Back on Track

A birdsong chorus woke Andrew, he started up suddenly, then winced in pain. Ohh! He was stiff from shoulders to ankles.

�Nnnnn; god how I hate sleeping raw!� Beside him, Armand�s eyes had flown open. �I�ll bet you�re not stiff or anything. Oh the resilience of the young!� Andrew watched Armand�s eyes darken at his pointed reference to the difference in their ages. In the last few weeks he�d spent living with Armand he�d discovered that goading Armand in this way was guaranteed to get a rise out of the lad. Andrew, youngest of the Ffoulkes sons, enjoyed being able to turn the tables on someone else for a change. He�d done his best to turn his back on everything that had been disagreeable in his youth. Everything!

Andrew got to his feet slowly, stretching and yawning loudly. Scratching his shoulders, he wandered toward the nearest tree. Scratching his crotch with one hand, he undid his breeches with the other.

�Sooner we get going,� he said to Armand over his shoulder, �the sooner we get something to eat.�

Armand kept his eyes shut for the first few moments he was awake, trying to decide if he was indeed awake or not. Birds singing, water gurgling, it didn't sound like home. The sudden voice of Andrew bursting through his senses stirred Armand into full wakefulness with a surprised jerk, and he finally remembered who and where he was. Slowly he sat up, feeling the groan of protest in his back and shoulders, but said nothing on the matter. "Not terribly," he said, looking away while Andrew did his business, slowly pushing himself up to his feet, brushing lingering dirt and leaves from his clothes. The fire had gone out, only a small pile of ashes remaining, and the sudden cramping of his stomach reminded Armand of the last time he'd eaten. "Alright," he agreed, reaching over to and untying the horse to lead it back up to the cart. He glanced back to his companion as they passed. "How's your arm?"

�Stiff; everything part of my body is stiff.� Andrew responded wryly. He tried holding his arms over his head to stretch his back into shape. �I�m sure lying on my arm has ruined the blood circulation. My hand is numb, fingers tingling . . .� Andrew gave Armand a searching look. �You don�t really want to hear all this � or is it that you need to feel superior for once?�

Andrew had to laugh; the kid had gotten him fair and square. �Here, let me tie the traces. There�s an art to it.� He had to admit that he did owe Armand a debt. He�d stayed at the boy�s house for weeks; Armand had helped him with buttons and buckles that first week while his arm was swollen and his shoulder injured. It wasn�t the lad�s fault that he was sensitive.

�Unless I took a wrong turn in the setting sun, we�re close to Amiens. When we get there, Percy showed me a wonderful inn where we can get real food. I �m talking real chicken, Armand-lad. Not piddly bits of some ancient hen swimming in potato broth, but actual chicken you can pick up and chew off the bones! Up you go! Let's get moving!"

Armand stopped, still holding the horse's reins, to look back at Andrew questioningly only to then shift his gaze down to the ground. "I should think concern for your well-being would be justification enough," he muttered sourly under his breath, handing off the traces at his companion's request and climbing up into the wagon. The description of the food and inn sounded lovely. Thus Armand took up his initial posture: leaning forward eagerly with his chin in his hands, gazing out at the path before the cart. "Amiens," he echoed distantly. Amiens lay on the Somme River, which flowed right into the Channel, so they must have been closer than he thought. It drew a grin of renewed hope from Armand's young features, and he perked up in manner, however little. "Alright, then."

The kid was looking peaked, Andrew thought. He hoped that Armand would be all right. Andrew noted Armand�s ginger hair � soft as a kitten�s fur and the glow of peach fuzz on his chin in the morning light. How much trouble would it cause if he got the kid to England only to see him fall ill? It didn�t help that he was a thin little guy, although Andrew had also learned Armand was tough � the last couple of weeks had taught him that. Andrew took in Armand silhouetted on the seat next to him like a cutout against the blazing red sunrise. �I hope Percy and the others are right behind us. No waiting at Calais so that your belly is clenched with worrying by the time they arrive,� Andrew said in a tone that told how he�d lived through that experience before. �Oh, and you will remind me, if I forget, to order horses for them before we leave any of these posting inns, won�t you Armand?�

A signpost directed them to Amiens, now that he could make out the ancient stone castle on the hill and a signpost was unnecessary. How typically French, Andrew sighed. God, it would be good to be home. It would feel so wonderful to be back among the normal and logical English where the food filled a man�s belly and a glass of ale tasted like home.

Armand kept his gaze focused out in front of them, grin fading to a more serious expression at the mention of Percy, and he nodded. "Toujours," he muttered in agreement, lifting one hand to shield his eyes against the bright light of a rising sun, squinting beyond it into the distance. "Of course," he said, more light-hearted as he dropped his hand and glanced back at Andrew. "If you forget." Armand turned his eyes back out, withdrawing into his thoughts as his gaze caught sight of the Amiens signpost. His mind's path took a somber turn. England was home for the rest of the League, but it may as well have been as far away and foreign as India for all Armand knew. So many times his conscience clashed on whether going to England was a smart move, getting him away from danger and back to Marguerite, or whether it was running away from the problems of his country when he felt he had a duty to stay and help beat them out. Armand visibly shook his head to get away from such things and took up his vigilant watch as before. The sight of the castle upon the hill brought a slight grin to his face and the young Frenchman shifted in his seat, each fall of the horse's hooves seeming to take longer and longer.

�Ahh,� Andrew groaned as he slid off the seat. �How I loathe travelling!� He looked at the cart with contempt. �Percy demanded I drive this wagon to ensure we didn�t arouse suspicion at the city gates. I don�t suppose we�ll need it any longer. I intend to speak to the innkeeper about exchanging it for a mount for you and we�ll make somewhat better time that way . . . not to mention how much less jarring the ride will be.� Andrew was still rubbing his blistered rear as they entered the inn. The large, central room was empty, but the inviting smell of cooking came from the back of the inn. A woman with a hooked nose came barrelling through the door and stopped when she saw the pair of them standing in her common room.

�Oui, messieurs?�

�We�ve been on the road for days, madame,� Andrew explained, �and are in dire need of a room and water to clean ourselves.� The woman sniffed in their direction and nodded. Andrew produced a couple of gold pieces and extended them toward her. �A room, dinner, stabling for a horse, and a bath,� he said.

�And soap,� she added as she pocketed the coins. �Messaline! Take these two . . . gentlemen . . . upstairs. Gaston! Heat some more water!�

Andrew grinned at Armand who fidgeted by his side. �Clothes will be easy after we look like we can afford to pay,� Andrew whispered. �Amiens is a fairly prosperous town.�

<Percy>

Grinning, Percy announced, "Word from the rest of our league states that everything is proceeding smoothly."

Each man chose a horse and walked it out of the church, mounted and rode west toward the gate. The sun was still high and traffic grew lighter as they reached the edge of Paris. A desultory guard perused their papers, glanced into their faces to ensure they matched their descriptions and stopped at du Tournai. Pointedly he looked again. "Forty-six?" he asked. Du Tournai nodded, dry-mouthed. The guard shrugged and let them pass.

They were well beyond the gate when Percy demanded of Tony, "Does he not look forty-six to you?" To du Tournai he demanded, "You are not yet fifty - I'm sure of it!"

They rode at a hard gallop all the way to Amiens, pressing hard through the falling darkness to reach the city before the light disappeared. As they dismounted, Percy said, "Passin� strange, don�t you think, that we didn�t encounter Andrew and Armand on the road? Either they�re driving more quickly than you�d imagine with a wagon, or they�ve taken a different road."

Du Tournai trudged up to the door of the posting inn, walking like a man who�d been too long in the saddle and was unfamiliar with hard riding.

Three hours after MacKensie had joined Bathurst in l�Trois Rates, saw them slight staggering through the dying rays of daylight towards the stable that Hastings had planned to store the carriage and horses. Bathurst held his handkerchief to his bloody nose which in part muffled his laughter as he teeter on unsteady feet. MacKensie held his sides trying to suppress his laughing fit.

�When that other pair showed up I thought they�d string us up for sure. Hastings will kick himself in the arse when he finds out the fun he missed!� MacKensie got out between chuckles. �From now on you should ask women if they are married before having them sit on your lap.�

<Percy>

It was the custom at a posting inn that one must share a bed; Percy was pleased that a room with a good wide bed was available for himself and his two companions. As the three stripped to shirts and breeches, Percy made out Tony muttering something about snoring and sleeping on the floor in the corridor � complaints he�d heard from Dewhurst before � but Tony huddled on the edge of the bed and began adjusting the blanket. Du Tournai hovered expectantly until it became obvious that Tony intended to ignore him and cling to the end position, then the count crawled up the centre to lie down between the two Leaguers. Percy was already asleep, an immovable lump against the wall. Before five minutes had passed his loud snores filled the room.

Percy awoke with the birds at first light yawning loudly and stretching until he knocked du Tournai in the head with a stray elbow. The count sat up dizzily, patting his too tender skull. "Oops, sorry," Percy said. "Now you know why Tony insisted on being as far from me as possible."

Percy left the others to dress slowly, while he made his way downstairs and outside, intent on checking the horses available in the stable. Just beyond the door, in the yard. He walked up and down the aisle, patting muzzles and inspecting manes and tails as if they might tell him something about their owner�s heart and ability to run. When he returned to the inn his nose told him breakfast was nearly ready. Typical of France, the coffee smelled weak, and he wondered what housewives were diluting their ration of coffee beans with.

Hastings had not realized he was drifting off to sleep until he was started alive by voices nearby outside the stable. He thought he�d heard his name, was just about to brush the thought aside when it was repeated. ��devil take Hastings... little blighter moved the place...� Hastings leapt to his feet scowling, that was unmistakably Bathurst and drunk by the sound of it. Sure enough when he popped his head out of the doorway he found MacKensie standing 10 metres away with his back to Hastings and Bathurst staggering north down the street. �If it�s your intention to inform every pickpocket and rogue that they got an excellent opportunity to hold up two English fools then you�re doing admirably,� Hastings said coldly.

Crushed under the weight of Bathurst and MacKensie, Hastings thought his knees would buckle under them, but managed to steer them into the stable and deposit them on a couple of empty barrels before closing the door behind them. Bathurst recounted his adventures since leaving the church, repeatedly commenting on the beauty of young Suzanne du Tournai along with ominous warnings to Hastings to stay away from her. In the meanwhile, MacKensie found a pile of straw upon which he collapsed and fell immediately to sleep, snoring loudly, yet, fortunately, not as loudly as Percy was known to get. When he finished his tale, Bathurst found a place near MacKensie to sleep and was out in an instant. Hastings stay awake the remainder of the night listening for the sound of anyone approaching, certain that someone would come after the noise Bathurst and MacKensie made.

A few meager rays of sunlight were filtering into the stable when Hastings woke Bathurst and MacKensie with a cold bucket of water, they sputtered and glared at the younger man. �Clean yourselves up, we are going to fetch the countess and her daughter. If you are hungry eat the food I�ve set on the basket not in the basket. We must set out within the half hour.�

�We want to be out of Paris as soon as possible, I learned while get that basket this morning that Blakeney�s already made off with the count and so the longer we wait the more likely soldiers will be sent to the du Tournai home to search for him,� Hastings said as he checked the harnesses of the horses. �We�ll go there first thing and bring the carriage round back, Bathurst will enter from the front door and tell the ladies to prepare to depart.� Looking at Bathurst, �Remember to tell them to bring only what is necessary. We want the soldiers at the gate to think of this as no more than a day outing. Passports and papers are inside the carriage. MacKensie, you will stay will the carriage while I meet them at the backdoor and help with anything that they will be bringing with them. From there it�s off to the gates where we claim that we�re going to have a picnic, then we�re off on our merry way.�

Bathurst parted company with Hastings and MacKensie on the street parallel to the front entrance, he straightened his suit, silently cursing Hastings for not allowing him the time for a proper toilet � especially now that he would be meeting the lovely Suzanne again. He watched the carriage rattle away, then made a bee line for the house. He could just picture Suzanne�s eyes sparkling with gratitude when she discovered that he would be her savior. Hastings would find it difficult to steal her away while driving... and MacKensie? MacKensie wouldn�t be a problem... he was not as conniving as Hastings.

Within minutes Bathurst presented himself at the door and demanded to see the ladies of the house, he was shown to the parlor which he paced until the comtess made an appearance. If there was an art to looking dignified and scandalized at once then the elderly lady had mastered its form. The comtess eyed him apprehensively, taking in the slightly rumpled suit which she was bound to had recognized from the previous day.

�You have need to speak with me, my lord Bathurst,� she prompted, looking down her nose at him, which was quite a feat for he was considerably taller than her.

Bathurst handed the comtess a slip of paper with the infamous emblem, which she unfolded, turning pale in recognition. �Your husband was taken out of Paris and out of the hands of those who would do him harm last evening. We have come to take you and your daughter to join him, but we must hurry. You can only bring with you the absolute necessities and we must depart within half an hour. Do you understand?� The woman nodded. �Then go retrieve your daughter... gather your belongings. My colleagues will be waiting with a carriage outside by the delivery entrance.� The comtess nodded and quickly left the room.

Hastings and MacKensie, after having leaving off Bathurst, detoured around to the mews behind the garden. MacKensie disappeared for slightly over a quarter of an hour and reappeared with Bathurst and two women hidden under cloaks. Inside, he assumed, Bathurst and MacKensie would be storing the women�s belongings in the hollows under the seats and were instructing them on what would be expected of them at the gates. Hastings wondered how long it would be before someone noticed they were missing, whether even now some official wasn�t pounding on the door, or if one of the few remaining servants hadn�t scurried off to inform the authorities of their flight.

At the gates Hastings guided the carriage to join the queue forming to leave the city. The soldier on duty demanded his papers, then proceeded to question the passenger inside. He could hear the tones of Bathurst�s voice respond the rough tones of the soldier... a laugh, that would be MacKensie... a few more questions. The soldiers stepped away and conferred with another, Hastings watched them out of the corner of his eye, feeling sweat bead up on his forehead until the soldier returned and waved them on. Relieved, Hastings whipped the horses into motion and out of the gates. He held his breath until the gates began to disappear into the distance, then gave the horses full rein.

<Percy>

Percy met Monsieur Gramont, the proprietor of the posting inn between garden and stable, wheeling a barrow of feed. "You have some fine horses, monsieur. I would like to rent three of them to ride to Calais. Ship them back in three days. Three days from now you send my three forward." M. Gramont nodded, his gaze brushing aside.

"Oh, and the sorrel of mine with white socks, Gingersnap, has one white ear. You have a sister of hers I think, but I expect to see Gingersnap in Calais � vous comprendez?" The man nodded that he did, indeed, understand. His sorrel mare was sway backed and elderly, white socks notwithstanding. "My companions should be ready to depart after dinner," Percy explained. "It must have been apparent that the elderly fellow is unused to riding. Give him time to rest his blisters."

Monsieur Gramont commented that his wife would provide a fine dinner; something with fresh fish, which every Parisian knew was worth top price. Percy absorbed this silently. Gramont was getting his own back in the cost of a dinner after Percy cut short his ideas of switching a sway backed mare with a superb thoroughbred. "So long as it�s served promptly at two, I�m sure it will be worth every sous you ask, monsieur."

Back inside the inn, Percy found Tony entertaining the count in the tap room, dark without benefit of a fire or candles. They�d gathered around a table next to the window where sunlight streaked the battered wooden table and spotlit a pot of orange lilies, the one cheerful spot in the room. As Percy approached the table, Tony slid over on the bench, making room for him. "We�ll depart after dinner," he said, more to du Tournai than Dewhurst. "I trust you�ll be up to riding all the way to Calais. We should reach the coast by nightfall, and the tide will go out toward midnight. I expect we�ll see your lady wife and family at about that time. Depending on whether they arrive before or after the tide washes out tells whether you leave France tonight or tomorrow night."

After he climbed out of the copper hip tub, Andrew motioned to Armand to get in. He eyed the cool, brown water sullenly, then turned to Andrew mutinously. The snapping look in Andrew�s eyes decided him, and Armand pulled off his coat and boots. �Take everything off. The shirt � everything!� Andrew demanded before leaving Armand to his bath. To ensure compliance, Andrew took the coat and breeches with him when he left, marching out of the room dressed in nothing but shirt and boots and looking quite ridiculous with his knobbly, white knees exposed. Andrew listened to Armand�s derogatory laugh as he went down the stairs.

�Madame Gramont, hasn�t that tailor I requested arrived yet? And might I trouble you for a razor?� At the foot of the stairs, Andrew came face to face with � Percy, grinning laconically up at him.

Bathurst watched MacKensie stare nervously out the window of the conveyance as they left Paris, probably thinking of those stories of how some escapees were allowed to venture so far from the city then dragged back, their disguises torn from them as some sort of sick sport. The ladies probably felt the same way, for both sat wide eyed and trembling, scarcely moving to breath. Five, ten minutes elapse without the slightest sound of speeding horses attempting to over take them. Breathing a silent sigh of relief, �Well, Madame, mademoiselle, it looks as though you given that nasty little regime the slip. We will be making a stop in Amiens, it is on to Calais where I am assured that you will be reunited with your kin and be on your way out of the country.� He ventured to look into Suzanne�s sparkling eyes, the beginnings of a smile had formed on her lips.

Armand lifted his head from his hands once the cart had slowed to a stop to watch Andrew slide out of his seat. Feeling no more love for the hard seat than his companion, the young Frenchman was quite willing to hop down as well, nodding in silent agreement as he followed Andrew into the inn, casting only one evil look back at the cart before it was gone from sight. The scent of warm atmosphere and freshly-cooked food instantly stirred up the rumbling in his gut, and placing a hand over his middle as though to cover the sound Armand looked about: content to stay quiet while Andrew did the talking. Throughout the ordeal with the bath he kept up his stubborn silence, sulking and thinking, and how much time passed until he lifted his eyes towards the door of the washroom upon hearing a familiar voice he didn't know. Faint, but undeniably familiar. Grabbing whatever rag had been left him for a wash towel Armand wrapped himself and tip-toed to the door as though fearful he would be caught, pressing one ear against the thick wood and thus finally confirming that it was indeed Percy Andrew was talking to. An excited grin cut the youth's features, and he backed away to dry off.

Armand was still in the washroom, standing at the one window that had been previously latched to peer out at the sky growing dark red and purple with a setting sun. Almost a scarlet color� Sighing with a sort of revered admiration for such beauty, the young Frenchman reluctantly looked away when the sound of footsteps echoing down the empty hallway reached his ears. Perking up like a dog upon hearing its master return home, Armand padded back to the door, pushing it open a mere inch and peering out. Seeing Percy arrive at the top of the stairs, he pushed it open wide with a triumphant grin and stepped out. "Percy!"

<Percy>

�I�m pleased to see you�ve arrived safely,� Percy said, eyeing young Armand up and down. �Lost no limbs in the wilderness. I�m sure you�ll do justice to the dinner that�s nearly ready. Oh, and whenever Ffoulkes is done with the tailor he�s going to see you outfitted as well. Can�t take you home to Lady Blakeney in rags, can I?�

Percy examined the scrawny figure before him. Bones and sinews and little else, but there was a hint of strength in the muscled calves and thickening shoulders. Downy threads on his chin curled around a couple of angry red pimples. Give him a year or two and he�d be the handsomest man at court. Certainly Armand had Marguerite�s expressive eyes � the similarity wrenched Percy firmly in the gut. �Well,� he said, suddenly ill-at-ease, �I won�t keep you dripping on the land-lady�s carpet.�

Percy began to descend the stairs, then stopped and called back over the banister. �We�ll depart after dinner and arrive in Calais just after sunset. Have you ever been on the sea, Armand?�

Armand grinned like a schoolboy, always reduced to that mentality at the slightest bit of attention Percy gave him. A finer man had never lived than his beloved idol: the Scarlet Pimpernel. Armand was sure of it. The rest of France could curse and spit on his name all they wanted. He knew better. "And you," he nodded, glad to simply see Percy period. Though his eyes took in with unhidden surprise Percy's disguise, undecided in which was more awkward to see him in: his clever disguises when on their adventures in France, or the outrageous outfits he wore back home�they lifted back up at the mention of a tailor. Shrugging and with not the least show of self-consciousness, Armand muttered under his breath: "Wouldn't be much different than before�" He feared Percy had heard him for the sudden change in his manner, suddenly seemed on his guard�like when Marguerite was around. Armand drew the breath to apologize for his offense, but hadn't gotten a word out before the mention of the carpet snapped his gaze to the floor and he stepped back, wincing. "Oh�right." He eased back towards the washroom, taking care not to tread too heavily upon the carpet, and glanced back over his shoulder upon reaching the door yet again. "Only on the Channel�does that count?" he answered, then slipped back inside to dress in his former "rags" and hurry downstairs after Percy and Andrew.

The carriage made only a brief stop at an inn on the way to Amiens where the ladies were given a hastily prepared meal and Hastings and MacKensie exchanged the horses with a fresh pair. With an hour they were back on the road and speeding towards Calais, Hastings once more in the drivers seat with the sun beating relentlessly down upon him and Bathurst and MacKensie inside entertaining the ladies. MacKensie had pulled Bathurst aside before them continued their journey to suggest that one of them might take Hastings place in the drivers seat, but Bathurst shot the idea down saying that Hastings was the most skilled driver of the three and the most likely to get them to their destination more the sun set. Besides, it kept the scoundrel away from lovely Suzanne.

It was an hour or so before the sun set when the carriage pulled into Calais, Bathurst leaned out the window and called to Hastings, �Where are we supposed to meet them?�

"It�s a waiting game � as usual," Andrew said. He was sitting grandly on the bed, dressed in a blanket and looking like a sultan. "We won�t hear a word until we meet up with the others in Calais tonight."

The Count du Tournai looked grim. "You should try to have some faith in us," Andrew scolded, "instead of looking like all is lost. They cut your chains, didn�t they?" Andrew�s glanced moved meaningly towards Percy who was drinking coffee from a tray. The impressive array of dishes littering the two tables that had been set up in the room told a tale of its own; the preponderance of these dishes were on the side of the room where Armand and Andrew were seated, while the two before the count looked like they�d been scarcely touched. Did this display hint that the du Tournai marriage, arranged of course, had ripened to genuine attachment? The count feared for the safety of his wife? Or was it the children he was concerned about. The daughter and who . . . a nephew?

<Percy>

"A waiting game, indeed," Percy said. "Rest assured that the three men set to the task of seeing your family out of Paris are my best."

Du Tournai nodded slowly, then picked at another lump of boiled potato. "Robespierre is aware of our league, of course, but he�s unlikely to discover our whereabouts. We change locations continually so we�re nearly impossible to track. We change identities every time, so we are unrecognizable; and we never perform the same trick twice, so we can�t be anticipated." Percy grinned. "Best of all for poor Robespierre, the targets we choose are unpredictable. For instance, why rescue you, a minor count and financier, in disgrace thanks to your ties to Necker, while the Duke d�Orleans is mouldering away under interdict in the country? It�s well known that Orleans is a friend of England � obviously I should be attending to him."

"Can�t you relax?" Andrew demanded of the count, still sitting hunched over his plate. "I assure you that all of the committee�s guards are watching the Palais Royal. Watching Orleans. Half of Paris wants to see him safely away to Coblenz where he will be declared king in place of Louis and the other half wish to see him � la lanterne, doing the hangman�s dance. So your family is perfectly safe."

The count removed his chin from his cupped palms and tried to look chipper. But Andrew could see the man was no actor. "Look, the countess and your children are in the best of hands. Three noble gentlemen. Honourable. If anything were to go wrong, they are willing to lay down their lives for your family."

Hunched over in the saddle, head low so that his chin bobbed near the grey upthrust ears of his mount, Andrew was riding hard. Riding like hell. Armand, behind him, was eating his dust, worrying the flanks of du Tournai�s black, forcing the count to maintain his speed. Percy, in the lead, his back bent like a willow branch, had set a gruelling pace. It felt like they were riding for their lives. Andrew dug his spurs into the flanks of the horse and the animal trembled with an increase in speed. They needed to reach Calais, still several kilometres ahead and the sun was cradled in the tops of the trees. No time to stop for a drink. Andrew�s throat was parched, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, his back screaming at the length of time he�d been forced to maintain this uncompromising posture.

<Percy>

How many times had he ridden this road? Too many times to count, from the days of his youth, accompanying his father until he began to journey with Tony chattering at his side. He knew every bend and bridge between Paris and Calais and he knew they�d delayed too long in Amiens. They had to make the city by nightfall or the horses would never make it up the steep hills. Rocky terrain on the road to Calais, dangerous for the dainty legs of a powerful hunter.

Percy knew Andrew could ride long; a man such as himself was noble Ffoulkes, with buttocks of tanned leather. Armand though, and the count were unconditioned riders. Armand had complained of chafed thighs and du Tournai, falling out of the saddle at the last bridge where they stopped to relieve themselves, had winced in resuming his seat. �How long?� he�d demanded through pinched lips.

�Till sunset,� Percy had replied, �and a little beyond that. There is a tall boulder at the crossroad that we must reach by full dark or else we�ll have to dismount and walk the horses. No one dares ride the last leg blind.�

The sun was kissing the tallest branches, burning his eyes each time he glanced to the left. Traitorous shadows smoothed a roadway he knew was uneven and treacherous. �Stay close!� he shouted to his followers, and he hunched lower in the saddle and increased speed. His mount had lathered sides. God in heaven � please God! The last few kilometres would melt away and all would be well.

�Sounds like a job for you,� Bathurst called back, laughing. It was fortunate for him that he could not see Hastings�s expression. Pulling his head back into the carriage he reassured the ladies, �We�ll be stopping at a humble inn where we can rest and wait for the arrival of your husband, madam, if he is not there already.� He watched the young girl squeeze her mother�s hand reassuringly, flashing him a grateful smile.

The Chat Gris could hardly be called an inn, paint peeled away from the walls of the building adding to the refuse that littered the ground around it, Bathurst stood agast staring at the place wonder if anyone had ever swept, an old, barely discernable sign creaked irritably over the doorway. The inside appeared as inhospitable as the outside; the stained paper hung from the walls in strips, where appearing at intervals the words "Liberte--Egalite--Fraternite" were chalked, and there was not a single piece of furniture in the room that could be called whole. Most of the chairs had broken backs or no seats to them, one corner of the table in the center of the room was propped up with a bundle of sticks where the fourth leg had been broken. In the far corner of the room there was a huge hearth, over which hung a stock-pot, where a not altogether unpalatable odour of hot soup emanated. On one side of the room, high up in the wall, there was a species of loft, before which hung a tattered blue-and-white checked curtain. A rickety set of steps led up to this loft.

Bathurst led the women inside with many apologies and called upon the host to provide the ladies with a portion of the stew brewing in the pot. Looking around he noted that Percy and the count had yet to arrive. �They�ll be along in a minute.�

Hastings took longer in responding this time. �They may have taken a different route, besides we don�t know how much of a recovery Ffoulkes has made and the boy looks a little green.� Hastings scratched his head and looked off into the distances where the ocean could be heard. �If they don�t appear by the morning, you and Bathurst can look into arrangements for getting the women across the channel. I�ll stay and inform Blakeney when he gets here. In the meantime, I�ll go over to the Rue Dominique and see if they are there, when they arrive come get me."

Armand stretched his legs out in front of him after having eaten his fill, feeling more content than he had in days and just then realizing how exhausting the League's work must have been. Leaning back in a horrible slouch against the chair, he watched the exchange between the three other men in the room: grinning admiringly when Percy narrated the League's tactics, _expression growing slightly more sober when the grim attitude of DuTournai was more than obvious. His eyes jumped back and forth between Percy and Andrew, until the two went aside to talk and he entertained himself with some of the silverware. A bath and good meal did wonders for a person, and the young Frenchman was ready and willing to get on the move again. What he thought of the aristocrat was a battle yet to be determined. He didn't want to see the man guillotined, for certain. He was no St. Cyr�or his father. It was possible to handle the rich as decently as any other citizen. Wasn't it? That was what the revolution was for, after all�equality. Armand's thoughts were interrupted by Andrew's instructions to him, and before he could scarce believe it they were off again. The road was long, and the ride was hard. Armand tried not to annoy the others with complaints, but the odd comment that slipped out could have been taken as such. Sticking close by the Count, he kept his eyes on the road in front of them as best he could, his mind having the tendency to wander every few minutes.

<Percy>

As they rounded the final hill, Percy saw smoke rising from the place where Calais should be. Trees blocked the details from sight, but clouds of smoke rose above the trees in ominous fashion. �Look!� he called to his followers. �Smoke! This may provide the curtain we need to make our passage through Calais undetected.�

With the last of the light the four riders entered Calais, passing through nearly abandoned streets on their way toward Le Chat Gris. �We�re working out way up this hilly road toward the Castle � see?� With eyes shielded against the last of the sun, Percy pointed out the crenellated towers of the castle. �The inn is just beneath it on the road. The least salubrious of lodgings, but safer for all that. No one deliberately visits Le Chat Gris."

Three things Percy knew about Brogard, proprietor of Le Chat Gris: first, the man worshipped money and could be bought for any price; Percy, who paid in British gold was his most valued customer. Second, the man was honest � cagey, but honest. You got what you paid for and silence was part of the bargain. A man could rest snug and secure beneath the roof of the Chat Gris although he may scratch a few fleas in the process. Third, Brogard was the quintessential Frenchman in that he would honour a lady above all things, therefore the Countess du Tournai and her daughter would be as safe as grapefruit in a larder. The daughter � insipid was the adjective that came to Percy�s mind. He�d met her � so they told him. The fact that he couldn�t recall her suggested she had been plain, silent and unappetizing. Then again, newly under the spell of Saint-Just, she could have been Venus di Milo and he would have not remarked her, so enthralled had he been by Marguerite.

Halfway up the hill it became apparent that someone�s stable was on fire. Percy resisted his impulse to go and rescue what horses may be imperiled, and ordered the group to continue winding their way up the steep hill toward the shabby inn.

"What luck!" Andrew called, for the fire had certainly cleared the streets so that no one would remark the late arrival of strangers in the small, seaside town. As they rode up the steep hill toward the Chat Gris he recalled previous visits to the place � inhospitable! There would be some kind of savory soup and scarcely adequate bread, filling but far from remarkable. Still, it would be a far better night he and Armand would spend than sleeping raw beside their horse as they had the previous night.

Andrew called ahead to Percy, riding in the lead, "You said we might be able to leave tonight if we made the tide. What do you think? Is it too late?" While some people may say that a bed is a bed, those who did had not spent a night at Le Chat Gris. Andrew was fond of his comforts and it had been too long since he�d been warm, dry, comfortable and well fed all at the same time.

�Hastings said we should look into transporting the ladies over if Percy and the others don�t show up by morning. He�ll stay and wait for their arrival if we leave to let them know that the ladies are safe,� MacKensie conveyed in a whispered conversation to Bathurst in the door way of the Chat Gris, occasionally glancing in on the Countess and her daughter inside. The women were seated at the rickety table in the center of the room and casting apprehensive glances between Brogard and the supposed-stew that he had set before them. Suzanne bravely tested the stew and apparently didn�t find it too objectionable, for she continue to eat in as prim a manner as the circumstances would allow, however the elder Countess seemed adamant that she would not touch the questionable brew.

�It�s almost dark now and you saw the roads� it would be foolish to travel in the dark. I think we have to consider taking Hastings suggestion and hope that the others follow quickly. We can sail with the tide this evening if you think the situation here is too dangerous or wait till tomorrow evening and hope that weather conditions are favorable.�

<Percy>

The tide? "I can�t tell till I see my watch. We�ll know in the next few minutes because that is the last turn in the road." Le Chat Gris slumped at the edge of the road, looking like it might fall into the street. The roof beams were low, the door crooked. It reminded Percy of the nursery rhyme about the crooked man who had a crooked house. Brogard was crooked enough to suit the place.

"Milord du Tournai, unless I miss my guess, you should be reunited with your family momentarily," Percy called over his shoulder. He was gratified to see how well both the count and Armand had managed to keep up with him. Their expressions were more pained than eager, and Percy knew how uncomfortable they would be when the tried to sit down, but what were a few blisters � the man was alive!

MacKensie was about to argue for leaving that evening, when the distance sound of horses' hooves drifted to them on the wind. Bathurst stiffened at the sound and both men scanned the horizon for the source, spotting the dim outline of five riders approaching at high speed.

"See, I told you they would come," MacKensie laughed. "And you had your doubts." One of them should go get Hastings, he thought and turned to see smoke billowing into the sky where Hastings had set off. Nudging Bathurst, MacKensie pointed to the dark cloud. "When they arrive I'll take a couple of the horses and go for Hastings, perhaps you should suggest to Blakeney that we sail with this evenings tide if we've still got the chance. This may be a sign that our luck is running out."

When Bathurst first heard the riders he worried that they might be a pack of nasty little revolutionaries finally caught up with them, but the idea was immediately disgarded the moment he picked out the five riders led by Percy.

"See, I told you they would come," MacKensie put in, laughing as those he hadn't had the slightest bit of doubt that the quintet would arrive.

"If I recall correctly, sir, you had a bit of doubt yourself. Hastings was the only one who seemed certain that they would get here before the morning." He had to give Hastings credit for that much. When it came to having faith in the chief, despite the odds Hastings's was unquestioning.

MacKensie mumbled something about getting Hastings as Bathurst watched the riders approach, only drawing the latter's attention after a sharp jab to the ribs only then did Bathurst notice the evil clouds of smoke accumulating over the Rue Dominique. "Go there and hurry back. Let's hope the little fool isn't involved."

One after another they pulled up outside le Chat Gris and each rider nearly fell out of the saddle, so bowled over with fatigue were they. Brogard�s shabby stable hand appeared like a shadow and led the horses away, two, then two. Andrew continued to hold the reins of his gasping mount as the others shook themselves awake. Du Tournai was wobbly on his knees and unable to straighten up. Young Saint-Just stalked the length of the inn � a short walk � in an effort to return circulation to his feet. And Percy, whispering to Brogard, who stood with hands thrust into pockets, slouched dejectedly as Brogard�s negative shrug decided him.

<Percy>

Brogard�s greying whiskers twitched as he spoke to the count, hovering in the doorway of le Chat Gris while his women fluttered around in confusion. Percy skulked in the shadows, leaning against a tree where he could watch and not be seen. Du Tournai offered Brogard money. Brogard shrugged, shook his head and refused the coin. The countess circled her daughter, swatting dust off her cloak. The girl stood with rigid shoulders as if a perfunctory swatting by her mother was the least in a long line of indignities she�d suffered.

No doubt the hospitality offered by the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel was less than outstanding. They�d had to travel in a rented carriage, something less comfortable than what they owned. It was likely that neither woman had received anything more than a flask of water and a portable dinner � something like biscuits and cheese with a pear or apple to sustain them through fourteen hours of travel. The soup at le Chat Gris was hot and the wine excellent, but after a day of being jounced along rutted trails, had either of them been able to stomach a meal? Now, they were off to cross the Channel in a bobbing cork of a boat. Percy looked at the three du Tournais once more as they trudged up the road, the countess leaning on her husband�s arm and the daughter patting his shoulder as if she�d expected never to see him again. No one turned to make eye contact with the shadow in the darkness, and Percy sighed in contentment. Two thirds of the plan had passed in success, but he mustn�t become complacent! They still had to board Daydream and set off with the tide. He wished to follow and see them safely aboard, but he couldn�t. He must wait for MacKensie to return with Hastings.

Biting his tongue, Andrew watched the du Tournais prepare to leave the inn, his eyes following Percy as he slid into the shadows and disappeared. Andrew felt Blakeney�s gaze on him, felt the man�s personality compel him to go against his own wishes to do Percy�s bidding. The count shuffled out the door, and then Andrew caught sight of the women...the countess, a petite figure, holding her head regally, and the daughter, taller, innately graceful. She pulled up her hood as she exited and for a moment Andrew caught sight of a mass of honey curls. Her complexion was milky and she seemed young. She would be frightened, leaving her home, possibly forever. No, not forever! Robespierre would be overthrown and the revolutionaries silenced. Order and equality would be restored, along with something of the balance of English civil law. It could be done without condemning an entire class of people to a meaningless death.

As the countess straightened her daughter�s appearance, Andrew noted the girl�s resigned look. For a moment her eyes met his � a hint of blue. God, she was pretty! He caught his breath. Bathurst emerged from the side of the inn, and Andrew quick-stepped so that he might walk next to the girl. If Bathurst caught a glimpse of her . . . . no! Andrew felt suddenly protective.

Suzanne stepped out into the light, her belly full and her paranoia slowly ebbing. She took a deep breath of the brine-filled air and turned toward her mother who, upon seeing her, instantly began to fuss over her appearance. They had just been on one of the most emotional and stressful carriage rides of her life and Suzanne, for one, could have cared less about how she looked. She smiled softly. It would appear that her dear friend Margot had rubbed off on her. She gazed at the twilight around her, the sky painted in beautiful soft pastels. Then she heard Bathurst coming up behind her. Oh! That man made her so uncomfortable! She had never been exposed to the attention of a man and his scrutiny during the carriage ride had not calmed her in the slightest! Lord Bathurst seemed nice enough, but when he spoke, Suzanne's eyes glazed over. She knew this was foolish... after all this young man had risked his life to save her and her family and she should be grateful for it, in fact, she owed him for it. But accompanied by his advances, the prospect of spending hours alone with him left a sour taste on her palette. Suzanne hoped her mother had not taken notice and arranged a courtship while Suzanne had taken a few moments by the fire inside the small inn.

Speaking of the Comptess, Suzanne's mother was still arranging her daughter's hair. Suzanne reached up as her mother's hands fluttered past her face for the third time, pulling curls from their unruly flight in the wind, which had come up rather suddenly. She grasped them to her chest and looked into her mother's eyes, speaking with much passion in her voice to get her mother's attention. "Maman! Arretz-vous s'ils vous plait! Nous sommes presque libres!" She took a small step back and surveyed her mother's face. The Comptess now had tears swimming in her eyes and threatening to fall down her regal cheeks. Suzanne leaned in and kissed her mother. They /were/ almost free and Suzanne's heart felt light for the first time in a very long time. She released her mother's hands from her grip and let the Comptess turn to walk down to the boats. Suzanne turned her head and found her eyes locked with a handsome man. He was tall and strong looking. She could feel her breath catch in her lungs and her stomach come alive with the fluttering of butterfly wings. She placed a hand on her abdomen as she attempted to catch her breath, her gaze never leaving the gentleman who stood next to her. Her face flushed a soft pink and she smiled before breaking the intense gaze. She averted her eyes to the ground and walked down the steps of the inn with this English gentleman by her side. Could he be... no! It was impossible! And yet, he was as handsome as any of her girlfriends had described... not to mention he had blonde hair, which was a rumor circulating about the appearance of the English rouge known as Le Mouron Rouge. She longed to ask him if he was the infamous Scarlet Pimpernel. After all, Suzanne was feeling rather grateful and if this man was the one who facilitated her rescue, she figured he deserved a reward for his valiant effort!

Tony strode ahead holding the torch aloft to light the way, but it was an inadequate light for the uneven, cobbled streets. The count took his wife�s arm, and impulsively Andrew raised his hat. �Pardonnez, mademoiselle. Allow me to assist,� and with that he offered his arm to the girl. She took it eagerly, then glanced at her mother. Too late to ask her approval � Andrew secured the girl next to him and watched the road for obstacles. Someone trudging ahead � the countess? � dislodged a stone that rattled past, surprising a rat that scurried directly in front of them. There was a tiny squeak from the figure next to Andrew, and he pulled the girl closer. �Never fear, the little blighter is far more worried that you�ll step on him.� It was meant to be encouraging, but once said, Andrew wondered if it wasn�t a bit too casual a thing to say to a woman whose name he didn�t know.

Andrew could make out the distinctive creak of wet ropes pulling with the bob and weave of the boats in the harbour. At the end of the road, they were facing the channel where a play of lights on water lit the area so thatcolours and details became clear. The girl�s black cloak became sapphire velvet and the swish of her skirts came from rose taffeta. Ahead of them, Tony held the torch steady as everyone else boarded the boat. The count picked up his wife and strode into the water. Andrew leaned toward the girl. �Throw your arms around my neck,� he told her and lifted her smartly. Behind him he heard someone cough � Bathurst probably. Or was the young Saint-Just eyeing the wench for himself? Couldn�t they see this one was a lady?

The countess assaulted Andrew with a string of words that had no spaces between them � things like poor, sweet, frightened, horrible. He deposited the girl at her mother�s feet and watched her sink onto a bench. �Pauvre petite. . .� the litany continued. The water lapped around his boots and he felt his toes chilling. Satin-Just splashed as he walked, unfamiliar with water. When everyone was settled except for Tony and himself, they nodded at each other, Tony passed his torch to Bathurst, and the two of them ran the boat into the waves, then leapt aboard.

Andrew was wet to the waist when he dropped onto the bench directly behind the little girl. She seemed very small huddled in her cloak. Tony settled on the bench next to La Petite, grabbed her by the arm and hauled her next to him and Andrew saw red. He wished that he and not Bathurst had taken an oar so he might swat the little beetle out of the boat for his insolence.

Suzanne smiled nervously at Andrew as she took his arm. Her father and mother were safe. They were all safe and it had begun to sink in. It was then that the vermin scurried in her path. Marguerite had always looked down on those girls from school who would scream as if they were trying to wake the dead every time a little furry pest found itself under their bed, but Suzanne had always been especially frightened of rats and could not entirely suppress the sound that came from her throat. She blushed to a shade of bright red as her Englishman commented. She could not understand all of what he was saying... he must have used some English slang she had not learned yet. She sighed and turned her concentration back to the path stretching before her, not minding that she was nearly in one of her rescuers arms... just as long as those arms did not belong to Bathurst...

Suzanne looked out across the water and smiled, she looked over at her companion as the light began to show his garments. They were humble, but after all, what should she expect? They were Englishmen committing treason in France. They were practically dancing on the bed of Madame La Guillotine. "Throw your arms around my neck," her thoughts were interrupted by the gentleman and she obeyed him, surprised as he easily picked her up. Having her abdomen bent in such a way caused the boning in her corset to dig into her ribs. She clenched her teeth, sure that the man who was carrying her was suffering in the intolerable cold of the channel, and prayed there would not be a noticeable bruise there later. She could feel her cloak dragging through the water as he moved swiftly toward the boat. He lifted her frame into the boat and within a second, another man from what had to be the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel had hopped into the seat next to her. She smiled, nervously, at him and looked back at nice man who had seen her safely to her seat. Oh she wished they could be properly introduced! Her mother was still raving about Suzanne, making her ears ring and her cheeks flush. The way the Comptess spoke of her, one would think she was still a toddler! She, once again, glanced back at him and smiled apologetically, praying her mother would stop.

Soon, they were at the yacht that would take them all to England. A rope ladder had been thrown over and Suzanne climbed it behind several members of the League, her mysterious helper right behind her. She was helped over the railing and onto the deck of the ship. The wind was whipping faster and the hair her mother had attempted to fix was now a mass of honey blonde curls. She brushed them from her face and leaned over the railing, looking back on her home country as the anchor was lifted and the boat began to move from the shores of her birthplace, her France. This madness would end one day and she would be able to return, she felt certain of that deep in her soul. France was not completely lost to it's people, it's people were lost though. A tear escaped and ran down her cheek as she said her "Adieu" to the nation she felt so connected to.

The lights of the coastal town of Calais flickered and dimmed as the yacht pushed forward through the channel on it's way to England . Suzanne stood alone for several minutes. Sentiment was all she had left. It was a rather dramatic thought, but it rang true. She sighed and pushed against the railing, standing upright. Her hair probably looked a mess and by the chill in the air, she could guess her cheeks and nose were red. She turned and strode across the deck to the cabins. She looked up and saw him there. "Has he been keeping an eye on me?" she said softly to herself.

"Good evening." Suzanne said in heavily accented English. She curtsied. "I cannot thank you enough for your help. I fear my gratitude will not be enough to repay you for risking you life..." Suzanne hesitated. Should she speak her mind she wondered? "and the lives of your men." If he was the Pimpernel or if he wasn't, surely he would deny it so what was the harm in saying anything?

When she turned, she paused. Ah, she�d caught sight of him at once; no doubt the light-play on the waves outlined his shadow in sharp relief. For himself, it was only her movement that showed she was facing him � he could make out nothing.

�Good evening,� she said, and he noted her brave attempt to speak in his own language. This was further than most of the �migr�s were willing to bend. French they were and noble and used to the world accommodating them. Andrew was further touched by her curtsey. That she was the daughter of a count, this showed particular favour. She had no idea what quality of scoundrel he may be, yet she dared to show him deference. �I cannot thank you enough . . . for risking you life...�

Andrew drew up to his full height. How could she know how dangerous their venture was? Pampered. Spoiled. Had the count poured out his misery while his women ate their soup? It seemed unlikely there had been sufficient time and the man had struck him as a cultured gentleman although a little dazed, but that was most likely thanks to Revolutionary etiquette. He�d taken some punishment as a matter of course.

�. . . and the lives of your men,� the girl concluded. Andrew was touched. Moved. Impulsively he stepped forward, yanking his tricorn off his head and swept her the precise bow due the Queen of England on her reception days. �Enchantez, Mademoiselle,� he replied in his flawless French. �It is my honour to serve so courageous � and lovely � a woman. You will brighten our grey shores with your presence, I�m sure.� Andrew had learned French gallantry; indeed, he was adept in the art of making himself agreeable.

�If I may,� he offered her his arm, �I would be honoured to show you the dining saloon where, I believe, we will be able to offer you a cup of hot tea.� He led the girl across the deck to the hatch leading into the hold. �I will descend first. The footing is tricky in this uncertain light.� He disappeared down the darkened hatch, then offered his hand through the opening. She had to bend over to clasp it. A cold little hand grazed his palm, then she grabbed his thumb and steadied herself. �Narrow steps, mademoiselle,� he called. She held her skirts high descending slowly, and as soon as she�d taken two steps, he secured her with one hand at the elbow and the other at her waist. �Your sight will adjust to the change in a moment.�

How cordial and formal this Englishman was in addressing her. Suzanne shuddered, thinking that she had almost become accustomed to the way she had been forced to live in Paris. Of course she was allowed freedom (but not necessarily safety) in the streets, but she was treated as though she and her kind were the scum of the earth. "Merci." She replied, feeling more comfortable knowing the man spoke flawless French. Her English was far better than most, but she was out of practice. She would have to insist that Marguerite speak only English to her while they were both in England. Oh Marguerite! She would be able to see her dear friend again!

Suzanne pulled her hood from her head as she stepped out of the moonlight. She nodded eagerly at the mention of a hot cup of tea. The cool night air had sufficiently chilled her and she was tired from the excitement of the days events. She started down the stairs, heeding his warning she took great care with each step. Suddenly, the boat lurched to one side and Suzanne fell into the Gentleman. Thank God his hand had been at her waist or she might have fallen and injured them both!

Her face burned and she hoped he could not see it in the darkness below deck. She looked up, catching his eyes. Her mouth went dry for a moment. "I am terribly sorry... I lost my footing. Thank you--ah... I'm sorry, I do not know your name." She erected herself, keeping a hold of his hand. Softly, she said, "I am Suzanne... Suzanne Leala Camille Du Tournai." She laughed lightly, blushing again. The length of her full name had always seemed so absurd, however it was a habit to use it since her mother always insisted she do so when introducing herself. She curtsied again and awaited his response. Foolish as it seemed, she wanted a few moments in private for introductions to occur. After all, she was grateful to her hero who lent a sure hand in rescuing her father and securing her family's safety on their passage to England.

Armand leaned against the railing of the vessel as it headed out across the Channel. Silent through the scurry and commotion of getting everything and everyone on board, wanting to keep out of the way, now that they were safely shoved off it was all he could do to keep from leaping over the edge and making back for shore. So what if he couldn't swim? Resting his chin in his palm, he heaved a heavy sigh, watching France grow further and further away with each lapping wave against the craft's side. Well, there it went, he told himself, casting a disgusted glance back over his shoulder at Andrew's efforts of what looked to him like obvious flirting with the rescued lady. It was brief. He much preferred to gaze back out towards the receding land mass, thinking about leaving Percy behind, and meeting Marguerite ahead.

Oh fortune! God had often blessed Sir Andrew; he took it as a measure of his favour that from one minute to the next he went from steadying the girl on the steps to having both arms full of petticoats and flounces. He could keep her like this. Perhaps he should carry her into the dining saloon and secure her in a chair. No, with the others probably already gathered at the table, that would ruin the child�s reputation. Reluctantly he set the lass on her feet. Immediately, she introduced herself. Once more he swept his hat off his head and bowed to her. �Mademoiselle du Tournai, I am pleased to make your acquaintance. I regret that I dare not divulge my name for obvious reasons; my life would be forfeit were anyone to know it. Perhaps, in London, we might be formally introduced.� With that, Andrew returned his hat to his head and offered the girl his arm.

She hesitated, looking into his eyes for a moment, then down his shoulder to the crook of his arm. Had she been too forward with him? Oh how Marguerite would tease her if she had been. She sighed softly, hoping once the sound had escaped her that she did not make her seem childish, and took his arm.

"Merci monsieur..." She smiled softly again as he led her into the dining cabin. She was hoping that he would join her for a cup of tea, but the instant she saw her mother sitting there, she changed her mind. Would watching the Comptess Du Tournai dote upon her *only* daughter be too much for him? Would he fall over in stitches of laughter at the sight? Suzanne had watched Marguerite chew her cheek to shreds to keep from laughing at her mother! Oh! and those horrid, sticky sweet nick names Suzanne's maman used freely in public as if they were her given name! She grit her teeth slightly and forced a smile at her mother's up-turned face. Suzanne had never been one to humiliate her mother, but this was not the first time she wanted to! She would have to take extra special care in holding her tongue this time.

Suddenly, she noticed a figure entering the room. She looked up. "I know him," she thought. But no... that was absurd! She could not possibly know any man on the Daydream save for her own father. ...Oh good lord!

"...Tony? Lord... Anthony... Dewhurst?" She said, unable to believe her eyes.

Tony took the kettle from the fire and poured the contents into a teapot. HUH! Nearly Percy's second-in-command and he was preparing *tea* for the fatigued *ladies*. Next they'd have him in a white lace-y apron and mop cap!!! And then there was that near clash with Andrew. That man was insufferably over-protective of any woman he had set his eyes on. Had the daft fool forgotten that Dewhurst had a right to tease the girl, seeing as the Du Tournai's were friends of his? Apparently, in the presence of the child, Ffoulkes had pushed the thought of Suzanne knowing ANY other man from his head. Tony scoffed. Suzanne was lovely, it was true, but he had known her for years. She seemed a sister in his eyes! Perhaps he had best keep an eye on Andrew... after all, the girl was young and innocent and, knowing Andrew's exploits.... Dewhurst grumbled under his breath as he set the tea cups on the tray and placed the pastries on their plate.

"If one of those louts I call friends says a WORD about this to me, they shall have my fist to answer to!" He said to himself before entering the dining room. He had barely had time to clean the make-up from his face before he was asked to serve the DEMNABLE TEA! He was still in his stinking, filthy rags! Oh how he longed for a hot bath, shave and a clean shirt! But Lord, it would appear that Anthony Dewhurst had lost some of his masculine edge. No doubt from all the time he'd been spending at the palace and those insufferably long garden parties. Tony set down the tray in front of the ladies.

"...Tony? Lord... Anthony... Dewhurst?"

He heard an obviously confused Suzanne say. He looked up to see the little one examining him through wide eyes.

"Yes Anne!" He said, giving a charming smile. The use of Suzanne's nickname must have sent Andrew through the roof. He took her hand an kissed the back of it. "How nice that you've recognized me... despite my current... outfit..." Tony turned to Suzanne's mother who was now staring at him with a look of either horror or triumph... or some odd mixture of the two on her face.

"Comtess!" He kissed her hand as well, "I am glad indeed to see you and your family safe. Come, I've something to discuss with you... privately." Tony shot a look at Andrew and then winked at Suzanne. He took the Comtess by the arm and walked her across the room, chatting idly with her as he went.

Rocking back on his heels in shock, Andrew nearly spilled the cup of tea he held. Tea! Lord save him, he needed a slug of something much stronger. �Anne� Tony called her � the pretty little du Tournai � as if he knew her well. Was there no one that he hadn�t met first, hadn�t known before? Surely Mademoiselle du Tournai�s perceptions of English nobility were skewed; perhaps she imagined they were *all* opinionated rascals, smooth as butter spreading on toast and about as interesting.

Andrew took in the searching glance Tony sent his way and tried not to glower. It was not in his nature to be sullen. Was it Dewhurst�s fault that he came from an influential family, that he travelled and met people? Was it his fault that he attracted pretty women � the scoundrel!

Talking himself out of the satisfaction of bloodying his friend�s nose for the hell of it was working � a little. Tony was acting all charming and solicitous toward the countess, pretending the daughter was of small concern and Andrew felt his burning jealousy cool slightly. He would win the girl for himself. He would! He was a good looking buck in his own way -�not as smoothly ingratiating as Tony. Not as oily with the hand kissing and the �I-can�t-resist-you� glances. Perhaps Mademoiselle Suzanne � Anne! � preferred a more serious, sober gentleman.

Bathurst stood in the shadows, glowering as he watched Ffoulkes ingratiate himself onto the young Mademioselle du Tournai. Ffoulkes was an infamous lecher, known to give even Hastings a run for his money, and now the coxcomb had set his sights of the lovely, innocent Suzanne du Tournai! The miserable little son of a bitch! Was every member of the blood league set on stealing every woman who caught his eye? He was petrified in his fury, which was to Ffoulkes's benefit, for if he could move Bathurst might have thrown the blighter overboard. Instead he could only watch as the pair disappeared beneath deck. Surely Ffoulkes wouldn't think to bed her under these circumstances.

After several minutes of mentally torturing Ffoulkes for his impertinence, Bathurst noticed Armand leaning over the rail watching his homeland disappear into the horizon. Was he a spy like his sister? How could Percy trust him knowing that the sister was in league with Chauvelin at the very least? He sauntered up to the railing. "So, I gather you too are now a fugitive from your own land like those aristos you spoke so vehemently against."

Armand didn't even notice Andrew's departure. His eyes still fixed out over the endless mass of waves long after France had disappeared from sight, the young man had withdrawn into his thoughts. Thinking� nothing in particular�just whatever chanced to cross his mind. All else around him became blurred away into oblivion, all sound receding into the background beyond the endless line where the waters of the Channel met the sky. Armand didn't realize he was humming a song to himself until Bathurst's voice intruded upon his silent reverence. Jerking with a start, Armand straightened from his lean against the vessel's rail, eyes wide as he met the Englishman's without hindrance. For a moment he simply stared, until the meaning of Bathurst 's words finally sunk in and his gaze fell to the deck, then turned back out to the water. His hand gripping the rail drummed his fingers. "I imagine so," he said quietly, remembering the incident with Enjolras and Marius, what Andrew had told him at the house. Never to return. It saddened him beyond belief. Unable to hold back a childish sniff that he tried to hide, Armand turned to face fully back out the side of the yacht and touched the silver crucifix in his breast pocket. "Serves me right, all the same."

Bathurst leaned on the rail beside Armand, and attempted to find the specific point that seemed to capture Armand�s attention. Percy was placing a great deal of trust in this boy � how young was he away? Surely not that old, his pimples had yet to clear and there was that effeminate quality to his feature that was distinctive of youth. �Is that right? Are you regretting your hand in the revolution?� Or was he a spy like his sister? They could be working together... Lady Blakeney gathering the information and delivering it to Chauvelin through Armand. If such were the case, and it was discovered, Blakeney would be strung up with the rest of them.

Bathurst straightened up and turned so that his back was to the water. �We�ve got excellent weather - not like the last trip we took from Calais to Dover � which means we should be in Dover in a few hours. Hopefully, Percy will have this weather to look forward to tomorrow.� He wondered if they found Hastings, it wouldn�t do to have the little coxcomb die in France before Bathurst could settle accounts with him.

Armand nodded, willing to confide in anyone who would listen to him. "Regret isn't enough," he muttered, feeling his heart sink with the very words. "I didn't know it would be like this. So much blood�" He let his voice fade there, his French accent crisp on the light breeze that blew the yacht onwards. His eyes scanned the horizon, not seeking anything in particular, but content to parallel the constant rise and fall of waves with his own mingling thoughts. His eyes flickered up at Bathurst when he brought up the weather. "Hopefully," was his echo, not wanting to voice his concern for Percy's well-being. It would sound too childish. He didn't say much else for a good length, just smelling the heavy trace of salt in the air, imagining Marguerite when he could finally see her again, and forever thinking. It made his head hurt. Sighing, he let his face fall towards the deck of the vessel, rubbing his forehead. "I know what you and the others think about me," he voiced suddenly, feeling it useless to avoid the awkwardness any longer. Or perhaps it was all one-sided�too late now, in that case. He looked up, gathering his courage to meet Bathurst's gaze. "It's not true."

"So Tony was a member of this... 'League', was he? Oh good!" Suzanne thought to herself, her admiration clearly displayed on her face. "I knew there was a reason I liked him so much. He's a hero." She stopped these thoughts quickly. Tony was a nice man, but he was like her brother!

She turned back toward Andrew and smiled brightly at him. "Lord Dewhurst is a good friend of my family's! He has been visiting us whenever he was in Paris since he met my father." Suzanne took a sip of her tea and tried to calm the pride swelling within her. She never thought she would know, let alone be friends with a member of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel.

She turned back to her mystery-man who was now looking rather cross. "Is there something the matter, Monsieur?" She asked, setting her cup of tea down and reaching for one of the pastries Tony had brought out. Seeing her friend had calmed her a bit and caused her appetite to return. She took a small bite and smiled as she heard her mother laugh at one of Tony's comments. She felt sure that her family could continue a great their lives together in England.

Suzanne hastily grabbed her tea and pastry then took the seat Andrew had offered her. Suzanne had never been very good at cards. That was probably due to the fact that she wasn't allowed to play them at home when she was a child. Although her father would play with her occasionally, when they both thought they could get away with it. She smiled softly, a soft blush returning to her cheeks.

"Pardonnez..." She started. Oh Lord! Would she ever get used to always speaking English? Yes, it was true that the gentleman spoke French, but she had to put her mind to it. No speaking French outside of her home! "I will do my best, but I have no mind for card games." She laughed softly, embarrassed by her admission.

�No mind? Why I thought all noble ladies played tric trac! I�m dreadful at it myself . . . we play faro at home, but I suppose you�ve never had the opportunity . . .� for high-stakes gambling. Lord, lord! He�d fallen into that one like a rank amateur. �Tell me what sort of games you play instead, in the evenings, when families gather together.� She was delightful, this du Tournai. Not at all snobbish like the French noblewomen he knew who were so skilled at thrusting a man into his place. Belittling. Condescending. How he loathed wit! Wit was cruel. He longed for a woman with warmth and tenderness and, above all, honesty! If ever a noblewoman encompassed all those qualities, he would never roam. As it was, he sought comfort from the blisterings he received at the hands of ladies!

Bathurst 's suspicion and Armand's turned out to be quite different. The young Frenchman had no idea what his sister was accused of, or what she had really done for that matter. His every attempt to bring it up with Percy in the past had been thwarted one way or another. Nor would he impose upon Marguerite to ask. She was by far to happy. "The suspicions�" Armand started slowly, seeming to hesitate, forgetting his English. "�that�I only come along on these�adventures because I'm Percy's brother in law. That I'm a pipsqueak looking for excitement. No�I�I really believe in this." Feeling suddenly very small and very unimpressive in Bathurst's presence, Armand shot his gaze back to the ground and turned to stare back out at the waters of the Channel, if only to hide the flush of red heat that swept over his cheeks. He wished Marguerite was there.

Not exactly the response he�d anticipated. �Well... if that is the case then we should all get along fine,� Bathurst smiled, a smile that did not extend to his eyes. He still didn�t trust Armand. Experience had taught him to be weary of where he placed his trust, and thus far the only credit to Armand�s name was Blakeney�s trust in him. If that could be relied upon, after all look who he took to wife.

�I suggest you get some sleep, boy, it will make the time pass faster.� Bathurst straightened himself up and stalked off to find a place to himself. He needed to think.