Miss Challoner opened her eyes, marvelled to see his lordship so untroubled, and shut them again with a shudder.
“And now,” said Vidal silkily, “and
Miss Challoner made a heroic effort, and raised herself on her elbow. “Sir,” she said, self-possessed to the last, “I do not care whether you go or stay, but I desire to warn you that I am about to be extremely unwell.” She pressed her handkerchief to her mouth, and said through it in muffled accents: “Immediately!”
His laugh sounded heartless, she thought. “Egad, I never thought of that,” he said. “Take this, my girl.”
She opened her eyes once more, and found that his lord-ship was holding a basin towards her. She found notong at all incongruous in the sight. “Thank youl” gasped Miss Challoner, with real gratitude.
Chapter VII
miss challoner awoke with a long sigh, and lay for a moment with her eyes still closed. To open them would be to court disaster, and she had borne enough, she decided. Then she began to realize that the yacht was no longer pitching and tossing, but was, in fact, almost motionless. She opened her eyes and looked distrustfully at the furnishings of her cabin, but these no longer rose and fell before her indignant gaze.
“Thank God!” said Miss Challoner devoutly. She felt extremely weak, and her head when she raised it from the pillow swam unpleasantly. She lay still, therefore, trying to recollect the happenings of the past interminable hours. She found that her memory was somewhat blurred, but she remembered that Lord Vidal, having presented her with a basin, had retired. He had certainly come back later—hours later, when she was too exhausted even to speak, and he had forced something exceedingly fiery down her throat. With a vague fear of his threat to make her drunk she had tried to struggle, whereupon he had said, still apparently amused: “It’s only brandy, my dear. Drink it.”
So she had drunk it, and it had sent her to sleep. She supposed his lordship must have tucked her up; she had not suspected him of so much consideration.
In the middle of these reflections the door opened, and the Marquis himself came in. He was bright-eyed and a little dishevelled. “You’re awake, are you?” he said. “Up you get, then.”
“I don’t think I can,” said Miss Challoner candidly. “My head swims.”
“You must. We’re at Dieppe. What you want is food,” his lordship informed her callously.
Miss Challoner was impelled to sit up. “You can force your presence on me, I suppose,” she said bitterly, “but if you have any feeling at all you will not talk to me of food.”
“I haven’t,” said Vidal. “You don’t know it but you will be perfectly well when you have dined. Get up and come ashore.”
That last magic word brought Miss Challoner to her feet. His lordship offered his arm. “That’s better,” he encouraged her. “I’ve bespoken dinner and beds at the Coq d’Or.”
They came up on to the deck. Miss Challoner, having requested my lord to precede her, climbed up the companion as quickly as a swimming head would allow. Once on deck she observed that the sea was miraculously calm and blue, and bunked at it in surprise. Then she saw the long shadows on the quay, and asked what time it was.
“Close on six,” replied Vidal. “We met rough weather.”
Her brain refused to work. She kept on repeating to herself: “I’m in France. I can’t get home now. It’s of no avail to ask the time. I’m in France.”
The Marquis led her up the gangway and along the quayside until the Coq d’Or was reached. “Your gear has been taken up,” he said.
She looked at him, puzzled. “But I have none,” she said.
“You are forgetting,” he replied ironically, “I told Sophia to bring nothing, but promised I would provide her with what she might need.”
“Have you bought—
He grinned. “Oh, not only dresses,” he replied. “You can teach me nothing of what a lady requires. Shifts, negligees, lappets, beads, perfume from Warren’s, Poudre a la Marechale—you’ll find ’em all there. I have endless experience, I can assure you.”
“That I do not doubt,” she said.
He bowed. “I trust you will approve my taste,” he said, and handed her over to the waiting abigail.
Miss Challoner saw nothing for it but to go upstairs in the wake of this damsel. She had a very fair notion of what her appearance must be, and she felt quite unequal to the coming scene with the Marquis until she had tidied her person.
She spoke French prettily enough, and had no difficulty in making the maid-servant understand her wants. She washed her face and hands, did up her hair again, using the brush and comb of his lordship’s providing, and very gingerly withdrew the pistol from the pocket of her cloak. She thought she would be able to hold it so that the panniers of her gown concealed it from view, and practised this in front of the mirror. Deciding that it was hardly successful, she held the pistol in her right hand and draped her cloak over her arm, so that its folds fell over the weapon. Satisfied, she left her chamber and went downstairs to the private parlour his lordship had engaged.
He was standing by the fire with a glass in his hand. Suddenly she knew why his eyes glittered so strangely; his lordship had been drinking, and was drinking still.
She took one quick look at Mm, and went to the table, and seated herself, holding the pistol under her skirts, and putting her cloak over the back of her chair.
“I find that you were right, sir,” she remarked politely. “I shall be the better for some food.”
He strolled over to his chair and sat down. “You look as though you need something to warm you,” he said. “Will you drink burgundy with me, or ratafia by yourself?”
“Thank you, my lord, I will drink water,” answered Miss Challoner firmly.
“As you please,” he shrugged and leaned back in his chair, lazily watching her.
The entrance of a liveried man, followed by one of the inn-servants created a welcome diversion. The discreet-looking man began to serve them, and surprised Miss Challoner by addressing her in her own tongue.
“I always travel with my own servants,” explained the Marquis, observing her surprise.
“An agreeable luxury, sir,” commented Miss Challoner.
She made an excellent dinner, and maintained a flow of easy conversation for the benefit of his lordship’s servant The Marquis emptied his bottle of burgundy, and sent for a second. Miss Challoner’s heart sank, but the wine only seemed to make his lordship readier of tongue. There was a certain air of recklessness about him, but he was far from being drunk. Miss Challoner, dreading the inevitable
“Will your lordship require anything further tonight?” asked the servant.
“Nothing,” Vidal answered.
The man bowed, and withdrew. Vidal spoke softly: “Come here.”
“I have something to say to you first, my lord,” returned Miss Challoner calmly.
“Good God, girl, do you suppose it was to hear you talk that I brought you to France?” Vidal said derisively. “I’ll swear you know better than that!”
“Perhaps,” admitted Miss Challoner. “Nevertheless, sir, I beg you will listen to me. You won’t pretend, I hope, that you are fallen in love with me.”
“Love?” he said scornfully. “No, madam. I feel no more love for you than I felt for your pretty sister. But you’ve thrown yourself at my head, and by God I’ll take you!” His eyes ran over her. “You’ve a mighty trim figure, my dear, and from what I can discover, more brain than Sophia. You lack her beauty, but I’m not repining.”
She looked gravely up at him. “My lord, if you take me, it will be for revenge, I think. Have I deserved so bitter a punishment?”
“You’re not very complimentary, are you?” he mocked. She rose, holding her pistol behind her. “Let me go now,” she said. “You do not want me, and indeed I think you have punished me enough.”
“Oh, that’s it, is it?” he said. “Are you piqued that I liked Sophia better? Never heed it, my dear; I’ve forgotten the wench already.”
“My lord,” she said desperately, “indeed I am not what you think me!”
He burst into one of his wild laughs, and she realized that in this mood she could make no impression on
