‘I was fortunate enough to be educated at a very select seminary, sir.’
‘You were, were you? Who placed you there?’
‘My grandfather,’ answered Miss Challoner unexpansively.
‘Your father’s father? Is he alive? Who is he?’
‘He is a general, sir.’
Vidal’s brows drew together. ‘What county?’
‘He lives in Buckinghamshire, my lord.’
‘Good God, never tell me you are Sir Giles Challoner’s grandchild?’
‘I am,’ said Miss Challoner calmly.
‘Then I am undone, and we must be married at once,’ said Vidal. ‘That stiff-necked old martinet is a friend of my father’s.’
Miss Challoner smiled. ‘You need not be alarmed, sir. My grandfather has been very kind to me in the past, but he disowned my father upon his marriage, and has washed his hands of me since I choose to live with my mother and sister. He will not concern himself w
ith my fate.’
‘He’ll concern himself fast enough if he gets wind of his granddaughter in a milliner’s shop,’ said Vidal.
‘Of course I shall not become a milliner under my own name,’ Miss Challoner explained.
‘You won’t become one under any name, my girl. Make the best of it: marriage with me is the only thing for you now. I am sorry for it, but as a husband I believe you won’t find me exacting. You may go your own road – I shan’t interfere with you so long as you remain discreet – I’ll go mine. You need see very little of me.’
The prospect chilled Miss Challoner to the soul, but observing my lord’s heightened colour she judged it wiser not to argue with him any further at present. She got up, saying quietly: ‘We will talk of it again presently, my lord. You are tired now, and the surgeon will soon be here.’
He caught her wrist and held it. ‘Give me your word you’ll not slip off while I’m laid by the heels!’
She could not resist the temptation of touching his hand. ‘I promise I’ll not do that,’ she said reassuringly. ‘I won’t leave your protection till we reach Paris.’
When the surgeon came he talked volubly and learnedly, with a great many exclamations and hand-wavings. His lordship suffered this for some time, but presently became annoyed and opened his eyes (which he had closed after the first five minutes) and disposed of the little surgeon’s diagnosis and proposed remedies in one rude and extremely idiomatic sentence.
The doctor started back as from a stinging nettle unwarily grasped: ‘Monsieur, I was informed that you were an Englishman!’ he said.
My lord said, amongst other things, that he did not propose to burden the doctor with the details of his genealogy. He consigned the doctor and all his works, severally and comprehensively described, to hell, and finished up his epic speech by a pungent and Rabelaisian criticism of the whole race of leeches.
Whereupon the doctor, who had listened rapt to the unfaltering diatribe, said with enthusiasm: ‘But it is wonderful! An Englishman to have so great a command of the French tongue! It is what compels the admiration! I shall now bleed you. Madame will have the goodness to hold the basin. The English have such phlegm!’
Vidal became aware of Miss Challoner standing demurely by the door. ‘What, are you here?’ he said. ‘Do you understand French?’
‘Tolerably well, sir,’ she replied placidly.
‘How well?’ demanded his lordship.
A glint of amusement shone in her grey eyes. ‘Well enough to understand the doctor, my lord. But I could not follow very much of what you said. Most of the words you used were strange to me.’
‘Thank God for that!’ said Vidal. ‘Now go away, there’s a good girl, and leave me to deal with this fellow.’
‘Having phlegm, sir, I am to hold the basin,’ replied Miss Challoner. ‘You did as much for me, after all.’
He grinned. ‘I’d a notion you’d never forgive me for that, whatever else you forgave.’
‘Forgive you? I was exceedingly grateful,’ said Miss Challoner matter-of-factly.