‘Ah, an Englishman!’ cried the landlord, struggling with his lordship’s tight-fitting coat.
‘An English milor’,’ nodded Léonie. ‘I am his page.’
‘Tiens! One would know it was a great gentleman. Ah, the fine coat so spoiled! The shirt we must tear.’ He proceeded to do so, and turning my lord to his side, laid bare the wound. ‘It needs a surgeon, bien sûr. Hector shall ride to Le Havre. These highwaymen!’
Léonie was busy staunching the blood.
‘Yes, a surgeon!’ she started. ‘Ah, but Le Havre! He will be – they will pursue us there!’ She turned to the landlord. ‘Hector must know naught of us if he is questioned!’
The landlord was bewildered.
‘No, no, they would not dare! The highwaymen keep to the open country, my child.’
‘It – they were not – highwaymen,’ Léonie confessed, blushing. ‘And I am not really Lord Rupert’s page.’
‘Hein? What is this?’ demanded the landlord.
‘I – I am a girl,’ said Léonie. ‘I am the ward of the English Duc of Avon, and – and Lord Rupert is his brother!’
The landlord stared from one to the other, and a mighty frown came.
‘Ah, I see well! It is an elopement! Now I will tell you, mademoiselle, that I do not –’
‘But no!’ Léonie said. ‘It is that the – the man who pursues us stole me from the house of Monseigneur le Duc, and he drugged me, and brought me to France, and I think he would have killed me. But Milor’ Rupert came swiftly, and our coach lost a wheel, and I slipped out, and ran and ran and ran! Then milor’ came, and the man who stole me fired at him, and – and that is all!’
The landlord was incredulous.
‘Voyons, what tale is this you tell me?’
‘It is quite true,’ sighed Léonie, ‘and when Monseigneur comes you will see that it is as I say. Oh please, you must help us!’
The landlord was not proof against those big, beseeching eyes.
‘Well, well!’ he said. ‘You are safe here, and Hector is discreet.’
‘And you won’t let – that man – take us?’
The landlord blew out his cheeks.
‘I am master here,’ he said. ‘And I say that you are safe. Hector shall ride to Le Havre for a surgeon, but as for this talk of Ducs!’ He shook his head indulgently, and sent a wide-eyed serving maid to fetch Madame and some linen.
Madame came swiftly, a woman as large about as her husband, but comely withal. Madame cast one glance at Lord Rupert, and issued sharp orders, and began to rend linen. Madame would listen to nobody until she had tightly bound my Lord Rupert.
‘Hé, le beau! ’ she said. ‘What wickedness! That goes better now.’ She laid a plump finger to her lips, and stood billowing, her other hand on her hip. ‘He must be undressed,’ she decided. ‘Jean, you will find a nightshirt.’
‘Marthe,’ interposed her husband. ‘This boy is a lady!’
‘Quel horreur! ’ remarked Madame placidly. ‘Yes, it is best that we undress him, le pauvre !’ She turned, and drove the peeping maid out, and Léonie with her, and shut the door on them.
Léonie wandered down the stairs and went out into the yard. Hector was already gone on his way to Le Havre; there was no one in sight, so Léonie sank wearily on a bench hard by the kitchen window, and burst into tears.
‘Ah, bah!’ she apostrophised herself fiercely. ‘Bête! Imbécile! Lâche!’
But the tears continued to flow. It was a damp, drooping little figure that met Madame’s eye when she came sailing out into the yard.
Madame, having heard the strange story from her husband, was properly shocked and wrathful. She stood with arms akimbo, and began severely:
‘This is a great wickedness, mademoiselle! I would have you know that we –’ She broke off, and went forward. ‘But no, but no, ma petite ! There is nothing to cry about. Tais-toi, mon chou! All will go well, trust Maman Marthe!’ She enfolded Léonie in a large embrace, and in a few minutes a husky voice said, muffled: