These Old Shades (Alastair-Audley Tetralogy 1)

‘Mon père, I think we are at cross-purposes. In plain words, what do you think Léonie?’

‘The inference is sufficiently obvious, I think,’ said the Curè, flushing.

Avon shut his snuff-box with a click.

‘We will have it in plain words, nevertheless, my father. You deemed Léonie a base-born child of the Comte de Saint-Vire. It is possible that you have never appreciated the situation between the Comte and his brother Armand.’

‘I have no knowledge of either, m’sieur.’

‘It is manifest, mon père. Listen to me a while. When I found Léonie that night in Paris a dozen thoughts came into my head. The likeness to Saint-Vire is prodigious, I assure you. At first I thought as you. Then there flashed before mine eyes a picture of Saint-Vire’s son as last I had seen him. A raw clod, my father. A clumsy, thick-set yokel. I remembered that between Saint-Vire and his brother had ever been a most deadly hatred. You perceive the trend of the matter? Saint-Vire’s wife is a sickly creature; it was common knowledge that he married her simply to spite Armand. Now behold the irony of fate. Three years pass. Madame fails to present her lord with anything but a still-born child. Then – miraculously a son is born, in Champagne. A son who is now nineteen years old. I counsel you, my father, to put yourself in Saint-Vire’s place for one moment, not forgetting that the flame of the Saint-Vire hair is apt to enter the Saint-Vire head. He is determined that there shall be no mistake this time. He carries Madame into the country, where she is brought to bed, and delivered of – let us say – a girl. Conceive the chagrin of Saint-Vire! But, my father, we will suppose that he had prepared for this possibility. On his estate was a family of the name of Bonnard. We will say that Bonnard was in his employ. Madame Bonnard gives birth to a son some few days before the birth of – Léonie. In a fit of Saint-Vire madness the Comte exchanged the children. Evidently he bribed Bonnard very heavily, for we know that the Bonnard family came here and bought a farm, bringing with them Léonie de Saint-Vire, and leaving their son to become – Vicomte de Valmé. Eh bien? ’

‘Impossible!’ said De Beaupré sharply. ‘A fairy tale!’

‘Nay, but listen,’ purred his Grace. ‘I find Léonie in the streets of Paris. Bien. I take her to my hôtel, I clothe her as my page. She accompanies me everywhere, and thus I flaunt her under the nose of Saint-Vire. That same nose quivers with apprehension, mon père. That is nothing, you say? Wait! I take Léon – I call her Léon – to Versailles, where Madame de Saint-Vire is in attendance. One may always trust a woman to betray a secret, monsieur. Madame was agitated beyond all words. She could not drag her eyes from Léon’s face. A day later I receive an offer from one of Saint-Vire’s satellites to buy Léon. You see? Saint-Vire dare not show his hand in the matter. He sends a friend to work for him. Why? If Léon is a base-born child of his, what is simpler – if he wants to rescue her from my clutches – than to approach me, telling me all? He does not do that. Léonie is his legitimate daughter, and he is afraid. For aught he knows I may have proof of that fact. I should tell you, mon père, that he and I are not the closest of friends. He fears me, and he dare not move one way or the other lest I should suddenly disclose some proof of which he knows nothing. It may also be that he is not sure that I know, or even suspect, the truth. I do not quite think that. I have something of a reputation, my father, for – uncanny omniscience. Whence, in part, my sobriquet.’ He smiled. ‘It is my business to know everything, father. I am thus a personality in polite circles. An amusing pose. To return: You perceive that M. le Comte de Saint-Vire finds himself in something of a quandary?’

The Curé came slowly to his chair, and sat down.

‘But, m’sieur – what you suggest is infamous!’

‘Of course it is. Now I had hoped, mon père, that you would know of some document to prove the truth of my conviction.’

De Beaupré shook his head.

‘There was none. I went through all the papers with Jean, after the plague.’

‘Saint-Vire is more clever than I had imagined, then. Nothing, you say? It seems that this game must be carefully played.’

De Beaupré was hardly listening.

‘Then – at her death, when Madame Bonnard tried so hard to speak to me, it must have been that!’

‘What did she say, mon père ?’

‘So little! “Mon père – écoutez donc – Léonie n’est pas – je ne peux plus – ! ” No more. She died with those words on her lips.’

‘A pity. But Saint-Vire shall think that she made confession – in writing. I wonder if he knows that the Bonnards are dead? M. de Beaupré, if he should come here, on this same errand, allow him to think that I bore away with me – a document. I do not think he will come. It is probable that he purposely lost trace of the Bonnards.’ Justin rose, and bowed. ‘My apologies for wasting your time in this fashion, my father.’

The Curé laid a hand on his arm.

‘What are you going to do, my son?’

‘If she is indeed what I think her I am going to restore Léonie to her family. How grateful they will be! If not –’ He paused. ‘Well, I have not considered that possibility. Rest assured that I shall provide for her. For the present she must learn to be a girl again. After that we shall see.’

The Curé looked full into his eyes for a moment.

‘My son, I trust you.’

‘You overwhelm me, father. As it chances, I am to be trusted this time. One day I will bring Léonie to see you.’

The Curé walked with him to the door, and together they passed out into the little hall.

‘Does she know, m’sieur?’

Justin smiled.

‘My dear father, I am far too old to place my secrets in a woman’s keeping. She knows nothing.’

‘The poor little one! Of what like is she now?’