These Old Shades (17 page)

Léonie took a firm hold on Avon’s coat sleeve.

“You won’t, will you, Monseigneur?”

He disengaged himself.

“My infant, you must strive to be more polite. One would infer that you had been unhappy with Lady Fanny.”

“Yes, Monseigneur, very unhappy. It is not because she is not kind, for she has been very kind to me, but I belong to you.”

Over her head Justin looked mockingly at his sister.

“It distresses you, my dear? I believe you are right, Léonie. I have come to fetch you.”

She was all smiles at once.

“
Voyons
, now I am happy! Where will you take me, Monseigneur?”

“Into the country, child. Ah, the worthy Edward! Your devoted servant, Edward.”

Marling had entered quietly. Stiffly he returned Avon’s bow.

“I would have a word with you an it please you, Alastair,” he said.

“But does it please me?” wondered his Grace. “No doubt you wish to speak concerning my ward?”

Edward looked annoyed.

“In private, sir.”

“Quite unnecessary, my dear Edward, I assure you.” He flicked Léonie’s cheek with one careless finger. “Mr. Marling has no doubt warned you that I am no fit companion for the young and—ah—innocent, infant?”

“No-no.” Léonie tilted her head. “I know all about that, you see. Me, I am not very innocent, do you think?”

“That will do, Léonie!” hastily interposed Fanny. “You’ll drink a dish of Bohea with me, Justin? Léonie shall be ready to accompany you to-morrow. Léonie, my love, I have left my handkerchief in your room. Be so good as to fetch it for me. And Edward may go too. Yes, Edward, please!” So she drove them out, and turned again to her brother. “Well, Justin, I’ve done as you desired me.”

“Admirably, my dear.”

Her eyes twinkled.

“At no small cost, Justin.”

“It is no matter, Fanny.”

She eyed him irresolutely.

“What now, Justin?”

“Now I take her to Avon.”

“With Cousin Field?”

“But could you doubt it?” He bowed.

“Easily.” She curled her lip. “Justin, what is it you intend? You’ve some scheme, I know. I’ll believe you mean no ill by Léonie.”

“It is always wise to believe the worst of me, Fanny.”

“I confess I don’t understand you, Justin. Tis most provoking.”

“It must be,” he agreed.

She drew nearer, coaxing him.

“Justin, I do wish that you would tell me what is in your mind!”

He took a pinch of snuff, and shut the box with a snap.

“You must learn, my dear Fanny, to curb your curiosity. Suffice it that I am as a grandfather to that child. It should suffice.”

“It does, in part, but I do so want to know what scheme you have in your head!”

“I am sure you do, Fanny,” he said sympathetically.

“You are very horrid,” she pouted. A sudden smile came. “Justin, what new whim is this? Léonie speaks of you as of a strict governor. ‘Tis for ever ‘Monseigneur would not like me to do that,’ or ‘Do you think that Monseigneur would mind?’ It’s not like you, my dear.”

“An I knew less of the world’s ways I should no doubt be a more lenient guardian,” he said. “As it is, Fanny—” He shrugged, and drew his fan from one of his great pockets.

Léonie came back into the room, holding up her gown with one little hand.

“I could not find your handkerchief, madame,” she began, and then saw Avon’s fan. A look of disapproval came over her face; there was a measure of reproof in the candid blue eyes. Avon smiled.

“You will grow accustomed to it, my child.”

“Never,” said Léonie positively. “It does not please me at all.”

“But then,” murmured his Grace, “I do not use it to please you.”

“Pardon, Monseigneur.’“ she answered contritely, and peeped at him through her lashes. The irresistible dimple quivered.

“She’ll snare him,” thought Fanny. “She is all too fascinating.’

Justin took his ward down to Avon by coach the following day, in company with Madam Field, on whose amiable vapidity Léonie looked with scant respect. Justin was quick to read her opinion of the lady, and when they arrived at Avon, took her aside.

“This,” said Léonie buoyantly, “is a nice house. I like it.”

“I am rejoiced to hear you say so,” replied his Grace ironically.

Léonie looked round the panelled hall, with its carven chairs, its paintings, and tapestry, and the gallery above.

“Perhaps it is a little sombre,” she said. “Who is this gentleman?” She went to a suit of armour, and regarded it with interest.

“It is not a gentleman at all, my infant. It is the armour one of my ancestors wore.”

“
Vraiment
?” She wandered away to the foot of the stairs, and inspected an ancient portrait. “Is this another ancestor, this foolish woman?”

“A very famous one, my dear.”

“She has a stupid smile,” Léonie remarked. “Why was she famous? What for?”

“Principally for her indiscretions. Which reminds me, child, that I want to speak to you.”

“Yes, Monseigneur?” Léonie was staring now at a shield which hung above the fireplace. “
‘J’y serai’.
That is French.”

“Your intelligence is remarkable. I wish to speak to you of my cousin, Madam Field.”

Léonie looked at him over her shoulder, grimacing.

“May I say what I think, Monseigneur?”

He sat down on the great carved table, swinging his eyeglass.

“To me, yes.”

“She is just a fool, Monseigneur.”

“Indubitably. And therefore, my infant, you must not only bear with her folly, but you must be at pains to cause her no trouble.”

Léonie seemed to debate within herself.

“Must I, Monseigneur?”

Justin looked at her, and recognized the naughty twinkle in her eye.

“Because I will it so, my child.”

The little straight nose wrinkled.

“Oh,
eh bien
!”

“I thought so,” remarked Avon beneath his breath. “It is a promise, Léonie?”

“I do not think that I will promise,” Léonie temporized. “I will
try.”
She came and stood before him. “Monseigneur, it is very kind of you to bring me to this beautiful place, and to give me everything just as though I were not the sister of an innkeeper. Thank you very much.”

Justin looked at her for a moment, and his lips twisted in a curious smile.

“You think me a paragon of all the virtues, don’t you,
ma fille
?”

“Oh no!” she answered candidly. “I think it is only to me that you are kind. With some women you are not good at all. I cannot help knowing these things, Mon-seigneur!”

“And yet, child, you are content to remain with me?”

“But of course!” she answered in some surprise.

“You are full of trust,” he remarked.

“Of course,” she said again.

“This,” said Avon, looking at the rings on his hand, “is a new experience. I wonder what Hugh would say?”

“Oh, he would pull down his mouth, so! and shake his head. I think he is sometimes not very wise.”

He laughed, and laid a hand on her shoulder.

“I never thought,
ma fille
, to take unto me a ward so much after mine own heart. I beg you will be careful not to shock Madam Field.”

“But with you I may say what I please?”

“You always do,” he replied.

“And you will stay here?”

“For the present. I have to attend to your education, you see. There are things you have to learn that I can best teach you.”

“What,
par example
?”

“To ride?”

“On a horse?
Vraiment
?”

“The prospect pleases you?”

“Yes, oh yes! And will you teach me to fight with a sword, Monseigneur?”

“It’s not a ladylike occupation,
ma fille
.”

“But I do not always want to be a lady, Monseigneur! If I may learn to fight with a sword I will try very hard to learn the other silly things.”

He looked down at her, smiling.

“I believe you are trying to drive a bargain with me I What if I will not teach you to fence?”

She dimpled.

“Why, then I fear I shall be very stupid when you teach me to curtsy, Monseigneur. Oh, Monseigneur, say you will! Please say it quickly! Madame is coming.”

“You force my hand,” he bowed. “I will teach you, imp.”

Madam Field entered the hall in time to see her charge execute a neat step-dance. She murmured expostulations.

CHAPTER XIII

The Education of Léonie

The Duke remained at Avon for over a month, during which time Léonie applied herself energetically to the task of becoming a lady. Madam Field’s ideal of this estate was luckily not Avon’s. He had no wish to see his ward sitting primly over her stitchery, which was just as well, perhaps, for after the first attempt Léonie declared that nothing would induce her to ply a needle. Madam Field was a little flustered by this defection, and by Léonie’s taste for sword-play, but she was far too good-natured and indefinite to do more than murmur nervous remonstrances. She stood very much in awe of her cousin, and although she was by birth an Alastair she felt herself to be a wholly inferior creature. She had been happy enough with her husband, an obscure gentleman with a taste for farming, but she knew that in the eyes of her family she had disgraced herself by marrying him. This had not troubled her much while he lived, but now that he was dead, and she had returned to what had once been her own milieu, she was uncomfortably conscious of the step downwards that she had taken in her foolish youth. She was rather frightened of Avon, but she liked to live in his house. When she looked about her, at faded tapestries, at stretches of velvet lawns, at portraits innumerable, and crossed swords above the doorway, she remembered anew the glory of past Alastairs, and some almost forgotten chord stirred within her.

Léonie was enchanted by Avon Court, and demanded to know its history. She walked with Justin in the grounds, and learned how Hugo Alastair, coming with the Conqueror, settled there, and built himself a fair dwelling, which was destroyed in the troublous times of King Stephen; how it was built again by Sir Roderick Alastair; how he was given a barony, and prospered, and how the first Earl, under Queen Mary, pulled down the old building and erected the present house. And she learned of the bombardment that partially destroyed the West Wing, when Earl Henry held all for the King against the usurper Cromwell, and was rewarded for it at the Restoration by a dukedom. She saw the sword of the last Duke, the same that he had used in tragic ‘15, for King James III, and heard a small part of Justin’s own adventures, ten years ago, for King Charles III. Justin touched but lightly on this period of his life; his work in that attempt, Léonie guessed, had been secret and tortuous, but she learned that the true King was Charles Edward Stuart, and learned to speak of the little war-like man on the throne as Elector George.

Her education at Justin’s hands was a source of interest and amusement to her. Up in the long picture gallery he taught her to dance, with an eagle eye for the smallest fault, or the least hint of awkwardness in her bearing. Madam Field came to play on the spinet for them, and watched with an indulgent smile while they trod each stately measure. She reflected that she had never seen her unapproachable cousin so human, as with this laughing sprite of a girl. They danced the minuet, and the long lines of ancestors gazed down upon them indulgently.

Avon made Léonie practise her curtsy, and made her combine her pretty roguishness with some of the haughtiness that characterized my Lady Fanny. He showed her how to extend her hand for a man to kiss, how to use her fan, and how to place her patches. He would walk with her in the pleasaunce, teaching every rule of deportment until she was word perfect. He insisted that she should cultivate certain queenliness of bearing. She soon learned, and would rehearse her newest lesson before him, enjoying herself hugely, radiant if she earned a word of praise.

She could already ride, but astride only. She was disgusted with the side-saddle, and for a while rebelled against it. For the space of two days her will held fast against Avon’s, but his frigid politeness disarmed her, and on the third day she came to him with head hanging, and faltered:

“I am sorry, Monseigneur. I—I will ride as you wish.”

So they rode together in the grounds until she had mastered this new art, and then they went out over the countryside, and those who saw the Duke beside this beautiful girl cast knowing glances at each other, and shook their heads wisely, for they had seen other beautiful girls with Avon.

Bit by bit the Court, so long bereft of a mistress, began to wear a more cheerful air. Léonie’s glad young spirit pervaded it; she flung back heavy curtains, and consigned ponderous screens to the lumber room. Windows were opened to let in the wintry sun, and bit by bit the oppressive solemnity of the place disappeared. Léonie would have none of the stern neatness that was wont to reign there. She tumbled prim cushions, pushed chairs out of place, and left books lying on odd tables, caring nothing for Madam Field’s shocked protests. Justin permitted her to do as she pleased; it amused him to watch her gyrations, and he liked to hear her give orders to his expressionless lackeys. Clearly she had the habit of command: unusual she might be, but never did she exhibit any lack of breeding.