These Old Shades (Alastair-Audley Tetralogy 1)

Avon’s eyes gleamed.

‘She is something of an imp, mon père, with all the Saint-Vire spirit, and much impudence of which she is unaware. She has seen much, as I judge, and at times I espy a cynicism in her that is most entertaining. For the rest she is wise and innocent by turn. An hundred years old one minute, a babe the next. As are all women!’

They had come to the garden gate now, and Avon beckoned to the boy who held his horse.

Some of the anxious lines were smoothed from De Beaupré’s face.

‘My son, you have described the little one with feeling. You speak as one who understands her.’

‘I have reason to know her sex, my father.’

‘That may be. But have you ever felt towards a woman as you feel towards this – imp?’

‘She is more a boy to me than a girl. I admit I am fond of her. You see, it is so refreshing to have a child of her age – and sex – in one’s power, who thinks no ill of one, nor tries to escape. I am a hero to her.’

‘I hope that you will ever be that. Be very good to her, I pray you.’

Avon bowed to him, kissing his hand with a gesture of half-ironical respect.

‘When I feel that I can no longer maintain the heroic pose I will send Léonie – by the way, I am adopting her – back to you.’

‘C’est entendu,’ nodded De Beaupré. ‘For the present I am with you. You will take care of the little one, and perhaps restore her to her own. Adieu, mon fils.’

Avon mounted, tossed the small boy a louis, and bowed again, low over his horse’s withers.

‘I thank you, father. It seems that we understand one another very well – Satan and priest.’

‘Perhaps you have been misnamed, my son,’ said De Beaupré, smiling a little.

‘Oh, I think not! My friends know me rather well, you see. Adieu, mon père! ’ He put on his hat, and rode forward across the square, towards Saumur.

The small boy, clutching his louis, raced to his mother’s side.

‘Maman, maman! It was the Devil! He said so himself !’

Eight

Hugh Davenant is Amazed

A week after Avon’s departure for Saumur, Hugh Davenant sat in the library, endeavouring to amuse the very disconsolate Léon with a game of chess.

‘I would like to play cards, if you please, m’sieur,’ said Léon politely, on being asked his pleasure.

‘Cards?’ repeated Hugh.

‘Or dice, m’sieur. Only I have no money.’

‘We will play chess,’ said Hugh firmly, and set out the ivory men.

‘Very well, m’sieur.’ Léon privately thought Hugh a little mad, but if he wished to play chess with his friend’s page he must of course be humoured.

‘Do you think Monseigneur will return soon, m’sieur?’ he asked presently. ‘I remove your bishop.’ He did so, to Hugh’s surprise. ‘It was a little trap,’ he explained. ‘Now it is check.’

‘So I see. I grow careless. Yes, I expect Monseigneur will return quite soon. Farewell to your rook, my child.’

‘I thought you would do that. Now I move a pawn forward, so!’

‘Much ado about nothing, petit. Where did you learn to play this game? Check.’