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Henri Potère, Saviour of New France by Anne-Marie
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Henri Potère, Saviour of New France

Anne-Marie

Chapter Fifteen: Le Maison de Malfoy (The House of Malfoy)

Hermioniah was holding the very young Jean-Michel Véslée against her chest and rocking him to sleep. Pénélope had insisted they all visit, now she was up and about again. They had been searching the Nigelle house for the locket Regnier had apparently taken from its cave, but with no luck yet, and a rest was welcome. A short rest, Henri had insisted. They couldn't lose sight of their goal now. Not with so much at stake.

Pénélope appeared to be very busy, bustling in and out of the kitchen as they talked. She had dismissed the maid who'd accused Hermioniah, and had yet to find a replacement. Not that this would be difficult to do. Percivale had done very well for himself as the confidante of two successive governors. The house was very comfortably furnished, and Pénélope's gown of the finest quality.

"It's a pity you couldn't have gone with the Governor's expedition against the Iroquois," remarked Pénélope. "They say, Henri, that you know more of Le Sieur Sans Un Nom than any other man."

Henri shrugged. He was not about to confide in Percivale's wife.

Hermioniah frowned. "I do not think, Madame Véslée," she said, with admirable politeness, "that this expedition against my people will harm Vol de Mort. It will only serve to make the Iroquois Confederacy your steadfast enemies."

"But you come from a peaceful tribe, do you not?" asked Pénélope.

"Do you believe that your soldiers will make such a distinction when they come on our villages?" She shook her head. "Vol de Mort wants our peoples to be at war. It distracts us from his doings."

"I am not a politician," said Pénélope hastily.

A thought struck Henri. "You must know everyone in the city," he ventured.

Pénélope smiled. "Not everyone."

"And all the.." he was about to say gossip, but corrected himself in time, "news. Have you heard anything of Narcisse de Malfoy lately? Is she still facing down her enemies, now her husband is in prison and her son is a fugitive?"

Pénélope shook her head. "She still stays to herself, in the Malfoy house. I think she would risk violence were she to show herself publicly. People here are still very angry about the Intendant's death, and it was her son who helped Snape in that murder, after all."

Henri winced, remembering that terrible night. "I've half a mind to call on her," he continued. Hermioniah and Ronald stared at him.

"But she's… she's a Malfoy!" objected Ronald.

"She might try to kill you," agreed Hermioniah.

"No," said Henri. "We've seen enough of our enemies to know that Vol de Mort wants to kill me himself. He would not take kindly to an underling doing so. I shall be safe enough."

"You have to take us with you, Henri," said Ronald earnestly.

"Certainly. You and Hermioniah will have to watch my back. Pénélope, you know where we have gone. If we do not return, alert the authorities, and our friends."

"May God protect you," replied Pénélope soberly.

* * * * *

The Malfoy house had been one of the finest in the young colony. But recent events had brought misfortune upon its inhabitants, and it was now in a shocking state of neglect. Several of the windows were smashed, perhaps by rioters after M. Dumbledore had been murdered.

"Perhaps she was forced to sell her remaining slaves," suggested Ronald, but his suggestion was contradicted immediately, as the door was opened by a young black woman.

"Good morning," said Henri to her. "We've come to see your mistress."

The woman shook her head. "Madame is not seeing visitors."

"We're not ordinary visitors. Tell Madame de Malfoy that Henri Potère wishes to speak with her."

At the mention of his name, the woman gasped, then ran back into the house.

Hermioniah was frowning. "Are there many slaves in New France?" she asked pointedly.

"Some, but surely you are not surprised. Your people are always taking slaves from other tribes and from our colonies!" Ronald answered.

"We take prisoners in war, but those prisoners we keep eventually become a part of our tribe, adopted members of our own families. You keep slaves like you keep cattle."

Ronald coloured. "Not all of us do. My family has never owned a slave. We haven't ever had the money to buy one. And Henri owns a few slaves, you know."

"I inherited them, Hermioniah," said Henri quickly. "Most of them I shall set free as soon as I am of age. And they are respected servants, not cattle. I know too well what it is like to be a slave. I was not much better than a slave to my aunt and uncle."

The Malfoys' slave returned to the door, interrupting their conversation, but Henri noticed that Hermioniah's frown had disappeared, and in its place was that look of pity mingled with admiration that he had learnt to recognize instinctively.

"Madame will see you in the parlour," the woman announced, and ushered them into the house.

"Mon Dieu, what a gloomy place," whispered Ronald, who was bringing up the rear. "To think Le Dragon used to boast of it to us!"

"It was a much brighter house then," answered a low woman's voice from the door to their right. "And it will be so once more, when my husband and son are restored to me. Come in, Monsieur Véslée."

Cautiously, they entered the room, as though they expected an ambush at any moment. However, the room was occupied by only one slight figure in a fine black gown, sitting on a dusty silk divan.

Narcisse de Malfoy looked up from an open book, her pale face and light gold hair giving her the look of a ghost in this half light. "Yes, I have very good hearing," she continued. "Welcome, all of you, especially Monsieur Potère. Are you here only to gloat in my misfortune, or do you believe that I might be open to a bribe?"

"I believe that you are afraid for your son," replied Henri. "If you thought he were safe with Vol de Mort, would you lock yourself in your house like this? You have held up through every crisis imaginable for years, and yet now you are despairing."

Narcisse's mouth twisted into a scornful smile. "Do not tell me that you care for my son's life, Potère. I have too often patched up the wounds you gave him to believe that."

"I do not care for his life. But you do. Perhaps I could be induced to intervene for his life in exchange for something else."

Narcisse said nothing, but her eyes grew suddenly luminous.

"You know that I always have kept my word. If you can give me any information as to the whereabouts of Vol de Mort's soul-pieces, I shall do what I can to save your son's life."

Narcisse said nothing for a moment, then shook her head. "If you have nothing more to say, you may leave this house, Monsieur."

Outside the house, Ronald expressed his disappointment in the results of the visit. "I thought you'd have a better plan than that," he fumed.

"Patience, Ronald. I did not expect her to respond to my proposal immediately. She will think this over, and if she replies more favourably, will do so where she may not be observed by gossiping servants. I think she is as afraid of her sister Madame Lestrange as we are. We must wait and see."

"And while we are waiting? What do you suggest we do?"

"I don't know," Henri admitted.

"We've searched your whole house from top to bottom. The locket can't be there, surely," protested Ronald. "It probably never was there. Vol de Mort probably took it back from Regnier de Nigelle when he had him killed."

"Or it was there and someone has since taken it from the house," said Hermioniah. "Have there been many people in this house over the years?"

"No," said Henri. "The Nigelles were recluses after Regnier died, and only those trusted by Dumbledore were allowed to visit after my godfather took possession of the house."

"None of them were capable of taking the locket from the house?" Hermioniah pressed.

"Certainly not! They were all loyal to the Intendant," protested Ronald, but Henri interrupted him.

"Mon Dieu, It's been right under our noses all this time."

"What has?" snapped Ronald.

"We need to return to the jail and have a conversation with Monsieur Flêcher."

Author's Notes: Most people are unaware that slavery existed in both French and British Canada until the 19th century. There were never as many slaves as in the American colonies, but there were some, and a rich family might own a few, like the Malfoys do in this story.

Next chapter will finally see some progress in the trio's hunt for the locket, and we'll see if Narcisse de Malfoy will reconsider Henri's offer.

And yes, I've been away all summer not writing. I hope to remedy that over the next while with more new chapters.