I perceive.”
Miss Challoner said with dignity: “You laugh, sir, but it was not very amusing at the time.”
The gentleman bowed. “I beg your pardon,” he said solemnly. “What happened next?”
“His lordship insisted that I should tell him all that I have told you. When he had heard me out he said that there was. only one thing to be done. I must marry him at once.”
The keen eyes lifted from the contemplation of the enamelled snuff-box, and were suddenly intent. “We have reached the point where you interest me extraordinarily,” said that smooth voice. “Proceed, Miss Challoner.”
She looked down at her clasped hands. “I could not consent to so wild a scheme, sir, of course. I was forced to decline his lordship’s offer.”
“I do not think I am a fool,” said the gentleman pensively. “But although I can sympathize with your reluctance to marry so dissolute a gentleman as Lord Vidal, your predicament was such that I do not immediately perceive what forced you to decline.”
“The knowledge, sir, that Lord Vidal did not care for me,” answered Miss Challoner in a low voice. “The knowledge also that in marrying me he would be making a—a deplorable mésalliance. I do not desire to discuss that, if you please. I requested his lordship—since I could hardly return to England—to escort me to Paris, where I hoped to find some genteel employment, such as I described to you.”
The quizzing-glass was raised again. “You appear to have confronted your somewhat unnerving situation with remarkable equanimity, Miss Challoner.”
She shrugged. “What else could I do, sir? Vapours would not have helped me. Besides, I had his lordship sick on my hands with some slight inflammation of the wound I had given him, and as he was bent on doing a number of imprudent things I had too much to do in preventing him to think very much of my own troubles.”
“From my brief acquaintance with you, Miss Challoner, I feel moderately convinced that you did prevent Lord Vidal’s imprudence.”
“Oh yes,” she answered. “He is quite easy to manage, if—if one only knows the way.”
The quizzing-glass fell. “His lordship’s parents should be anxious to meet you,” said the gentleman.
Her smile was twisted. “I am afraid not, sir. I do not know whether you are acquainted with his grace of Avon?”
“Intimately,” he said, with the ghost of a laugh.
“Oh, then—” She broke off. “In short, sir, I refused Lord Vidal’s offer, and we—”
“But were you not about to make some observation concerning his grace of Avon?” he interposed urbanely.
“I was, sir, but if you are intimate with him I will refrain.”
“Pray do not. In what monstrous light has this gentleman appeared to you?”
“I have never set eyes on him, sir. I only judge him by what I have heard, and by things that Lord Vidal has from time to time let fall. I suppose him to be a man of few morals and no heart. He seems to me a sinister person, and is, I believe, quite unscrupulous in attaining his ends.”
The gentleman appeared to be amused. “I am far from contradicting you, Miss Challoner, but may I inquire whether you culled this masterly description from Lord Vidal’s lips?”
“If you mean, did Lord Vidal tell me so, no, sir, he did not. Lord Vidal is, I think, attached to his grace. I go by common report, a little, and by the very lively fear of her uncle evinced by my friend Miss Marling, His lordship merely gave me to understand that his father was uncannily omniscient, and had a habit of succeeding in all his objects.”
“I am relieved to hear that Lord Vidal has so much respect for his grace,” remarked the gentleman.
“Are you, sir? Well, having formed this opinion, I could not but feel that so far from desiring to meet me, his grace would very likely disinherit Lord Vidal if his lordship married me.”
“You draw an amiable portrait, Miss Challoner, but I can assure you that whatever his grace’s feelings might be he would never follow so distressingly crude a course.”
“Would he not, sir? I did not know, but I am very sure he would not countenance his son’s marriage to a nobody. To continue: Lord Vidal, discovering that I was once at school with his cousin, Miss Marling, brought me to Paris, and consigned me to her care until such time as he could find an English divine to marry me. Miss Marling was secretly betrothed to a certain Mr. Comyn, but their betrothal was broken off—irrevocably, as I thought—and Mr. Comyn, being a gentleman of great chivalry, offered his hand to me, to enable me to escape from Lord Vidal. Though I blush to confess it, sir, such was my desperate need, that I consented to elope with Mr. Comyn to Dijon where Lord Vidal had found an English divine. Unfortunately, Mr. Comyn thought it incumbent on him to leave a note for his lordship, apprising him of our intention to wed. The result was, sir, that Lord Vidal, accompanied by Miss Marling, overtook us at Dijon before the knot was tied. There was a painful scene. Mr. Comyn, desiring to protect me from his lordship’s—coercion—announced that we were man and wife. Lord Vidal, with the object of making me a widow, tried to choke the life out of Mr. Comyn. In which I think he would probably have succeeded,” she added, “had there not been a jug of water at hand. I threw it over them both, and my lord let Mr. Comyn go.”
“A jug of water!” he repeated. His shoulders shook slightly. “But continue, Miss Challoner!”
“After that,” she said matter-of-factly, “they fought with their swords.”
“How very enlivening! Where did they fight with—er—their swords?”
“In the private parlour. Juliana had hysterics.”
“It is quite unnecessary to tell me that,” he assured her. “What I should like to know is what was done with Mr. Comyn’s body?”
“He wasn’t killed, sir. No one was hurt at all.”
“You amaze me,” said the gentleman.
“Mr. Comyn would have been killed,” Miss Challoner admitted, “but I stopped it. I thought it was time.”
The gentleman surveyed her with distinct admiration, not untouched by amusement. “Of course I should have known that you stopped it,” he said. “What means did you employ this time?”
“Rather rough-and-ready ones, sir. I tried to catch the blades in a coat.”
“I am disappointed,” he said. “I had imagined a far neater scheme. Were you hurt?”
“A little, sir. His lordship’s sword scratched me, no more. That ended the duel. Mr. Comyn said that he must tell Lord Vidal the truth about us, and feeling myself somewhat shaken, I retired to my chamber.” She paused, and drew a long breath. “Before I had reached the stairway, his lordship’s mother arrived, accompanied, I think, by Lord Rupert Alastair. They did not see me, but I—I heard her grace—say to Lord Vidal—that he must not marry me, and I—I got into the diligence for Paris, which was at the door, and—and came here. That is all my story, sir.”
A silence fell. Conscious of her host’s scrutiny, Miss Challoner averted her face. After a moment she said: “Having heard me, sir, do you still feel inclined to assist me out of my difficulty?”
“I am doubly anxious to assist you, Miss Challoner. But since you have been so frank, I must request you to be yet franker. Am I right in assuming tha
t you love Lord Vidal?”
“Too well to marry him, sir,” said Miss Challoner in a subdued voice.
“May I aesk why ‘too well’?”
She raised her head. “How could I, sir, knowing that his parents would do anything in their power to prevent such a marriage? How could I let him stoop to my level? I am not of his world, though Sir Giles Challoner is my grandfather. Please do not let us speak any more of this! My mind is made up; my one dread now is that his lordship may pursue me to this place.”
“I can safely promise you, my dear, that whUe you remain under my protection you are in no danger from Lord Vidal.”
The words were hardly out of his mouth when the sound of voices outside came to Miss Challoner’s ears. She grew very white, and half rose from her chair. “Sir, he has come!” she said, trying to be calm.
“So I apprehend,” he said imperturbably.
Miss Challoner cast a frightened look round. “You promised I should be safe, sir. Will you bide me somewhere? We must be quick!”
“I still promise that you shall be safe,” he replied. “But I shall certainly not hide you. Let me recommend you to be seated once more ... Come in!”
One of the inn servants came in looking rather scared, and firmly shut the door. “Milor’, there is a gentleman outside demands to see the English lady. I told him she was supping with an English milor’, and he spoke through his teeth, thus: ‘I will see this English milor’,’ he said. Milor’, he has the look of one about to do a murder. Shall I summon milor’s own servants?”
“Certainly not,” said milor’. “Admit this gentleman.”
Miss Challoner put out her hand impulsively. “Sir, I beg you will not! If my lord is in one of his rages I cannot answer for what he may do. I have a great alarm lest your years should not protect you from his violence. Is there no way I can escape from this room unseen?”
“Miss Challoner, I must once more request you to be seated,” said milor’, bored. “Lord Vidal will lay violent hands on neither of us.” He looked across at the serving-man. “I do not in the least understand why you are standing there goggling at me,” he said. “Admit his lordship.”
The servant withdrew; Miss Challoner, standing still beside her chair, looked down rather helplessly at her host. She wondered what would happen when my lord came in. A clock had chimed midnight somewhere in the distance not long since; it was a very odd hour at which to be found supping with a strange gentleman, however venerable he might be, and she feared that the Marquis’s jealous temper might flare up with disastrous results. There seemed to be no hope of making her host understand that the Marquis in a black rage was scarcely responsible for his actions. The gentleman was maddeningly imperturbable: he was even smiling a little.
She heard a quick step in the hall; Vidal’s voice said sharply: “Stable my horse, one of you. Where is this Englishman?’
Miss Challoner laid her hand on the back of her chair, and grasped it as though for support. The servant said: “I will announce m’sieur.”
He was cut short. “I’ll announce myself,” said his lordship savagely.
A moment later the door was flung open, and the Marquis strode in, his fingers hard clenched on his riding-whip. He cast one swift smouldering glance across the room, and stopped dead, a look of thunderstruck amazement on his face. “Sir!” he gasped.
The gentleman at the head of the table looked him over from his head to his heels. “You may come in, Vidal,” he said suavely.
The Marquis stayed where he was, one hand still on the doorknob. “You here!” he stammered. “I thought ...”
“Your reflections are quite without interest, Vidal. No doubt you will shut that door in your own good time.”
To Miss Challoner’s utter astonishment the Marquis shut it at once, and said stiffly: “Your pardon, sir.” He tugged at his cravat. “Had I known that you were here—”
“Had you known that I was here,” said the elder man in a voice that froze Miss Challoner to the marrow, “you would possibly have made your entrance in a more seemly fashion. You will permit me to tell you that I find your manners execrable.”
The Marquis flushed, and set his teeth. An incredible and dreadful premonition seized Miss Challoner. She looked from the Marquis to her host, and her hand went instinctively to her cheek. “Oh, good God!” she said, aghast. “Are you—can you be—?” She could get no further.
The look of amusement crept back into the gentleman’s eyes. “As usual, you are quite right, Miss Challoner. I am that unscrupulous and sinister person so aptly described by you a while back.”
Miss Challoner’s tongue seemed to tie itself into knots. “I can’t—I would not—there is nothing I can say, sir, except that I ask your pardon.”
“There is not the smallest need, Miss Challoner, I assure you. Your reading of my character was most masterly. The only thing I find hard to forgive is your conviction that you had met me before. I don’t pretend to be flattered by the likeness you evidently perceived.”
“Thank you, sir,” said the Marquis politely.
Miss Challoner walked away to the fireplace. “I am ashamed,” she said. Real perturbation sounded in her voice. “I had no business to say what I did. I see now that I was quite at fault. For the rest—had I known who you were I would never have told you all that I did.”
“That would have been a pity,” said his grace. “I found your story extremely illuminating.”
She made a hopeless little gesture. “Please permit me to retire, sir.”
“You are no doubt fatigued after the many discomforts you have suffered to-day,” agreed his grace, “but I apprehend that my son—whose apologies I beg to offer—is come here expressly to see you. I really think that you would be well advised to listen to anything he may have to say.”
“I can’t!” she said, in a suffocated way. “Please let me go!”
The Marquis came quickly across the room to her side. He took her hands in his strong clasp, and said in a low voice: “You should not have fled from me. My God, do you hate me so much? Mary, listen to me! I’ll force nothing on you, but I beg of you, accept my name! There’s no other way I can right you in the eyes of the world. You must wed me! I swear to you on my honour I’ll not hurt you. I won’t come near you unless you bid me. Father, tell her she must marry me! Tell her how needful it is!”
His grace said placidly: “I find myself quite unable to tell Miss Challoner anything of the kind.”
“What, have you been one hour in her company and not seen how infinitely above me she is?” the Marquis cried hotly.
“By no means,” said the Duke. “If Miss Challoner feels herself able to become your wife I shall consider myself to be vastly in her debt, but out of justice to her I am bound to advise her to consider well before she throws herself away so lamentably.” He regarded Miss Challoner blandly. “My dear, are you sure you cannot do better for yourself than to marry Vidal?”
A laugh escaped the Marquis. He drew Miss Challoner closer. “Mary, look at me! Mary, little love!”
“I am of course loth to interrupt you, Vidal, but I desire to inform Miss Challoner that there is no reason why she should accept your hand unless she chooses.” The Duke rose, and came towards them. The Marquis let Miss Challoner go. “You appear to be a woman of so much sense,” said his grace, “that I find it hard to believe you can really desire to marry my son. I beg you will not allow the exigencies of your situation to weigh with you. If marriage with Vidal is distasteful to you I will arrange matters for you in some other way.”
Miss Challoner gazed down into the fire. “I cannot ... I—the Duchess—my sister—oh, I do not know what to say!”
“The Duchess need not trouble you,” said his grace. He walked to the door, and opened it. He glanced back, and said languidly: “By the way, Vidal’s morals are rather better than mine.” He went out, and the door closed softly behind him.
The Marquis and Miss Challoner were left confronting one another.
She did not look at him, but she knew that his eyes never wavered from her face. He made no movement to recapture her hands; he said slowly: “Until you ran away with Comyn, I never knew how much I loved you, Mary. If you won’t marry me, I shall spend the rest of my life striving to win you. I’ll never rest till I’ve got you. Never, do you understand?”
A smile trembled on her lips. “And if I do marry you, my lord? You’ll let me go my own road? You’ll not come near me unless I wish it? You’ll not fly into rages with me, nor tyrannize over me?”
“I swear it,” he said.
She came to him, her eyes full of tender laughter. “Oh, my love, I know you better than you know yourself!” she said huskily. “At the first hint of opposition, you’ll coerce me shamefully. Oh, Vidal! Vidal!”
He had caught her in his arms so fiercely that the breath was almost crushed out of her. His dark face swam before her eyes for an instant, then his mouth was locked to hers, in a kiss so hard that her lips felt bruised. She yielded, carried away half-swooning on the tide of his passion. But in a moment she struggled to get her hands free, and at once his hold on her slackened. She flung up her arms round his neck, and with a queer little sound between a sob and a laugh, buried her face in his coat.
Chapter XIX
miss challoner appeared at the breakfast hour next morning rather shy, her face delicately tinged with colour. She found both the Marquis and his father in the parlour, and an elderly dapper little Frenchman whom she discovered to be his grace’s valet.
The Marquis carried her hand to his lips, and held it there for a moment. His grace said in his bored voice: “I trust you slept well, child. Pray be seated. Gaston, you will take my chaise immediately to Dijon, where you will find her grace.”
“Bien, monseigneur.”
“You will bring her to this place. Also my Lord Rupert, Miss Marling, and Mr. Comyn. That is all, Gaston.”
There had been a day when Gaston would have been appalled by such an order, but twenty-five years in Avon’s service had left their mark.