‘Thank you,’ said Léon. ‘I think we should leave at once. We could get quite a way before nightfall and perhaps make it the next day.’
‘That would be the best, Monsieur,’ said the messenger.
The boys came running into the hall.
‘What’s happening?’ cried Charlot.
I said: ‘Monsieur Blanchard’s mother is ill and he is going to see her.’
‘What about those poisonous toadstools you were going to show us, Monsieur Blanchard?’
‘You can see those when Monsieur Blanchard comes back.’
‘When?’ demanded Chariot.
‘Before long, I hope,’ I said. ‘Oh, Monsieur Blanchard, I do hope you find your mother recovering when you get to her.’
‘She is very old,’ he replied sadly. ‘But if you will forgive me … I have very little time. I must prepare. I could be ready to leave within an hour.’
I went to find my father to tell him the news. He was most concerned.
While we were gathered in the hall wishing Léon Blanchard godspeed, Sophie appeared on the stairs. Léon Blanchard stood very still as she came towards him.
‘What has happened?’ she asked.
He replied: ‘I have a sudden message from my brother. My mother is very ill. I have to go to her at once.’
Poor Sophie! I thought. How she loves him!
‘You will come back … ’
He nodded and, taking her hand, kissed it.
She was with us when we went into the courtyard to watch him ride away. Then without a word she went back to her tower.
When Dickon returned he was most interested to hear that Léon Blanchard had left. He said that he too must think of leaving. He had been away a long time, far longer than he had planned to be.
Two days later he left.
He took my hand and, holding me close to him, kissed me with fervour.
‘I shall be back soon,’ he said, ‘and I shall keep coming until that day when I take you back with me.’
When he had gone a gloom settled on the castle. There was no news of Armand. Marie Louise did not seem unduly upset but insisted that whatever had happened to her husband was God’s Will. Sophie returned to her old way of life, shutting herself away with Jeanne. I seemed to spend my time between Lisette and my father and I was thankful that I found the conversation of both of them lively enough to compensate for the brooding sense of doom which seemed to be settling over the castle.
Sometimes when I went out I would glance up at Sophie’s turret. She was often there at the windows looking out along the road … waiting, I knew, for the return of Léon Blanchard.
Several months passed. We had now ceased to talk of Armand. It was presumed that he was dead.
My father had changed his will. I was to inherit his estate in trust for Charlot. He had left Sophie amply provided for and he said that if Léon Blanchard returned and asked for her hand he would make a handsome settlement.
Dickon came again. I was surprised to see him so soon. He looked more pleased with himself than ever.
He said: ‘I have been very busy and I have news for you.’
‘I am all eagerness to hear it.’
‘I would like to tell you in the presence of your father.’
While he was washing off the grime of the journey I went to my father and told him that Dickon had come and that he wanted to see him immediately because he had news which he wanted us both to hear.
My father smiled at me. ‘I guessed who it was,’ he said. ‘I could tell by your face.’
I was surprised and a little horrified that I should show my feelings so clearly.
‘Yes,’ he went on indulgently, ‘there is a shine in your eyes … a softness. That is what makes me think that you and he.
‘Oh please, Father,’ I said, ‘I have no intention of marrying … not yet in any case.’
He sighed. ‘You know I would not stand in your way.’
‘I know. But let us hear what Dickon has to say.’
Dickon was clearly very proud of himself but then that was habitual with him; but on this occasion he was more than usually self-congratulatory.
My father sent for wine and we settled down in his little sitting-room to hear what Dickon had to say.
‘You are going to be amazed,’ he said, ‘but I am not entirely surprised. I always thought it had worked out a little too neatly to be genuine.’
‘Dickon,’ I cried, ‘you are keeping us in suspense to shock and surprise us and show us what a clever creature you are. Please tell us.’
‘Let us start at the beginning. In the first place the Duc de Soissonson has no cousin whose boys require a tutor.’
‘That’s impossible!’ cried my father. ‘He was here himself and told us so.’
Dickon smiled slyly. ‘I repeat, he has no relations whose boys require a tutor.’
‘Are you suggesting that the man who came here calling himself the Duc de Soissonson was not the Duc at all?’ I asked.
‘Absurd!’ cried my father. ‘I know him well.’
‘Not well enough,’ retorted Dickon. ‘It was indeed the mighty Duc who came here, but there are certain aspects of his character which have escaped your notice. He is a crony of the Duc d’Orléans.’
‘What of that?’
‘My dear Comte, have you never heard what goes on at the Palais Royal? The Queen’s chief enemy is Orléans. Who knows what his motives are! Does he want to topple the monarchy and set himself up as ruler? If he did he would be the leader of the people—my Lord Equality. There is much intrigue at the Palais Royal. These men are the traitors to their own class and are more to be feared—or as much as—the mob.’
‘Tell us what you are suggesting,’ said my father. ‘The Duc recommended Blanchard to us because … ’
‘Because,’ finished Dickon, ‘he wanted one of his men in your castle.’
‘A spy!’ I cried. ‘Léon Blanchard … a spy!’
‘Difficult as it is to believe of such a paragon … yes.’
‘But why here? We are remote from all this trouble.’
‘Armand was not. He had his little Band, didn’t he? Mind you, I don’t think Orléans or Soissonson could be very alarmed about that. But they are acting with caution and they could not allow such meetings to go unnoticed.’
‘This is a monstrous suggestion,’ said my father. ‘What proof have you?’
‘Only that Blanchard’s story was false. He was not a part-time tutor. When he was not here he was carrying on the work his fellow conspirators had designed for him.’
‘But he was an excellent tutor.’
‘Of course he was. He is a clever man … cleverer perhaps than Soissonson and Orléans himself. But he was not a Duc, was he? Therefore he takes orders until the time comes when he will be one of those to give them himself.’
‘He has promised to come back.’
‘We shall see if he does,’ said Dickon. ‘My bet is that he will never return to this château.’
‘And my son Armand … ’ said the Comte.
‘It seems most likely that he was murdered.’
‘No!’
‘Monsieur le Comte, we are living in dangerous times. What seems like melodrama in one age is commonplace in another. Blanchard knew there was to be a meeting that day.’
‘Blanchard spent the whole day in the château. He could not have been involved in murder.’
‘Not in the act of carrying it out, but he could have given the information as to where Armand would be. My theory is that your son was set upon and killed, and his murderers made it appear an accident and that he had been drowned in the river and carried away by it.’
‘It is a fantastic story.’
‘Fantastic things are happening in this country now.’
‘I really cannot believe it,’ said my father.
‘Then,’ retorted Dickon, ‘you must disbelieve.’
‘If Blanchard comes back he will be able to refute this story.’
‘But he has not come back, has he?’
‘It might be that his mother is still very ill and he must stay with her.’