“Then he brought more pig—coffee, and he made me drink it. It was drugged, Monseigneur, and it made me go to sleep.”
“Poor infant!” His Grace tweaked one curl. “But a most indomitable infant withal.”
“There is nothing more to tell you, Monseigneur. I woke up next day at the inn at Le Havre, and I pretended to be asleep. Then the coach broke, and I escaped.”
“And what of Rupert?” The Duke smiled across at his brother.
“Faith, I don’t think I stopped running till I came here!” said Rupert. “I am still something out of breath.”
“Oh, Rupert was very clever!” Léonie struck in. “Monseigneur, he even sold his diamond to follow me, and he came to France in a dirty old boat, without a hat or a sword!”
“Nonsense, silly chit, Fletcher gave me his Sunday beaver. You talk too much, Léonie. Stop it!”
“I do not talk too much, do I, Monseigneur? And it is as I say. I do not know what would have happened to me but for Rupert.”
“Nor I, ma fille. We owe him a very big debt of gratitude. It is not often that I put my faith in another, but I did so these last two days.”
Rupert blushed and stammered.
“’Twas Léonie did it all. She brought me here, wherever we are. Where are we, Justin?”
“You are at Le Dennier, some ten miles from Le Havre, my children.”
“Well, that’s one mystery solved at all events!” said Rupert. “Léonie went ’cross country till the head turned on my shoulders. Oh, she diddled Saint-Vire finely, I give you my word!”
“But if you had not come I could not have got away,” Léonie pointed out.
“If it comes to that,” said Rupert, “the Lord alone knows what would have happened if you’d not caught us, Justin.”
“I understand that my bloodthirsty ward would have shot the so dear Comte—er—dead.”
“Yes, I would,” Léonie averred. “That would have taught him a lesson!”
“It would indeed,” agreed his Grace.
“Will you shoot him for me, please, Monseigneur?”
“Certainly not, infant. I shall be delighted to see the dear Comte.”
Rupert looked at him sharply.
“I’ve sworn to have his blood, Justin.”
His Grace smiled.
“I am before you, my dear, by some twenty years, but I bide my time.”
“Ay, so I guessed. What’s your game, Avon?”
“One day I will tell you, Rupert. Not to-day.”
“Well, I don’t envy him if you’ve your claws on him,” said Rupert frankly.
“No, I think he is not to be envied,” said his Grace. “He should be here soon now. Infant, a trunk has been carried to your chamber. Oblige me by dressing yourself once more ŕ la jeune fille. You will find a package sent by my Lady Fanny, which contains, I believe, a sprigged muslin. Put it on: it should suit you.”
“Why, Monseigneur, did you bring my clothes?” cried Léonie.
“I did, my child.”
“By Gad, you’re an efficient devil!” remarked Rupert. “Come, Justin! Tell us your part in the venture.”
“Yes, Monseigneur, please!” Léonie seconded.
“There is very little to tell,” sighed his Grace. “My share in the chase is woefully unexciting.”
“Let’s have it!” requested Rupert. “What brought you down to Avon so opportunely? Damme, there’s something uncanny about you, Satanas, so there is!”
Léonie fired up at that.
“You shall not call him by that name!” she said fiercely. “You only dare to do it because you are ill and I cannot fight you!”
“My esteemed ward, what is this lamentable talk of fighting? I trust you are not in the habit of fighting Rupert?”
“Oh no, Monseigneur, I only did it once! He just ran and hid behind a chair. He was afraid!”
“Small wonder!” retorted Rupert. “She’s a wild-cat, Justin. It’s Have-at-you! before you know where you are, ’pon my oath it is!”
“It seems I stayed away too long,” said his Grace sternly.
“Yes, Monseigneur, much, much too long!” said Léonie, kissing his hand. “But I was good—oh, many times!”
His Grace’s lips twitched. At once the dimple peeped out.
“I knew you were not really angry!” Léonie said. “Now tell us what you did.”
The Duke flicked her cheek with one finger.
“I came home, my infant, to find my house invaded by the Merivales, your duenna being prostrate with the vapours.”
“Bah, she is a fool!” said Léonie scornfully. “Why was Milor’ Merivale there?”
“I was about to tell you, my dear, when you interrupted me with your stricture upon my cousin. My Lord and Lady Merivale were there to help find you.”
“Faith, it must have been a merry meeting!” put in the irrepressible Rupert.
“It was not without its amusing side. From them I learned of your disappearance.”
“Did you think we had eloped?” Rupert inquired.
“That explanation did present itself to me,” admitted his Grace.
“Eloped?” Léonie echoed. “With Rupert? Ah, bah, I would as soon elope with the old goat in the field!”
“If it comes to that, I’d as soon elope with a tigress!” retorted Rupert. “Sooner, by Gad!”
“When this interchange of civilities is over,” said his Grace languidly, “I will continue. But do not let me interrupt you.”
“Ay, go on,” said Rupert. “What next?”
“Next, my children, Mr. Manvers bounced in upon us. I fear that Mr. Manvers is not pleased with you, Rupert, or with me, but let that pass. From him I gathered that you, Rupert, had gone off in pursuit of a coach containing a French gentleman. After that it was easy. I journeyed that night to Southampton—you did not think to board the Queen, boy?”
“I remembered her, but I was in no mood to waste time riding to Southampton. Go on.”
“For which I thank you. You would undoubtedly have sold her had you taken her to France. I crossed in her yesterday, and came into Le Havre at sundown. There, my children, I made sundry inquiries, and there also I spent the night. From the innkeeper I learned that Saint-Vire had set off with Léonie by coach for Rouen at two in the afternoon, and further that you, Rupert, had hired a horse half an hour or more later—by the way, have you still that horse, or has it already gone the way of its fellow?”
“No, it’s here right enough,” chuckled Rupert.
“You amaze me. All this, I say, I learned from the innkeeper. It was rather too late then for me to set out in search of you, and, moreover, I half expected you to arrive at Le Havre. When you did not arrive I feared that you, Rupert, had failed to catch my very dear friend Saint-Vire. So this morning, my children, I took coach along the road to Rouen, and came upon a derelict.” His Grace produced his snuff-box, and opened it. “My very dear friend’s coach, with his arms blazoned upon the door. It was scarcely wise of my very dear friend to leave his coach lying for me to find, but it is possible, of course, that he did not expect me.”
“He is a fool, Monseigneur. He did not know even that I was pretending to be asleep.”
“According to you, my infant, the world is peopled by fools. I believe you have reason. To resume. It seemed probable that Léonie had escaped; further it seemed probable that she had escaped towards Le Havre. But since neither of you had arrived at that port I guessed that you were concealed somewhere on the road to Le Havre. Therefore, mes enfants, I drove back along the road until I came to a lane that gave on to it. Down this lane I proceeded.”
“We went across the fields,” Léonie cut in.
“A shorter way, no doubt, but one could hardly expect a coach to take it. At the hamlet I came upon they knew nothing of you. I drove on, and came at length, by devious ways, to this place. The luck, you see, favoured me. Let us hope that my very dear friend will be equally fortunate. Infant, go and change your clothes.”