“Rupert!” almost snorted her ladyship. “As well ask help of my parrot! There’s nothing for it, my dear; you will have to tell Avon the whole.”
Léonie shook her head. “No. Monseigneur is to know nothing. I cannot bear it if there is to be more trouble between him and Dominique.”
Fanny sat down limply. “I could shake you, Léonie; I vow I could! Avon will be in town again by the end of the week, and when he finds you and Rupert gone off together he’ll come to me, and what, pray, am I to tell him?”
“Why, that I have indeed gone to Cousin Harriet.”
“And Rupert? A likely tale!”
“I do not think that he will know whether Rupert is in London or not — or care.”
“Take my word for it, child, he will know. And I’m to embroil myself in this affair, if you please! I won’t do it!”
“Fanny, you will! — Dear Fanny?”
“I’m too old for these wild coils. If I do, I shall tell Avon I know nothing about you or Rupert or anyone. And you may inform Vidal from me that the next time he abducts a young female he need not come to me for aid.” She got up, and began to look for the hartshorn. “If you dare to bring Rupert here I shall have an attack of the vapours.” She went out, but a moment later put her head in at the door to say:
“I’ve a mind to come with you. What do you think, my love?”