The Marquis of Westmarch by Frances Vernon Page A

Juxon had been both physician and nurse to him, and had saved him. Often, Meriel wished he had not. He wished it now, as he looked at Elphinstone’s portrait, and raised his brandy glass to his lips. Though he was thinking this and crying, there was a bitterly defiant look on his face. The Marquis tried to imagine what his father would have said about his present difficulties and his attitude towards them. Certainly he would have said among other things, “Mount little Rosalba as a mistress once she’s safely tied up.”
    Meriel remembered his mother’s remarks after the end of the party in her rooms, only an hour ago. “My dear Meriel, I wish you will come to a point! The whole world knows you must make poor dear Berinthia an offer. Only think of her mortification, if you do not! Do not tell me you wish to marry some other lady?”
    He should not be angry with her, but he was, he hated her, even though he knew that his father would have wanted this marriage and arranged it far more efficiently. He hated Saccharissa because he would have wanted, truly wanted, to marry Berinthia had it been possible. He did not believe in love-matches. But it was not possible: for during his illness after Elphinstone’s death, Juxon had discovered that he, Meriel, was deformed.

CHAPTER THREE
The Mystery Explained
    The new Warden of the Westmarch Quarter and the members of the Grand Closet had just left Meriel’s dining chamber. The room smelt of Meriel’s clay pipe, the Warden’s cigarillo and Juxon’s violet scent. It had been a long meeting, and now the Marquis got up from his chair and went to open one of the windows. He had not felt the need of fresh air before.
    As the wind blew into the room, Juxon said, “You might very easily forbid Mr Thomazin to smoke, Marquis.”
    “You mean that I might very easily give up my pipe,” said Meriel. “And also that I ought never to have appointed him Warden. Not to mention that I ought not to open the window and subject you to a draught.”
    “Well, Marquis, you might take to smoking cigarillos like a gentleman of quality, and not a horrid clay pipe. Dear me, the truth is I ought never to have permitted you when a child to keep stable company.”
    “It was stable company enabled me to find life tolerable.”
    “Ah, my dear, you hurt me when you say that.”
    Meriel sat down on the windowsill.
    “Well, those minutes should be enough to keep you out of mischief this afternoon, Juxon,” he said, swinging one leg.
    “And how shall you be keeping yourself out of mischief?”
    “Oh, did I not tell you? Wychwood and I are riding out along the coast path — dining at the Green Garter.”
    “Alone?”
    “Alone. Have you any objection?”
    “You know full well what my objection must be.”
    Meriel sprang down from his seat. “Juxon, if my peculiarity, my deformity, is so obvious, why is it that Philander, whom youhave allowed to be my intimate any time these ten years, has never wondered, never so much as wondered? To say nothing of my servants, what about them?” He hung over his Steward, gripping the side of the table. “Philander is a knowing fellow in his way, sir, more so than Wychwood. I tell you there can be no danger from him. Oh, what am I talking about, why should there be danger, danger of what?”
    “Wychwood’s eyes may be opened more easily than those of men who have known you since a child.”
    “Well, I tell you that I won’t be ruled by idiotic fears any longer, this is my private business and I mean to have him, have one friend at least besides Philander. And yourself, to be sure.”
    “Thank you, Marquis.”
    “Juxon, let’s not argue on this head just at present, there is something of real importance I wish to discuss with you before we have a nuncheon.”
    Juxon smiled, and opened his mouth to speak, but the Marquis continued regardless, looking steadily at the other’s hairline. “It’s about this scheme of my mother’s to