The Courtier, The Gambler, The Lover

20

The Courtier, The Gambler, The Lover

    May Beresford approached the front door of the Mr Urqhart’s residence looking desperately shy. As she stood before the step nerving herself, there was a clatter of hooves in the road behind, a gentleman’s voice called: “A demain, et merci mille fois, Jean-Louis!” and a gentleman’s figure appeared at her elbow.

    Blushing, May said in a tiny voice: “Good afternoon, Lord Keywes.”

    He smiled. “Good afternoon, Miss Beresford. So you are to attend Master Johnny’s party, too, are you?”

    Since her father’s death May had not seen very much of the Jeffreys family and, really, had hardly met Lord Keywes at all as her adult self. She went pinker than ever and squeaked, very startled: “Why, yes! Surely that is not why you are here?”

    “Certainly,” he said, looking down at her with a twinkle in his eye. “And I very much hope I am not late: I had a tedious meeting and feared I would never get away.”

    “No, indeed: in fact I—I think we are early.”

    “Oh, dear,” he said with a comical face. “Will it be a dreadful faux pas? Should we take a turn about the square?”

    May was conscious of a strong wish to take a turn about the square with Lord Keywes. She had forgotten how very handsome he was. She looked up at him and saw his cheek glinting gold as the afternoon sunlight struck the side of his face, and felt her heart shake in her breast. Which was silly, because he was old, and—and very eminent. And quite obviously considered herself as little more than a schoolroom Miss!

    “I am sure Lady Benedict will not mind at all if we are a little early,” she said honestly. “Have you not been to one of her family parties, either?”

    “No. My son George told me of a very exotic dinner he had when our cousins put him up for a night, however.”

    “How is he, sir?” asked May shyly.

    “Chafing to be home for his holidays!” he said with a laugh. “But before the summer is out, he will be bored and missing his school friends again.”

    “Of course!” said May, smiling. “It is just the same, with our Laidlaw cousins!”

    “George met them when he was with our cousins. He was most impressed with both households, and has conceived of a strong desire to be part of a large family.”

    “Well, there are advantages and disadvantages!” said May, twinkling up at him. “My young cousins do have tremendously jolly times, but sometimes they fight like cats and dogs. Jack was helping look after them when their parents were away a little while back, and he found it quite a shattering experience!”

    He laughed. “Aye, I know! I called on him while he was there, and the poor fellow practically fell on my neck when I offered him a meal at my hôtel. The day I called,” he said reminiscently, “there were two little ones in the downstairs salon, destroying the sofa cushions. Poor old Jack looked as if he was past even caring!”

    May giggled ecstatically. “He did not admit it was that bad, sir!”

    “Did he mention the episode of the Hessians?”

    “No,” said May, staring. “His boots?”

    “The pug,” he said, beginning to lose control of his mouth, “had evidently engaged the pair of ’em in mortal combat. The dead remains of the tassels were lying in state on the mantelshelf when I called.”

    May collapsed in helpless giggles.

    Of course Lord Keywes had not found the episode amusing at all, at the time. He did not now consciously contrast his annoyance with his recalcitrant cousin that day with little May’s innocent pleasure in his story: but he looked at her very kindly and, offering her his arm, led her up to the front door in a most protective manner.

    They were bowed into a small salon, very properly, by Mr Urqhart’s butler himself. But there the atmosphere of propriety ended: nobody came.

    After quite some time his Lordship rang the bell.

    A footman came in, and looked most startled to find them there.

    “I think perhaps Lady Benedict has not been apprised of our arrival,” said Robert stiffly.

    “I beg your pardon, sir! I will advise her Ladyship immediately!” he gasped, bowing and disappearing.

    After a few moments Lady Benedict hurried in, very flushed. “I am so sorry: the butler was so foolish as to leave a message with the children’s ayah, I mean nurse, and—and eet deed not reach me!”

    May just stared. Lady Benedict was wearing a draped, cherry-red silk creation, with a heavy edging of gold. Under it she had a tight little jacket which did not reach her waist! It was the most shocking garment May had ever seen.

    “Oh!” said Nan with a flustered little laugh as she realized her two visitors were staring. “I am so sorry, I do not theenk I explained that eet would be an Indian party. –Oh, dear, you must theenk me so rude, Cousin: I have not said how do you do, and eet ees the first time Miss Beresford has veesited weeth me—”

    “Not at all,” croaked May, swallowing. “So—so that is an Indian dress? It is—it is very wonderful.”

    “Please don’t apologize, Cousin,” said Lord Keywes stiffly. “George has given me a glowing report of your Indian entertainments.”

    Nan could see the man was covered in confusion: oh, horrors! The younger girls had urged her to put on a saree—and Tarry had very obviously been dying for the chance to wear one. But these English people led such terribly conventional, sheltered lives, of course they would be shocked, what an imbecile she was!

    She pulled the saree round her a little with a gesture that she hoped would look casual and said: “May I say, even eef somewhat belatedly, that you are vairy welcome, Miss Beresford?”

    “Thank you so much!” gulped May.

    “And you, of course, Cousin,” said Nan.

    He bowed correctly over her hand. “Thank you. I must apologize for arriving so early.”

    “Are you early? We are not vairy sure of what the time ees, the children have been playing weeth the beeg clock,”

    Children were not permitted anywhere near the big long-case clock that stood in the main hall of Vaudequays: Lord Keywes looked at her limply, with a vivid vision of what his grandfather’s reaction would have been if he had so much as laid a finger on the master clock that controlled the comings and goings of the entire household.

    The party was being held upstairs. The big nursery burst upon the visitors’ eyes as colourful chaos. Colourful and very noisy. On the rug the two little girls had toy trumpets, Johnny had a toy drum, and even baby Rosebud had a rattle. Lady Benedict did not make much attempt to hush them: May thought of her own majestic Mamma, and looked at her in an awe not unmixed with horror. And a tinge of envy: but she was now mature enough to realize that if perhaps her own home had been too disciplined and controlled, one must draw the line somewhere, if children were to grow into sensible adults. And Lady Benedict did not seem to draw a line at all!

    Robert was frankly appalled. Over the racket his cousin attempted to introduce him to several pretty girls, all but one of them in the sort of shocking attire in which she herself was clad.

    May was horrified to discover that one of the gaily garbed, foreign-looking girls with flowers in their hair was Tarry Kernohan! Her heart almost stopped at the thought of what Mrs Henry would say if she saw her in that!

    “Is this not the most fun ever?” she cried, seizing May’s hand in both of hers. “Are you not glad you came?”

    “Yes, of course,” said May, smiling gallantly. She sat down beside Cherry Chalfont on a sofa, reflecting grimly that her account of the party would have to be strictly edited for Mamma. It would not be lying, exactly: it would just be... sparing her the shock. Cherry, to her relief, was merely in a pretty deep blue gown.

    Lord Keywes was horridly disconcerted to see there were no other gentlemen present. Where in God’s name was his Cousin Dom? Numbly he sank onto a chair, reflecting he should never have come. But he had thought he should seize the opportunity to get to know both his cousin and her little family better, in an informal setting. Well, it was that, all right!

    “Thees ees the birthday boy!” she said gaily, picking up the solemn child who had been playing with the drum. “He ees a leetle overcome by eet all. –Johnny, darling, thees beeg man ees a new cousin: Cousin Robert; can you say ‘Cousin Robert’?”

    “Cousin Wobert,” said the little boy shyly, suddenly burying his head in his mother’s bosom.

    Nan kissed his hair. “I hope that ees all right? –He ees too leetle to understand about titles and so forth,” she explained.

    “Yes.” Robert’s throat had unexpectedly closed up. The little boy was so very sweet, and sitting like that, in spite of the shocking garment his cousin had seen fit to wear, they made a perfect study of Madonna and child. “Yes, of course.”

    “You have only the one child of your own, I theenk?”

    “Yes, George is my only child,” he said stiffly.

    Had she said the wrong thing? wondered Nan. George had spoken so freely of the dreadful tragedy in their family history. Oh, dear, perhaps she should not have mentioned the point. She took a deep breath and said brightly: “We deed so like heem, when he stayed weeth us.”

    “It was kind in you to have him,” said Robert politely.

    “No, no, one more een our household ees neither here nor there! And Dicky was so vairy glad to have a friend to stay, you know, and show off hees home!”

    “I wonder: perhaps Dicky would care to spend some time with George at Vaudequays this summer?” he said, not having intended to say any such thing.

    “Thank you! I theenk he would be threelled! The whole summer weeth just the family weell soon prove tedious, I fear!”

    “Aye, that is generally George’s reaction,” he agreed, doing his best to smile.

    Then trays and trays and trays of refreshment began to be brought in. All the most exotic-looking stuff, the trays all beautifully decorated with flowers: Miss Beresford gave an admiring gasp. The servants handed these trays most properly to the adults but then placed them on the big rug round which the circle of chairs and sofas was arranged, and the two little girls began to help themselves. His Lordship watched in horror as Lady Benedict put the little boy down and he also began to help himself. One of the servants was in charge of the tiny girl and supervised what was given her—but really!

    He was so busy watching the scene on the rug that he did not realize that more persons had joined the party until there was a panting noise near his ear and a hoarse voice said: “I can see what you is thinkin’, and very probable there will be sore bellies tonight; but Lor’, that ain’t never stopped one of the creatures yet! So why not let ’em enjoy themselves while they may?”

    “Eet ees their main meal of the day,” said his cousin placidly. “Lord Keywes, I theenk you have not been eentroduced to my dear friend and hostess, Mrs Urqhart?”

    Politely he tried to conceal his shock, and rose to greet her.

    Mrs Urqhart was doing justice to the occasion with one of her best sarees: a deep emerald heavy silk of an astonishing depth and richness of colour. Its gold edging was nigh on a foot wide and the hem of the end which hung over one shoulder showed three feet more of the same heavy gold decoration. Negligently draped over her plump arms was a long stole, also silk, the outer side being a bright blue shot with silver and the inner a wincingly acid yellow. The long earrings which dangled against her plump neck were each formed of three pearls, a ruby and a topaz separated by gold beads, and, finally, a large diamond drop. The neck was encircled by a set of cameos which in themselves were very fine but which had nothing whatsoever to say to the rest of the outfit. A further mixture of styles and stones jostled on her wrists… It was just about the most tasteless spectacle that Lord Keywes had ever laid eyes on.

    The arrival of his sister, who proceeded to enjoy herself thoroughly, and of Mr Baldaya, Mr Charleson, Mr Sotheby and Mr Beresford, who also proceeded to enjoy themselves thoroughly, did not, alas, improve matters.

    Iris had brought the carriage: she kindly offered the Beresfords a ride home.

    Jack sank back against the upholstery with a laugh. “Whew! I’m exhausted!”

    May smiled. “You have fluff all over your pantaloons.”

    “Pooh, what is a bit of fluff between friends! –There, did I not tell you it was the most easy-going of households, Robert?” he said eagerly.

    “You did, indeed.”

    May looked doubtfully at Lord Keywes’s face and said nothing.

    “I wish you had seen fit to warn us of the Indian garb, however, Mr Beresford,” said Iris, smiling.

    “Glorious, ain’t it?” he said with a laugh. “Especially the old lady! They tell me she gets round in even more outlandish rig-outs in her own home: sable wraps on top of the silk drapings—that sort of thing!”

    “It—it was magnificent,” said May timidly, “but a trifle bizarre.”

    Iris laughed. “I should say so! What a character! –I like her,” she decided.

    “She is no doubt extremely well-meaning, and I know she has been very kind to our cousin, but she is certainly not a lady, Iris,” said Robert in warning tones.

    “And don’t pretend to be,” she noted. “What is wrong with that, pray?”

    “I—I know the Kernohans think very highly of her,” faltered May.

    “Mrs Henry don’t!” said Jack with a loud laugh.

    Iris gave her brother a mocking look but said nothing.

    “The children were very sweet,” ventured May.

    “Indeed,” Robert agreed, smiling at her.

    “Well, if you thought that, Robert,” drawled his sister, “why the Devil did you not play with them, like Mr Beresford and the others, instead of sitting there like the death’s-head at the feast?”

    “Oh, I say, Miss Jeffreys!” said Jack, laughing again. “He was not that bad!”

    “I thought they were getting somewhat over-excited,” he said stiffly.

    “And you thought it beneath your dignity to crawl on the floor,” noted Iris.

    Robert’s lips tightened.

    “He would have risked gettin’ fluff on his pantaloons had he done that!” said Jack.

    Iris laughed.

    “What did you think of Miss Tarry, May?” said Jack, smiling. “Quite a change, was it not?”

    “They all looked very pretty,” said May firmly, though with very pink cheeks.

    Jack looked at her in considerable amusement, but did not stress the point..

    After they had dropped the Beresfords off Iris sat back and eyed her brother mockingly. “Well?”

    “I grant you the children are very sweet, if somewhat undisciplined.”

    “Pooh! It was a party!”

    “Yes. But when Miss Beresford and I arrived we were kept waiting an unconscionable time, and when Lady Benedict eventually came in she informed us that the children had been playing with the long-case clock, and she had no notion if it were early or late.”

    Iris sighed. “Robert, listen to yourself. I don’t know whether it be the stiffness of the Swedish court that has rubbed off on you, but that sounded positively inhuman!”

    “Nonsense,” he said tightly. “Informal party or no, those outfits the young women were draped in were scarcely decent; and the children, as I say, undisciplined; and I am very sure Miss Beresford formed the same opinion.”

    Iris raised her eyebrows slightly, but said no more.

    “Wish I’d never let ’er have that dashed party,” concluded Mrs Urqhart dully, coming into Mrs Stewart’s room that night, and sitting heavily on the edge of the bed.

    Cousin Catriona had already retired: she was sitting up in bed reading. “Dear Mrs Urqhart, it was not that bad,” she murmured.

    Mrs Urqhart sighed. “Lord Keywes thought I were a vulgar old hag—which I is, and a fool into the bargain: why in Heaven I wore that dratted saree I shall never know! And he thought Nan were rompish and immodest, and the brats ill-disciplined, and them pretty little girls a pack of hoydens!”

    “I think you exaggerate.”

    “No, I don’t. Shocked to ’is marrow, is what he were. Lordy, if that be one of your English diplomatists, you can keep ’em!” she noted bitterly.

    “Er—well... I think perhaps he would not have been so shocked had he encountered the same situation abroad. –Oh, dear: that sounds silly.”

    “No, it don’t,” said Mrs Urqhart, eyeing her approvingly. “You has hit the nail on the head. Pumps and me remarked the same thing a hundred times whilst we were out in India: foreign and exotic is all very fine and dandy in its place, but its place ain’t the drawing-rooms—nor yet the day nurseries—of good old England!”

    “Exactly,” said Mrs Stewart, biting her lip a little.

    “I might have been warned when you and Cherry did not wish to wear the sarees, for you is both true ladies,” she said glumly.

    “Dear Mrs Urqhart, pray don’t distress yourself!” she said, reaching to pat her hand.

    Mrs Urqhart grasped her hand fiercely. “I suppose, better sooner than late. Now he has seen Nan in the setting what is natural to her and he sees it won’t do for him.”

    Catriona Stewart looked at her doubtfully..

    “Aye. Think that is why he came,” she said, nodding.

    “To—to—?”

    “To look her over: aye. Today is supposed to give her a second chance, y’see: thinks as he will see if she be a nice young matron under it all.”

    Mrs Stewart bit her lip.

    “Don’t tell me I’m wrong!” she warned. “And don’t say nothin’ about it being too soon, nor nothing! For it is never too soon for a feller to catch sight of a woman and to come after her on an exploratory expedition!”

    Her cheeks were very flushed: Mrs Stewart looked at her with great sympathy and did not smile at the image.

    Mrs Urqhart sighed gustily. “And here was me thinking maybe we has found the strong hand what she needs, in this Lord what’s her cousin.”

    Catriona Stewart squeezed her hand consolingly, but could think of nothing to say.

    There was, of course, at least a fifty-fifty chance that Pom-Pom would call him out. Lewis Vane had shrugged, walking away from Mr Urqhart’s house with the absurdly Napoleonic pale blue jewel case under his arm. He knew the prince was not yet in town, but expected any day: the gift had no doubt been some sort of herald of his arrival. He would call the minute the old fool got here and make it clear to him that his attentions were not appreciated in that quarter.

    And if Pom-Pom should insist on a fight? Colonel Vane’s lip curled. Friedrich von Maltzahn-Dressen had, of course, had the best teachers in all the manly arts that Europe could offer, but that had been something like thirty years since—more: Pom-Pom, besides being as fat as a balloon, must be well into his fifties. True, at the time he had been rumoured to be the favourite of the late Queen Marie Antoinette he had been no more than a boy—seventeen or eighteen: that had been... half a dozen years before the taking of the Bastille? Something like that. Lewis was in no doubt that he could kill the old idiot within two minutes if it came to swords, and on the instant, if it be pistols: Pom-Pom was the sort of shot who required a dozen beaters to drive the boar within six feet of his position and at that had a couple of gamekeepers standing by with guns at the ready to follow up his shot if he should only wound the beast. Well, he had no wish to kill him: he could always delope or merely pink him in the arm. But it would cause a damned scandal: these things always got out.

    Lewis Vane shrugged again. He did not, to say truth, care very much whether it came to a fight or no. But he would do his best to prevent its doing so, for Lady Benedict’s sake. He walked on rather faster, frowning. She had been genuinely surprised at his taking the thing—but would that necessarily prevent her from spreading the story all over town? Lewis had very little personal conceit, and his mirror told him every morning there was no reason he should do—but the name of Vane was a very, very old and respected one in England, and when his elderly uncle died, which could not be long delayed, he would be Viscount Stamforth...

    Had she encouraged him? Well, gasping “Horrors!” when a gentleman walked into your salon was not generally considered encouragement, no! He found he was smiling a little, and frowned. No, but earlier... She had not shewn herself displeased at the introduction, at his cousin’s wife’s party. And according to his other cousin, the stout Mr Tobias Vane, she had been all complaisance of the occasion of his finding himself seated next to her at the Portuguese Ambassador’s dinner. But that had probably been merely manners and not, as old Tobias had strongly hinted, an indication that she was properly impressed by the consequence of the Vanes! But then, he had encountered her out walking in the Park once or twice, and again she had not seemed displeased... But had she treated him any differently than she had that pompous idiot Arthur Jerningham, that nullity Bobby Amory, those other nullities the brothers Wilfred and Shirley Rowbotham, or that stiff-necked old fool, Francis Kernohan? Well, yes: she had most certainly been all complaisance to old Kernohan, whilst he himself had received the kind smiles and feigned interest in his boring stories which she accorded Jerningham, Amory, et al.! ...Whilst apparently considering him as dull-witted as they were. Well, he fancied he had disabused her of that notion, at least! He thought of her face as she’d realized that he had deliberately juxtaposed the expressions “all the world” and “the microcosm we both inhabit”, and smiled again.

    But— Well, pretty women were two a penny in London, and there were even some to be found who were not unintelligent. But as to the notion of spending the rest of his life with any of them at his side—! Lewis Vane shrugged and walked on faster. He could not have said what he was looking for in a woman, and he had long since, really, given up expecting that he would find it. But—for he was of course by no means a stupid man—he would not have denied that today’s call on Lady Benedict had been just such an “exploratory expedition” as Mrs Urqhart was shortly to describe to Mrs Stewart.

    As to whether he might have found what he was looking for... He was not yet disappointed. That was as far as it went. Time would tell whether she was in London on the hunt for an establishment, a title, or both.

    True, the title he would inherit was not accompanied by a fortune to match hers. Uncle Peter’s lands were in damned bad heart, and though there was a lot of money tied up in the London properties, Lewis had inspected these affronts to humanity and was determined to tear them down and rebuild them the moment it was within his power to do so. He did not envisage that they would ever return much within his lifetime if he expended on them what was needed; and the estates likewise. But the title in itself? He gave a mental shrug. There were enough young women in London who had demonstrated very clearly that they would not be averse to becoming Viscountess Stamforth. He did not deceive himself that the person of Lewis Vane was an influence—one way or the other—upon these ladies.

    Colonel Vane had been shunned on his return to England after the episode in the Peninsula: true, he had expected no less. Things had, of course, changed radically since. But at the time it had been understandable enough: Uncle Peter had been relatively hale and hearty, and there had been his cousin Philip, several years his junior, and Philip’s baby son after him, between him and the succession. Lewis had had very little money, no career, and no prospects. Uncle Peter had been very decent: told him he was a damned fool, and supported him through his first parliamentary campaign, informing him roundly that it was all he would do for him. And it was, indeed, all he had done. Philip Vane’s baby son had died in 1813; Philip himself had been killed at Waterloo. Uncle Peter had suffered a debilitating seizure and since then, physically incapacitated but still mentally alert, had become more and more embittered, shutting himself up at Stamforth Castle and refusing to receive guests. He saw Lewis but rarely, and still, though he was now his heir, had not offered him any pecuniary aid. Lewis had not asked for any.

    Uncle Peter had ordered him to find himself a wife. Lewis realized it was his duty to do so: there were plenty of Vane cousins to inherit, but— Well, his father had been Uncle Peter’s only brother: it was natural enough, the old man’s not wishing the succession to pass to a distant cousin. Viscount Stamforth had waxed unreasonably bitter against Harriet, Philip’s widow: eventually Lewis’s mother had offered her a home. Lewis was aware that both his mother and Uncle Peter expected him to offer for Harriet. He had no intention of doing so: she was a meek, vapid little woman who had managed to make herself a martyred doormat even to the mild-mannered Philip. He had told Harriet baldly that he had no intention of offering. Her reaction had been a damp, soft, martyred, continual half-weeping that had gone on for days. Lewis had been so maddened by it that he had flung out of the house and gone back to his rooms in London.

    So—Harriet was out, the ladies who would love his title but were indifferent to his self were out. Lewis Vane was not really, as Bobby Amory had told his brother, hanging out for a wife. He was looking, but half-heartedly.

    He looked in at White’s some two days later. He did not even have to drop the name “von Maltzahn-Dressen”: Bobby Amory had caught sight of Pom-Pom in the Park and was waxing ecstatic over him. This year it was a four-in-hand: the leaders matched greys, the wheelers glossy blacks, the curricle glossy black also, picked out in red with the von Maltzahn-Dressen arms emblazoned on its side, and every rein and strap about it also bright red. Black, white and red: the von Maltzahn-Dressen colours, as Mr Amory did not neglect to inform the company.

    “I had heard rumours of a pony cart: cream and pink,” noted Mr Wilfred Rowbotham sadly.

    His old friend Aden Tarlington was with him. “I had heard it was no rumour, but that he had given the whole rig to a lady in return for certain favours.”

    “You are both out,” said Lewis drily: “the case was that the lady had provided the rig in return for certain favours and withdrew it when she became bored with the favours.”

    The group duly choked.

    “It was in the country, of course: even Pom-Pom von Maltzahn-Dressen would not go so far as to drive cream ponies in town,” he murmured.

    “You disappoint us sadly, Colonel!” said Bobby with a laugh.

    “Well, find him another lady with—er—the disposition and the wherewithal: he may yet gratify you with the spectacle. Though these days, it would have to be a substantial pony-cart,” he murmured, going out.

    In his wake there was a moment’s silence.

    “What the Devil did he come in for?” wondered Bobby.

    “Apparently, to hear you describe Pom-Pom von Maltzahn-Dressen’s curricle,” noted Mr Tarlington. “You fellows fancy a hand or two of écarté?”

    Mr Rowbotham belatedly recalling another engagement, Mr Tarlington and Mr Amory sat down to piquet.

   “That was a trifle odd, y’know,” said Bobby, as the game concluded. “Vane,” he clarified. “Walks in, sets us right on Prince Pom-Pom’s ponies, walks out.”

    Mr Tarlington was a dark, lean-featured, sardonic-looking man, a friend of Noël Amory’s who at one stage had served with him in the Peninsula under Colonel Vane’s command. He leaned back in his chair, letting the cards slip evenly through his long fingers. “Can it be that rumour has not lied and that he regards you as his deadly rival for the Portuguese Widow, Bobby?”

    “No!” he choked, turning puce. “And I am not— I admire her, that is all.”

    Mr Tarlington shuffled the cards. “Noël was hintin’ it was a little more than that?”

    “No,” said Bobby grimly. “I will tell you what I told damned Noël, which is that I am not up to her weight!”

    “Ah.” Mr Tarlington let the cards slip from one hand to another. “Is Vane?”

    Bobby looked sulky. “The Lord knows.”

    “Mm. I had heard she is half his age?”

    Mr Tarlington’s own wife was considerably his junior: Bobby looked at him indignantly, but said: “That will not weigh with him, at all events. But what that grim face can offer a charming creature like her—! And she is charming, Aden, make no doubt of it! Charming and intelligent, both.”

    “He will shortly be able to offer her one of the oldest titles in England,” noted Mr Tarlington delicately.

    “Aye. Well, it may weigh with her. But he had best not count on it: she is something quite out of the common way!”

    “She must be.”

    Bobby reddened. “Aden, if someone had said Mrs Tarlington was out of the common way—before you was wed, I mean—and someone had said to him what you have just said to me—” He stopped, floundering.

    Aden Tarlington looked at him in considerable amusement, but murmured: “I beg your pardon. Mrs Tarlington would certainly never have let considerations of rank or fortune weigh with her.”

    Bobby looked at the tender little smile that hovered on that usually sardonic mouth and said with a sigh: “No. You’re a damned lucky man. –Well, deal if you’re goin’ to.”

    Mr Tarlington dealt. He thought that Bobby’s mind had successfully diverted itself from his previous topic. But he himself still wondered, just a little, why Lewis Vane had dropped in at White’s.

    “Colonel Vane: we are delighted to see you,” sighed Pom-Pom, holding out two fat white fingers.

    Lewis could scarce forebear to stare: when last encountered, Pom-Pom had been pretty bad, admittedly. But he had not at that stage awarded himself the royal “we”. And for God’s sake: was he expected to kiss the fingers? Or possibly the large cabochon sapphire which adorned one?

    “Good-day, Prince,” he said grimly, with a brief bow. “May I speak to you alone?”

    As usual, Pom-Pom had an entourage: a very much scented person who called himself the Baron del Giglio, not a title of which the Vanes had ever heard, and a pair of insignificant distant cousins, one of them in a magnificent uniform to which, Lewis recognised with grim amusement, he had as much right as any obscure sprig off a noble family tree whose commission and advancement had been purchased for him and who had never been near a battle in his life.

    Pom-Pom waved a languid hand: the barone rose, with a flourish of a lace handkerchief and an elaborate bow, and did not quite walk backwards from the room; the more squashed and less military of the cousins bowed, and hurried out; and the uniform clicked its heels together, and bowed profoundly. “Herr Oberst!”

    “Auf Wiedersehen, Herr Major Gneissen-Maltzahn,” returned Lewis politely.

    “Pray proceed,” said Pom-Pom graciously, though with a wary look in his blood-shot blue eye, when they were alone.

    Lewis had not walked through the streets of London to the Fürstin von Maltzahn-Dressen’s house with the blue case on display: he had wrapped it in paper. He unwrapped it silently and held it out.

    Pom-Pom’s normally high colour was, as was his habit, veiled by a light dusting of powder. Under the powder the fat cheeks turned puce: a vein stood out on his forehead. Detachedly the Colonel wondered whether he would save the pair of them the trouble of continuing with the encounter by dropping dead of an apoplexy.

    Unfortunately he did not. “Qu’est-ce que c’est que ça?” he spluttered.

    “Sans doute votre Altesse le reconnaît,” returned Lewis grimly. He opened it. “The lady wishes you to understand that she does not desire either your presents or your person, Prince.”

    Pom-Pom made a spluttering noise.

    “The former, indeed, having caused her considerable offence,” drawled Lewis. He paused. “Of course she has not yet encountered the latter,” he explained.

    “You—you are impertinent, sir!” he spluttered.

    “Oh, I hope so,” said Lewis, bowing.

    “C’est insupportable!” He rang the bell violently. The entourage shot in. His Highness informed them in his preferred language that Monsieur le colonel had offered him an insupportable insult. Bowing, the Herr Major Gneissen-Maltzahn tendered a glove. The empurpled Pom-Pom applied it smartly to Colonel Vane’s cheek.

    “Ow,” said Lewis mildly, rubbing the spot. “I am not going to call you out, Prince, you had best make up your mind to it.”

    “You are a coward, sir!” he cried loudly. “I shall see to it that the whole town knows of it!”

    “I don’t give a damn if the whole town knows of it.”

    “Rest assured that she will not think any the better of you!” he cried.

    Lewis shrugged.

    “Very well, very well, you will take any insult, it seems!” he spluttered.

    Colonel Vane had, of course, taken a calculated risk in calling in person, let alone in letting the fat old prince know what he thought of him. But he had always been a gambler, though his world might not have said so: he was not interested in play. But risking his life was another matter: Lewis Vane had been courageous to the point of recklessness as a young officer. He had had one colonel who had been an excellent soldier, and had taught him that in battle risk was not always justified and that calculation before and if possible during a fight was preferable to misplaced heroics. Lewis had learned a lot from him, not least the inadvisability of exposing one’s men needlessly, and had developed into an excellent and careful leader of men. Since then, however. his own life had come to seem to him of even less account; the tepid existence of a member of the House of Commons provided no opportunity for wilfully endangering it, but in the holidays he sailed the English Channel single-handed in a small boat, or climbed the mountains of Wales, risking his neck with every other step.

    Now he looked mockingly at fat old Pom-Pom. “Oh, not any insult, I don’t think. But you would be hard put to it to think of one that I would not take.”

    “Then will you name your seconds, sir!”

    “No.”

    Pom-Pom stepped forward and struck him again: this time with the back of the hand that bore the immense sapphire ring, and not on the cheek: across the mouth.

    Lewis staggered back, bleeding a little.

    “Et alors?” panted the Prince.

    Suddenly Lewis Vane lost his temper. He did not do this very often: he had learned over the years to control it. Unfortunately when he did lose it he did so definitively.

    “I shall meet you where and when you wish, Prince, and it will be my pleasure to teach you that you may not behave in England as you would in an Austrian bordello.”

    A long time ago there had been an episode in Austria which had very much not redounded to Pom-Pom’s credit: Lewis watched mockingly as the Fürst turned even pucer.

    “Major Gneissen-Maltzahn and Baron del Giglio will act for me,” he got out.

    The two stepped forward, bowing.

    “I shall apprise you of the names of my seconds in due course,” said Lewis grimly, reflecting ruefully that he knew no-one in England who would be prepared to back him in such a hair-brained start.

    “We shall call tomorrow, Colonel,” said the barone, bowing again.

    “Do that. And mind, if a single word about a lady’s involvement in this matter gets around London, your master will not live to rue the day he first heard of her!” said Lewis fiercely.

    The barone blenched, and tried to smile and bow; the Herr Major turned very red, and spluttered. The other cousin went as white as his neckcloth and looked fearfully at the Prince. Pom-Pom shrugged, and turned away.

    Colonel Vane bowed stiffly and walked out. His anger had evaporated by the time he was ten yards down the street. He did not regret the challenge: he had no intention of harming the silly old prince, and he knew Pom-Pom had no hope of harming him. But who the Devil could he ask to act for him? He had no friends in England: the men to whom he had been closest in the regiment had grown away from him over the years, or been killed in battle. Well... Aden Tarlington? The common sense which had made him an excellent, cool-headed officer would not, Lewis reflected with a grimace, tend to suggest to him that he support his old commanding officer in such a mad venture. Was there anyone else from the regiment? Noël Amory was in town, but he had seen very little of him over the past ten years. Colonel Vane walked on slowly, frowning.

    In the end he called at Noël Amory’s house.

    Sir Noël was not in, but was expected any moment. Would he care to wait? The Colonel allowed himself to be shown into the bookroom. He had waited about five minutes, walking about the room, scowling, wondering how the Devil he was to put it to young Noël, when the door opened. Colonel Vane turned: for a moment he thought it was Noël.

    “Hullo, Lewis,” said the man who had just come in.

    “Richard,” said Lewis feebly. “Good God, how long has it been?”

    Colonel Amory came forward smiling, and shook hands warmly. “Too long, I think!”

    Lewis had seen the limp and the cane. He had heard that Richard Amory had been invalided out; he did not refer to this but said: “You are settled in Bath, I think?”

    “Yes,” said Richard, waving him to a chair by the fireplace: “I have purchased a pleasant old house on the outskirts of the town: Doubleday House. You must come and visit us whenever you are in the district.”

    “Thank you.” He recalled that Richard Amory had married Nancy Jeffreys’s younger sister: it had caused quite a stir amongst the Sussex gentry, all the cats of course having decided that Nancy’s scandal would effectively prevent the sisters’ ever making respectable matches. But hadn’t she died? He thought he remembered his mother saying so. There had been a child: he did know that, but did not know whether it was a boy or a girl—or, come to think of it, if it had survived infancy.

    “I think your mother lives in Bath?” he said politely. Realising too late that she might be dead: it was years since he had heard anything of the Amorys, really.

    “Yes. indeed: Mamma is thrilled that Delphie and I have settled so near. And my little Lizzie is delighted to be so near her grandmamma—and, indeed, to have a new mamma to take care of her: she was not very happy at school.”

    The man always had been the soul of tact, thought Lewis somewhat ruefully: well, that certainly told him what he needed to know!  “I see,” he said politely.

    Richard Amory repressed a sigh. Lewis Vane was even more difficult to talk to than he had been twenty-odd years ago as a hot-headed young subaltern, not taking kindly to Captain Amory’s preaching caution and forethought. In more matters than the merely military! thought Richard, suddenly recalling a certain Isabella Lundy. She had had “prime article” written all over her, but Lieutenant Vane had been convinced she was the soul of probity and honour and the victim of unfortunate circumstance—oh, dear.

    “Well, there has been some water under the bridge since last we talked, I think?” he said cheerfully, wondering why on earth Colonel Vane had called to see Noël.

    “Indeed. You went out to India, I believe.”

    “Yes: transferred, y’know. I had a damned good run for my money,” he said, glancing at the gammy leg with a rueful little smile.

    “Yes,” said Lewis Vane harshly.

    Richard felt considerable sympathy for him, but was aware that Vane would not welcome his letting it show. “I wonder, do you remember George Petrie?” he said lightly.

    “Uh—no.”

    “He had very red hair, and was extremely thin. Joined when you did.”

    “Oh, yes,” said Lewis weakly. “Did he go out to India, too, Richard?”

    Richard nodded, the sherry-coloured Amory eyes sparkling. “Indeed; but he decided the military life was not for him after meeting a Miss Batty. She was a pretty girl, dark curls, pink cheeks, but extremely plump. The spectacle of the pair of ’em standing up before the chaplain nearly overset not a few of us, I regret to say!”

    Lewis smiled weakly.

    “Then George sold out and joined Miss Batty’s father and brother in their business.”

    “Oh?” he said politely.

    Hell, give me some help here, man! thought Richard. He struggled on: “The business did very well and eventually the Petries retired to Brighton. My wife has friends and relatives in the district, so I took the opportunity of calling last time we were down that way.”

    “Oh, yes?”

    “I would never have recognized him. He is enormous, quite enormous, and completely bald: pink and shiny, y’know?”

    Lewis still could not truly remember George Petrie: he had to swallow, however. “He cannot be more than my age.”

    “Quite.”

    “I suppose it is too much to hope that the former Miss Batty has grown remarkably gaunt, in compensation?”

    Richard laughed. “Alas, yes, far too much! She is as fat as he. The two together form a frightening spectacle: something like the width of five normal persons!”

    Lewis smiled a little. “A sight worth the seeing.”

    “Well, yes. –He would like to see you, I know: he is as amiable as ever.”

    Lewis Vane replied indifferently: “I cannot remember if he were amiable or not.”

    Hell, thought Richard again.

    Then there was an awkward little silence.

    “Do you have a second family, may I ask?” said Colonel Vane, clearing his throat.

    Richard smiled very much. “Our first is due in July.”

    “I congratulate you.”

    “Thank you: I am a damned lucky man. She is—” He broke off, laughing a little. “Well, every happily married man must think his wife the most admirable in the world! But I challenge any man to produce a woman more admirable than my Delphie!”

    Lewis Vane looked wryly at handsome, happy, laughing Richard Amory. Never mind the gammy leg, the fellow had always got everything he wanted: such appeared to be the fate of those born to good looks and a comfortable independence. He did not think that such men had much trouble in attracting amiable wives: or that the women who married them experienced much difficulty in remaining amiable.

    Richard Amory of course was neither stupid nor insensitive: he looked at the dark, closed, bitter face and thought: Oh, God, why did I say that?

    He had decided he might as well jabber on about nothings, they could not sit here mumchance, when the man got up and walked over to the window.

    “What is it?” he murmured, as Vane just stood there with his back turned.

    Colonel Vane took a deep breath. “Richard,” he said, turning round: “will you act for me?”

    Richard Amory blinked, thinking he could not have heard aright.

    “There will be no bloodshed. But I suppose I have to go through with it.” Rapidly he explained.

    Richard looked at him limply.

    “I was going to ask young Noël—I have no friends in London,” he said on a harsh note, “but—well, your first wife was Lady Benedict’s aunt, was she not?”

    “Well, yes: she is my Lizzie’s cousin... But my dear Lewis, you cannot be serious!”

    Colonel Vane shrugged. “Not very, no. But Pom-Pom will insist.”

    Richard attempted to dissuade him but with no result. “Well—if you are sure; but the first duty of a second is to attempt a reconciliation, and I shall do so.”

    He shrugged. “Try, by all means.”

    “Er—who is the injured party?” said Richard cautiously.

    He shrugged again. “I am, I suppose. He slapped me, and I agreed to meet him.”

    “Then the choice of weapons must be yours,” said Richard, trying not to stare at the cracked lip.

    Lewis touched it, looking wry. “Aye. –Pistols, I think: he cannot hit a barn door, and I shall delope.”

    “Yes.” He hesitated, but finally said: “My dear fellow, an accident may still happen, you know.”

    “Yes; I shall put my affairs in order. Do you think Noël will care to act as my other second?”

    Richard nodded. “Yes. And rest assured, he will speak of it to no-one.”

    “I am sure of it,” he said, holding out his hand.

    Limply Richard shook it. He was damned sure Noël’s reaction would be the same as his own—but attempting to talk Lewis Vane out of anything always had been like attempting to move a mountain of granite!

    And so indeed it proved. The two Amorys looked at each other limply once he had bowed and taken himself off, stiff to the last.

    “Do he affect the Portuguese Widow, as Bobby suggested?” said Noël feebly.

    “My dear boy, do not ask me, I have not the slightest notion!”

    “If he does not,” said Noël, frowning over it, “why volunteer to return the damned gift for her?”

    “Er—you have a point, old man.”

    They eyed each other cautiously.

    “By God, Noël, I would give a monkey to see it!” Richard burst out. “It appears to have included the von Maltzahn-Dressen coat of arms, and to have been fully as long as my hand!”

    Noël stared for an instant; then they both burst out laughing.

    “Oh, dear! But seriously,” said Richard, wiping his eyes, “this is a bad business.”

    “Mm. Look, Richard: if the fellow has got himself embroiled for her sake—”

    “Yes. She is Lizzie’s cousin: I shall speak to her. Mayhap she will be able to talk him out of it. Well, I know it ain’t the done thing,” he said with a grimace, “but good God, we’re not living in the last century! Duels at dawn? Rubbish. She is a sensible young woman: she will see it that way, I am very sure.”

    Noël did not think she was as sensible as all that. But he did not think she would wish to have the story that Vane and von Maltzahn-Dressen had fought over her favours all over town, either. “Aye,” he agreed.

    Nan went very white. Colonel Amory looked at her anxiously. “My dear—”

    “No, I am quite all right. I deed not theenk he could possibly be so seelly— And eendeed, he said he would not! Or I would not have let heem take eet back,” she said earnestly.

    Richard nodded.

    “When ees eet to be?” she asked grimly.

    “A week hence.”

    Her lips firmed. “I shall stop eet. I theenk eef Colonel Vane sees that eef I—eef I vairy much do not weesh for eet, he may—he may apologize.”

    He nodded. “The Prince’s seconds tell me that His Highness has calmed down and would accept an apology. And in fact he will apologize for the blow he struck Colonel Vane. Though only if Vane apologizes first,” he admitted, grimacing.

    Nan nodded. “He shall do eet. I weell not have eet! Eet ees too seelly! I have barely spoken to heem three times een my life, Colonel Amory, and he walked een and caught me unawares weeth the peen, and—and recognized the coat of arms, so that I could hardly deny— And then he took eet from me and walked off weeth eet!’

    “I see,” said Richard limply. “Er—pray forgive me, I had thought that perhaps you knew him rather better than that.”

    “No!” cried Nan, very red. “He ees the merest acquaintance! Yet he took eet upon heemself to—”

    Hastily Richard patted her hand. “Do not upset yourself, my dear. He is a strange, abrupt fellow. And he has always had a—a strong consciousness of what is due to a lady’s honour, I suppose is the only way to put it.”

    Nan nodded, biting her lip.

    “I think together we can scotch it!” he said bracingly.

    He went back to Noël’s house, reported to his nephew, and sat down to write a very full account of the thing to Delphie, concluding:

    So you see, my dearest, I must stay and see the thing through. Of course you will say, Is the fellow in love with little Lady Benedict? As you know, she is the prettiest thing imaginable, and since I have met her in person I am able to say that Bobby’s claims for her were scarcely exaggerated. She is spirited and charming, with a fresh naturalness that is most appealing. But as for Lewis Vane! I cannot say whether he affects her or no. But I will say this: in spite of this duel nonsense, I never saw anything less lover-like in my life!