These Old Shades (Alastair-Audley Tetralogy 1)

‘You must learn, my dear Fanny, to curb your curiosity. Suffice it that I am as a grandfather to that child. It should suffice.

’

‘It does, in part, but I do so want to know what scheme you have in your head!’

‘I am sure you do, Fanny,’ he said sympathetically.

‘You are very horrid,’ she pouted. A sudden smile came. ‘Justin, what new whim is this? Léonie speaks of you as of a strict governor. ’Tis for ever “Monseigneur would not like me to do that,” or “Do you think that Monseigneur would mind?” It’s not like you, my dear.’

‘An I knew less of the world’s ways I should no doubt be a more lenient guardian,’ he said. ‘As it is, Fanny –’ He shrugged, and drew his fan from one of his great pockets.

Léonie came back into the room, holding up her gown with one little hand.

‘I could not find your handkerchief, madame,’ she began, and then saw Avon’s fan. A look of disapproval came over her face; there was a measure of reproof in the candid blue eyes. Avon smiled.

‘You will grow accustomed to it, my child.’

‘Never,’ said Léonie positively. ‘It does not please me at all.’

‘But then,’ murmured his Grace, ‘I do not use it to please you.’

‘Pardon, Monseigneur! ’ she answered contritely, and peeped at him through her lashes. The irresistible dimple quivered.

‘She’ll snare him,’ thought Fanny. ‘She is all too fascinating.’

Justin took his ward down to Avon by coach the following day, in company with Madam Field, on whose amiable vapidity Léonie looked with scant respect. Justin was quick to read her opinion of the lady, and when they arrived at Avon, took her aside.

‘This,’ said Léonie buoyantly, ‘is a nice house. I like it.’

‘I am rejoiced to hear you say so,’ replied his Grace ironically.

Léonie looked round the panelled hall, with its carven chairs, its paintings, and tapestry, and the gallery above.

‘Perhaps it is a little sombre,’ she said. ‘Who is this gentleman?’ She went to a suit of armour, and regarded it with interest.

‘It is not a gentleman at all, my infant. It is the armour one of my ancestors wore.’

‘Vraiment? ’ She wandered away to the foot of the stairs, and inspected an ancient portrait. ‘Is this another ancestor, this foolish woman?’

‘A very famous one, my dear.’

‘She has a stupid smile,’ Léonie remarked. ‘Why was she famous? What for?’

‘Principally for her indiscretions. Which reminds me, child, that I want to speak to you.’

‘Yes, Monseigneur?’ Léonie was staring now at a shield which hung above the fireplace. ‘“J’y serai.” That is French.’

‘Your intelligence is remarkable. I wish to speak to you of my cousin, Madam Field.’

Léonie looked at him over her shoulder, grimacing.

‘May I say what I think, Monseigneur?’

He sat down on the great carved table, swinging his eyeglass.

‘To me, yes.’

‘She is just a fool, Monseigneur.’