‘Do you expect me to break out in a sweat?’ asked Vidal. ‘Of course my father knows. It’s a habit with him.’
‘And a damned bad habit, too,’ said Rupert feelingly. ‘You know your own business best, or, at any rate, you think you do, but if you take my advice, you’ll go easy with – what in hell’s the girl’s name?’
‘You can pass over her name.’
‘No, I can’t,’ contradicted Rupert. ‘I can’t go on calling her girl, filly, chit, yaller-head; it throws me out.’
‘Just as you please,’ yawned Vidal. ‘You’ll forget it in five minutes. Sophia.’
‘That’s it,’ nodded my lord. ‘Never could stand the name since I got entangled with a widow called Sophia. D’you know, boy, that woman well-nigh married me?’
‘That wasn’t Sophia,’ objected Vidal. ‘That was Maria Hiscock.’
‘No, no, that’s a different one,’ said Rupert impatiently. ‘Sophia was years before your time. And she devilish nearly had me. You be warned, Dominic.’
‘You are kindness itself,’ answered Vidal politely. ‘I can only repeat what I seem to have said already several times; I do not at this present contemplate marriage.’
‘But ain’t this Sophia a thought different from the others?’ asked his lordship curiously. ‘Daughter of a cit? Lay you odds you stir up trouble there.’
‘Not I. If it were the sister now – !’ Vidal gave a short laugh. ‘That’s one of those enemies of mine you spoke of, or I’m much mistaken.’
‘Didn’t see the sister, did I? The mother will do what she can to see you tied up in wedlock. ’Pon my soul, if I ever set eyes on a worse harpy!’
‘And the sister would send me to the devil,’ Vidal said. ‘I don’t please Miss Prunes and Prisms.’
Lord Rupert cocked an eyebrow. ‘Don’t you, begad? And does she please you?’
‘Good God, no! We don’t deal together. She’d spoil sport if she could.’ He showed his teeth in a rather saturnine smile. ‘Well, if she chooses to cross swords with me, she’ll maybe learn something in the encounter.’ He picked up his hat and cane, and strolled to the door. ‘I’ll leave you, beloved. You’re becoming damned moral, you know.’ He went out and the door shut behind him before Lord Rupert, astonished and indignant at the charge, could think of a suitable reply.
Four
My Lord Carlisle having discovered that his sedate protégé had an incongruous passion for gambling, thought he could do no better for him than to introduce him to the newest of the hells. The young man seemed to have plenty of money at his command, and if he chose to lose it over the dice, it was no business of my lord’s. Of late Mr Comyn’s face had worn a very serious expression, and my lord had no hesitation in laying this at Miss Marling’s door, that sprightly damsel having been bundled off to Paris in charge of her brother.
‘Hang all women!’ Carlisle said blithely. ‘Why, man, there’s not one worth the half of these glum looks of yours.’ Mr Comyn eyed him calmly. ‘You are merry, sir, but you mistake,’ he said politely. ‘I believe I have a natural gravity which perhaps misleads you.’
‘Devil a bit,’ said his lordship. ‘I know all about you, my friend. Gone to France, hasn’t she? I see young Marling’s back again.’
Mr Comyn compressed his lips. My lord laughed. ‘Don’t like him, do you? Well, it’s a dull dog.’ He clapped Mr Comyn on the shoulder. ‘You’ll forget the fair Juliana over a bottle. Tell you what, I’ll take you to Timothy’s.’
‘I shall be happy to accompany your lordship,’ bowed Mr Comyn.
‘You’re not in society until you’ve crossed that threshold,’ Carlisle went on. ‘It’s the newest of the hells. Vidal and Fox made it the fashion. The play’s high; you’re not the man to mind that, I take it. All the same,’ he added thoughtfully, ‘I’d not play at Vidal’s table if I were you. The pace he sets is a trifle too hot for most of us. Don’t know if you’ve run across the Devil’s Cub yet?’
‘I had the honour of meeting his lordship at the drum last week,’ said Mr Comyn. ‘I shall be happy to renew my acquaintance with him.’
Carlisle stared. ‘Will you, by gad?’ he said.
Timothy’s was a discreet-looking establishment in a street off St James’s. An unobtrusive individual, casually strolling up and down the road, was pointed out to Mr Comyn as the orderly-man, engaged to give warning if any constables approached. The windows were thickly curtained, but when a funereally clad porter admitted my Lord Carlisle and his protégé, Mr Comyn fairly blinked at the blaze of lights within the house. The porter, who was clothed in black, rather startled him, but on the way upstairs my lord explained that this sombre livery was a whim of Mr Fox’s, who was given to such conceits.
‘Surely, sir, Mr Fox is not the owner of a gaming-house?’ said Mr Comyn, greatly surprised.
‘Oh no, but he’s Vidal’s crony, and Timothy, so
I’m told, was in the Duke of Avon’s employ until he discovered in himself a genius for this sort of thing. Thus, you see, what Vidal or his intimates want is all that signifies to Master Timothy.’
They had reached the head of the stairway, and Lord Carlisle led the way into the first of the gaming-rooms. It was somewhat crowded, and was apparently given over to pharaoh and deep basset.
My lord passed through it, exchanging a greeting here and there, and led Mr Comyn through an archway into a second and smaller apartment. The rattle of dice sounded here, and Mr Comyn’s eye brightened. There was only one table, and that occupied the centre of the room, and was surrounded by a fair number of onlookers.