Midnight at the Office

La Cabarrus couldn't sleep. She tossed and turned and tried counting sheep, but all to no avail. She simply couldn't get that damned Baronet out of her mind! She had had him there... right there!... in the palm of her hand and yet, somehow, he'd turned the situation so that it was she left dangling, wondering whether he would contact her again. He was the most infuriating man she had ever met... infuriating, arrogant, self-obsessed... handsome... "Joder!", Teresia sat up in bed and threw her pillow across the room. What did it matter if he were handsome? Didn't she deserve a little pleasure in her work from time to time? The man was a spy, an enemy of France... a France that had liberated her from an unhappy marriage. Why then had she not already done her duty and turned him in?

From elsewhere in the apartment, loud snores were issuing forth from the loyal Pepita. How could her old nurse sleep so soundly? Hadn't she seen him? Was she blind? Hadn't she seen those mesmerising blue eyes and wanted to walk forever beneath their gaze?... "Oh, oh, oh-oh, OH! No le quiero... No!" Teresia squealed at herself in frustration and another pillow took flight. This would never do. She had told herself a hundred times that she would simply bed this man and then send him to the national razor, but she knew she couldn't do it. There was only one thing to do... she had to tell Chauvelin her plan. If he knew, she couldn't back out. He would hold her life as graciously as a second holds a dueller's coat.

Teresia glanced at the clock... just past midnight. She reckoned that work-aholic would still be at his desk. It seemed ludicrous to be dressing at this hour, but if she waited any longer she knew her resolve would fail her. She had to tell Chauvelin... and she had to tell him now before she changed her mind. The night had grown chilly and Teresia was glad of her cloak. When she had been enquiring about Armand, she had discovered that Chauvelin had set up office in the same prison. It took a little over half and hour to walk there and more than once she jumped at the sound of a cat or fox. The tiny pearl handled pistol, little more than a toy really, was a great comfort in the folds of her cloak.

She had expected guards... she had expected to be stopped and questioned... but the place seemed deserted. Where was everyone? She wandered in and made her way towards the offices. A light was shining under one of the doors... that must be it, she thought... but then the light moved. Someone was in the office and suddenly she didn't think it was Chauvelin. Stopping in her tracks and wondering if whoever was inside had heard her approach, Teresia listened at the door.

Bathurst tossed one paper after another aside in disgust. Not one mention of Teresia. Mostly names and dates. Numbers. Schedules (he pocketed these). Did Chauvelin do nothing but write memos? Pathetic little cretin.

Then he stumbled on some items of interest, a list of names, many of which were familiar and a letter with Armand�s name on it which ordered the bearer of the document be arrested� So Armanda was betrayed after all� Bathurst hid these documents on his person and figuring that Chauvelin would return.

He hurried to the door and was about to slip out when he saw movement in the shadows beyond the door. Bathurst froze, Had Chauvelin returned?

Whoever was beyond the door had stopped also. It was stalemate. Teresia looked up and down the length of the corridor for a guard, but there was no sign of anyone... where were they all? Surely one must be doing his rounds, at least. Teresia pressed herself back into the shadows, cocked the little pistol and waited for the door to open.

Teresia's eyes were already accustomed to the darkness and she saw at once that the man was not Chauvelin. Whoever it was, was gone to quickly for her to see his face, but there was something naggingly familiar about his gait. Teresia followed, all thoughts of seeing Chauvelin driven out by curiosity. Perhaps they would meet a guard in another part of the prison. The continued absense of a patrol was starting to make her very uneasy. What had happened to make the guards quit their stations?

The lack of guards was discerning. Bathurst had the feeling that something monument was about to happen, or only just had. Perhaps the trap he feared was about to be sprung on him. He saw a guard hurrying down the corridor, excitement in his eyes, and grabbed hold of him as he passed. "What has happened?"

"Haven't you heard?" the boy aske contemptuously. "Citoyen Chauvelin has captured a notorious English spy, the one that was been sending the taunting messages to citoyen Robespierre and the public prosecutor! Chauvelin is putting him in a cell as we speak!"

"You mean the one that signs his notes with a flower or something?" Bathurst felt a cold chill run down his spine.

"The very same."

"Sacre merde!" Bathurst gasped.

She couldn't believe it... Chauvelin had captured the Scarlet Pimpernel! Was it some kind of bait he was throwing out? If so, she needed to find out what he was up to, to keep herself in with Blakeney until she alone could reel him in. If not, then her plans were useless. Worse... what of Blakeney talked? She could be in serious danger. Just as she was beginning to feel the cold hand of fate down her spine, the voice of the man she had followed rang bells in her brain... Bathurst! "Sacre merde, is right, my lord." She said softly, emerging from the shadows with her tiny pistol levelled at his heart. "Sergeant, this man is a spy... a follower of the man citizen Chauvelin has captured. No doubt he is here to try to free his chief. Arrest him!"

The soldier looked from Teresia to Bathurst and back to Teresia. At first it seemed he didn't trust her, but then the light of recognition dawned in his eyes... who could forget La Cabarrus? The favourite of many an officer in Paris. Unceremoniously he caught hold of Bathurst's arm.

It was a blow to say the least, as painful as a punch to the groin. His spirits had lifted for a moment as he heard the familiar latin accent, only to drop through the floor when he saw the pistol aimed for his arm. She was one of that bugger Chauvelin's spies. She'd used him and now that they had their prey, she bore her claws and teeth. To think he'd sworn his heart to the conniving bitch! He hands to shoulder-level as his eye spat fire at her.

"Sergeant, this man is a spy... a follower of the man citizen Chauvelin has captured. No doubt he is here to try to free his chief. Arrest him!" He felt his arm wretch by the guard, who called for assistance, and in a moment he was staring down half a dozen rifle barrel, but his eyes remained fixed on Teresia. If he got the chance he'd snap her neck.

A short officer emerged from the crowd, apparently in charge. "Take him to Saint-Just's cell. He can wait there until Chauvelin has a look at him." The man deftly relieved Teresia of the pistol. "You, Madame Cabarrus, will have to wait in the in Chauvelin's until he can speak to you." He motioned two of the guards to escourt her.

She had seen the look in Bathurst's eye. The look of hurt, betrayal, anger and hatred. It affected her slightly, but not enough to make her waver in her decision. Now she awaited Chauvelin calmly. She had to find out whether the man Chauvelin thought was the Pimpernel was the man she knew to be he. "I came here to tell you that I know who the Scarlet Pimpernel is and I have a plan to catch him... but I am too late, it seems. Your guard tells me he is already behind bars. I congratulate you, citizen."

�Is that why you disregarded your orders and left England?� Chauvelin asked as he made a bee-line for the washing basin he kept in the corner. Now that the initial euphoria was wearing off, he became keenly aware of throbbing ache that spread from his nose and cheek across his face � another injury that Blakeney would pay dearly for. He dipped his hands into the water and scrubbed at the drying blood.

�Pray tell, when and how did you come across the identity of the Pimpernel?� He paused a moment looking for the wash rag that accompanied the basin and when he found it , he dipped it in the muddy colored watered then began to dab at his sensitive face. �Was it your lord�� Chauvelin took a couple of steps to his desk, wiping a hand dry on his breeches before moving aside a piece of paper to consult the one between it. �� Bathurst? Is that who you�ve put in a cell?�

She laughed merrily, "Dios mio, no! Lord Bathurst is one of the most simple souls I have ever met, but even he would not betray his chief's identity. No, have you forgotten that other little task you asked of me?" she said, referring to the seduction of Margeurite's husband. "I admit I didn't make the connection immediately, but it didn't take me long once I knew him better. Your Lady Blakeney must have precious little to do with her husband if she does not know the truth! In fact, I'd say they haven't consummated their marriage in a long time." She hoped that would please Chauvelin, though she was annoyed that her conquest would be taken away. "Such a pity. He was beginning to trust me, you know. I was letting him think that I would help him." Then a wicked idea came to her. "What say we continue to let him believe that?"

Chauvelin, his back to Teresia as he clean his bruises in a looking glass, smirked slightly. The Blakeney marriage was on shakier ground than he imaged, that was why Blakeney was so passive when Chauvelin threatened Marguerite. Still pride, would make her an effective tool against the Englishman and so she was still a valuable tool.

"Such a pity. He was beginning to trust me, you know. I was letting him think that I would help him,� Teresia said calmly, but the words struck a suspicion note with him. Men in Blakeney�s position couldn�t afford to trust just anyone, much less an enigma like Cabarrus. They would have had to have had a longer history together or he was playing her� or she was lying to get a pick of the glory that the Pimpernel�s capture offered. Chauvelin dipped the washcloth back into the basin, then wrung out the excess water and took it with him back to his desk where he dropped down into his chair and stared stone-faced into Teresia�s face, occasionally dabbing his own with the clothe.

"What say we continue to let him believe that?" she proposed excitedly.

�He can believe what he wants so long as he stays right where he is,� Chauvelin said blandly. �I have him by the balls and he is well aware of it. He knows his wife will die if he attempts escape or fails to cooperate.�

"But why stop at the Pimpernel? We have Bathurst as well now... why not reel the rest in? Give me a few minutes with Blakeney and he will tell me where to find them." She looked at chauvelin as he continued to pat the cloth across his face. His eye seemed to be closing up. "You do not believe me," she said, reading his thoughts, "You don't believe he'd risk his life in the hands of a woman like me, but consider this. Your prisoner is a gambler. He likes high stakes and they don't come much higher than his present position. I think he'll bite... more than that, I think he'd bite even if there were an easier way out because his ego makes him crave the challenge!"

"Hah! If I hadn't shown my hand, as you put it, Bathurst could very well now be helping your precious prisoner to escape. Besides, I couldn't have appeared to Bathurst at all without compromising my position, so why waste my breath on lies? He knows nothing, he's a pawn... and not a very bright one at that! Do you really think Blakeney would tell his plans to such a man?" she mimicked Chauvelin by crossing her arms, but as this action framed her breasts, the pose was more defiant than forbidding. "In Blakeney's place I would tell Bathurst only what he needed to know... and I doubt that that is much."

Teresia bit back the comment that flew to her lips, contenting herself with a sullen "Gracias". Now was not the time to rile the man before her. Instead she craned her neck to try to see what he was writing.

� the bait is lost, but the prize has been hooked� Chauvelin dipped his quill to continue, then looked up to see Teresia�s obvious attempts to read his note. His good eye met hers with a look of suspicion. He never did trust anyone besides himself.

He kept his eye her as he signed and sanded the note. Desgas conveniently entered at that moment, reminding Chauvelin that the day had already arrived without his notice. Desgas wordless handed Chauvelin a satchel, then took his place in the corner of the room where he could observe everything.

�I assumed you had someone watching la Cabarrus here,� Chauvelin spoke to Desgas as he removed documents from the satchel. �Imagine my surprise when Citoyenne Cabarrus turned up unescorted? Any number of misfortuned could have happened to the lady between here and England.� Desgas opened his mouth to respond then closed it, thinking better. �Regardless the prize has been caught. Robespierre will wish to know at once, which means I leave him in your care. Orders have been given that he not to sleep or eat until he names his allies. I doubt he will talk so soon, but if he feels so inclined while I am away. Give him pencil and paper. No visitors!� Chauvelin stuffed the document back into the satchel, folded his note and put that too in the satchel, then turned to Teresia.

�Unless you wish to see Bathurst�s interview, I will be in contact with you shortly. There are many questions I have� but Robespierre is not one to be kept waiting.�

It had been difficult to read Chauvelin's writing upside down. He had shielded the page and his hand was not quite so steady as usual, giving his characters a strange slant. Teresia thought she had got the jist of his note though. She was surprised by Chauvelin's words to Desgas. So, he had had her followed... or rather she had slipped Desgas' watchful eye at the same time as she had evaded Bathurst. The thought made her smile malevolently. "Of course, you must not keep the Incorruptible waiting. It is nearly 1am and he must be ready for bed!" she commented, borrowing some of Chauvelin's sarcasm. "I, on the other hand, am not the least bit sleepy and I've never witnessed an interrogation." She rose to follow Chauvelin, glad to have irritated him by accepting an offer he obviously had not intended her to take up.

<Percy>

At first Percy had intended to keep track of his days in the time-tested method of making a mark on the wall, but it quickly became apparent that this would be impossible as he snoozed and was awakened intermittently through one night that felt like four, only to discover the order denying him food or water.

"I have heard that France is in dire straits," he said in mock cheerfulness, "but I had no idea that prisoners were expected to starve to death, though it would lighten your executioner's workload."

A big man with a healthy appetite, this was one privation Percy hadn't anticipated when he'd warned Sir Andrew to give him a fortnight in which to draw Chauvelin's teeth.

"I was afraid I'd be crawling once Ffoulkes came to set me free. Crawling I'll be for certain," Percy muttered to himself as he focused on the play of light on the ancient stonework of La Force's wall. He tried not to think about suppers at Carlton House with the Prince of Wales, or Hastings's passion for the plain, filling fare to be had at the Beefsteak Club, but it got harder and harder to maintain discipline as one day blended into the next as nothing more than a stream of interruptions.

Six? Had she really been here that long? Teresia followed Chauvelin's retreating back as he lead the way out of La Force. They passed the doorway leading to St Bernard's Court, the securest part of the former palace turned prison... known to the guards that worked there as the lion's pit. That was where Blakeney must be! Part of her wanted desparately to go and see him, but she could not... not now, maybe not ever... no, she would find a way. The morning sunlight was bright on her eyes, as it dawned low over the horizon. "Until 1 o'clock, citizen." she said coldly to Chauvelin and departed.