Georgette Heyer - Regency Romance Classics - Georgette Heyer Collection

"Not entirely," answered Tom. "I understand your feelings. What's to do?"

"Merely my baggage," said Philip, with another glance towards the window. "It is the coach that you hear."

"No, not that." Tom listened. Voices raised in altercation sounded in the hall.

Philip laughed.

"That is the inimitable François. I do not think that Moggat finds favour in his eyes."

"I'll swear he does not find favour in Moggat's eyes! Who is the other one?"

"Jacques, my groom and homme à tout faire !"

"Faith, ye've a retinue!"

"What would you?" shrugged Philip. He sat down opposite his uncle, and stretched his legs to the fire. "Heigh-ho! I do not like this weather."

"Nor anyone else. What are you going to do, now that you have returned?"

"Who knows? I make my bow to London Society, I amuse myself a little—ah yes! and I procure a house."

"Do you make your bow to Cleone?"

An impish smile danced into Philip's eyes.

"I present myself to Cleone—as she would have had me. A drawling, conceited, and mincing fop. Which I am not, believe me!"

Tom considered him.

"No, you're not. You don't drawl."

"I shall drawl," promised Philip. "And I shall be very languid."

"It's the fashion, of course. You did not adopt it?"

"It did not entice me. I am le petit sans repos , and le petit Philippe au Cœur Perdu , and petit original . Hé, hé , I shall be homesick! It is inevitable."

"Are you so much at home in Paris?" asked Tom, rather surprised. "You liked the Frenchies?"

"Liked them! Could I have disliked them?"

"I should have thought it possible—for you. Did you make many friends?"

" A revendre! They took me to their bosoms."

"Did they indeed! Who do you count amongst your intimates?"

"Saint-Dantin—you know him?"

"I've met him. Tall and dark?"

"Ay. Paul de Vangrisse, Jules de Bergeret, Henri de Chatelin—oh, I can't tell you! They are all charming!"

"And the ladies?"

"Also charming. Did you ever meet Clothilde de Chaucheron, or Julie de Marcherand? Ah, voilà ce qui fait ressouvenir! I count that rondeau one of my most successful efforts. You shall hear it some time or other."

"That what ?" ejaculated Tom, sitting upright in his surprise.

"A rondeau : 'To the Pearl that Trembles in her Ear.' I would you could have seen it."

"Which? The rondeau ?"

"The pearl, man! The rondeau you shall most assuredly see."

"Merciful heaven!" gasped Tom. "A rondeau ! Philip—poet! Sacr-ré mille petits cochons! "

"Monsieur dines at home this evening?" asked François.

Philip sat at his dressing-table, busy with many pots and his face. He nodded.

"The uncle of Monsieur receives, without doubt?"

"A card-party," said Philip, tracing his eyebrows with a careful hand.

François skipped to the wardrobe and flung it open. With a finger to his nose he meditated aloud.

"The blue and silver ... un peu trop soigné . The orange ... peu convenable . The purple the purple essayons !"

Philip opened the rouge-jar.

"The grey I wore at De Flaubert's last month."

François clapped a hand to his head.

" Ah, sot! " he apostrophised himself. " Voilà qui est très bien. " He dived into the wardrobe, emerging presently with the required dress. He laid it on the bed, stroking it lovingly, and darted away to a large chest. From it he brought forth the pink and silver waistcoat that De Bergeret had admired, and the silver lace. Then he paused. " Les bas?... Les bas aux oiseaux-mouches ... où sont-ils? " He peered into a drawer, turning over neat piles of stockings. A convulsion of fury seemed to seize him, and he sped to the door. "Ah, sapristi! Coquin! Jacques! "

In answer to his frenzied call came the cadaverous one, shivering. François seized him by the arm and shook him.

"Thou misbegotten son of a toad!" he raved. "Where is the small box I bade you guard with your life? Where is it, I say. Thou—"

"I gave it into your hands," said Jacques sadly. "Into your hands, your very hands, in this room here by the door! I swear it."

"Swear it? What is it to me, your swear? I say I have not seen the box! At Dover, what did I do? Nom d'un nom , did I not say to you, lose thy head sooner than that box?" His voice rose higher and higher. "And now, where is it?"

"I tell you I gave it you! It is this bleak country that has warped your brain. Never did the box leave my hands until I gave it into yours!"

"And I say you did not! Saperlipopette , am I a fool that I should forget? Now listen to what you have done! You have lost the stockings of Monsieur! By your incalculable stupidity, the stupidity of a pig, an ass—"

" Sacré nom de Dieu! Am I to be disturbed by your shrieking?" Philip had flung down the haresfoot. He slewed round in his chair. "Shut the door! Is it that you wish to annoy my uncle that you shout and scream in his house?" His voice was thunderous.

François spread out his hands.

"M'sieur, I ask pardon! It is this âne , this careless gaillard —"

" Mais, m'sieur! " protested Jacques. "It is unjust; it is false!"

" Ecoutez donc, m'sieur! " begged François, as the stern grey eyes went from his face to that of the unhappy Jacques. "It is the band-box that contains your stockings—the stockings aux oiseaux-mouches ! Ah, would that I had carried it myself! Would that—"

"Would that you would be quiet!" said Philip severely. "If either of you have lost those stockings ..." He paused, and once more his eyes travelled from one to the other. "I shall seek another valet."

François became tearful.

"Ah, no, no, m'sieur! It is this imbécile , this crapaud —"

" M'sieu, je vous implore —"

Philip pointed dramatically across the room. Both men looked fearfully in the direction of that accusing finger.

"Ah!" François darted forward. " La voilà! What did I say?" He clasped the box to his breast. "What did I say?"

"But it is not so!" cried Jacques. "What did you say? You said you had not seen the box! What did I say? I said—"

"Enough!" commanded Philip. "I will not endure this bickering! Be quiet, François! Little monkey that you are!"

" M'sieur! " François was hurt. His sharp little face fell into lines of misery.

"Little monkey," continued Philip inexorably, "with more thought for your chattering than for my welfare."

"Ah, no, no, m'sieur! I swear it is not so! By the—"

"I do not want your oaths," said Philip cruelly. "Am I to wait all night for my cravat, while you revile the good Jacques?"

François cast the box from him.

"Ah, misérable ! The cravat! Malheureux , get thee gone!" He waved agitated hands at Jacques. "You hinder me! You retard me! You upset Monsieur! Va-t-en! "

Jacques obeyed meekly, and Philip turned back to the mirror. To him came François, wreathed once more in smiles.

"He means well, ce bon Jacques ," he said, busy with the cravat. "But he is sot , you understand, très sot !" He pushed Philip's chin up with a gentle hand. "He annoys m'sieur, ah oui ! But he is a good garçon , when all is said."

"It is you who annoy me," answered Philip. "Not so tight, not so tight! Do you wish to choke me?"

" Pardon , m'sieur! No, it is not François who annoys you! Ah, mille fois non! François—perhaps he is a little monkey, if m'sieur says so, but he is a very good valet, n'est-ce pas ? A monkey, if m'sieur pleases, but very clever with a cravat. M'sieur has said it himself."