<Chauvelin>
�Your orders have been discarded as given, citoyen, but the prisoners have not relented,� Desgas reported, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other. Even over their long career together it was difficult for him to tell, what Chauvelin�s mood was, forgiving or wrathful � the man had a face like stone and it was always set in that scowl.
�It has been less than a day, this is a process that takes time to come to fruition,� Chauvelin replied calmly. �Want of food and sleep will weaken him, as will that same tax on his friend.� Chauvelin rose from his desk. �The same orders will apply to the other until we have the names of his cohorts.� Dramatically, Chauvelin swept out of the room and up the corridor, as he approached he watched the guards snap to attention � being their helpful best in the hopes of claiming some of the reward. Desgas hurried forward to unlock the door and open it upon Chauvelin�s arrival. Unasked, one of the men on duty brought a torch into the room to light Chauvelin�s way.
�Have you had the chance to reconsider that list of names, Sir Percy?� Chauvelin asked as he entered.
<Percy>
Sometime over the hours the walls had begun to close in on Percy. The high ceiling hovered ever closer to him as he shivered on the cot, certain that he�d mis-guessed and equally certain that, with Marguerite in Chauvelin�s hands, that he had little to live for. Recriminations and doubts � he couldn�t swallow more. So much better, and easier, to close his eyes and give in to the fates. Give in before anyone else died.
The blanket he pulled over himself was as constricting as a tight band wound round his chest, hindering his breathing until he began to welcome the interruption on the guard determined to keep him awake. Sir Percy had never been one to sleep during the day, but now sleep was all he could think of.
Briefly he heard laughter; for a moment he felt himself sitting at a table in the card room at Brooks�s Club, Tony on his left and the prince at his right.
�Clubs are trumps, Blakeney,� the prince reminded him.
�Sir Percy�s never had a head for cards,� young Lamb chided.
�I beg to differ!� the prince responded. �Blakeney has a superb mind for cards except . . .� and here he held the moment, for the prince was a showman par excellence, �except when bedevilled by a woman.�
�Have you had the chance to reconsider that list of names, Sir Percy?� The voice was different from the earlier one and it stalled Percy�s thoughts. As the speaker moved further into the cell, Percy opened his eyes and peered over his shoulder.
�Ah, for a minute I thought you were a nightmare, but I see you are an apparition.�
He sat up, made an extravagant show of stretching and ran his fingers through his hair. It was standing straight up � sticky; he felt wretched. His shirt was limp and his breeches wrinkled; he felt worse.
�For a moment I pictured us in the middle of a game of cards and that I was unlucky. More�s the pity; luck is for the few, but death is for the many.�
It seemed as if his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth as he spoke. �I could say much, Chauvelin, were I able to swallow. As it is, I shall turn over and face the wall and count the number of bricks until my eyes film over. You�ll need an extra long coffin, dear inspector, when I kick the bucket.�
With that the stubborn baronet curled his lanky frame back onto the cot. A long arm shuffled at his feet and retrieved the blanket, and a wide hand tugged it up over him.
Itchy eyelids dropped over burning eyes. He clenched his teeth against saying another word and wished his wife the best luck she could expect in her situation for he was powerless to help her. He tried to banish the memory of her laughing eyes, but the swirling fantasy of his half-wakefulness was full of the old rivalries and jealousies. Shouldn�t he be able at last to banish all of that and remember only the vision of Marguerite�s golden hair contained in a pearl-edged cap, the tiny lace veil shielding her slender neck from the breeze?
<Chauvelin>
Chauvelin took in Percy's inane banter for what it was
- pointless. Though he did enjoy the factt that
Blakeney has accepted his defeat to Chauvelin if only
some what. Chauvelin crossed the room and took a seat
on the stool beside the small table that was pushed up
against the wall near the cot. Casually, he extracted
his snuff box from his breast pocket and took a pince
of snuff, his manner reflective. "I must say that,
while Lady Blakeney has been subject to these
conditions longer, she faces them with much more
dignity. I visited her this afternoon after we parted
company. Her capture only preceded hers by a few
hours, but I would guess that she has been subject to
deprivation somewhat longer... it was one of my clues
that she was not working with you. She had pride
enough to meet me standing, though I dare say she
needed to lean on her bed post to remain upright.
There was a moment when she nearly swooned, so I doubt
she'll be stand much longer. Beaucarnot wagers she
won't last two days more. Which has lead me to
inflict the same punishment on your colleague. So,
you see, even if Marguerite dies before you, it will
not stop. You won't die so soon as you think, if you
don't deliver those name however you will bear their
deaths on your soul, before your head parts from your
body."
<Percy>
Chauvelin looked intent on needling his captive as he dropped onto the
stool. "Lady Blakeney . . . faces these conditions with much more dignity," he
said with a touch of humour in his tone that was as alien to the man as a smile.
Percy didn't like the sound of it, nor of the words he spoke. With a sudden
shock, he felt Chauvelin's glittering eyes slide up and down his prostrate form.
Sizing him up. Frozen under Chauvelin's gaze, he stared up at the revolution's
greatest inspector, unable to worm free of his penetrating eyes. Lord, the
little man was downright frightening!
"I'm least surprised to hear you admit to terrorizing a young woman,"
Percy drawled. "I suspect you also entertain yourself by stealing candy from
babies, chasing wounded dogs and dining on fluffy cats. My friend, Lord
Bathurst, is about equal to a lame dog in intelligence - you'll find him
amusing. His values: loyalty, integrity and dedication would mean nothing to
you. Beating on him is much like whipping a mule; you'll wear out your arm, but
never disconcert him. I'm pleased, if you had to bag one of mine, that it was
my steadfast Bathurst."
Percy refused to dwell on Chauvelin's prodding about Marguerite. He
allowed the words to wash over him and tried not to let them penetrate. The
inspector was like any schoolyard bully; Tony, a boy perpetually small for his
age had encountered far too many of them and relied on his tall cousin to act as
avenging angel. Percy scowled, turning his face firmly to the wall and bit his
tongue to keep silent.
<Chauvelin>
Chauvelin�s eyebrow raised quizzically. �I never told you the name of the other prisoner,� he replied calmly as his mind sifted through the faces of those who were privy to that information. Beaucarnot and Desgas were loyal to him, and former never had the opportunity. That left Cabarrus. Teresia had been here without his permission, an intriguing prospect, since the guard on the Pimpernel was told to admit no one. �Whoever mentioned the name Bathurst?�
<Percy>
"Did you not mention it yourself?" A blunder. Was he already losing
hold of his reason?
"Perhaps not," Percy said glibly. "It does seem logical though, from my side of
the equation. Lookin' down the list of names, Bathurst's fairly leaps out as
the most obvious to either make a mis-step or be left behind. It's happened
with him before, y'see, only that time it was one of mine who found him first."
Sir Percy turned back to the wall. Continued to stare intently at the aged
stones until they formed a backdrop for a pleasanter picture. He willed himself
far away, first by imagining the blue-grey French sky stretching between Paris
and Calais, then remembering the choppy waters of gun-metal grey and peaks of
white. So vivid were the thoughts that he could feel himself flying, light as a
broad-wigged gull, soaring over the Channel. The icy wind that found its way
through the cracks in the ancient prison wall was not so bitter now that Percy
imagined himself free. He didn't feel himself blink, didn't hear his captor's
breathing. Didn't hear whether Chauvelin stayed or went. Huddled tight beneath
the inadequate blanket, he felt himself warm and at peace in Blakeney Manor's
pleasant garden. Perhaps he was sitting on the stone bench just out of reach of
the sun, or else he was hiding behind the thorn hedge watching the spray from
the fountain shooting crystal drops into a peerless English sky.
Percy had long days to get through, long days of incarceration ahead.
Chauvelin had made it clear that his suffering would be of a type he hadn't
anticipated; this was his way of dealing with a situation that would drive any
other man completely mad.
<Chauvelin>
Chauvelin filed the information in the back of his
brain for later use, with it he made note that
citoyenne Cabarrus needed to be watched. If she was
working with the intention of stealing some of his
glory she would soon learn better, if she was working
against him, she would walk the path of all traitors.
In the meantime, he would just have to concentrate on
making Blakeney squirm. "In the jails, it is becoming
quite a common practice for women to exchange favors
for promises of freedom or extra food. I wonder how
long before Marguerite turns to such tactics in
exchange for food or water... perhaps she will simply
allow herself to waste away," Chauvelin chose to pick
at a familar wound. "Have you ever seen the effects
of starvation? Her body will thin and become
skeleton-like, all save her stomach which will swell
to bursting... quite painful I'm told. But she has
brought it upon herself. She betrayed me with her
little warning at Shipwash's, but then she's had it
coming longer than that. Had I been less generous, I
should have charged her and that little whore,
Lafierre, when St. Cyr was arrested." Thinking back,
Marguerite had a long history of betraying him,
starting with her introduction to Blakeney. "I might
suspect that you were the one who turned her against
the revolution, from the start."
<Percy>
Percy pictured rows of trees, their autumn coloured leaves riffling in a
gentle breeze. He thought about how warm the sun would be on a cloudless day.
'It is becoming quite a common practice for women to exchange favors for
promises of freedom or extra food. I wonder how long before Marguerite turns to
such tactics?' Chauvelin's words jabbed at Percy, irritating him. Rubbing him
raw. He twisted around, glimpsing the inspector's smug _expression. Drawing a
laboured breath, he said flatly, "My dear Chauvelin, may I offer you a word?
Lady Blakeney was left safely at home with servants to care for her. That she
took it upon herself to leave that shelter to embark upon an adventure in a
country torn apart with civil war is hardly anything I can alter, especially as
I am detained here in your most gracious company. Since the lady has shunned my
safeguards and chosen her own way, then it behoves her to take care of herself
as best she can."
'Have you ever seen the effects of starvation?' Chauvelin jeered and Percy
gripped the edge of the thin blanket to keep himself still. He longed to leap
up from the cot and smash his fists into that too-clever face repeatedly until
it resembled a squashed tomato. As it was, his eyes roved the puffy eye and
purple nose with grim satisfaction.
'I should have charged her and that little whore, Lafierre, when St. Cyr was
arrested.' Chauvelin's meditative tone shocked Percy. Why, it sounded like
Chauvelin genuinely wanted Marguerite dead. He faced the little inspector fully
and noted there was both bitterness and triumph in the twist of his mouth with
not a trace of the usual jealousy. An unforeseen change it tactics!
Percy blew out a hot breath. "Indeed, my dear inspector, so you should have. I
daresay, 'twould have saved us both ever so much bother." Percy's voice was a
defeated monotone, his eyes hooded and inscrutable.
What could he do save wait? Wait and hope that a message would come, that
Hastings would find a way to let him know he had found Marguerite. Hastings was
the only one who knew Margot was in Paris and, clever lad, he would put together
the danger were she to fall afoul of Chauvelin. For himself, Percy must wait.
Must allow sufficient time to pass for Armand to be safely in England before he
made his move.
<Chauvelin>
A bluff? Perhaps. Marguerite was certainly quick to accept the worse from Percy and perhaps this was why, but then again chauvelin was never one to cast away a possible advantage.
"Perhaps you are right, Sir Percy," Chauvelin said flatly, examining his finger nails with interest. "It seems it is a waste of my time to keep Lady Blakeney. I will have her transferred into the prisons general population and submitted the necessary documents to Fouquier-Tinville on the charge of treason, there were enough witnesses to attest that she was trying to protect Saint-Cyr and his co-conspirators and that she endeavoured to compromise my investigations. If she is lucky she will be tried and excuted within the next few days, if not I'm sure the mob will have her, either way will be off both our hands. Now your friend is a different subject... I fear he did not hold up so well to our last interrogation. Will you have him suffer as you do?"
This thread is continued from Jail-Break, La Force, and Chez Plancher
This thread parallels Subtle Changes
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