The Compte Lovell sat in his carriage looking over several business document, as his carriage made the long journey from Paris to his estate near Calais. For the past two weeks he had traveled quite extensively through France, appraising his holdings, settling deals and disputes, and appearing at the request of his royal highness at the court. The journey had been a long and weary one and it was his hope that he could spend a few days rest, before business called him away again. Though it was very unlikely that he would be getting rest, for the moment that he arrived the Comptess would undoubtedly pounce upon him with the issue of his son's need to marry. This was always a source of some problem, the trouble was not in finding a suitable wife, but in turning young Cristof's attention from an unsuitable choice. For it was common enough knowledge that Cristof's heart was set on the young Claudette DeClaireville and the Comptess was livid over the prospect. She hid her feelings from Cristof, but Lovell was well acquainted with them.
The lady in question would have been an excellent choice, had not her family fell into disrepute many years ago. In fact, prior to their fall from grace Lovell had spoken to Ambassador DeClaireville about a potential, future union between the two offspring. Even now he had a fondness for the young woman who blossomed into a remarkably beautiful creature, who grew up to be far more independent and resourceful than she would have, had not the twist of fate occurred. Had he been blessed with a daughter he would have wished that she be like little Claudette.
As he looked at his ledger, he noted the considerable sum that the Comptess was paying out to commission new paintings from an Italian artist by the name of Arturo Mazzarini. Well, he would have to pay a visit to M. Mazzarini and see that the work was well underway and since Calais was a short way from his estate and Mazzarini was taking residence there, he felt that today would be an excellent day to pay the artist a visit. He called to the driver to head to Calais.
Compte Gustav Lovell's carriage arrived in Calais without much notice, the Compte himself didn't even notice the unnaturally vacant streets for he was far too busy scrutinizing documents to pay heed to anything at all. The first sign that something was amiss came with a loud cheer and the abrupt halt of the coach. Lovell peered out of the window and saw a large crowd surrounding the carriage which prevented it's progress. The crowd screamed and applauded in a frenzy of delight. The compte frowned, opened the carriage door, and stepped from the vehicle. At some distance she saw that a thin pale man was being flogged and that two others near the pillory were being pelted. As he watched someone within that volatile crowd threw a stone that struck the forehead of a woman in the pillory, at which point Lovell felt compelled to investigate the matter.
He motioned the coachman to stay and proceeded himself through the crowd on foot. Lovell's presence was felt almost immediately. Once a few onlookers caught sight of the compte new of his approach swept the crowd like a wind over a field of grass. Lovell was easily the most well recognized and well respected man in Calais, after all the majority of local business depended on his patronage or financing. The crowd parted before him as he walked towards the pillory where the helpless prisoners were bound. Before he had even arrived at his destination, the crowd had fell silent, save for few sparse whispers.
The beating had stopped at his approach. He instantly recognized the two pale bloody men as the tailor, Planchette, and his clerk. He puzzled over the identity of the woman in the mechanism itself until his eyes fell on an all too familiar pile of golden hair lying at it's base. Claudette. Though she lacked the fortune, this was no way for a woman of noble blood to be treated!
"What is the meaning of this?" he asked in a low voice that was only so well heard because of the oppressing silence. "Who is responsible here?"
Antoine stepped forward, his knees shaking. This new noble had come and had commanded respect and silence with his mere approach. "Who is he?" he asked one nearby soldier. "The Compte, he owns most of the town" the soldier answered and watched Antoine turn a shade of green. Captain Plourde got the feeling that he was in trouble and that his generalship was in jeopardy. He bowed and said "These people were found with evidence that they had contributed in the kidnapping of two young ladies. This...procedure was done under direct orders from Lord Blakeney over there, the guardian of one of the ladies, Lady Emilie who is standing next to him, M. Le Comte." he said, hanging his head.
Hastings felt a cold hand grasp his and looked down to see that it belonged to Emilie, as she gazed on the horrifying scene she drew even nearer to him and he put his arm around her shoulders to support her. "This isn't helping, Lady Emilie! It's terrifying her!" Hastings said. He suddenly realized that the crowd fell silent and turned to see a tall, thin, well-dressed man approach the pillory. "Who is that?"
Emilie didn't answer but allowed Tim to hold her. It was terrifying to watch this blood and gore but she wasn't sure that the people didn't deserve it. If they were, then they should suffer just like Michelle and she suffered. She just didn't like having to see it. She could not believe Andre would hurt her like that. She would believe that of Laurel and she didn't know the other two but Andre? She just didn't know what to believe. She knew Lord Blakeney was doing this for her, it proved he cared for her but she hated seeing him going into rages like that. At least Tim was here, he was her rock, her island. She looked at the tall man who had stopped the whole cursed debacle in it's tracks. "He resembles Chris a great deal" she finally whispered.
Lovell looked down at the officer, then looked at the prisoners. "Are you suggesting that these men and a girl attacked two women? What manner of proof are you convicting them on, M...?" Lovell paused. "I assume you are the officer in charge, and you are?"
Antoine swallowed hard. "An anonymous denunciation came to my platoon. We searched the shop and found inside the delivery's boy clothes, locks of hair belonging to the two girls, hat and gloves, bloody clothes and jewelry belonging to both girls. They refused to reveal his hiding place. My name...my name is Plourde...Captain Plourde" he said.
Hastings looked more closely at the figure that had inspired such awe in the crowd, he did in fact bear a resemblance to the annoying little froggy that he had met the day before. Whoever he was, he had stopped that travesty of justice.
"Where in the shop did you find these items?" Lovell asked.
Lovell acknowledged his son, though was most disturbed that the boy was presence. The comptess wouldn't approve and Cristof was obviously pained by the event. "The barn? As I recall the barn is accessed by many of the establishments on that street, as for the clothes... is it not possible that the villain took those, just as he took the objects from the women? And should the boy be guilt, is it not more logical to place your efforts in search for him as opposed to torture innocent people. If your denunciation was anonymous then who is to say that is was not the villain himself who made it? Why hide one's identity if one has nothing to hide? The tailor has worked in this town for nearly a decade without a stain on his reputation and the girl is the daughter of the Marquis and Marquise DeClaireville, I've know the family for over thirty years. I would be willing to vouch for them," the compte said, never raising his voice for a moment.
From his vantage point, Blakeney scowled at the man who halted the punishment of the prisoners. He took Emilie's arm in his and marched to Plourdes. "Why have you stopped, Plourdes?"
Lovell turned to address Blakeney, "I have asked that he stop. I gather that the evidence is inconclusive at best. The tailor and his assistant in all likelihood had nothing to do with the attacks. I beg your pardon, dear lady, but honor is not bought with innocent blood. I suggest that efforts should be focused on finding the culprit."
Blakeney's anger increased, "The Lady was attacked and they aided her attacker. That girl distracted my son, while her accomplice attacked my sister in law. It is my right to punish those you wronged her!"
"These people have been punished," Lovell firmly. "If indeed they had a hand in this plot, I can vouch for their characters. If the deliver boy did indeed have a hand in it, I will wager they are unaware of it. As for the girl, she would not behave in such a manner."
"I know for a fact that she was picnicking with my son while my sister in law was being attacked!" Blakeney said.
"Did you ask her about the situation?" Lovell responded, maintaining his cold facade while Blakeney fumed.
Laurel heard the noise of the crowd die down and the compte Lovell's voice question the soldiers, a moment later the vicompte's voice rose up and moment later her felt someone wiping the garbage off her face and saying, "Don't worry, dear Laurel. It will be all right, you have my word. I'll face the gallows if I must, but I will free you. I swear to you, I am at your service now and forever. That monster of a lord will never hurt you again, Father will make sure of it" She shivered slightly, it was Cristof! Cristof, the man, who possibly was responsible for the attacks in the first place. But she couldn't reveal these suspicions, for Planchette and Henri's sake, if she did the compte would allow the punishment to go on. Biting back the sickness she felt for saying it, she said, "Thank you, messieur."
Emilie had said nothing when Lord Blakeney took her arm and marched off and said nothing through the angry exchange, but she suddenly spoke up. "M. Le Compte, I owe your son my very life, he was the one who found me when I was left to die in the forest. He carried me to his house, he took care of me as if I was his kin, if you ask this from my family, I can only beg my lord to allow this to repay in small part the gratitude I owe your son. Please, for my honor they have suffered and now let them free for my honor" Emilie said, her head bowed respectfully.
Chris could feel the pain in her voice and knelt down next to her. "Laurel, it is I, Cristof, I am your friend. Don't worry, it's all right. No one is going to hurt you. Father is dealing with Blakeney, he's ordering you free, just a few short moments. My god, what did that monster have done to you? Well, I won't rest till I can bring back a smile to your sweet face" he whispered and continued cleaning her face.
My lord Hastings hurried down to Emilie's side, he was opposed to Lord Blakeney's torture, but he couldn't let that Frenchie have another opportunity to hurt her. He stood behind her ready to strike down the arrogant little vicompte should the need arise, even though Cristof seemed preoccupied with poor Laurel. "M. Le Compte, I owe your son my very life," he heard Emilie say. "He was the one who found me when I was left to die in the forest. He carried me to his house, he took care of me as if I was his kin, if you ask this from my family, I can only beg my lord to allow this to repay in small part the gratitude I owe your son. Please, for my honor they have suffered and now let them free for my honor." Hastings puzzled as to whether Emilie still had feelings for Cristof, but decided to have faith in her. She was standing up to Blakeney and saving the three innocent people, and he couldn't be prouder of her.
Blakeney stopped short and stared at Emilie, how like Percy she was behaving! Embarrassing her family, embarrassing him when he was trying to defend her! Did he hate him so much that she would humiliate him so in public, but to refuse her would act against his purpose of defending her honor. "Release them, Plourdes," Blakeney said, scowling. "As this town is not safe for noble ladies, I will be escorting Lady Emilie home. I demand to know the moment that vile Andre is captured!" he told Plourdes, then gave a curt nod to Lovell and escorted Emilie to their carriage.
Lovell watched Blakeney leave, then turned to Plourdes. "Get them out of there now and disperse this crowd," Lovell commanded, his voices never once raising a note. He walked forward and set a hand upon his son's shoulder, "Go home straight away, Cristof. Inform the Comptess that I shall be home straight away, after I've finished with the present matter." Two soldiers set about cutting Planchette free and Plourdes, himself, opened the pillory and caught the weary Laurel as she fell into his arms. "Have them placed into my carriage and their possessions as well." As the crowd cleared, Lovell's coach had drawn close and the soldiers lifted the three battered souls into Lovell's carriage. "Please keep me informed as to the progress of this case, M. Plourdes. We do not want a repeat of this afternoon, it looks poorly on this town." Lovell turned on his heels, returned to his carriage, and ordered the driver to Planchette's Shoppe. Within a few minutes the carriage arrived before the tailor's shop, the coachman helped Planchette and Henri into the building, followed by Lovell with Laurel.
Inside the shop, Planchette, Laurel, and Henri were set down and the coach was sent to fetch water to clean up with. "Do you have any idea where this Andre is, Planchette?" Lovell asked, glancing about the room.
"He hasn't been around for the last two days, ever since his lordship gave him a beating, M. le Compte," Planchette responded weakly.
"'A beating'?" Lovell asked. "Possibly grounds for revenge, messieur?"
"Andre, would never harm a living soul!" Planchette said.
"Then I recommend that he make himself scarce," Lovell replied. "Else the English milor have done with him." A moment later the coachman returned with water and some balsam, Lovell tended to Laurel's injuries himself. "If you have a cloak, M. Planchette, I would see Mlle. DeClaireville safely home. I am certain, Mdm DeClaireville will be most eager to have her daughter returned." A cloak was fetched and Laurel was bundled up and lead away. Once inside the carriage Lovell dropped his formal manner slightly, "The English milor does have a considerable rage against your person, I would greatly recommend that you stay away from him and his kin."
Laurel stared blankly before, despite the Lovell's questions and suggestions. There was pain, but even more oppressive and overwhelming was a cold numbness of body and mind. Despite the warmth of the cloak around her, the chill ran through her taking hold of her. The first thing she had seen after Cristof cleared her vision was Planchette's and Henri's limp, blood, helpless forms lying below her, that image continue to return to her especially when she closed her eyes. Attempts to bring up others memories only produced an interrogation from an irate lord, a girl sitting, watching from the shadow, and that same lord dictating over that singular nightmare experience.
Why had this happened? They had only acted to aid that family and this was the result. Laurel felt a scream burning in her chest, but she was helpless to vent it. The world she had known for the last decade had crumbled beneath her, if she had the ability to scream what good would it do? She had want to stay with Planchette and Henri, but she had no capability to state as much. Besides, she had neglected her mother... and home was far from that nightmare...
Lovell frowned slightly, evidently the ordeal had scarred the poor girl, but was the damage permanent? Would that beautiful, vivacious young woman ever return? This broken child bore no resemblance to her, the joy was gone. Lovell's usually proper and ridge manner dissolved. "You must not let this destroy you, Claudette," he told her. "The memories will not completely go away, but the pain they inflict will decrease. Your mother and Planchette will need you to be strong. There are dark times ahead of you, but do not lose your focus on the light that waits beyond them."
The carriage arrived at Laurel's home, where Lovell escourted her inside to her pale-faced mother. The compte told Mdm DeClaireville all that he knew and assured the woman that he would watch out for her daughter. With that he left, he knew that Cristof and his wife would be most anxious to speak to him.
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Mazzarini had watched the proceedings with disgust and horror, the rumours were that Planchette and his assistants had aided in the attack on two women which was ridiculous! But there was nothing he could do or say to stop the proceedings. Although, he did see the man who had thrown the rock and would later plan a talk with him, after all it was a small town but things did chance to happen.
Much to his relief the compte put an end to the disgusting display and bore the poor souls away. As the crowd began to disperse and the soldiers were cleaning up the scene of that violent spectacle, Mazzarini ventured to come forward and gave one of their number an handsome sum in exchange for the pile of reddish gold tresses that were normally to be fated for the rubbish heap. Such beauty was not to be wasted, and Mazzarini had a plan for them.
