These Old Shades (Alastair-Audley Tetralogy 1)

‘They are your own, my son, but you have seen fit to make them all the world’s. I might retort: Léonie’s welfare is not your concern.’

‘She would not agree with you, mon père. Let us understand one another. Body and soul she is mine. I bought her from the ruffian who called himself her brother.’

‘He had reason,’ said De Beaupré calmly.

‘Do you think so? Rest assured, m’sieur, that Léonie is safer with me than with Jean Bonnard. I have come to ask your help for her.’

‘I have never before heard that – Satanas – chose a priest for his ally, m’sieur.’

Avon’s teeth showed white for a moment in a smile.

‘Withdrawn as you are from the world, mon père, you yet have heard that?’

‘Yes, m’sieur. Your reputation is well known.’

‘I am flattered. In this case my reputation lies. Léonie is safe with me.’

‘Why?’ asked De Beaupré serenely.

‘Because, my father, there is a mystery attached to her.’

‘It seems an insufficient reason.’

‘Nevertheless it must suffice. My word, when I give it, is surety enough.’

The Curé folded his hands before him, and looked quietly into Avon’s eyes. Then he nodded.

‘It is very well, mon fils. Tell me what became of la petite. That Jean was worthless, but he would not leave Léonie with me. Where did he take her?’

‘To Paris, where he bought a tavern. He dressed Léonie as a boy, and a boy she has been for seven years. She is my page now, until I end that comedy.’

‘And when you end it, what then?’

Justin tapped one polished finger-nail against the lid of his snuff-box.

‘I take her to England – to my sister. I have some vague notion of – ah – adopting her. As my ward, you understand. Oh, she will be chaperoned, of course!’

‘Why, my son? If you desire to do good to la petite send her to me.’

‘My dear father, I have never desired to do good to anyone. I have a reason for keeping this child. And, strange to say, I have developed quite a keen affection for her. A fatherly emotion, believe me.’

The housekeeper entered at this moment, bearing a tray with wine and glasses upon it. She arranged the refreshment at her master’s elbow, and withdrew.

De Beaupré poured his visitor out a glass of canary.

‘Proceed, my son. I do not yet see how I can aid you, or why you have journeyed all this way to see me.’

The Duke raised the glass to his lips.

‘A most tedious journey,’ he agreed. ‘But your main roads are good. Unlike ours in England. I came, my father, to ask you to tell me all that you know of Léonie.’

‘I know very little, m’sieur. She came to this place as a babe, and left it when she was scarce twelve years old.’

Justin leaned forward, resting one arm on the table.

‘From where did she come, mon père ?’

‘It was always kept secret. I believe they came from Champagne. They never told me.’