A slight spasm contracted Walker’s features. Alone amongst the staff Léon never gave him a prefix to his name.
‘His Grace sent for me a few moments back to tell me that he is leaving for London to-morrow. I come to warn you, Léon, that you must be ready to accompany him.’
‘Bah! He had told me that this morning,’ said Léon scornfully.
Madame nodded.
‘Yes, and he comes to eat a last cake with me, le petit.’ She sighed gustily. ‘Indeed, my heart is heavy to think I must lose thee, Léon. But thou – thou art glad, little ingrate!’
‘I have never been to England, you see,’ apologised Léon. ‘I am so excited, ma mère.’
‘Ah, c’est cela! So excited that you will forget fat old Madame Dubois.’
‘No, I swear I will not! Walker, will you have some of Madame’s cake?’
Walker drew himself up.
‘No, I thank you.’
‘Voyons, he insults your skill, ma mère !’ chuckled Léon.
‘I assure you, madame, it’s no such thing.’ Walker bowed to her and withdrew.
‘He is like a camel,’ remarked the page placidly.
He repeated this observation to the Duke next day, as they sat
in the coach, bound for Calais.
‘A camel?’ said his Grace. ‘Why?’
‘We-ll…’ Léon wrinkled his nose. ‘I saw one once, a long time ago, and I remember it walked along with its head very high, and a smile on its face, just like Walker. It was so full of dignity, Monseigneur. You see?’
‘Perfectly,’ yawned his Grace, leaning farther back into the corner.
‘Do you think that I shall like England, Monseigneur?’ asked Léon presently.
‘It is to be hoped that you will, my infant.’
‘And – and do you think that I shall feel sick upon the ship?’
‘I trust not.’
‘So do I,’ said Léon devoutly.
As it chanced the journey was quite uneventful. They spent one night on the road to Calais, and embarked next day on a night boat. Much to Léon’s disgust, the Duke sent him into his cabin, with orders to remain there. For perhaps the first time in all his Channel crossings Avon remained on deck. Once he went down to the tiny cabin, and finding Léon fast asleep in a chair, lifted him, and put him gently into a bunk, covering him with a fur rug. Then he went out again to pace the deck until morning.
When Léon appeared on deck next morning he was shocked to find that his master had remained there all night, and said so. Avon pulled one of his curls, and, having breakfasted, went below to sleep until Dover was reached. Then he emerged, and with becoming languor went ashore, Léon at his heels. Gaston had disembarked one of the first, and by the time the Duke arrived at the inn on the quay had roused the landlord to activity. A private parlour awaited them, with lunch set out on the table.
Léon eyed the meal with some disapproval and not a little surprise. A sirloin of English beef stood at one end of the table, flanked by a ham and some capons. A fat duck was at the other end, with pasties and puddings. There was also a flagon of burgundy, and a jug of foaming ale.
‘Well, my Léon?’
Léon turned. His Grace had entered the room, and stood behind him, fanning himself. Léon looked sternly at the fan, and seeing the condemnation in his eyes Avon smiled.
‘The fan does not find favour with you, infant?’
‘I do not like it at all, Monseigneur.’