第22章 The Shadow of the Past

The past has a way of resurfacing, no matter how diligently one attempts to bury it. Leo learned this lesson in the spring of 1821, when a letter arrived at Ashworth Manor bearing a foreign postmark and written in a hand he did not recognise. The letter was brief and cryptic: it spoke of a debt that had never been repaid, of a promise that had never been kept, and of a woman named Marie who had secrets she had taken to her grave. Leo showed the letter to his wife, Catherine, who read it with a frown. "It appears to be a blackmail attempt," she said. "Someone knows something about your mother, and they intend to profit from it." "Or they intend to expose something," Leo replied. "There is a difference." He dispatched a trusted servant to trace the origin of the letter, and within a week, the sender had been identified: a man named Henri Dupont, a former associate of the Harrington circus who had worked as an impresario in France before returning to England under a cloud of suspicion. Dupont claimed to have known Marie Harrington in her later years, and he alleged that she had entrusted him with documents that proved Leo's claim to the title was fraudulent. Leo travelled to London to meet Dupont in person, accompanied by Catherine and a bodyguard whom he had hired for the purpose. Dupont received them in a modest parlour in Bloomsbury, a room that smelled of pipe tobacco and old paper. He was a slight man with sharp features and wary eyes, and he spoke with the accent of someone who had spent many years abroad. "Mademoiselle Harrington was a friend," Dupont said. "A good friend, in her way. She helped me when I was in difficulty, and I helped her in return. But she had secrets, Monsieur le Comte. Secrets that she did not share with me, but that I discovered nonetheless." "What secrets?" Leo asked, keeping his voice level. Dupont smiled thinly. "That depends on whether you wish to pay for the information. I am not a man who gives away valuable knowledge for free." Leo exchanged a glance with Catherine, who had been watching the exchange with a mixture of curiosity and anxiety. "What do you want?" she asked. "Diamonds," Dupont replied. "Or their equivalent in cash. Five thousand pounds, payable in installments, in exchange for the documents I possess. If you refuse, I shall release them to the appropriate authorities. The Times, perhaps, or the Lords of Chancery. Either would be entertaining." Leo stood and walked to the door. "I shall consider your offer," he said. "But I caution you: blackmail is a serious offence, and I have resources that you may not fully appreciate." Dupont's smile did not waver. "I appreciate that, Monsieur le Comte. That is precisely why I have come to you directly, rather than going to the press. I believe we can reach an arrangement that is satisfactory to both parties." Leo left the parlour with Catherine at his side, his mind racing. He did not know what documents Dupont claimed to possess, and he was determined to find out. That evening, he wrote to Thomas, who had retired to a country estate in Kent but who remained his closest advisor. "I need you to investigate this man," he wrote. "Find out everything you can about his past, his connections, and the documents he claims to hold. And above all, determine whether any of them are genuine." Thomas's investigation yielded results faster than either Leo or Catherine had expected. Within two weeks, he had assembled a comprehensive dossier on Henri Dupont, revealing a man whose record was decidedly checkered. Dupont had been expelled from three different circus companies for dishonesty, had been imprisoned once for fraud, and had a reputation for preying on vulnerable performers who had nowhere else to turn. More importantly, Thomas discovered that Dupont's claim to possess documents proving Leo's illegitimacy was almost certainly a fabrication—a bluff designed to extract money from a man who could ill afford scandal. --- Armed with this information, Leo confronted Dupont a second time, this time accompanied by Thomas and a solicitor from the firm of Graves and Partners. Dupont's confidence visibly diminished when he saw the size of the entourage, and he stammered through a denial of any wrongdoing that rang hollow even to his own ears. "You claim to have documents," Thomas said, placing a copy of his dossier on the table between them. "Show them to us. If they exist, we will examine them. If they do not, we will take legal action against you for extortion." Dupont paled. "I—I do not have them with me. They are in a safe deposit box. In France, actually. I would need time to retrieve them." "Then you have no documents," Leo said quietly. "You had no documents from the beginning. You were bluffing, Monsieur Dupont, and you made a mistake in targeting the wrong man." Dupont said nothing. He gathered his things and left the room with hurried, stumbling steps, and Leo watched him go with a mixture of relief and sadness. It was a small victory, but it was a victory nonetheless—a demonstration that the truth, when defended courageously, could withstand even the most base of attacks. He walked Catherine through the gardens afterwards, and she took his arm. "I am proud of you," she said. "You did not become angry, you did not seek revenge. You simply told the truth and let it stand." Leo smiled. "That is what Thomas taught me," he said. "The truth does not require protection. It requires only to be spoken." The affair with Dupont had taught Leo a valuable lesson about the fragility of reputation. A single letter, a single allegation, could undo years of careful work if it was not met with firmness and clarity. He knew now that he would always be vulnerable to such attacks, and that the best defence was to live a life so transparent, so obviously honourable, that no accusation could stick. He spoke of this with Thomas one afternoon, during one of the barrister's visits to the manor. Thomas, now well into his sixties, had lost none of his sharpness. "You are right," he said. "Reputation is a currency, and it can be spent or saved. But unlike money, it is not measured by what you have, but by what you have done. Your deeds, Leo, have been good. Let them speak for you." Leo nodded. "I try to remember that. But sometimes the whispers are louder than the deeds." "Then speak louder," Thomas said. "Not in anger, not in defence, but in truth. The truth, Leo, is the only thing that cannot be argued with. It does not need to shout. It only needs to be heard." The conversation stayed with Leo long after Thomas had returned to Kent. He thought about it as he reviewed the estate accounts, as he walked the fields with his tenants, as he sat in the House of Lords listening to the debates. And he resolved that he would live his life in such a way that the truth of his character would be unmistakable to anyone who took the trouble to look.