Tales of two people

“I – I beg your Grace’s pardon?”

“If a young lady calls, you’re to appear to be an idiot.” The Duke, as he spoke, smiled over the reflection that his order to Frank embodied nothing very unusual.

“Very good, your Grace! What’s Monsieur Alphonse to be?”

“If he must exist at all he’d better be in bed – with something a trifle infectious,” answered the Duke, after a moment’s reflection.

“Very good, your Grace. Burgundy or champagne at dinner? The chambertin appears to have recovered from the journey.”

“Then let me have the chambertin,” said his Grace. “Dinner at seven. I feel as if I should be hungry. I am now going to take a walk.”

On his walk through what proved to be exceedingly pretty country, the Duke meditated, in admiration mingled with annoyance, on the excellent organisation of English rural parishes. The immediate notice taken of his arrival, the instantaneous zeal for his moral welfare, argued much that was good – the Duke determined to say a few words about it in the House of Lords – but, on the other hand, it certainly rendered more difficult his experiment in the simple life – to say nothing of necessitating his adventurous excursion into the Somerset dialect.

“She is probably actuated,” he concluded, “by a groundless fear that I shall resort to the Nonconformist chapel.”

Seven o’clock found him seated before his brightly furnished dining-table. The table was of deal, but it was covered with damask, decked with silver, and ornamented by the chambertin. The Duke had a fine appetite, and fell to cheerfully on Monsieur Alphonse’s creations; these were studiously rural in their character – Watteau-like confections. Monsieur Alphonse was dreaming of the Petit Trianon.

The cottage was not large; the sitting-room was in close proximity to the door. A sharp rap of somebody’s knuckles on the door startled him, just as he was finishing his first glass of chambertin. He was in demi-toilette – a dress jacket and black tie. It should be added that, although daylight prevailed outside, the blind of the window was carefully drawn down.

The knock was repeated – rather impatiently. “Frank!” called the Duke in a voice carefully modulated.

“I’m on my way, your Grace,” Frank answered, putting his head in at the door. “I merely waited to put on a blanket over my dress-coat. Monsieur Alphonse has got into bed. He looks very natural in his official apron, your Grace.”

“Good,” said the Duke. “Don’t permit the person to enter.” He smiled slightly as he regarded Frank, who had hastily assumed a red blanket, striped with blue, and wore his hair brushed up straight from his head.

The next moment the Duke heard the door of the cottage open, and one of the sweetest voices he had ever listened to in his life softly pronouncing the question: “Oh, please, are you the man Devil?”

“I really ought to have recollected to tell Frank about that little mistake of mine,” thought the Duke, smiling.

His smile, however, vanished as he heard Frank, in answer to the question, shout with extraordinary vigour: “Yahoo, yahoo, yahoo!”

“This will never do,” said the Duke, rising and laying down his napkin. “The fellow always over-acts. I said idiocy – not mania.”

It appeared to do very well, all the same, for the sweet voice remarked, with no trace of surprise, “Oh, of course, you’re his poor brother; mamma – I’m Miss Hordern, you know, Miss Angela Hordern – told me about you. Please don’t let yourself become nervous or – or excited.”

Monsieur Alphonse’s voice suddenly broke forth, crying loudly: “I have ze fevaar – ze fevaar – veri bad fevaar!”

“Point de zele! Talleyrand was right,” said the Duke sadly.

“Who’s that?” cried Miss Angela. “Is some poor man ill in there? Oh, it’s not Devil himself, is it?”

No answer came from Frank, unless a realistically idiotic chuckle, faintly struggling, as it seemed to the Duke’s ears, with more natural mirth, may be counted as such.

“I must see this girl,” said the Duke.

“I think I’d better call again to-morrow,” said Miss Angela. “I’m in a hurry now – it’s Mothers’ Meeting night. I’ll come in to-morrow. Will you give this to your brother? Mamma sent it. Can you understand me, poor fellow?

“Yahoo, yahoo,” murmured Frank.

The door closed. The Duke dashed to the window, furtively drew the blind a little aside, and looked out.

“Upon my word!” said the Duke. “Yes, upon my word!” he reflected, twisting his moustache as he returned to the table.

Frank entered, holding a silver salver. “With Miss Angela Hordern’s compliments, your Grace.”

“Thank you, Frank. You can serve the fish; and beg Alphonse in future to wait for his cue.”

“Very good, your Grace.”

Frank withdrew, and the Duke examined the paper which he had taken from the salver. It acquired a certain interest from having passed through Miss Angela’s hands. The Duke fingered it delicately and eyed it pensively. It was entitled “A Dram for a Drinker; or, Just a Drop to do you Good.”

“A neat title,” the Duke mused, “but perhaps liable to defeat its own object by evoking a reminiscence too pleasurable.”

Frank entered with the fish. “Frank, I am at home next time Miss Hordern calls. You are not – nor Monsieur Alphonse.”

“Very good, your Grace,” Frank answered. “Your Grace will answer the door yourself?”

The Duke had overlooked the point. He did not feel that he could answer a door at all plausibly.

“Leave it on the jar,” he commanded, in a happy inspiration.

But when he was left alone his brow clouded a little. “Suppose the mother comes!” he thought. His face cleared. “She shall see Alphonse and Frank. And I will see Miss Angela.” He lit his cigar with a composed cheerfulness. “It is impossible,” he said meditatively, “to deny the interest of a sociological experiment. I am, however, inclined to hope that it will rain very hard to-morrow.” He stroked his back warily as he slid into a chair.

II

HE rose early the next morning – and observed the weather anxiously. It rained heavily. “Good,” said he, feeling his back. “One can’t dig in the wet. I shall have time to arrange affairs.”

He had, in fact, tasks of no small difficulty to achieve.

The first was with Monsieur Alphonse. The Duke courteously requested the chef’s presence, Frank being the intermediary. Alphonse came.

“Monsieur,” said the Duke, “I have to make a communication to you.”

“Hélas, Monsieur le Duc!” said Monsieur Alphonse.

“I shall not dine to-night. No, I sha’n’t have any dinner at all to-night.”

“But this is worse than anything I had expected!”

“I shall have tea – at seven.”

“Mais– ” said Alphonse.

“Bread-and-butter, thickish; and tea – the tea of the grocer du pays.”

“Miséricorde!! Monsieur le Duc will sup?”

“Possibly. As for tea, I understand that it would be appropriate if you added a shrimp. Monsieur, we play a part!”