These Old Shades Read online

  ‘In our world, child, we dislike open scandal. That is why I tried to rescue you from Avon a while back. I wish that I had told you then why I carried you off, but I thought to spare you that unpleasant knowledge.’

  ‘How you are kind!’ marvelled Léonie. ‘Of a truth it is a great thing to be the daughter of M. de Saint-Vire!’

  He flushed.

  ‘You thought me brutal, I know, but I acted for the best. You outwitted me, and I saw that it would have been wiser to have told you of your birth. The secret cannot be kept, for you resemble me too greatly. We are like to be plunged in a scandal now that will hurt us all.’

  ‘It seems that most people know who I am,’ Léonie answered, ‘but I am very well received, je vous assure.’

  ‘At the moment you are, but when I openly acknowledge you – what then?’

  ‘Tiens! ’ Léonie stared at him. ‘Why should you do that?’

  ‘I have no cause to love your – guardian,’ Saint-Vire said, and kept a wary eye on the pistol. ‘And I do not think that he would be pleased if the world knew he had adopted a base-born child of mine. His pride would be humbled, I think.’

  ‘What if he knows already?’ Léonie asked. ‘If others know so must he.’

  ‘Do you think he does?’ Saint-Vire said.

  She was silent.

  ‘He might suspect,’ he went on. ‘Perhaps he does; I do not know. Yet I think if he had done so he would hardly have brought you to Paris. He would not like Society to laugh at him as Society will laugh when it learns who you are, I can harm him greatly in this matter.’

  ‘How can you harm him, you – you pig-person?’

  Saint-Vire smiled.

  ‘Were you not his page, ma fille ? It is not convenable for young girls to masquerade as boys in the house of an Alastair. Think of the scandal when I tell that tale! Be very sure that I shall take care to set Paris about M. le Duc’s ears. His morals are well known, and I do not think that Paris will believe in his innocence, or yours.’

  Léonie curled her lip.

  ‘Voyons, am I a fool? Paris would not care that Monseigneur had made a bastard his mistress.’

  ‘No, child, but would not Paris care that Avon had had the audacity to take his base-born mistress into Society? You have queened it right royally, and I hear that you even have Condé in your toils. That will not make Paris more lenient. You have been too great a success, my dear. You are a masquerader, and Avon has cheated Society with you. Do you think Society will forgive that? I think we shall not see M. le Duc in France again, and it is possible that scandal might spread to London. His reputation would not aid him to kill the scandal, I assure you.’

  ‘I wonder if it would be better that I kill you now?’ Léonie said slowly. ‘You shall not harm Monseigneur, pig-person. That I swear!’

  ‘I have no great wish to harm him,’ Saint-Vire said indifferently. ‘But I cannot see my child in his care. Some paternal feeling you will allow me. Put yourself in my hands, and Avon has nothing to fear from me. All my wish is to see you safely disposed in life. There need be no scandal if you disappear from Society, but if you remain under Avon’s roof scandal must come. And since I am like to be involved in it, I prefer to head the cry.’

  ‘And if I go you will say nothing?’

  ‘Not a word. Why should I? Let me make provision for you. I can find a home for you. I will send you money. And perhaps you will –’

  ‘I do not put myself in the hands of a pig-person,’ Léonie said crushingly. ‘I will disappear, bien entendu, but I will go to one who loves me, not to you, who are without doubt a villain.’ She swallowed hard, and her hand clutched on the pistol. ‘I give you my word that I will disappear.’

  He held out his hand.

  ‘Poor child, this is a sad day for you. There is nothing I can say, but that I am sorry. It is for the best, as you will see. Where do you go?’

  She held her head high.

  ‘I do not tell you or anyone that,’ she said. ‘I make just one prayer to the good God that I may never see you again.’ Words choked in her throat; she made a gesture of loathing, and went to the door. There she turned. ‘I forget. You will swear to me that you will say nothing that may harm Monseigneur. Swear it on the Bible!’

  ‘I swear,’ he said. ‘But there is no need. Once you are gone there will be no occasion for me to speak. I want no scandal.’

  ‘Bon! ’ she said. ‘I do not trust your oath, but I think you are a great coward, and you would not like to make a scandal. I hope you will be punished one day.’ She flung the door-key down on the floor, and went quickly out.

  Saint-Vire passed his handkerchief across his brow.

  ‘Mon Dieu,’ he whispered. ‘She showed me how to play my ace! Now, Satanas, we shall see who wins!’

  Twenty-nine

  The Disappearance of Léonie

  Lord Rupert yawned mightily, and heaved himself up in his chair.

  ‘What do we do to-night?’ he asked. ‘’Pon my soul, I’ve never been to so many balls in my life! It’s no wonder I’m worn out.’

  ‘Oh, my dear Rupert, I am nigh dead with fatigue!’ Fanny cried. ‘At least we have this one evening quiet! To-morrow there is Madame du Deffand’s soirée.’ She nodded to Léonie. ‘You will enjoy that, my love, I assure you. A few poems to be read, discussion, all the wit of Paris present – oh, ’twill be a most amusing evening, I vow! There is no one who will not be there.’

  ‘What, so we have respite to-day, have we?’ said Rupert. ‘Now, what shall I do?’

  ‘I thought you said you were worn out?’ Marling remarked.

  ‘So I am, but I can’t sit at home all the evening. What do you do?’

  ‘Hugh and I are bound for de Châtelet’s, to visit Merivale. Will you accompany us?’

  Rupert considered for a while.

  ‘No, I believe I’ll go to this new gaming-house I hear tell of.’

  Avon put up his glass.

  ‘Oh? What, and where, is the novelty?’

  ‘In the Rue Chambéry. It’s like to kill Vassaud’s if what they say is true. I’m surprised you’d not heard of it.’

  ‘Yes, it is not in keeping with the part,’ Avon said. ‘I believe I will go with you there this evening, child. It will not do for Paris to think I did not know of it.’

  ‘What, will you all be out?’ Fanny asked. ‘And I had promised to dine with my dear Julie! Léonie, I am sure that she will be pleased if you come with me.’

  ‘Oh madame, I am so tired!’ Léonie protested. ‘I would like to go to bed early to-night.’

  Rupert stretched his long legs out before him.

  ‘Tired at last!’ he said. ‘Faith, I thought you’d never be wearied out!’

  ‘My dearest life, I will tell the servants to take a tray to your room,’ Fanny said. ‘You must not be tired to-morrow, for I am determined you shall come to Madame du Deffand’s soirée! Why, Condé is sure to be there!’

  Léonie smiled rather wanly, and encountered Avon’s scrutiny.

  ‘My infant, what has happened to trouble you?’ he asked.

  She opened wide her eyes.

  ‘But nothing, Monseigneur! It is just that I have a touch of the migraine.’

  ‘To be sure I am not surprised.’ My lady shook her head wisely. ‘We have been abroad late every night this week. It is I who am at fault to have permitted it.’

  ‘Oh, but madame, it has been fort amusant !’ Léonie said. ‘I have enjoyed myself so much!’

  ‘Egad, and so have I!’ Rupert remarked. ‘It has been a mad two months, and I scarce know whether I am standing on my head or my heels. Are you off already, Hugh?’

  ‘We are dining with de Châtelet at four,’ Hugh explained. ‘I’ll say good night, Léonie. You’ll be abed when we return.’

  She gave him her hand; her eyes were downcast. Both he and Marling kissed the slender fingers. Hugh made some joke to Rupert, and they went out.

  ‘Do you dine at home, Justin?’ asked m