I looked at him quickly and he went on: ‘For the boy, of course. That would be how the Comte’s mind would work. After all, there are only you and that pathetic Sophie now. She was not considered for a moment.’
I looked at him coldly. ‘At such a time you concern yourself with such matters … ’
‘They are there, Lottie. You cannot ignore what is there.’
I wasn’t listening to him. I was thinking of Armand, going down to the river … a group of armed men springing out on him. But perhaps there was only one.
I felt sick and frightened.
I said: ‘I want to go in.’
‘Think about what I have said, Lottie. Marry me. I’ll take care of you.’
‘And the estate,’ I said, ‘and Charlot’s inheritance … ’
‘I’d take care of everything. You need me, Lottie, as much as I need you.’
‘I don’t feel that need,’ I said. ‘Good night, Dickon.’
He left the castle the next day. He was clearly very displeased with his reception.
Lisette wanted to know what had happened and as she knew something important had, I told her.
‘Blanchard!’ she said. ‘Yes, when you come to think of it, he was too good to be true. He was quite handsome, wasn’t he, in a manly way. Yet he never seemed to look at anyone except Sophie. He never made the slightest attempt to be flirtatious with you, did he, Lottie?’
‘Of course not.’
‘With no one but Sophie. That was a very gallant sort of relationship, wasn’t it? It could have been because he was sorry for her. But what was I saying … handsome and courtly. His manners were of the very best … and such a good tutor, recommended by a noble Duc. It was all so very satisfactory. Tell me what Dickon discovered.’
I told her what I knew of the Duc d’Orléans and the Palais Royal, and Soissonson’s connections with them.
‘Dickon tells a good story. When you come to think about it, as good a one could be made up about him.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, let’s allow our imaginations to run loose, shall we? Dickon wants you … very much he wants you but he would like you even better if you brought something substantial with you. I suppose the Comte’s wealth is vast. Armand would naturally inherit the bulk … but if Armand were no longer there … well, it is likely that Sophie’s being hors de combat, so to say, all that wealth might descend to you.’
‘Stop it,’ I cried. ‘It’s … horrible.’
‘You know what’s coming. If Armand were out of the way, you see … ’
I could not shut out the vivid pictures which came into my mind. Armand going to the river … someone waiting there for him … leaving the horse tethered … dropping the hat by the river … burying the body. Dickon had been out all that day, while Léon Blanchard had spent the morning with the boys in the wood and the afternoon they had sorted out their specimens. Dickon had been out, I remembered. He had come back late.
‘This is nonsense,’ I said.
‘Of course it is. The whole thing is nonsense. You will see Léon Blanchard returning soon and all this suggestion about the Duc de Soissonson will be explained.’
‘There is one thing which cannot be explained,’ I said, ‘and that is Armand’s disappearance … perhaps death.’
‘Yes.’ Lisette looked straight ahead. ‘It may be that one of our theories is right after all.’
Soon after Dickon’s departure the messenger who had come before to see Léon Blanchard arrived at the castle. He did ask to see my father but as he was out at the time left a letter for him.
When my father returned he sent for me and I went to his sitting-room where I found him anxiously awaiting me.
‘Come and look at this,’ he said and gave me the letter which the messenger had brought.
It was from Léon Blanchard and explained that he could not come back to us. He had found his mother very ill indeed when he returned and although she had recovered she was still in a weak condition. He had decided that he could not be so far from her and was most regretfully telling us that he was giving up his posts and was taking something near his mother’s house so that he could live with her and care for her. He thanked us for the happy time he had had in the castle.
He had sent separate notes to the boys telling them that they must work harder, that Louis-Charles must look to his grammar and Charlot to his mathematics. He would be thinking of them and the happy relationship they had enjoyed when he was under the Comte’s roof.
There could not have been more sincerely written letters.
‘And we are to believe that this man was a spy sent to us by Soissonson!’ said my father.
‘Reading those letters it does seem improbable,’ I agreed.
‘Well now,’ went on my father, ‘we have to look for a new tutor. I promise I shall keep Soissonson out of this!’ he added with a laugh.
I wondered what Dickon would have said if he could have seen those letters.
I was sure he would have insisted that they proved his case.
The whole household was talking about Léon Blanchard who was not coming back. The boys were clearly upset and Charlot said they would hate the new tutor. I explained that it was unfair to hate someone before you had seen him.
‘His trouble will be that he is not Léon,’ said Charlot.
The servants talked continually of what a delightful man he had been. ‘Always the gentleman,’ they said.
He certainly had the power to charm.
Lisette told me that Jeanne had said Sophie was taking Léon’s departure very badly.
‘I think that is the really tragic part of it all,’ I said. ‘I wonder if it would have come to anything if he had stayed.’
‘If he had intended it should, surely he would have done something about it.’
‘I am not sure,’ I pondered. ‘Class distinction comes very strongly into it and I imagine a man like Léon Blanchard would be very much aware of that. Perhaps he was just being chivalrous to Sophie and she, poor girl, longing to escape from what her life is here, imagined something which was not there.’
‘Poor Sophie,’ said Lisette. ‘His going is a tragedy for her.’
That night I was awakened by some dream to find myself in a state of terror. I could not understand what was happening. Then I was suddenly aware that I was not alone.
For those first waking seconds I was transported back in time to the days before my wedding to Charles when I had been awakened in just such a way to see Sophie at the foot of my bed in my wedding veil.
I cried: ‘Who is that?’
Then she came out of the shadows. She stood by my bed. She had taken off her hood and her face looked grotesque in the moonlight.
‘Sophie!’ I whispered.
‘Why do you hate me?’ she asked.
‘Hate you! But Sophie … ’
‘If you don’t, why do you try to hurt me? Haven’t I been hurt enough to please you?’
‘What do you mean, Sophie?’ I replied. ‘I would do anything I could for you. If it were in my power … ’
She laughed. ‘Who are you? The bastard. You have come here and won my father from us all.’
I wanted to protest. I wanted to cry: He was never yours so how could I take him from you?
She stood there at the end of my bed as she had done on that other night. She said: ‘You took Charles from me.’
‘No! You gave him up. You wouldn’t marry him.’
She touched her face. ‘You were there when this happened. You went off with him and left me.’
‘Oh, Sophie,’ I protested. ‘It was not like that.’
‘It is long ago,’ she said. ‘And then you told my father, did you not, that Léon wanted to marry me … and you persuaded him that it would not be right because he was only a tutor and I was a Comte’s daughter. I heard you talking to him about me at the moat.’