After watching Cristof leaving, Laurel re-entered the house and collected her things, kissed her sleeping mother's forehead, and a set off at a run to Calais. The events of that morning and the pervious day replayed themselves through her mind. First the peculiar encounter with the strange young Englishman and his aunt, she knew there had to be something terribly wrong about that household and worried for their safety. Then there was the abduction, which caused her considerable pause. She had wandering over the entirety of the providence on many occasion and rarely saw anyone except for those who worked for the Lovell family. And she and Percy had search long into the night and she the next morning with no sign. Then there was M. Cristof Lovell himself who found her, while walking, which was a habit that she never recalled him mentioning and he had told her a lot about himself, more than even she wanted to know. She found his present in the events somewhat peculiar and ominous. It was true that often he tried to impress in his long standing efforts to woo her, still his actions were most peculiar in these circumstances.
She arrived at M. Planchette's shop quite winded and the look on Henri's face indicated that Planchette was probably upset over her tardiness. "How bad is it, Henri?" she asked, looking up the stairway at the door behind which stood Planchette.
"Have a look for yourself, chere," Henri told her. "There's no one with him at the moment and he's been asking for you all morning."
Laurel climbed the stairs quickly, there was no use postponing the invitable. Andre wouldn't. She opened the door and enter as if nothing was different from any other morning. "Good morning, my darling Planchette!" she said as sweetly as she could.
Planchette had been pacing up and down the room all morning, ever since one of the Lovell's maids had come into town with the story of a girl who had been attacked and beaten unrecognizable by some thug near Laurel's home. And when Laurel hadn't shown up on time, Planchette feared the worst. He was on the point of riding out there himself to check on her when she came waltzing through the door as pretty as you please, as if nothing had happened.
He grabbed her and embraced her, "Laurel! Where the devil happened you been? You had us worried sick, what with all the stories going round about some girl who was attacked on Lovell property. Well? What have you to say for yourself?"
Laurel cast her eyes down, "I'm sorry I lost track of the time. A lots happens since yesterday..." She sat down beside Planchette and related to him all of the events that she had seen, heard, and been told since her first meeting with Sir Percy, she told him how she was to blame, and the suspicions about Cristof and the peculiar manner in which Percy bid her farewell. Everything up to the moment she arrived. She was holding his hands by the end and noticeably shaking. "What do you think, my dearest Planchette? What should I do?"
Planchette patted her hand and replied, "That is a most perplexing tale indeed. And I'm really at a loss to advise you. It is difficult when dealing with the aristocracy, their moods are continually shifting. If you are determined perhaps Andre can glean some information for you by going up there. As for the vicompte, I pray you keep your distance. He is dangerous and I am not entirely convinced by his story." Then as if struck by a thought he said, "I may have a way of restoring some crumb of piece in that household, my dear!"
Laurel looked up into Planchette's eyes, a twinkle of her usual excited personality. "Really? Oh please do tell, don't keep me in such suspense! What idea do you have?"
"Well. it all depends on your young friend," Planchette smiled. "You say he was originally in trouble for wandering off. Well, what if he were to wander off for a noble reason, oh say to purchase a gift for his ailing mother? Perhaps if milor Blakeney would lighten up... Perhaps some embroidered handkerchiefs? Which our dear Andre could deliver."
Laurel laughed and threw her arms around his neck, "You are kindness itself, M. Plachette!" Then she paused and some of the enthusiasm faded. "But I'm certain milor is very upset about the circumstances with dear little Emilie..."
Planchette patted her hand again, "There is only so much that we can do, mon chere! Beyond that we must hope and pray. But, til then we'll make up the gifts, and hope that they serve us well," Planchette placing an arm around her shoulders and she lay her head on his shoulder. "We'll start immediately and Andre can deliver, the little scamp!" At this Laurel giggled. "And I'm taking you home myself tonight, I'll be worried sick if I don't."
"Of course!" Laurel said and hugged him. Planchette had been like a father to her as long as she had known him. He had been kind enough to employ her mother for a generous wage which was uncommon. And when her mother was too sick to travel so far, he went out of his way to bring the work to her. Even now he employed Laurel for more than what most girls got. She could imagine not having him around.
Planchette and Laurel set themselves to their task and it was late in the evening that a gray stallion bearing M. Planchette and the young Laurel tread it's way long the long road home. They sang jaunty French ditties to pass the time and when presently Planchette deposited Laurel at her doorstep he made her promise to come to work straight away the next morning. Laurel sat up for awhile with her mother and had a night supper, then settled down to a restless sleep clouded by a dark mystery that seemed to settled at her door.
