Date: Fri, 09 Jan 2009 19:30:49 +0900
From: "graemefj@iinet.net.au" <graemefj@iinet.net.au>
Subject: The KingsBeast 4

This work is a product of the author's imagination. Places, events and
people are either fictitious or used fictitiously and any resemblance to
real events, places, or people, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

The author retains full copyright to the material, and sincerely hopes you
like it!

If you have something to say about it that isn't flaming me then email me
at: Caleb<graemefj@iinet.net.au>


THE KING'S BEAST 4
by Caleb


 			Oh, once I was courted by a bonny, bonny boy --
			I loved him, I vow and protest --
			I loved him so well, so very very well
			That I made him a bow'r in my breast --
			I made him a bow'r in my breast.

Henrietta Wyndover's clear true voice caressed the melancholy melody of the
folk song as she accompanied herself on the piano.  As Jem sat listening to
the plaintive air, there were aroused in him unwelcome memories -- memories
he had tried very hard to suppress.  They were tinged with sadness, with
regret and with a vast sense of loss.  He remembered similar musical
evenings from his youth before ... before ...
	He surreptitiously wiped an unbidden tear from his eye and cast a
covert glance around the room.  The Marchioness was enthroned in a wing
chair by the fire working on a piece of gros point in a large tapestry
frame.  She was obviously listening to her granddaughter as every now and
then she nodded in time to the music.  Lady Wyndover, Henrietta's mother
sat listening with an arm on the padded roll of the chaise longue with a
dreamy, far-away look.  Opposite her, and seated side by side, were Sir
Charles and his wife Eugenia, Lady Clifford.  They were listening
attentively and holding hands, which surprised Jem slightly as he had
thought Sir Charles undemonstrative, and from the way she conducted herself
at dinner, Lady Clifford seemed very reserved, and unbending.
	Jem himself was seated on a spindly upright chair somewhat towards
the back of the group. He looked around, seeing the Marquess standing apart
in a shadowed corner, and he saw with a jolt that the Marquess was looking
directly at him.  The Marquess was unsmiling and cocked an eyebrow at him,
and Jem looked away quickly.  The Marquess then quietly sauntered around
the room until he stood by Jem's chair.
	"Is something troubling you, Mr. Fleet?" the Marquess breathed.
Jem bit his lip.  "Not really, my lord," he answered quietly. "Miss
Wyndover sings well. I have never learned to sing."
	The Marquess nodded, "Nor I."  Jem smiled tentatively at him, "But
I am enjoying this song."  The Marquess bowed slightly to him with
understanding writ plain on his countenance.  Jem dropped his eyes and
looked up to see the Marchioness watching them.  She smiled and nodded to
him and turned back to her embroidery.
	Miss Wyndover's song came to an end and there was a smattering of
applause.  She curtseyed slightly to the company, her face wreathed in
smiles.  The Marchioness said, "Thank you, my dear. That was delightful."
She turned to Jem.  "Did not you think so, Mr. Fleet?"
	Jem was a little surprised that his opinion was sought. But he
could answer enthusiastically and with complete honesty, "Indeed I did,
Lady Chesham.  It seemed to me very beautiful, but I should hasten to add I
know nothing of music."
	Sir Charles laughed and said, "You know enough, I think."

The doors to the drawing room opened and Mitton entered bearing a tea tray,
followed by two footmen, also carrying the paraphernalia for serving tea.
The Marchioness set aside her embroidery frame and said, "Ah! Tea.  Set the
tray here, Mitton," and she indicated the table beside her.  As soon as the
silver service was set out, she busied herself pouring the tea for the
assembled company.  She suddenly asked, "Have you ever been to Almack's,
Eugenia?"  Lady Clifford rose to fetch the cup of tea offered her by the
Marchioness, and said, "Indeed I have, ma'am.  When I came out, mamma was
fortunate enough to obtain vouchers, but I have not been since my
marriage."  Lady Wyndover sighed and said, "I suppose I'll have to apply to
one of the patronesses for Henrietta."
	The Marquess said, "Don't you number several of those redoubtable
ladies among your bosom bows, mamma?"
	The Marchioness nodded.  "I do. Maria Sefton, I think. Perhaps we
should have her to tea one afternoon very soon, Honoria. She will want to
meet Henrietta before she gives out any vouchers and you can renew your
acquaintance with her, Eugenia, if you would care to attend."
	"That is kind of you, ma'am.  But I find I take little pleasure in
such things these days."
	Sir Charles said, "Nonsense, my dear.  I think it an excellent
idea.  How long is it since we have enjoyed the season together?  Too long,
I think.  It will do us both the world of good.  Thank you, ma'am.  My wife
will be glad to accept."
 Lady Clifford looked a little startled but she smiled at the Marchioness
and nodded and said, "You are very kind, ma'am.  Thank you.  I shall be
pleased to meet Lady Sefton."
	The Marchioness poured a cup of tea and held it out to Jem.  "And
you too, Mr. Fleet."
	Jem at first thought she was referring to the cup of tea, but she
held his eyes with such a speaking look, he was jolted into replying,
"M-me, ma'am?  But I don't even know what Almack's is."
	The Marquess gave a crack of laughter, and his mother said sharply,
"Before you bask in your smugness, my son, I shall expect you to be here to
greet Maria when she comes to tea."
	The Marquess muttered, "God, I can't abide the woman.  She fills
every conversation with smirks and winks and flirts with me all the time."
	The Marchioness said, with steel in her voice, "Of all the
patronesses of Almack's, Maria Sefton is the friendliest and the most
amenable. Therefore, you shall be here for Henrietta's sake, and if Lady
Sefton issues you an invitation to attend a ball at Almack's, you shall
accept with alacrity.  A very odd appearance it would present if your whole
household were to attend and you did not."  She smiled and descended from
Olympian heights. "I know she harbors decidedly tender feelings for you,
Nathaniel, so you cannot refuse her should she extend an invitation.
Besides you shall have to invite her to your ball."
	The Marquess was startled.  "My ball? What ball?"  "The ball you
will be giving for Henrietta," was the serene reply.  Lady Wyndover set
down her teacup with satisfaction and said, "I must say that is vastly
generous of you, Chesham.  I confess I was dreading the expense of a ball
and could scarce conceive where the money would come from."  The Marquess
shot his sister an ironic glance.
  Miss Wyndover exclaimed, "I'm so glad, Uncle Nat.  Our house in Russell
Square doesn't have a ball-room, and besides, any ball mamma would organize
would be a very nip-cheese affair."  Lady Wyndover glared at her daughter,
as the Marquess grinned at her unconscious gaucheness.  But it was Lady
Clifford who took greatest exception to Miss Wyndover's enthusiasm.  "Your
mother is worthy of more respect, Henrietta," said she, "Does not the Bible
tell us `Honor thy Father and thy Mother'?"  Lady Wyndover flicked a glance
at Lady Clifford and said repressively, "Yes.  Thank you, Eugenia."  Miss
Wyndover blushed and dropped a small curtsey to Lady Clifford, and said,
"Sorry, mamma."  The Marchioness watched this exchange and said
inconsequentially, "Which puts me in mind of something that occurred to me
earlier.  The day after tomorrow is Sunday.  You are Roman Catholic, are
you not, Mr. Fleet?"
	Lady Clifford stirred at this statement, but she was forestalled
from saying anything by the Marquess answering for Jem, "Yes, he is, mamma.
What of it?"
	"Well," Lady Chesham continued, "where will he go to church?  I
don't know any Catholics -- except, of course, that Fitzherbert woman, and
I could scare ask her -- so where do Catholics go to worship?"
	Jem felt a sudden alarm, as it seemed he was being swept into
church, which he definitely did not find an agreeable thought.
	The Marquess answered, "I believe there is a church for the
expatriate French somewhere in Kensington, run by a French abbé.  I
understand it is open to all, French and English."
	The Marchioness gave a crow of satisfaction and said, "It sounds
perfect.  We all can go to church in an open carriage, set Mr. Fleet down
at his place of worship and continue on to St. Martin's. It will be a
delightful excursion for Sunday morning.  We are civilized, after all, and
we all have a duty to worship God, even papists.  Do you not agree,
Eugenia?"
	Lady Clifford looked pale and said, "Y-yes ma'am."  "Yes, I thought
you would," said the Marchioness, "so you and Charles must come with us."
	Lady Clifford said, "It will be very pleasant, ma'am."  She set her
teacup down with a shaking hand, and turned to her husband and said,
"Charles, I believe I have a headache coming on, perhaps ..."
	Sir Charles sprang to his feet and assisted her to stand.  "Of
course, my dear.  It is getting late in any case."  He bowed to the
Marchioness and Lady Wyndover and his wife curtseyed.  "Thank you for a
wonderful evening."
	Jem and Henrietta stood as Sir Charles and his wife left the room
with the Marquess accompanying them.
	Silence reigned while the Marchioness calmly resumed her embroidery
and said in a conversational voice, "Did I offend her, think you?"
	Lady Wyndover said dryly, "I think perhaps you did, mamma."  The
Marchioness said, "Good.  Bigotry is so tedious."  And she cut a thread
decisively.  The Marquess re-entered the room and closed the door firmly
behind him.  "Mamma," he said in an annoyed tone, "that was outrageous.
Poor Eugenia was much offended."
	"Was she indeed?" replied the Marchioness. "It will do her good.
She should learn she has no business to correct the behavior of Henrietta
in her own home."  The Marquess pressed his lips together in anger.  Before
he could speak, however, Lady Honoria stood and said, "Well, if you two are
to be exchanging blows, it is time Henrietta and I were in bed.  Goodnight,
mamma." And she pecked the Marchioness on the cheek.  Henrietta followed
suit and they said goodnight to Jem as they withdrew.
	Jem stood and murmured, "Perhaps I too..."  The Marchioness
interrupted, "No, Mr. Fleet.  I would deem it a favor if you would remain a
few minutes.  I wish to talk to you."
	Jem was surprised, "Of course, ma'am." And he resumed his seat.
The Marquess looked from one to the other, and slowly sat down on the
chaise recently vacated by his sister.
	"No, Nathaniel," said the Marchioness, "I wish to speak to
Mr. Fleet alone."  The Marquess was surprised and slowly stood again and
said, "Good night, mamma," and he too kissed her on the cheek.
	"Good night, my dear." She smiled at him and waited until he had
closed the door on his way out.
	She put her embroidery frame aside and said cordially to Jem,
"Another cup of tea, Mr. Fleet."
	Jem shook his head. "No thank you, ma'am."  He wondered what she
could wish to talk to him about.
	She turned to the butler, who was standing discreetly to one side,
"You may remove the tea things, thank you Mitton."  He bowed his head and
began stacking the cups and saucers on the silver tray.  As he made for the
door, the Marchioness said, "And goodnight, Mitton."
	The butler turned and bowed slightly, "Goodnight, my lady.
Goodnight, Mr. Fleet." Again Lady Chesham watched until the door was firmly
closed.
	She smiled at Jem.  "Now, Mr. Fleet," she said in a friendly tone,
"there are a few things I should like to know."
	Jem had a sudden feeling of dread.  "If I can help, ma'am ..."  She
looked at him with her beautiful but all-seeing eyes.
	"Who are you, Mr. Fleet?"  Jem flinched at the question but before
he could answer, she raised a hand and said, "And please don't give me that
nonsense about your being a connexion of Charles.  You and my son may have
bamboozled Eugenia with that taradiddle but I am made of sterner stuff."
	Jem licked his lips and said cautiously, "I have been ... engaged
by his lordship for a ... service he wishes me to undertake for ... um ..."
He found he couldn't go on.
	"So you are more than a protégé with this employment he has offered
you?"  Jem nodded, unable to speak.
	"May I ask in what capacity he has employed you?"  Jem managed to
squeak," S-secretary..."  The Marchioness raised her aristocratic
eyebrows. "How very odd," she commented.  There was a short silence
although Jem was certain she could hear his thumping heart.
	"And that is all?"  The urge to confess everything was almost
overpowering.  Jem said in a low voice, "No ma'am, that is not all..."
	Lady Chesham waited expectantly.  "There is also some ... other
line of work ... that he desires me to undertake."
	The Marchioness drew her own conclusions.
	"It's his ghastly government business, I presume?"  Jem nodded
slowly.  Lady Chesham girded her loins.
	"I do not wish to be vulgarly inquisitive, but what does he require
of you in this ...other line of work?"
	"There is a certain person ... that is to say, he requires me
to..." Jem could not continue.  His tongue had seized up.  The Marchioness
said with faint hauteur, "Am I to understand you have been employed as a
spy?"
	Jem bit his lip and was unable to answer.

	The Marchioness gave a sigh of exasperation.  "Very well, I shan't
enquire further." Again a pause, and she suddenly seemed uncertain of what
she would say next.  "But pray, tell me this -- what... what is the precise
nature of the relationship between you and my son?"  Jem was shocked by the
question and swallowed painfully as his mouth was suddenly dry.
	"R-relationship, ma'am?  He is my employer."  The Marchioness' eyes
bored into Jem.  Then, she gave a deep sigh and looked away.  "This
afternoon," she muttered, "when he presented you to me, I saw in his face
something - something I have never seen there before -- something... I
thought I knew my son ...I thought I was beyond being surprised by him but
I cannot recall his ever looking at ... " Here she paused and bit her lip,
and continued in a low, almost plaintive voice.  "But what mother ever
truly knows her son?"  She lapsed into silence.
	Jem said gently, "Ma'am?"  She looked at him and suddenly smiled,
"You are a very beautiful and charming young man, Mr. Fleet, and, I
believe, a truthful one. So when you tell me that the only relationship
between the two of you is that of employer and employee, I believe you.
And I believe also that between us there can be no prevarication -- no
lies..."
	Jem felt uncomfortable.  "Ma'am, I ..."  "I would have your
assurance on only one point, Mr. Fleet."
	Jem was mystified.  "Of course, ma'am" "You will bring no dishonor
upon this house.  There will be no scandal."

Jem stared at her, shocked.  After a moment he muttered, "There will be no
scandal, ma'am."

The Marquess was changing into his nightgown while Jem, perched on the side
of his bed finished recounting the conversation with the Marchioness.
	"Is that all she said?" The Marquess said idly, pondering the
strangeness of the conversation.
	Jem looked a little abashed.  "I did -- in a way -- promise her
there would be no scandal."  He gazed at the Marquess who looked
thoughtful.  "Should I have told her more?"
	The Marquess was roused from his reverie.  "No. No. You acted
precisely as you should have.  My mother is no fool, but I am puzzled as to
what prompted her to fear a scandal."
	The only thing Jem had refrained from telling the Marquess had been
her comment on the look on his face.  It opened the door to possibilities
that Jem himself was afraid to contemplate.  As a way of deflecting the
conversation, he asked, "What is Almack's, my lord?"
	The Marquess grinned.  "It is a club -- for ladies -- but gentlemen
are invited to attend their balls which are held every Wednesday night
during the Season. Not everyone may attend -- one must be approved by one
of the patronesses before one can obtain vouchers.  These formidable ladies
rule the club like despots and have been known to give set-downs to the
most surprising people. Consequently, the vouchers they dole out are very,
very exclusive and are much sought after.  Acceptance at Almack's gives one
a cachet for the rest of the Season's engagements."
	Jem felt a little relieved. "It is unlikely then, that I shall be
approved.  I cannot dance, I am nobody, and I have no fortune.  I cannot
imagine this Lady Sefton even considering me."
	The Marquess gave a quiet chuckle.  "Well," he said, "I can dance;
I am somebody and I have a vast fortune, but you and I, Mr. Fleet, must be
the only two in London who do not desire an invitation to Almack's."


The next day set the pattern for Jem's foreseeable future.  He was awakened
early by the Marquess and with him, attended the morning's training
session.  Sir Charles was not in attendance and the Marquess left all
management of the training to Jessup.  Jem could not form an opinion of
Jessup.  The man was all but silent when not actually engaging in arms
training but on the floor it was an entirely different matter.  Jem could
not decide if Jessup disliked him or respected him.  The man was
painstaking in the way he supervised Jem's training, not allowing any
deviation from what he said.  As a fencing opponent he was ruthless and
frightening and Jem at times feared for his life.  Jessup gave him no
quarter and all his attacks seemed motivated by hatred.  Yet when the
Marquess called for disengagement, all rancor disappeared and he reverted
to his taciturn manner.  Jem finished each three-hour session sweating and
exhausted and with the feeling he was completely incompetent and useless.
The rest of the day was spent mostly in the company of the Marquess.  On
this first day into his employment the Marquess took him round to the mews
and asked him to select a horse for his own use.  Jem was staggered by this
generosity -- his lordship's horses were marvelous creatures, and Jem was
pleased to be able to impress the Marquess with knowledge of horseflesh.
After much deliberation, he chose a spirited little mare who was a
beautiful stepper and who had, he reckoned, a sweet temper. And so it
proved when he rode her around the exercise yard.  When the Marquess
complimented him on his choice and on his excellent seat, he commented
dryly, "You forget, my lord, I earned my living as a groom."
	Comments like this did not please the Marquess.  He seemed to take
them as personal insults.  Reluctantly Jem formed the opinion that the
Marquess was trying to forget Jem's past and wanted to pretend to himself
that Jem was of his own order, well brought up without a shadow over his
youth, though the reasons for his desiring this were beyond Jem's ken.

When Sunday dawned, the Marchioness was true to her promise. With the
Marquess, Jem and Sir Charles on horseback, they set out in cavalcade for
the wilds of Kensington escorting the Marchioness, Lady Wyndover and the
honorable Henrietta Wyndover in an open carriage, accompanied by Lady
Clifford, who was dressed with Quaker-like simplicity in dark grey and a
bonnet that was bereft of any frivolous ornament.  The same could not be
said for the marchioness.  She wore a large picture hat bedecked with many
feathers and gay ribbons.  Jem was impressed by this confection, but it did
not occur to him that it was more suited to a garden party than to church
going.  It had strongly occurred to Lady Wyndover, however, who had
remonstrated with her mother in outraged tones. By way of reply, the
Marchioness had merely said, "Pooh!"  Although the Marquess had apprised
himself of the location of the abbé's church, they circled around
Kensington for a time, trying to locate it.  Finally they pulled up
outside.  It was obviously close to the time for the service as there were
many people in knots of twos and threes, milling around on the road
outside.  Jem decided to make the best of a bad situation and doffed his
hat jauntily to the ladies in the carriage and thanked them for
accompanying him.  He turned to the Marquess and said, "I don't know how
long I shall be, so `twould be best if I find my own way back to Curzon
Street."  The Marquess bowed his head in agreement and had such a knowing
look on his face, that Jem realized he understood perfectly the dilemma Jem
was facing: reluctance to attend Mass against his unwillingness to offend
the Marchioness.
	Just as he was dismounting, Jem heard a surprised voice, "Milord
Chesham -- Monsieur Fleet!"  Jem turned to see Armand Duvall approaching,
obviously on his way to Mass also.  Jem was genuinely glad to see him and
beamed at the young man, who flashed a wide smile back at him.  Duvall then
bowed very elegantly to the Marquess who was still on horseback, and the
Marquess acknowledged him with a smart salute, whip to the brim of his hat.
He then introduced the young man to the company in general, naming each
person to whom Duvall bowed in turn.
	Jem thought he was very beautifully dressed, but if his dashing
Frenchified clothes and dark ringlets dressed a la cheribino were a little
overpowering for plain men like the Marquess and Sir Charles, they did him
no disservice in the eyes of the ladies.  They were all roguish glances and
smiling lips.  Even Lady Clifford managed a wintry simper.  But the one who
was most affected by this paragon of French style before her was Miss
Wyndover.  And, although she was the last to be introduced to M. Duvall,
she was the one on whom his gaze lingered.
	The Marchioness noted the unspoken communication between the two,
and, leaning out of the carriage and extending a handshake of two fingers
to Duvall, she said, smilingly, "We would be delighted to see you at Curzon
Street after church, M. Duvall.  Perhaps you would care to join us for
luncheon."
	Duvall looked a little overwhelmed by this display of generous
condescension, and murmured his disjointed acceptance.
	"Excellent!" said the Marchioness brightly.  "A bientot.
Mr. Fleet, I depend upon you to deliver M. Duvall to our doorstep safe and
sound after you have done your duty to God.  And now, we really must be on
our way to St. Martin's."
	The Marquess murmured to the coachman and the carriage rumbled off
leaving Jem and Duvall standing by the side of the road.  As the party
disappeared down the thoroughfare, the Marquess turned in his saddle and
looked back at Jem, again saluting with his whip, but this time the salute
was clearly ironic.

Armand Duvall watched the exchange between Jem and the Marquess, and
casting an appraising eye at Jem, said, "The Marquess of Chesham is a great
man. You are very fortunate to have him as your patron.  "
	Jem laughed a little self-consciously.  "Indeed I am.  I am a
country nobody who has the extreme good fortune to be taken up by a great
lord.  I am to be his secretary, though, to tell the truth, I don't know
what a secretary does."  Duvall laughed easily with Jem. Then he said, "I,
too, have good fortune in my patron, though there is some duty of blood.
He is my uncle."
	Jem was stroking the nose of his horse and asked, "Is he from
Louisiana also?"
	Duvall shook his head.  "Mais non," he said.  "He is French. He
fled the Terror and has lived in London these twenty years.  He is the
Comte deMontfort."

Jem's mouth suddenly went dry at this news.  He fixed his gaze on his horse
lest he betray himself.  He said suddenly, "Where can I leave my horse --
while I am in church?"  Duvall waved vaguely.  "There are stables at the
back of the church, specially for the visitors," he said and they entered
the churchyard with Jem leading his horse.  The yard behind the church was
very confined and there were several horses with their grooms already
there.  Jem found an empty niche where he tethered his horse. A groom
approached him and, familiar with the ways of such stables, Jem slipped the
man several coins to keep an eye on his horse and to water her.  Then,
freed from the responsibility for an hour or two, he fell in with the
Frenchman as they made their way back to the portico entrance of the
church.  Here Jem hesitated, greatly reluctant to enter.  Duvall noticed
his hesitation, and said, "Is something amiss?  You do not wish to attend
Mass?"  Jem made a quick decision and shook his head.  "I feel I cannot.
It was not my decision to come here."  He looked at Duvall and said,
"Please.  Do not let me stop you."  Duvall flashed a wide smile.  "Truth to
tell," said he, "I, too, have no desire to enter.  I find it tedious and
time-wasting."  Jem suddenly grinned at him -- conspirators together.
	"It is a very fine day," he said, "shall we seek a little enjoyment
elsewhere?"  Duvall looked like an overgrown schoolboy as he grinned
furtively to Jem over the points of his shirt collar.  "I have always
wanted to see the gardens of the palace," he said. "It is quite close, I
think -- just down the road."  They came to the same decision together and
hurried out of the churchyard as though an angry guardian were pursuing
them.  They laughed together as they hurried down the road and, for the
first time in a long time, Jem felt strangely free and untrammeled.

Their friendship flowered and solidified in the short time it took them to
reach the iron railed fence of the palace gardens.  Any observer might have
thought that they had known each other from childhood.  They laughed at the
same things, drew each other's attention to strange people in the street by
nudging and jostling each other, and sharing their histories.  Jem felt
irked that he had to lie to the Frenchman about his situation, but he
consoled himself by telling him very little and learning much about his
companion.  "Mr. Fleet" and "Monsieur Duvall" very quickly gave way to
"Jem" and "Armand".
	It was their good fortune to find the decorative gates of the
gardens standing open so they darted through and wandered around, hiding
behind shrubs and garden statuary whenever they sighted one of the many
gardeners or workers who maintained the place.  They ended up at the
Serpentine, where they paused to skip stones across the expanse of water
until finally, they sat down under a large elm tree still awaiting its
spring foliage, and lounged at their ease on a grassy bank that sloped
gently down to the water's edge.  Here they talked and joked and Duvall
told Jem of his life in Louisiana -- about his plantation ("just ten miles
south of Baton Rouge, on the banks of the Mississippi") and of his life as
the son of a slave owner.  Jem was enthralled, but felt frustrated that he
could not reply in kind.  He had to pretend that his youth was spent in a
part of the country that was so very dull, he had nothing to tell.  Duvall
just nodded and respected his reticence.

During their conversation, Duvall mentioned that he and his uncle were to
attend the opening ball at Almack's -- there was no difficulty, it seemed,
for the Comte to obtain vouchers.  Jem mentioned ruefully that it was most
unlikely he would attend, but the Marchioness and Lady Wyndover were
already in the process of applying for vouchers, as it was Henrietta
Wyndover's coming-out this season.  He was amused to see how pleased his
companion was on hearing this news.

The time in the park passed very quickly.  The Frenchman consulted a large
pocket watch and announced that it was time they returned to the church, as
the service had definitely finished.  They strolled back to the church and
Jem reminded Duvall of the invitation the Marchioness had extended to him.
"I shall walk with you, Armand," announced Jem.  "I shall lead my horse."
The Frenchman merely laughed and said, "Mais non. You shall ride while I --
I shall bespeak a chair."
	They got back to the church, where the last of the congregation was
departing.  There were several chairmen at the church entrance, touting for
business, and while Jem retrieved his horse from the stable, Duvall hired a
chair, and with Jem ambling behind them on his horse, they set out for
Curzon Street.  Jem smiled secretly that he did not have the trouble of
trying to remember the way back, as the chairmen knew precisely where they
were going.

Luncheon with M. Duvall in the conservatory of Chesham House in Curzon
Street was a great success. Jem had nothing but admiration for the way his
new friend became the center of attention at the informal meal.  Duvall
proved himself the perfect guest, complimenting the Marchioness on the meal
and entertaining the company with Society on-dits that were piquant without
being scandalous, and amusing without being cruel.  This witty Frenchman
charmed everyone, including Sir Charles and his wife.  Jem found himself
moved to the periphery of the group, not by intent, but merely by the fact
that Duvall was more interesting and entertaining than he.  A certain
feeling of wistfulness overcame him with the realization that this exalted
company was more the provenance of his friend than his.  His natural
reticence coupled with the secret of his life that he had to hide, made it
difficult for him to belong as Duvall did with such effortless charm.  He
felt himself on the margins of the lively family group, somewhat lost amid
the palms and ferns of the conservatory.  But the Marquess did not desert
him.  Jem marveled that this stern man seemed always sensitive to his
moods.  As Jem moved further away from the center of the conversation, the
Marquess was by his side, and smiled at him and meaningfully asked him how
he had enjoyed church.
	Jem had to chuckle ruefully and confessed to his companion that he
and Duvall had slipped their leashes and explored the Kensington Gardens
when they should have been on their knees amid clouds of incense.  The
Marquess laughed and said, "I suspected something of that nature.  You both
had the look of enjoying yourselves too much -- not quite consistent with
rigorous worship."
	There was a long pause. Jem's smile faltered and looked at the
Marquess and said soberly, "I cannot be a hypocrite, my lord."
	The Marquess looked at him with kindness in his eyes. He said
quietly, "I know, Jem, I know.  Mamma can be devilish high-handed
sometimes.  She was so determined to score over Eugenia.  Please accept my
apologies for your having been put in such an untenable position."
	Gazing into his eyes, Jem saw sympathy, understanding and something
new -- a warmth he had not seen there before. He suddenly felt breathless
and instinctively drew back.  If the Marquess noticed his slight
withdrawal, he made no sign but continued speaking, saying, "Young Duvall
is quite taken with you.  You seemed to have made a friend there."
	Jem looked at the young man who was holding his audience spellbound
with some tale from Louisiana, "He is younger than I am, and yet compared
to him I am a country bumpkin.  I am amazed he does not find my company
tedious."  Again he could not help a wistful note creeping into his voice.
"That is a bag of moonshine, and you know it!"  The Marquess exclaimed
abruptly. Jem was slightly shocked by the harshness of this exclamation.
The Marquess saw his surprise and said, "You are many things, Mr. Fleet.
Irritating, annoying and exasperating are a few qualities that spring to
mind, but tedious you are not."
	Jem dropped his eyes at this comment, but was secretly pleased with
the implied flattery and he felt his ears turn red.

When Duvall had departed after a long luncheon, the Marquess announced that
he and Jem would adjourn to his office where Jem would begin his training
as his secretary. Everyone was surprised to say the least, and Lady
Clifford forgot herself so far as to exclaim, "On Sunday!  The Lord's day!"
For once, the others were in accordance with her extreme views.  Even Lady
Wyndover, usually the most cynical of women, could not help expressing her
outrage.  "Really, Chesham," she burst out, "that is too much.  I
whole-heartedly agree with Eugenia.  What you propose is beyond what is
fitting and proper."  Jem could see that the Marquess was drawing himself
up in cold anger and was on the point of delivering a vicious set-down to
those who dared criticize his behavior.  By way of defusing the situation,
Jem coughed deprecatingly and said, "Lady Clifford, Lady Wyndover, if you
will ring a peal over anyone, let it be me.  `Twas I who mentioned to Lord
Chesham that I was a little apprehensive of my duties as his secretary and
he kindly suggested he give me a quick summary on what would be expected of
me.  It would hardly be called work, merely an easy introduction to what I
would have to do."  There was an uncomfortable silence.  Lady Clifford all
but sneered at Jem.  Her prejudices against his religion were vindicated as
far as she was concerned.  Lady Wyndover merely said, "Oh," and turned her
attention away from her brother.  In a voice of granite, the Marquess said,
"Now, if there are no more objections from anyone else, Mr. Fleet and I
shall excuse ourselves."  He gave a tight bow to the company, and turned on
his heel and quit the conservatory.  Jem gave an uncomfortable smile to the
others and followed him.

"What was the purpose of that charming little Canterbury tale?"  The
Marquess snarled as they strode down the corridor.  "Merely pulling your
chestnuts from the fire, my Lord," Jem answered pointedly.  The Marquess
stopped and turned angrily on him.  "I did not request, neither do I need
someone to excuse me to others, especially not..." and he clamped his jaws
firmly shut.  "...someone like me?" Jem finished his sentence, feeling his
own anger beginning to rise.  "I was going to say `especially not in my own
house.'" The Marquess glared at him, "but since you raise the issue
... no.. especially not someone like you."  Jem flared, "It is only someone
like me who would care enough to bother.  It can avail you nothing to
alienate your family, my lord."  "Ha!" the Marquess sneered, "I forgot.  I
must bow before your prodigious experience in such things.  And do you
expect additional payment for your solicitude?"  "Of course," Jem riposted
instantly, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "you shall have my account at
the end of the week.  Do you want it itemised, or will a Dutch reckoning
suffice?"  They glared at each other for a few moments, then the Marquess
was overcome by the absurdity of their conversation, and his lips twitched
and his face settled into his familiar lop-sided smile.  "As I perceived,"
he said with no little admiration in his voice, " - never tedious."

The Marquess had established his office in an annex to the library,
separated from the library space by a beautiful arched opening.  The annex
space boasted a large multi-paned window overlooking a shady part of the
garden, which, although bare at that time of the year, was still
picturesque enough to command attention.  His desk was a very expansive
Chippendale piece that dominated the space but there was also a smaller
desk, artfully arranged so that the two desks were close enough for the
occupants to communicate easily.  This second desk, the Marquess indicated,
was to be Jem's.
	While Jem sat at his new station, passing his hands over the empty
desktop in reverent appreciation, the Marquess moved to the library and
extracted a large calf-bound portfolio of papers, which he laid on the
polished library table and called Jem's attention to it.  Jem moved to his
side and together they perused the various documents while the Marquess
explained.
	"These papers and reports," he said, "are the sum total of our case
against the Comte deMontfort.  They are mainly eyewitness reports, some
official documents and a few other miscellaneous things.  Your first task
will be to study them and to familiarize yourself with their contents -- as
quickly as you can."  Jem flicked through the papers and said to the
Marquess, "There is not much here."  The Marquess looked stern. "No, there
is not," he said. "That is why the man is still moving about freely.  When
you are introduced to the Comte, I expect that your reports will form the
bulk of the contents of this portfolio."
	Jem fell silent and closed the book carefully. He moved slowly to
the large picture window, his back to the Marquess.  "What is it?" the
Marquess asked.
	Jem turned and faced the man across the room.  "Armand Duvall is
the Comte's nephew."
	A long slow smile of triumph spread of the face of the
Marquess. "Oh, well done, Mr. Fleet," he drawled, "Very well done.  You
begin to earn your fee."
	Jem said, "I learned of this only after we had been in each other's
company for a while."
	The Marquess said, "Yes?" and stared at him.  Flushing slightly,
Jem explained, "I did not cultivate his company knowing of this
relationship."
	The Marquess said nothing, but continued gazing at
Jem. Hesitatingly Jem continued, "He has offered his friendship to me
unconditionally."  There was a long silence before Jem continued,
practically inaudibly, "I would like to have him for a friend.  I have
never had a friend before."

The Marquess could not help but be affected by the desolation in this
statement. He moved across the room and, hesitatingly, he enfolded Jem
gently in his arms.  Jem clung to him for a few long minutes and then
reluctantly withdrew.
	He said simply, "Thank you," and said no more.  What he could not
reveal to the Marquess was that, for those few moments in his embrace, Jem
felt as if he had come home.