‘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 have 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.’