These Old Shades (24 page)

Merivale gasped.

“You knew he was here, then?”

“I did not.”

“Then how a’ God’s name——?”

Again the Duke took snuff.

“Shall we say—intuition, my dear Anthony?”

“But—but why did Rupert pursue Saint-Vire? And— and what was Saint-Vire doing on the road to Portsmouth? He told he was journeying north to visit a friend! This goes beyond me!”

“What I want to know,” Jennifer said, “is, where is Léonie?”

“Ay, that’s the question,” nodded Merivale.

“Your pardon, sir,” interjected Mr. Manvers, “but the question is, where is my horse?”

They turned to the Duke for enlightenment.

“Léonie,” said the Duke, “is by now on the way to France, in company with the Comte de Saint-Vire. Rupert, I imagine, is also on his way to France, for I do not suppose he was in time to intercept them. Mr. Manvers’ horse is in all probability at Portsmouth. Unless, of course, Rupert has taken it to France with him.”

Mr. Manvers collapsed into the nearest chair.

“Taken—taken my horse to France, sir? Oh, it’s monstrous! it’s monstrous!”

“For God’s sake, Avon, be more explicit!” begged Merivale. “Why has Saint-Vire run off with Léonie? He had not even seen her!”

“On the contrary,” said Avon, “he has seen her many times.”

Jennifer rose to her feet.

“Oh, sir, he will not harm her?”

“No, he will not harm her, my lady,” Avon replied, and there was a glint in his eyes. “You see, there will be no time for that. He has Rupert hard on his heels—and me.”

“You’ll go?”

“Of course I shall go. Follow my example, and place your trust in Rupert. It seems I shall live to be grateful to him yet.”

“Alastair, what in God’s name does all this mean?” demanded Merivale. “Rupert himself swore there was a mystery as soon as he saw Léonie’s likeness to Saint-Vire.”

“So Rupert saw that? I appear to have underrated Rupert’s intelligence. I believe I can satisfy your curiosity. Come with me into the library, my dear Merivale.”

Past enmity was forgotten. Anthony went to the door. Mr. Manvers sprang up.

“But all this doesn’t help me to my horse!” he said bitterly.

With his hand on the door Avon paused, and looked back.

“My good sir,” he said haughtily, “I am weary of your horse. It has served its turn, and shall be restored to you.” He went out with Merivale, and shut the door behind him. “So. One moment, Anthony. Johnson!”

The butler came forward.

“Your Grace?”

“Bid them harness Thunderbolt and Blue Peter to the curricle at once, place my large valise in it, and tell one of the women to pack some clothes for Mistress Léonie. Within half an hour, Johnson.”

“Very good, your Grace,” bowed the old man.

“And now, Merivale, this way.”

“By Gad, you’re a cool devil!” exclaimed Merivale, and followed him to the library.

His Grace went to his desk and extracted from it a brace of gold-mounted pistols.

“Briefly, Anthony, the matter is this: Léonie is Saint-Vire’s daughter.”

“I never knew he had a daughter!”

“No one knew. You thought he had a son, perhaps?”

“Yes. Well, naturally! I’ve seen the boy many times.”

“He is no more Saint-Vire’s son than you are,” said his Grace, snapping the breech of one of his pistols. “His name is Bonnard.”

“Good God, Alastair, do you mean to tell me that Saint-Vire had the audacity to exchange the children? Because of Armand?”

“I am delighted to find that you understand the situation so well,” said the Duke. “I beg you will let it go no further, for the time is not yet.”

“Very well, but what a piece of villainy! Does he know that you know?”

“I had best tell you the whole story,” sighed Avon.

When they at length emerged from the library Merivale’s face was a study of mingled emotions, and he appeared to be speechless. Jennifer met them in the hall.

“You are going, sir? You—you will bring her back?”

“That I cannot say,” Avon replied. “She will be safe with me, my lady.”

Her eyes fell.

“Yes, sir, I feel that that is so
.”

His Grace looked at her.

“You surprise me,” he said.

She put her hand out, hesitating.

“She has told me so much. I cannot but be sure of your —kindness.” She paused. “Sir, what—what lies between you and me is past, and should be forgotten.”

His Grace bowed over her hand; his lips were smiling.

“Jenny, if I said that I had forgotten you would be offended.”

“No,” she answered, and a laugh trembled in her voice. “I should be glad.”

“My dear, I desire nothing better than to please you.”

“I think,” she said, “that there is one now who holds a greater place in your heart than ever I held.”

“You err, Jenny. I have no heart,” he replied.

A silence fell. It was broken by a lackey.

“Your Grace, the curricle waits.”

“How will you cross?” Merivale asked.

“In the Silver Queen. She lies in Southampton Water. Unless Rupert has already commandeered her. If that should chance to be so, I suppose I must hire a vessel.”

Mr. Manvers came up.

“Sir, I will not stay with that woman who has the vapours,” he said. “It is very well for you to say you are weary of my horse, but I want its instant recovery!”

The Duke had donned his great-cloak, and now he picked up his hat and gloves.

“My Lord Merivale will be charmed to assist you,” he said, with the glimmering of a smile. He bowed low to them all, and was gone.

CHAPTER XIX

Lord Rupert Wins the Second Trick

Léonie awoke, sighing. Nausea threatened to overwhelm her, and for a few minutes she lay with closed eyes, in semi-consciousness. By degrees she shook off the effects of the drug, and struggled up, a hand to her head. She looked about her in bewilderment, and found that she was on a couch in a strange apartment, alone. Bit by bit memory came, and she got up, and went to the window.

“Tiens!”
she said, looking out. “Where am I now? I do not know this place. It is the sea.” She stared at the harbour in bewilderment. “That man gave me an evil drink, I remember. And I went to sleep, I suppose. Where is this wicked Comte? I think that I bit him very hard, and I know that I kicked him. And then we came to that inn—where was it?—miles and miles from Avon—and he brought me coffee.” She chuckled. “And I threw it at him.
How
he did swear! Then he brought more coffee, and he made me drink it. Faugh! Coffee, he called it? Pig-wash! What then?
Peste
, I do not know anything more!” She turned to look at the clock on the mantelpiece, and frowned. “Mon Dieu, what is this?” She went to the clock, and regarded it fixedly.
“Sotte!”
she addressed it. “How can you be noon? It was noon when he made me drink that evil pig-wash.
Tu ne marches pas
.”

The steady ticking gave her the lie. She put her head on one side.

“Comment? Voyons, I do not understand this at all. Unless—” her eyes widened—”Am I in
to-morrow
?” she wondered. “I am in to-morrow! That man made me go to sleep, and I have slept all day and night!
Sacré bleu
, but I am angry with that man! I am glad that I bit him. Doubtless he means to kill me, but why? Perhaps Rupert will come and save me, but I think that I will save myself, and not wait for Rupert, for I do not want to be killed by this Comte.” She considered. “No, mayhap he does not want to kill me. But if he does not—
Grand Dieu
, can it be that he elopes with me? No, that is not possible, because he believes I am a boy. And I do not think that he can love me very much.” Her eyes twinkled impishly. “Now I will go,” she said.

But the door was fast, and the windows too small to allow her to escape through them. The twinkle died, and the small mouth set mutinously.

“
Parbleu, mais c’est infame
! He locks me in,
enfin
! Oh, I am very angry!” She laid her finger on her lips. “If I had a dagger I would kill him, but I have no dagger,
tant pis
. What then?” She paused. “I am a little frightened, I think,” she confessed. “I must escape from this wicked person. It will be better, perhaps, if I am still asleep.”

Footsteps sounded. Quick as thought Léonie returned to her couch, covered herself with her cloak, and lay down, with closed eyes. A key grated in the lock, and someone entered. Léonie heard Saint-Vire’s voice.

“Bring
déjeuner
here, Victor, and do not let any enter. The child still sleeps.”

“
Bien, m’sieur
.”

“Now, who is Victor?” wondered Léonie. “It is the servant, I suppose.
Dieu me sauve!”

The Comte came to her side, and bent over her, listening to her breathing. Léonie tried to still the uncomfortably hard beating of her heart. Evidently the Comte noticed nothing unusual, for he moved away again. Presently Léonie heard the chink of crockery.

“It is very hard that I must listen to this pig-person eating, when I am so hungry,” she reflected. “Oh, but I will make him very sorry!”

“When will m’sieu have the horses put to?” inquired Victor.

“Oho!” thought Léonie. “We travel further, then!”

“There is no need for haste now,” Saint-Vire answered. “That young fool, Alastair, would not follow us to France. We will start at two.”

Léonie’s eyes nearly flew open. She restrained herself with an effort.

“
Le misérable
.’“ she thought savagely. “Am I in Calais? No, for this is of a certainty not Calais. Perhaps I am at Le Havre. I do not immediately see what I am to do, but certainly I will go on being asleep. We went to Portsmouth, then. I think that Rupert will come, if he saw the way we went, but I must not wait for him. I would like to bite that man again.
Diable
, I am in great danger, it seems! I have a very cold feeling in my inside, and I wish that Monseigneur would come. That is foolishness, of course. He does not know that anything has happened to me. Ah, bah! Now this pig-person eats, while I starve! Certainly I will make him sorry.”

“The lad sleeps overlong, m’sieur,” Victor said. “He should wake soon now.”

“I do not expect it,” Saint-Vire replied. “He is young, and I gave him a strong dose. There is no cause for alarm, and it suits my purpose better if he sleeps for a while yet.”

“
Sans doute
!” thought Léonie. “So that was it! He drugged me! He is of a wickedness! I must breathe more heavily.”

Time went lagging by, but at length there came some commotion without, and Victor entered the room again.

“The coach awaits, m’sieur. Shall I take the boy?”

“I will. You have paid the reckoning?”

“Yes, m’sieur.”

Saint-Vire went to Léonie and lifted her. She was limp in his hold.

“I must let my head fall back, so! And my mouth open a little, thus!
Voyons,
I am being very clever! But I do not in the least know what comes to me. This man is a fool.”

She was carried out, and put into the coach, and propped up with cushions.

“You will make for Rouen,” Saint-Vire said. “
En avant
!“

The door was shut, Saint-Vire settled himself beside Léonie, and the coach rolled forward.

Léonie set her wits to work.

“This becomes more and more difficult. I do not see that I can do anything but continue to sleep while this man sits beside me. Presently we shall stop to change horses, for these are not good, I think. Perhaps this pig-person will get out then. If he thinks I am asleep he will do that, for he will want to eat again. But
still
I do not see how I am to escape. I will say a prayer to the
Bon Dieu
to show me a way.”

Meanwhile the coach travelled on at a fair rate, and the Comte took a book from his pocket and began to read it, glancing occasionally at the inert figure beside him. Once he felt Léonie’s pulse, and seemed to be satisfied, for he sank back into his corner and resumed his reading.

They must have been over an hour on the road when it happened. There was a terrific bump, a lurch, shouts and the stamping of frightened horses, and the coach toppled slowly into the ditch, so that the door by Léonie was only a yard from the hedge. She was flung violently against the side of the coach, with Saint-Vire atop of her, and it was only by a supreme effort of will that she refrained from throwing out a hand to save herself.

Saint-Vire struggled up, and wrenched at the off-side door, calling to know what was the matter. Victor’s voice answered.

“The near back wheel, m’sieur! We have one of the horses down, and a trace broken!”

Saint-Vire swore roundly, and hesitated, glancing at his captive. Once more he bent over her, listening to her breathing and then jumped down into the road, shutting the door behind him. Léonie heard him join in the mêlée without, and scrambled up. Cautiously she opened the door that leaned drunkenly to the hedge, and slipped out, crouching low. The men were at the horses’ heads, and Saint-Vire was hidden from her sight by one of the plunging leaders. Bent almost double she fled down the road, keeping to the ditch, and, coming presently upon a gap in the high hedge, pushed her way through it into the field beyond. She was hidden now from the road, but she knew that at any moment Saint-Vire might discover her escape, and she ran on, dizzy and trembling, back along the way they had come, looking wildly round for some hiding-place. The field stretched away on either side; the bend in the road was some hundred yards further on, and there was no sign of human habitation, or friendly woodland.