These Old Shades(3)
“If you please, sir, I have finished.”
Avon put up his eyeglass.
“Have you?” he said.
The boy knelt suddenly and, to Davenant’s surprise, kissed the Duke’s hand.
“Yes, sir. Thank you.”
Avon disengaged himself, but the boy knelt still, looking up into the handsome face with humble eyes. The Duke took a pinch of snuff.
“My esteemed child, there sits the man you had best thank.” He waved his hand towards Davenant. “I should never have thought of feeding you.”
“I—I thanked you for saving me from Jean, milor’,” the boy answered.
“You are reserved for a worse fate,” said the Duke sardonically. “You now belong to me—body and soul.”
“Yes, sir. If you please,” murmured the boy, and sent him a swift glance of admiration from beneath his long lashes.
The thin lips curled a little.
“The prospect is no doubt pleasing?”
“Yes, sir. I—I would like to serve you.”
“But then, you do not know me very well,” said Justin, with a slight chuckle. “I am an inhuman taskmaster, eh, Hugh?”
“You are not the man to care for a child of his age,” said Hugh quietly.
“True, very true. Shall I give him to you?”
A trembling hand touched his great cuff.
“Please, sir——”
Justin looked across at his friend.
“I do not think I shall, Hugh. It is so entertaining, and so—er—novel, to be a gilded saint in the eyes of—er—unfledged innocence. I shall keep the boy for just so long as he continues to amuse me. What is your name, my child?”
“Léon, sir.”
“How delightfully brief!” Always a faint undercurrent of sarcasm ran beneath the surface of the Duke’s smooth voice. “Léon. No more, no less. The question is—Hugh will of course have the answer ready—what next to do with Léon?”
“Put him to bed,” said Davenant.
“Naturally—And do you think—a bath?”
“By all means.”
“Ah yes!” sighed the Duke, and struck a handbell at his side.
A lackey came in answer to the summons, bowing deeply.
“Your Grace desires?”
“Send me Walker,” said Justin.
The lackey effaced himself, and presently a neat individual came in, grey-haired and prim.
“Walker! I had something to say to you. Yes, I remember. Walker, do you observe this child?”
Walker glanced at the kneeling boy.
“Ay, your Grace.”
“He does. Marvellous,” murmured the Duke. “His name, Walker, is Léon. Strive to bear it in mind.”
“Certainly, your Grace.”
“He requires several things, but first a bath.”
“Ay, your Grace.”
“Secondly, a bed.”
“Yes, your Grace.”
“Thirdly, a nightgown.”
“Yes, your Grace.”
“Fourthly, and lastly, a suit of clothes. Black.”
“Black, your Grace.”
“Severe and funereal black, as shall befit my page. You will procure them. No doubt you will prove yourself equal to this occasion. Take the child away, and show him the bath, the bed, and the nightgown. And then leave him alone.”
“Very good, your Grace.”
“And you, Léon, rise. Go with the estimable Walker. I shall see you to-morrow.”
Léon came to his feet, and bowed.
“Yes, Monseigneur. Thank you.”
“Pray, do not thank me again,” yawned the Duke. “It fatigues me.” He watched Léon go out, and turned to survey Davenant.
Hugh looked full into his eyes.
“What does this mean, Alastair?”
The Duke crossed his legs, and swung one foot.
“I wonder?” he said pleasantly. “I thought that you would be able to tell me. You are always so omniscient, my dear.”
“Some scheme you have in mind, I know,” Hugh said positively. “I have known you long enough to be sure of that. What do you want with that child?”
“You are sometimes most importunate,” complained Justin. “Never more so than when you become virtuously severe. Pray spare me a homily.”
“I have no intention of lecturing you. All I would say is that it is impossible for you to take that child as your page.”
“Dear me!” said Justin, and gazed pensively into the fire.
“For one thing, he is of gentle birth. One can tell that from his speech, and his delicate hands and face. For another—his innocence shines out of his eyes.”
“How very distressing!”
“It would be very distressing if that innocence left him—because of you,” Hugh said, a hint of grimness in his rather dreamy voice.