banished from the company of his uncle and mr mahmoud, the duke of dent wandered through the endless halls of the ancestral manse.
what a bore, he thought aimlessly. a few minutes ago he had been dreading his uncle’s tedious questions about his, the duke’s, trip to the caucasus. but now, freed from that tiresomeness, he was wondering how to best fill the hours before dinner.
a dinner he would have given anything to avoid. but, what could you do?
how he wished bertha had agreed to come down for the weekend! even with her gaggle of jackass friends.
and if not bertha, beetle or cuthie or fat sally. someone he could at least talk to.
he heard voices in a room at the end of the corridor.
where was he? oh yes, one of the libraries. the one called “the library” although there were many others scattered through the old pile.
he recognized the voice of his young cousin angeline. who might she be talking to?
the governess, mademoiselle feval. yes, the duke thought, he might amuse himself twitting mademoiselle feval.
when he entered the room he saw, in addition to angeline and mademoiselle feval, two shabbily dressed strangers, a young woman and a younger man.
this did not surprise him. they might be journalists of some sort - although the man looked awfully young - or the pleaders of some dreary public cause, being humored by uncle william - or they might have simply wandered in. the old pile had always been liberty hall, in a manner that might shock the new breed of bureaucrats and politicians, with their mania for what they presumed to call “security”.
“hullo, who have we here?,” the duke announced himself. “who are these very special guests, angeline?”
“this is ms brown, and this handsome young fellow is mr smith.”
the duke nodded to mary and joe. “it’s a pleasure to meet you both,” he smiled. “are you here on behalf of some worthy cause?” he sat down in an armchair in the corner, away from the window, beside a glass bookcase containing the 50 volumes of the memoirs of cardinal mandeville.
“they are here to fill out the dinner party,” mademoiselle feval explained. “stone went out and found them on the roads.”
“of course, of course, i should have guessed. well, i hope the dinner won’t prove too tiresome an ordeal, and on behalf of lord chandler i thank you both.”
“i am sure we will both enjoy it,” mary replied. “the pleasure is ours.”
the duke turned to angeline. “who are they replacing, by the way?”
“i am not sure,” angeline frowned. “i was told, but i forgot.”
“mr stafford and m sancerre, if i recall correctly.,” said mademoiselle. “but don’t hold me to it.”
the duke nodded, and slouched deeper into his chair, suppressing a yawn.
“look here,” said mademoiselle. “young mr smith here looks exactly the same size as you, your grace. why don’t you see if you can find him something nice to wear for dinner? and i am about the same size as ms brown, i will do the same for her.”
“well, if you think it necessary…” the duke drawled.
“well, i would not call it necessary, but we have had guests - so-called important guests - before, who have been a bit taken aback by his lordship’s lack of ceremony.”
angeline laughed. “and, david, look! mr smith is not just the same height and build as you, he looks just like you! you could be twins.”
“do you really think so? “ the duke replied uncertainly, looking over at joe. “not that i really know quite what i look like. not being the sort of chap who spends long hours in front of the looking glass.”
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