These Old Shades (Alastair-Audley Tetralogy 1)

‘I came home, my infant, to find my house invaded by the Merivales, your duenna being prostrate with the vapours.’

‘Bah, she is a fool!’ said Léonie scornfully. ‘Why was Milor’ Merivale there?’

‘I was about to tell you, my dear, when you interrupted me with your stricture upon my cousin. My Lord and Lady Merivale were there to help find you.’

‘Faith, it must have been a merry meeting!’ put in the irrepressible Rupert.

‘It was not without its amusing side. From them I learned of your disappearance.’

‘Did you think we had eloped?’ Rupert inquired.

‘That explanation did present itself to me,’ admitted the Grace.

‘Eloped?’ Léonie echoed. ‘With Rupert ? Ah, bah, I would as soon elope with the old goat in the field!’

‘If it comes to that, I’d as soon elope with a tigress!’ retorted Rupert. ‘Sooner, by Gad!’

‘When this interchange of civilities is over,’ said his Grace languidly, ‘I will continue. But do not let me interrupt you.’

‘Ay, go on,’ said Rupert. ‘What next?’

‘Next, my children, Mr Manvers bounced in upon us. I fear that Mr Manvers is not pleased with you, Rupert, or with me, but let that pass. From him I gathered that you, Rupert, had gone off in pursuit of a coach containing a French gentleman. After that it was easy. I journeyed that night to Southampton – you did not think to board the Queen, boy?’

‘I remembered her, but I was in no mood to waste time riding to Southampton. Go on.’

‘For which I thank you. You would undoubtedly have sold her had you taken her to France. I crossed in her yesterday, and came into Le Havre at sundown. There, my children, I made sundry inquiries, and there also I spent the night. From the innkeeper I learned that Saint-Vire had set off with Léonie by coach for Rouen at two in the afternoon, and further that you, Rupert, had hired a horse half an hour or more later – by the way, have you still that horse, or has it already gone the way of its fellow?’

‘No, it’s here right enough,’ chuckled Rupert.

‘You amaze me. All this, I say, I learned from the innkeeper. It was rather too late then for me to set out in search of you, and, moreover, I half expected you to arrive at Le Havre. When you did not arrive I feared that you, Rupert, had failed to catch my very dear friend Saint-Vire. So this morning, my children, I took a coach along the road to Rouen, and came upon a derelict.’ His Grace produced his snuff-box, and opened it. ‘My very dear friend’s coach, with his arms blazoned upon the door. It was scarcely wise of my very dear friend to leave his coach lying about for me to find, but it is possible of course, that he did not expect me.’

‘He is a fool, Monseigneur. He did not know even that I was pretending to be asleep.’

‘According to you, my infant, the world is peopled by fools. I believe you have reason. To resume. It seemed probable that Léonie had escaped; further, it seemed probable that she had escaped towards Le Havre. But since neither of you had arrived at that port I guessed that you were concealed somewhere on the road to Le Havre. Therefore, mes enfants, I drove back along the road until I came to a lane that gave on to it. Down this lane I proceeded.’

‘We went across the fields,’ Léonie cut in.

‘A shorter way, no doubt, but one could hardly expect a coach to take it. At the hamlet I came upon they knew nothing of you. I drove on, and came at length, by devious ways, to this place. The luck, you see, favoured me. Let us hope that my very dear friend will be equally fortunate. Infant, go and change your clothes.’

‘Yes, Monseigneur. What are we going to do now?’

‘That remains to be seen,’ said Avon. ‘Away with you!’

Léonie departed. His Grace looked at Rupert.

‘My young madman, has a surgeon seen your wound?’

‘Ay, he came last night, confound him!’

‘What said he?’

‘Oh, naught! He’ll come again to-day.’

‘From your expression I am led to infer that he prophesied some days in bed for you, child.’

‘Ten, plague take him! But I shall be well enough by to-morrow.’

‘You will remain there, nevertheless, until the worthy surgeon permits you to arise. I must send for Harriet.’