These Old Shades (Alastair-Audley Tetralogy 1)

Léonie sent a mocki

ng cry echoing through the wood, and ran on, listening to Rupert’s blundering progress behind her. She led him in and out of the trees, through bushes, round in circles, and over the stream, always keeping just out of sight, until she found herself coming out into the road. She would have turned, and doubled back, had she not chanced to see a light travelling coach standing near by. She was surprised, and tiptoed to peep at it over a low thorn-bush. In the distance she heard Rupert’s voice, half-exasperated, half-laughing. She threw back her head to call to him, and as she did so, saw to her amazement the Comte de Saint-Vire, walking quickly up on one of the paths that led through the wood. He was frowning, and his heavy mouth pouted. He looked up, and as his glance fell upon her the frown went from his face, and he came hurrying towards her.

‘I give you good morrow, Léon the Page,’ he said, and the words bit. ‘I had hardly hoped that I should find you thus soon. The luck is with me this round, I think.’

Léonie retreated a little. Avon’s warning was in her mind.

‘Bon jour, m’sieur,’ she said, and wondered what he was doing in the Duke’s grounds, or why he was in England at all. ‘Did you go to see Monseigneur?’ she asked, with wrinkled brow. ‘He is not here.’

‘I am desolated,’ said Saint-Vire sarcastically, and came right up to her. She shrank, and in a fit of inexplicable panic, called to Rupert.

‘Rupert, Rupert, à moi !’

Even as she cried Saint-Vire’s hand was over her mouth and his other arm about her waist. Struggling madly she was swept from the ground and borne at a run to where the coach stood waiting. Without compunction she bit deeply into the hand over her mouth. There was a muttered oath, the hand flinched a little, and she jerked her head away to shriek again.

‘Rupert, Rupert, on m’enporte! À moi, à moi, à moi! ’

His voice came to her, nearer at hand.

‘Who – what – ? What the devil – ?’

She was flung then into the coach, sprang up like a small fury, but was thrust roughly back again. She heard Saint-Vire give an order to the coachman; then he jumped in beside her, and the coach lurched forward.

Rupert came plunging out into the road, hot and dishevelled, just in time to see the coach disappear round the bend in the road, in the direction of the village.

He had suspected at first that Léonie was only teasing him, but her second cry had held a note of genuine alarm, while now there was no sign of her. With characteristic impetuosity he went headlong down the road in pursuit of the coach, never stopping to consider the wisdom of returning to the stables for his horse. Full-tilt he went, hatless, with torn ruffles, and wig askew. The coach was out of sight, but he ran on until he was blown. Then he dropped into a walk. When he had got his breath back he ran again, and had a grin for the comic figure he knew he must be cutting. He had no idea who had seized Léonie, or why, but he felt certain that she was in that coach. His fighting spirit was aroused, and, incidentally, his love of adventure: he determined to catch the coach if it cost him his life. So, alternately running and walking, he came at last to the straggling village, three miles distant, and seeing the first cottage, broke once more into a weary jog-trot.

The blacksmith was working in his yard, and looked up in astonishment as Rupert’s well-known figure approached.

‘Hey, there!’ Rupert panted. ‘A coach – passed this way. Where went – it?’

The smithy rose and touched his forelock.

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘Devil take you! The coach!’

‘Yes, my lord, yes,’ said the puzzled smith.

‘Did – it – pass here?’ demanded Rupert in stentorian tones.

Light broke upon the smith.

‘Why, yes, your lordship, and stopped at the Arms. ’Tis gone this twenty minutes.’

‘Curse it! Whither?’

The smith shook his head.

‘Beg pardon, your lordship, but I was not watching.’

‘You’re a fool,’ said Rupert, and plodded on.

The landlord of the Avon Arms was more communicative. He came bustling out to meet his young lordship, and threw up his hands at sight of him.

‘My lord! Why, your lordship has lost his hat! Your coat, sir –’

‘Never mind my coat,’ said Rupert. ‘Where went that coach?’