Sir Andrew marched defiantly down the steps toward the coach, thrilled that such a thing had appeared as if conjured out of thin air. No doubt this was Sir Percy again, anticipating what would be needed and performing another miracle. As Hastings eased Saint-Just inside Ffoulkes began to breathe more evenly; lord, but he'd hardly dare believe this would work out what with no real plan in place, but just like a snap of his fingers, here was Hastings with Saint-Just and everything had fallen into place.

Just as he was about to shove his own way inside the coach he saw Hastings's lean his head next to Dewhurst and whisper something that ended with, " . . . take me for questioning." At once Andrew spun around and fixed Hastings with his uncompromising blues. "You, and monsieur le docteur must accompany us to transport the patient once we get to the hospital."

"But . . ." Hastings began.

"No excuses! It is within my power to deputise you. In! Get inside at once!"

Both Hastings and Dewhurst looked mutinous and took their time about moving, but finally Dewhurst placed a boot on the step. Hastings glared at Ffoulkes - Andrew could feel the choice selection of language colouring his friend's thoughts - and he resolutely out-glared Lord Edward (which was no easy task, by the way).

They were off and running; Glynde set as fast a pace as the horses could manage through the narrow streets of downtown Paris. Armand was regaining consciousness, moaning and thrashing. The doctor looked concerned, and Sir Andrew checked out the window, amazed that they were not being followed. Obviously Glynde hadn't commandeered this coach from someone at the prison - good lad! Everything looked to be going well, including the fact that Dewhurst hadn't swatted him for his insolence, which he'd expected. Well, it was for everyone's good that they were away as quickly as possible and put long miles - woops, long kilometres, since this was France - between themselves and La Force.

Yes, everything was going very well indeed, until Glynde asked, "Where the hell is Blakeney?" Andrew stiffened at that, then forced himself to smile into the group desperate to hide the anxiety lurking at the back of his blue-grey eyes. They had to be out of the city, well beyond the gates, before he told them Blakeney wasn't waiting for them on the road ahead - that he had deliberately left the chief inside the prison with Chauvelin.

It was done now - done as Blakeney had commanded and against Ffoulkes's better judgement. He only hoped they would get free of the city before he was forced to tell the others. They had to be clear of Paris or there would be no holding Dewhurst from ordering the carriage turned around and storming back. This was why Percy had chosen Andrew to confide in and not Lord Tony, who had his cousin's best interests at heart, but who only listened to what he wanted to hear.

Surprisingly, it was Lord Tony who responded with, "I'm sure he's fine," and offered his sunniest smile. "Blakeney can take care of himself." Andrew was taken aback at Dewhurst's certainty. Distractedly, he turned toward the window and busied himself with another glance at the road behind them. When he turned back to the group in the coach his hands were shaking.

"Lord John?" Andrew asked, coming out of a daze. "Bathurst? Where was Bathurst? I didn't see him. Didn't know he was among us."

God in heaven, he'd been shocked enough to hear Hastings say, "Chauvelin's been using Armand and his sister against each other... now he'll use her to march her husband right up the steps of the guillotine." Bad enough, certainly, for he hadn't known - and neither had Blakeney - that Marguerite was in Paris. With a frown, Tony used the butt of his musket to rap on the ceiling of the coach, slowing the vehicle down.

"No! We daren't stop!" Andrew cried. "We must continue on our way at all costs. Armand's life is forfeit each moment he remains in France, and so it is for all of us."

Sir Andrew looked about him at the men standing beside the coach. Screwing up his courage, he decided now was the time to spell out the facts. "Blakeney's instructions were clear; for all that you're going to dislike what he said - we have to obey." Looking from face to face, he absorbed the impact of their three pairs of eyes: Glynde's ice-blues were malevolent, Tony's light browns carefully neutral, and Hastings's dark browns, so often changeable, were focused and unwavering. Ffloukes felt their opposition even before they heard what he had to say.

"First of all, a lot of the plan didn't play out as Percy had foreseen. For one thing, he'd anticipated that Chauvelin would pick up Dewhurst which would lead us to Armand. He'd expected to spring Dewhurst and sit as decoy himself, imagining that would divide Chauvelin's associates into two groups, one to interrogate Percy while the others flew after us having rescued both Dewhurst and Saint-Just. That's why Blakeney insisted he be left behind.

The group now shared a common _expression and, were Andrew less of a man, he'd have run for it. Hastings shrugged off his apprehension long enough to swear lustily and slap his fist into his palm. Glynde said nothing - which was probably for the best since his _expression was that of a lynch mob measuring their victim. Tony kept running his tongue over dry lips. He was blanched with fear, but then Percy was his cousin - he had somewhat more to lose. Andrew didn't fault the lad for his strongly held affection; only a fool would shrug off the danger Percy had landed in.

"We have to go back," Hastings said urgently, dropping a heavy hand on Andrew's shoulder. Andrew shook his head. "No; Percy wants time." He shrugged off Hastings' hand and, turning to Lord Tony, tugged at his friend's sleeve. "D'you hear me, Dewhurst? Percy demanded that we leave him in Paris for several days before resuming contact with Plancher." "That's a sick joke, Ffoulkes. Truly the most gruesome thing you've ever pulled on me," Dewhurst said dismissively, turning away. Andrew swallowed forcibly; his throat was too dry for words and he had to be eloquent now.

"Listen! Listen to me, I beg you! This is exactly why Percy gave the details to me; he knew you'd rebel against the delay, but it's necessary. He wants everyone but Hastings to sail back to England. Saint-Just stays in England - at all costs, d'you hear me, Armand?"

It was debatable whether Armand heard or not; he looked miserable. Sick. As if he could die on them. Oh, there would be hell to pay if Armand died and that was before anyone took into consideration all they'd gambled just to get him out of La Force.

No one spoke; they all stood as if they were lost, confused and less than half-way convinced that Ffoulkes wasn't off his head; but there was something his Hastings's posture that buoyed Andrew - Hastings was sensing that the tone of the directions was Blakeney's right enough. He couldn't hide the sorrowful acceptance that was winning over his incredulity.

More forcefully, Andrew continued, "Hastings is to loiter in Calais. Lie low. Gradually work your way back to Paris. Don't get there for at least a week. Stay in disguise at all times. Don't go near La Force. See Plancher and courier any messages to Brogard."

Hastings was looking through him, not at him. Ffoulkes was not used to being doubted and bristled at the affront.

"God forgive me, I'm only the messenger. Percy trusted you would listen to me. I have never . . ."

"I know," Hastings murmured very low.

Andrew swung around and clapped Hastings on the shoulder in relief. Glynde looked up from the corner where he'd slouched and some of the blind rage had lifted from his _expression. God, god, god, Andrew whispered; he'd never come so close to panic in his life. Never before had he feared that his own friends might dismember him for obeying orders.

"After a week we head back to Calais," he said slowly, standing rigid with determination to hold the line against them all if need be. "We pick up messages and, based on what we hear, we either move on to Paris, or delay."

Sir Andrew had known they wouldn't like it and considered himself fortunate that they'd sat still long enough to hear him out. But they weren't going to follow Blakeney's orders, he could see it in their drawn faces; Tony snarling with anger and Hastings white and silent, eyes blazing.

"Fine then," Andrew muttered. "What would you suggest? Go back to Paris? What do you intend to do with Armand who looks fit to die in the next hour - " He motioned at the prostrate figure, nnoting that the boy was at least partially conscious and that the doctor was gingerly prodding Armand's chest.

"His life is worth crumbs if he stays on this side of the channel. Sure you want to go back, to march right back into La Force and pry Blakeney out of there."

Ffoulkes pointed at Hastings and demanded, "How? Chauvelin has him. Think for one minute what that probably means." His tone was cuttingly sardonic. Hastings bristled.

Tony swore - borrowing a choice word from Hastings.

"They won't have Blakeney in an average cell guarded by a half-wit we can trick with a phony disguise. This won't be an easy in-and-out as we've done twenty times before. Chauvelin will expect us to try to get him out. I'll bet that's why we got out of Paris without being chased - he wanted us well out of his hair. I say we go back to England, get Armand to a doctor, and while we're traveling plan something seriously, meticulously, guaranteed to work, because if we do a half-assed job of this, they'll execute Percy just to ensure we don't get near him."

As all the voices erupted at once tossing forth plans and opinions, one sentence struck Andrew with the sting of sizzling fat. "And Bathurst is still there without a clue what is going on." Yes, Bathurst - of course. "Arrogant swine," Andrew muttered. He'd never understood why Blakeney trusted Lord John Bathurst of all people when the man could hardly tie his own shoes.

But no one was paying any attention to Ffoulkes, who was known to curse and rail when things went wrong. Tony deliberately moved as far away from Sir Andrew as possible, taking up a position next to Glynde who was big enough to absorb any stray blows aimed at Dewhurst.

"I suggest we draw lots," Tony said, speaking to Glynde as Hastings paced back and forth and growled menacingly.

"A carriage under heavy guard left the prison just before you arrived there." Glynde said, not listening to Dewhurst.

"Two of us go to England with Armand . . ."

"You'd just missed Lady Blakeney by less than five minutes."

Suddenly Hastings stopped pacing and looked at Glynde. "What?" he demanded. "What if one of us returns... to find out where Lady Blakeney is. We can use Bathurst to get information to him so that he can form a plan to escape."

"You may as well forget about using Bathurst to pass messages," Andrew interrupted. "He'd get the directions messed up for sure. In fact, the best thing that could happen would be if they find him rubbing his chin and looking lost and lock him up too. Get him out of our way!" Hastings grabbed Ffoulkes by the arm and pushed him away, a look of disgust on his face, then walked to where Tony huddled half behind Glynde and looked at him expectantly.

"We won't be drawing any straws," Andrew shouted. "No one's sending me back to England without Blakeney. I'm supposed to be in charge here. I have the orders!"

Hastings leaned closer to Glynde and Dewhurst, muttering something Sir Andrew didn't hear.

"I say Dewhurst should act as escort to young Armand. You can take him home to your rich parents and they'll take care of him."

For all that he was silent on the outside, inside Ffoulkes was raving: what have I done to deserve this erosion of trust? How can I deliver the promises I made to Blakeney if his friends refuse to listen to the words he gave me? This league of friends was of Percy's making, yet, faced with the loss of their leader they were incapable of banding together to rescue him. As far as Andrew could see there were only two choices: he persuaded them to do as Blakeney had commanded, or he work alone. It was no more than the rest of them were obviously planning. Unless Ffoulkes was able to talk sense into them, each man-jack of them would return to Paris and walk right into Chauvelin's trap.

Tony said, "Andrew, we need to find a way to get Blakeney out of gaol . . . can't afford to wait a fortnight . . ."

Andrew looked up and met Dewhurst's eyes. "You do realize, I hope, that while Blakeney's always taken responsibility for you, the instant you go against his orders we are powerless to protect you, don't you? Percy wanted you well clear of whatever mayhem erupts while Chauvelin does his leap-frog dance of joy."

"He couldn't possibly have foreseen all that has occurred," Tony insisted. "None of us want to take Armand to England... not even Armand wants to go!"

Ffoulkes's mouth quirked as he suppressed a smile. "Fine. If you don't heed me - if none of you will - then what is the point of banding together. None of us wishes to follow the other's lead; I'm sure Blakeney is the only man in all of England who could unite us.

"Now if you have further instructions from Blakeney," Tony said levelly, "let's hear them."

Andrew's fists clenched. "Why? You've refused to accept the instructions I've relayed thus far. Do as you wish. Put your head in Chauvelin's noose. God knows, I've never understood Percy's insistence that you be included in everything we do!"

He gazed down at his whitened knuckles and the outrageous pearl ring he wore on his middle finger - a gift from Blakeney - then looked back up into Dewhurst's wounded _expression. There would be every brand of hell to pay if anything happened to the little twerp, Andrew knew, and Percy would blame him for it without a moment's hesitation. For moment Ffoulkes wondered if it was because Percy was an only child that he clung to his cousin, or if it was fear of the Duke's wrath were his beloved only son put in danger.

Damnation! I don't have to like you, but Percy made me swear I'd get you out of France and I will, if I have to tie you up and pack you in my trunk!

"No drawing of straws then," Ffoulkes said brusquely. "I appoint Dewhurst as Saint-Just's guardian."

"But . . ." Tony coloured an angry red.

"It's the best answer all the way round, Dewhurst," Andrew continued. "Take him home to your mother; he'll be in the best hands there. Once he's over the worst of his hurts, your pa will ensure he sees Lord Grenville and tells him everything about what's going on here. You'll be a hero with everyone from the king right down to Prinny's bath-water attendant."

The crestfallen look on Dewhurst's face at being ganged-up on disturbed Andrew. Poor little blighter - was he going to break down and cry, or something?

"Look Tony, let me put it to you this way - ," Sir Andrew rested his arm affectionately around Lord Tony's shoulders. "It's all the same to me if you tag along. Really, I have a feeling we could use an extra hand or two; but Percy was adamant that you get out of France. Don't you understand? At Shipwash manor Chauvelin identified you and you have to admit you have a memorable face. Percy imagined that they'd nab you as soon as you set foot in Paris and he was dead happy to use you as bait, knowing he'd get you out - exchanging himself for you, you see? And he warned me he'd personally dig my grave if anything happened to you after he sprung you from Chauvelin's trap."

Dewhurst did not look best pleased, despite Andrew's having made the effort to be kind. In fact, he looked like he was plotting a particularly grisly death - and Ffoulkes didn't need to ask whose carcass would provide the entertainment. It annoyed him more than a little to have to show this level of favouritism to Dewhurst when Hastings and Bathurst were as English as men could be, but the fact was Andrew owed Blakeney a lot, therefore, he would bite his tongue and do as he was bid, despite his own feelings on the matter.

"If you can, milord," Andrew said formally, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, "do try to give him the benefit of the doubt."

Dewhurst stood straighter, trying to catch every word and a look of apprehension crossed his features. Huddled a little apart, Glynde and Hastings looked stunned at this change in demeanour.

"You can do me a couple of favours, if you would, your lordship, once you get back home, "Ffoulkes said and although there was a trace of a smile on his face, his eyes were darkly serious. "First of all, like I said before, make sure Armand sees Lord Grenville, but more than that - talk to your pa. Tell him how urgent and dangerous the situation is here. I know your pa is on a first name basis with the king and if we want anything to change, we'll need friends in important places. And furthermore, just in case the worst happens and we aren't able to get to Blakeney . . . I'm not saying we won't do everything in our power - this is just for insurance, like . . . " Andrew hesitated, clearly uncertain how to say what he wished to. "Look, if you pa has already got a word in to the king," he blurted out, "we might be able to get clemency or something if all else fails. You'll do this for me, Tony?"

Dewhurst was speechless at this change of tone in Ffoulkes - a cajoling tone, an intimate, confiding tone. He was too startled to hide his surprise, too amazed at how this sudden supremacy made him feel.

"Do it for him?" Andrew appended, and Tony's _expression changed again.

Suddenly looking very tired and feeling completely drained, Andrew agreed with a slow nod.