Forget-Me-Not ~ Section I

By John

Section I, Next Section

Posted on Monday, 25 February 2002

Author's Note: This is the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel without actually being the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel. Sarcastically you might call this the League of the Forget-me-nots....and I'm sure my Chauvelin equivelent will have a great deal of difficulty in forgetting indeed :) Suffice to say this bit of fuzz is the fault of boredom. I have no idea how fast it will post, or even how often I'll post it....but I do hope it is enjoyed. - J

Chapter 1

It is a truth Universally acknowledged that when a stupid man takes unto himself an extremely intelligent wife something is either amiss or many fireworks will fly.

Such was the case when Sir David Fitzwilliam Darcy took unto himself Elisabeth de Bennoit of le Comedie Francais. Except in this particular case something was both amiss and fireworks most certainly flew. However society only ever knew about the fireworks. Elisabeth de Bennoit was not France's most famous and popular actress for no reason at all.

My name is Lord John Alasdair and my brother, the Duke of Snillington (I am ever so thankful the title never became mine, I so dislike strawberry leaves), often admonishes me for my behaviour. But I ask you, what is a man meant to do when he has an income of 9,000 pounds a year and nothing at all to spend it on?

Snillington has an insipid wife, our cousin to be precise and an over-bred prude if I may be so frankly rude about a family relative. Hermione has never troubled to hide the fact that she considers me a disgrace and a smudge on the family escutcheon. Hermione blames the whole situation on my mother, so for very obvious reasons I live with my mother as much as possible. I think Hermione's main problem is however that she is a Duchess with a husband whose estates come to less than half the value of my estates (Hermione should have been more careful before she insulted my mother's father).

My mother, Dowager Duchess of Snillington, the former Lady Allaya Belsiandial, who is called Annie by everyone...including the servants (I think that is why Hermione frowns, for Hermione is always called 'your Grace'). Annie is the second daughter of le Duc de something or other, it's hyphenated about three times and even worse to pronounce than it is to spell and I can't do either. To try and describe Annie is impossible, she must be met, and I'm ever so thankful to having been consigned to that part of the family. Thanks to my maternal Uncle I have almost as precise a palate as Sir David does when it comes to wines. Your true gentleman never gets drunk, and least of all on a good wine, such a shocking waste.

Sir David has been a friend of mine since we were at Eton together (I unfortunately could never catch the ball and Sir David could never drop the ball, so for obvious reasons we were invariably paired when fielding practice occured). However our friendship lapsed a trifle after Eton for Sir David entered society and I was bundled off on my Grand Tour, which frankly was a great bore. Possibly I would have been more appreciative if someone had troubled to teach me the first thing about art. Possibly I could have taught myself about art, but that is a bore and one gets looked at so oddly when one is seen toting around these immense volumes which ramble abstractly along about things which are utterly incomprehensible.

Sir David did not go on a Grand Tour because he had lived in Europe until he turned 12. It is hardly sense to go on a Grand Tour to a place where you know every backstreet better than you know London. Sir David made his debut in society and we did not even see each other until I returned from my tour three years later. We exchanged perhaps three letters in the time, but I remember nothing special in them, except for having stupidly told Sir David about the Cognac I found in Dijon. I wanted that Cognac but he bought the entire supply before I could and had it shipped back to England before I could arrange for it to be pirated mid-voyage. I would have blacked his eye if I could have, as it was he blacked mine so I continue to attempt to be a wise man. Sir David on the other hand seemed set on becoming as stupid as possible. Such is life, he stole my cognac because at that time I was not in control of my money while he was. Uncles on the paternal side can be such tedious bores and ever so suspicious.

Enough said though, this is too long already and I actually had no intention of bewailing that cognac (though David has only let me near two bottles of is so far). This whole business is actually about Sir David and his definitely odd marriage which had all society talking and me desperately hoping I wouldn't say the wrong thing.

It all started in January 1780 something or other, but the late 80s....or at least I think it was January of the late 80s, my memory of January is somewhat vague for Louisa had refused to marry me and I must admit that I was a trifle in my cups for most of that month. Certainly it began whichever month Sir David let me near a second bottle of that Cognac, I most firmly remember the Cognac. Sir David says that was January, so January it shall be.

Of the initial reason for my turning up in Sir David's study I have no memory at all, but it is fairly safe to guess that I turned up to bewail fate, the cruelty of women and my own stupidity.....very likely in that order. Certainly Sir David says that is the way it always happens, and Sir David should know since he has consoled me into a drunken stupor for all of my thirteen major heartbreaks.

But once again I am distracted. I remember that I was probably half pickled by the time Sir David began to talk. Usually when I have a broken heart I do all the talking, but this time I just wanted to get drunk and Sir David for once actually wanted to talk.

"Jack, what is your opinion of this revolution in France?" When it comes to questions that is a really good way to sober a man up. I was dead sober in seconds and had even forgotten about Louisa.

"It's awful." I wanted to be sick, I'd only just got back from France and I hadn't liked what I'd seen at all.

"I'm thinking of being an idiot."

"You already are an idiot." With a friend like David you can say anything at all and he disregards the lot....unless of course you say it twice and then he looks at you in his own way and asks if you're serious. I don't like being serious with Sir David, he fast takes me out of my depth and leaves me gaping.

"No, I'm thinking of doing something monumentally stupid. Do you want to join me?"

"Well I won't get drunk in Picadilly if that's what you're asking." That was an antic I'm not likely to forget soon, even my mother frowned when she heard about it.

"No, I was actually thinking of going back to France."

"Why?" There were times when I could not follow David at all, why he could possibly want to go to France was beyond me.

"I want to try my hand at smuggling. I've never heard of anyone smuggling people before, and it could be a lot of fun." And that was that. A week later we, and a couple of others, were on our way to France to try our hand a people smuggling.

Chapter 2

Posted on Tuesday, 26 February 2002

As I recall (and I'm reassured that I recall nothing) I have seen Sir David drunk just twice. The first time was when his mother died and his father completely forgot about the brandy left on the low table. David of course did what any sensible boy would do and he sampled the beverage his father had abruptly become so partial to. David was eight at the time I believe, so truth be told I didn't even know him the first time he got drunk, but we claim I did to make it seem like he was a bit older. The second time was when David's father died, and that was the night before our finals at Eton.....David had a shocking head for the next two days and his results did suffer somewhat.

As David himself will admit when straightly questioned, he is incredibly partial to pretending to be drunk. I must admit I rather enjoy it too, it saves you from thinking about conversation and you can comfortably spend the evening sleeping in the Library. In other words Society believes us to get drunk on an almost nightly basis when we are nothing of the sort.

However, once more I have failed to keep focussed, I had not intended at all that I should expand on our mischievous pranks played at the expense of society, after all, for the most part they're pretty decent to us and leave us alone.

Then David got drunk a third time, and he had rather an audience.....It took a bottle and a half of that Dijon Cognac and it was a SHOCKING waste of the stuff. Not that we considered that at the time, we were all too shocked at the speed at which he consumed it.

It was Phelps who started the conversational ball rolling that evening. There were six off us in the room and we were all exhausted from a day trying to persuade everyone that we were coal-heavers. Coal dust is the devil, it gets everywhere and is so difficult to get out again. Phelps is very predictable, if he is not speaking of horses he is speaking of nothing at all. We were speaking of horses, and in particular of the horses as ridden by the Military here in Paris. Some of those horses are shockingly underfed, while others look fit to burst. A very sad state of affairs. However we were actually arguing the finer points of some mare or other when the Chief came in. Chief is the name we are fast becoming used to calling David, and in many ways it is important because in Paris he is not even remotely like the Sir David of London, and it would be so confusing to try and remember when one can and can't speak about what matters.

Enough, enough, enough! Why can I not stay focussed on the point? David says my imagination is ill-managed and gets distracted by side paths....I might actually be proud of something like that, it sounds quite important and almost serious. However I think Hermione would be scathing if I were to blame my indiscretions on an ill-managed imagination.

Anyway we were discussing the Captain's mare when the Chief came into the room. The Chief was as white as a sheet and without a word to anyone he settled down and got systematically extremely drunk. Until you have actually seen how much the Chief can drink without getting drunk you have not seen anyone with a high alcohol tolerance. I think most of the others were quite stunned, for they'd never actually seen the Chief get drunk before. I must admit that I am thankful that it is so rare, for he becomes even more complex when he gets drunk. He's a very nice drunk, he just gets quiet and complex.....infinitely nicer than the rowdy drunks. But still complex and it is so difficult to follow his line of thought when he gets complex. And this time was no different, it took us the better part of five minutes to figure out when he was offering to let the lot of us bow out and return permanently to England. The Chief has a very nice turn for philosophy, but since everyone thinks he's an idiot they just assume it was an accident when he makes a profound observation.

Everyone else was asleep and it was about two in the morning when the Chief finally rose from the chair he'd settled in on arrival. Not only does the Chief have a high tolerance of alcohol, but he also recovers from it pretty fast....he still has a frightful head, but he's back to lucid thought and reliable decisions.

"You awake Jack?"

"I wasn't, but I am now?" I slid out of my comfortable corner, stepped on a rat which squeaked before joining the Chief at the window.

"Want to go for a walk?" The Chief turned his back on the Seine and lifted an enquiring eyebrow.

"Sure." What else does one answer at two in the morning? Besides which I wasn't sleepy.

"Do you think any of them will stay?" We'd been walking for over fifteen minutes when David brought the query out, he sounded almost wistful.

"Frankly I don't think you could stop them coming back." I felt safe on this point, we were all enjoying such a radical change, it made life interesting, made pranks back in London seem pretty flat and silly. Who'd exchange people smuggling in France for balls and drunkeness, even fake drunkeness, in London?

"We'll die if we get caught. We'll be executed before London even hears we are in trouble."

"So, easy fix we just abide by your orders.....don't get caught."

"Did anyone tell you you're like a dose of salts Jack?"

"Not that I remember." But frankly I suspect I wouldn't have wanted to remember. A dose of salts is extraordinarily nasty.

"Well you are, I was feeling too gloomy for words when we started out and now I start to feel like I am not retiring to England never to emerge again."

"You were?" I almost fell over and I did stumble heavily.

"St Cyr was executed today." It was almost a whisper and there was nothing for me to say. St Cyr was a friend of David's, had been a friend for years longer than I had been. St Cyr had been invaluable to us while we tried to settle into our smuggling business.

"I see." We'd been wondering when the first head would roll, but it had never occured to me that it might be the head of a friend.

"I didn't even realise he was under suspicion." David's tone was lost, but it didn't take much to understand, David felt he had betrayed a friend. I felt we had betrayed a friend. We should have been able to get St Cyr out of the country, but we didn't. I glanced once at David and I had to admit that even ten years of friendship had not brought me even remotely near understanding this man. I doubted even a lifetime would suffice, just as he could speak complexly, David was a complex man, his motivations and actual thoughts hidden under layers of social and personal conditioning. I realised while we walked along that nothing would change David now, he was going to stay for the duration of this horror and he would strain every fibre of his being to save as many of his friends and the innocents as possible. I wish that I could feel so passionately about anything at all. I know when I come in a second and with David I have always come in at second. In second I am content because it saves me from making decisions. David is here for the duration and so will I be, I could not leave him now even if I wanted to. We have a betrayal to make reparations for.

Chapter 3

Posted on Tuesday, 12 March 2002

Sergeant Cadoux, Captain of the Guards at the West Gate, was one of the few people I ever met in France whom I truly despised. I must admit that I had no greater joy then when I lead a troop of aristocrats, disguised as soldiers, through his gate after the Chief who had driven an empty cart out. Whenever I could I smuggled people passed Cadoux, for Cadoux swore to the world that no disguise could ever fool him, and there is a distinct joy about fooling someone who claims he cannot be fooled. Cadoux was a sadistic brute, which I know for a fact because he caught me once when I went through for the third time in one day. The Chief had warned me multiple times against using a Gate more than once in a day, but I was in a hurry and I paid for it. The Chief would not let me leave the lodgings for three weeks after that episode for nothing could conceal my bruises. I suspect though that even if my bruises could have been concealed he still wouldn't have taken me. I hated being idle in France and those three weeks of slackness more than taught me a lesson about haste.

For the most part we just had fun while we were in France, our wits against theirs, we were young, bored and intelligent. To have an aim is incredibly invigorating, I found that I was barely turning a hair at rising at five thirty in the morning, morning after morning. For the first time in my life I was regularly watching the sun rise (the fact that I'd rarely seen the sunrise except for on the odd occasion that I actually went to bed after it rose is quite irrelevant). We spent our days labouring as coal heavers, carters, soldiers, and any occupation you care to think of. By night we were preparing escapes, reconnaissances and our own departures. The hardest trick was to ensure we were seen frequently enough in London that nobody actually realised we were out of the country, this meant quite a bit of travelling back and forth. I think it was after Denny was caught in Le Havre that we formed ourselves into alternating teams which could both be in France if need be, or have one in England covering for the team in France. I acquired a bit of a reputation for sickliness during the years we were smuggling people out of France for. It was a reputation which I didn't manage to get free of until after Napoleon was sent to St. Helena and I had fought on the Peninsula, in America, and at Waterloo. I wouldn't have been at Waterloo but for a bullet through my leg during the sack of Washington, for which I must admit I was thankful for, Cockburn was an ass.

I am as ever distracted by pointless wanderings. Me and my ill-managed imagination will now attempt to get back on track. Now, I spoke of Cadoux and with a bit of luck I can continue without mentioning him again....though his face made me want to laugh when I told him the Chief had gone through with a load of aristocrats. Cadoux looked like I was force-feeding him semi-decayed rats.

After Cadoux the most irresistible person to bait was Olivier Monteux, and Olivier's main attraction was that he was a very dangerous person to bait. Olivier Monteux had a long, lean face, a beaky, prominent nose, and mournful grey eyes. I never saw Olivier smile, frown, or show any facial expression at all, he was just flat blandness with these sad eyes. Olivier was also a very dark and gloomy dresser, but in an odd way he never stood out, not even in colourful London.

After the order that none of us were to be caught, the second major order the Chief made was that Olivier Monteux was to be baited only in London, and then with extreme circumspection. I remember a lot of complaints from the others, for Olivier really was irresistible, but I had been with the Chief on the first meeting with Olivier and it wasn't something I was likely to forget in a hurry, the man was clever.....very, very clever.

"David." Laurent, le Marquis de St. Cyr, was unmistakeably French. Laurent was a small man, five four on a good day as the Chief described him, dark-haired, dark eyed and oh, of what quickness. Laurent was like quicksilver, he alternated between French and the most atrociously accented English. Laurent almost bubbled, he was possessed of a lightening wit and an equally quick mind. If Laurent had any major failing it was his temper, for Laurent had the temper of a demon. Quick to fire and exceedingly slow to die, if Laurent said he would never forgive someone, he never did.....unlike me who tells everyone I'll never forgive them and then forget about it five minutes later. That's my great failing, no matter what I do I always get distracted and forget about what I was doing or saying.

"Laurent." David composed his expression in the suitable simper and minced across to shake Laurent's hand.

"Devil." Laurent grinned and shook his head. "And what awful affectations dear chap....I swear you have too much lace on your cuff."

"Not at all, 'tis to give the flight of a swallow while taking snuff." David gave a brief smile of his own. "Own it Laurent, it shows great elegance does it not?"

"I will refrain from responding to such a hair-witted remark."

"Oh please don't old friend, please don't. Take your sleeve for instance. Abominable old friend, just too abominable for words, looks like the lining hanging out."

"Oh be quiet." Laurent looked torn between embarrassment and amusement as he waved the Chief to silence. "But come and let me introduce you to everybody. They've been positively agog to meet you, not one of them believe me when I say you can't manage a word above three syllables."

"Believe you? Why should they believe you?" The Chief looked bewildered. "Oh and before I forget, Lord John Alasdair. He's a brother with strawberry leaves somewhere behind him, but the man's a bore so we ignore him as much as possible."

"Snillington I've no doubt, only Alasdairs I've heard of with strawberry leaves....Unless he's trying to deny his relationship with the Avons."

"Good heavens no, such frightful ton the current Marquis has so I wouldn't blame him if he did. No, just a touch of Scottish tucked away some generations back."

"As I said, Snillington. Now come, Chateau-Mornay I have no doubt you remember. de Batts is in green over there. Phillipe couldn't make it and he'll be desolated." Laurent came to a halt and gave a slight, tight smile. "But come, an important introduction. Mon Cher Olivier, attention s'il vous plait." Laurent tapped a nearby shoulder clad in black. "Mon ami, le Olivier, Olivier Monteux." The man who turned around had a lean and ascetic face with sad eyes and a prominent nose.

"Laurent, I might have known." Olivier spoke almost accentlessly in flawless English. "Sir David I assume and Lord John....my, my we are privileged, you have produced two instead of one daring Englishman."

"Daring? Laurent what means he? Have you been lying again?"

"Not at all David." Laurent gave a gentle smile. "Olivier teases, just agree with him."

"He does not look like he might tease." The response was meant to be sotto voce, but was actually heard by most of the room.

"I do not tease at all Sir David." Olivier's carefully measured tones fell upon a silent room. "Any man with money and land who ventures into France is daring."

"Oh rubbish, I'm an Englishman."

"Nationality is no safe guard." Olivier turned away once more with those words leaving myself to join the Chief in vapid protestations about our nationality being a safeguard to all. The challenge had been laid down and the warning given, our lives would be forfeit if we were caught stepping out of line.

Laurent de St Cyr lead us away fairly quickly to join some more bonhomous contemporaries where conversation could flow with no mind engaged. Where the talk was identical to any talk we might meet in England and I do not think mine was the only mind otherwise occupied, the Chief looked almost worried as we went home. The Chief's concern lightened not a wit after the arrival of a note Laurent had sent after us.

Olivier Monteux, Chef agent pour le commite de securite national

Chapter 4

Posted on Wednesday, 13 March 2002

Elisabeth de Bennoit of le Comédie Francais. Even now I always find myself at a loss to explain what her magic was. Elisabeth had rich red-brown hair which curled like no hair I had ever seen. Elisabeth was not a beauty by any stretch of the imagination....but neither was she at all difficult to look at. In fact one could have stared at Elisabeth all day for days on end and not been bored or tired. Elisabeth's face was a trifle too thin for classical beauty, her chin a trifle too determined, and without question her face was far too intelligent. But what made Elisabeth so fantastically popular was her eyes and her expression. Elisabeth had the most incredible eyes I have ever seen, a deep, dark brown for an average colour. The brown turned to black when Elisabeth was laughing and happy, black bottomless wells which dragged you in to enjoy her amusement. But when Elisabeth became angry those brown eyes became hazel, flecked with green and licked by tongues of angry gold. They were, suffice to say, the most incredible eyes I had ever laid eyes on.....and I will admit I have laid eyes on a lot of eyes over the years. Elisabeth's face was a well of expression, everything flickered across that face. Elisabeth could pack entire paragraphs of thought into the faintest twitch of an eyebrow. Also without question was the fact that Elisabeth's mother had clearly forgotten to tell her that women were meant to be like pools, calm, placid and healing. Elisabeth had a tongue and an incredibly capable one at that. Elisabeth's wit could make even the strongest cringe and few were the men who chose to challenge her.

I can remember the first time we met Elisabeth de Bennoit, or should I say the circumstance which lead to the meeting, quite clearly. I can also remember the first meeting, but anyone remembers their first meeting with Elisabeth de Bennoit. It started, as it always does, one dark and rainy night. No joke it was dark, it was rainy, and I must admit I was very wet and less than impressed when the Chief decided to be a pacifistically inclined gentleman. Namely he saw a fight and felt compelled to break it up. When the Chief joins a fight, the fight doesn't last for long at all. In this case less than a minute passed before we were alone in that dim alley with a middle-aged man of perhaps a little under fifty. He was fluffy in the manner of a teddy bear, not at all the sort you expect to see at the heart of a backstreet brawl.

"You look a trifle unwell." Trust David to observe the obvious. The man had a beautifully blackened eye, a deep gash on his forehead and was missing three teeth.

"Je suis Pierre. Ecoutez-moi, trouve Elisabeth de la Comédie Francais. Elle est ma fille. Trouve Elisabeth s'il vous plait, trouve Elisabeth vite." He spoke sort of vaguely and muffled, but his meaning was clear and I was sent to la Comédie Francais with the understanding that David was packing our foggy gentleman off to our house in Rue Richomme.

The Comédie Francais is a very impressive building with an even more impressive interior, though as is eternally the case the artists chambers are not of the best. Across the road, more or less, is the Louvre, which I have been inside once and is a rather impressive building if you're at all fond of gilded hangings and centaurs strangling each other.

It did not take me long to find Elisabeth that evening, Pierre should have noted that she was the star to end all stars and that would have saved me the embarrassment of not believing a doorman when he made to lead me to the main dressing rooms. Terribly embarrassing, but Elisabeth was kind and laughed at me when I explained the predicament I was in. I was in a predicament because I had disposed of the doorman and was comprehensively lost when I accidentally met her.

"Tu est perdu, m'sieur?" Her voice was melodious to say the least, but truth be told any voice would have sounded melodious in that dark warren.

"Comprehensively." I didn't really care if she didn't speak English, I had decided my French was exhausted. I say decided since I have to admit that when I'm at all in the mood I can speak French as well as I speak English....but I'm very rarely in the mood and I certainly wasn't then since it had been a tiring day.

"Je ne comprende, mais je comprende. Follow me." She led me to a door which she banged on firmly.

"Moment."

"Jacques, je n'ai pas un moment."

"Pardon Elisabeth, je suis ton serviture." The man who came out of the room actually looked remarkably like Laurent de St. Cyr.

"Il est perdu. Il ne parle pas le francais. Il parle anglais."

"Ah, le Angleterre. I speak ver' good eenglish. You have a problem?"

"I'm looking for Elisabeth de la Comédie Francais."

"You come to the right place. But which Elisabeth and why do you want her?"

"Pierre was asking for her. I do not know other name, just Elisabeth."

"Pierre is fuzzy?"

"Ummm, yes."

"Good." Jacques turned to Elisabeth and loosed a flood of French which was almost faster than I could follow. It didn't take me long to realise that my saviour had been the very Elisabeth I was looking for.

"He was in a fight of some kind near Montmatre, he was asking for her and he is quite beat up."

"Ooh-la-la." Jacques rubbed his nose for a moment before turning once more to Elisabeth, further conversation resulted.

"What now?" I actually knew all about the 'what now', but I felt lazy.

"Louise will finish the play, Elisabeth goes to change and you will drink wine in here until she returns....at which point you escort her to where ever." Jacques waved a vague hand before pushing me into his dressing room and slamming the door firmly behind us.

Jacques dressing room was small, but comfortable, and he'd clearly been at pains to make it more comfortable. Jacques left five minutes later, which left me with ten minutes to kick my heels before Elisabeth returned in a simple country gown with her hair tied neatly away.

And that was it, no more, no less, I had to find a hackney to take us to Rue Richomme and they were devilishly reluctant to go all the way out there.....I almost had to pay double fair, but eventually one of them agreed to rate fairs after I threatened to throw him in the gutter and take the hackney myself. Never driven a hackney before, I intended to suggest the idea to Romney when I got back to London, it would stir the town up no end. Second son of a Duke seen tooling a hackney around Hyde Park, definitely that would make the papers and possibly get me a bit more money out of my Uncle....provided he didn't ground me completely.

Chapter 5

Posted on Monday, 25 March 2002

Olivier Monteux, how I adored that man. In fact I defy anyone to discover another human being so utterly devoid of humour.

Elisabeth has just made the observation that I have very rudely left her stranded in a hackney somewhere between la Comédie and Rue Richomme. I protest most energetically against this, but the fact remains that to this day I still am very confused about what happened that night at Rue Richomme. So with my most magnanimous nature I am refraining from confusing the entire world by confusing them with my confusing narrative of a very confusing night. Elisabeth observes that that is more confusing than the night could possibly have been. I will hold by the statement that Elisabeth has a special mind.....it must be a special mind, she married David!

I am now in disgrace, but I shall rise above it. Or to put the whole matter correctly David has taken exception to my observation about Elisabeth's mind and this manuscript is now in considerably worse condition than it was five minutes ago. Elisabeth observed that she had hoped we'd risen past second form at Eton, we assured her that we hadn't and she has departed to speak to the cook.

However back to the serious subjects. As mentioned an eternity ago I first met Olivier Monteux in the house of Laurent de St. Cyr. The second time I met Olivier was in London, and I was dancing with my sister. This sister not being my sister-in-law Hermione. My sister in this case was Lady Edith....I think I'd better admit now before it gets admitted for me that I have six sisters, not counting Hermione. I have only the one brother, and but that he saves me from the strawberry leaves and six rows of ermine I could most certainly live without him as well....but if could be five.....no doubt Hermione could tell me, but I refuse to ask her.

Edith, or Ed, is the one person who knew anything at all about my clandestine activities in France. Ed used to tease Hermione by refering to these activities as if they were a Lady.....Hermione is most upright regarding behaviour, which of course makes her absolutely irresistible. To see her attempting to show polite interest while listening to what she thinks is a 'smutty' story I've told Edith. The lectures I have had from Hermione on what I should and shouldn't tell my sister are quite beyond count. But quite frankly I see nothing written into her marriage contract which gives her the right to lecture to me about what I tell my favourite kid-sister.

But back on track. I believe I have mentioned that I was dancing with Ed when Olivier showed his gloomy visage to the select world of London Society. Why I was dancing with Ed is another story I will not regale you with. However for the first time I comprehensively stomped on my partner's foot. When I say stomped, I mean stomped, Ed hasn't danced with me since.....even though I have abjectly grovelled more than once.....she says she doesn't trust me. Truth be told, I don't trust myself.

But, Olivier appeared and I did my stomping act. I was NOT stomping from shock, though others seem to think I was. Neither was I stomping because I slipped on candle-grease. In fact I have no excuse whatsoever for my stomp, so maybe I should say I was stomping from shock. The downside of that is then that I have to tell a lie and say I did not know that Olivier was one in England, and two coming to the ball. Most depressing.

Olivier did not do what everyone else did, and that was make his bow to the Prince, but then he was French and the French were being strange those days. Not at all civilised.

That really was how things were working in those days, if we weren't in France we were in England. If we were smuggling people we were dancing attendance at half a dozen social things which bored us witless while we were the most witless to be found.

I think it was just after that dance that I developed pneumonia and spent the six months completely unavailable to all comers.....guess who was in France?

Chapter 6

Elisabeth de Bennoit entered our lives in a very strange manner, and having entered it once, she kept right on re-entering it with great regularity.

Let me see (and consult with David and Elisabeth), I think it was a week after we rescued Pierre that she invited us to a soirée of hers . Then....oh yes, David took her on a picnic to some woods near Versailles....but le Compte de Frere was underneath so I don't know if that counts. Then there was Mme. Martigny's dinner....but once again....Help, David was a cold devil, except for the first meeting there was always some ulterior motive behind the meeting which had nothing to do with Elisabeth.

David has once more 'corrected' me. If you believe David, and Elisabeth doesn't, the Aristocrats under the seat, in the back of the cart, in the luncheon basket, and riding over the rear wheel, were all careful ploys on his part to produce a fool-proof excuse for seeing her. Elisabeth agrees with me that she was just a handy tool available for the task of getting aristocrats out of the country.

The fact remains that when David married Elisabeth two months later she was only slightly less surprised than we were....and we were very surprised indeed. It wasn't at al David's style, he'd never got married before....not even got engaged come to think of it.....possibly never even had a 'love of his life'. David was a very slow learner.

Elisabeth observes that perhaps I should refrain from commenting on David in future, and I must admit that I am inclined to agree, he makes such a mess of my coat....and it's a rather nice one today.

David married Elisabeth in Paris and I guess that's when Olivier really started to make himself felt in our lives. I have no memory of why he was invited to the wedding, or who invited him. I must admit I somewhat suspect him of inviting himself. When you know the uninvited guest has the ability to cut your head off most people tend to come over all cowardly and let the 'guest' in. Reminds me of picket duty in the Pyrenees when a nasty French Captain decided he wanted my wine. Something to do with the knife at my neck, but I came over all cowardly and gave him the wine, even though I'd paid good money for it.

BUT, Olivier was at the wedding.....well, correction, he was at the reception. There was only me, David, Elisabeth and fluffy Pierre at the wedding....well there was that priestly type as well, but I ignored him as much as possible....also ignored the two little boys who seemed all but attached to his robes.

Anyway, forgetting those two little boys, the wedding wasn't too bad. Much better than Hermione's effort with my brother. St. Georges if you don't mind and Hermione was never designed to wear a dress like that one. Elisabeth was designed to wear her dress....still is for that matter, though David does eye me with an unkindly eye for that remark.

David has his suspicions about what I think of his wife, and to be honest I don't blame him because I tell him whenever I get drunk. I promise you, he sobers me up very fast indeed. However I suspect he would sober me up even faster if I spoke about her like the disgusting Mellon speaks of Fotheringay's wife. Elisabeth has left in disgust and David encourages me to order my mind so this does not get completely lost in irrelevancies and distractions.

Olivier was at the reception, for the third and last time, if I do not say it this time you'll never know what happened at the reception. I think I was standing by David doing my duty as the best man. I say think because there were about fifty people standing next to David....but I think they were after his money.

I think it was Horton who heard it first, but Wheeler was certainly with him when they came to me. It wasn't a nice bit of gossip and there were only four of us there so there was no way we could squash it.

"Ah Gentlemen. Pleasant day is it not?" It was Olivier who had descended upon us.

"M'sieur?" I looked blankly at him.

"Pardon, je suis Olivier Monteux, chef agent pour la comité de la sécurité national."

"Your face look......I've got you, the gentleman with the so badly tied cravat at Laurent de St. Cyr's two months ago. What do you mean by shortening him? He could tie a very decent cravat." I was not going to speak to that man in French.

"The taste in cravat of a man is irrelevant, we act upon information. We are informed le ci-devant Marquis de St. Cyr is a traitor, therefore he must die a traitors death."

"You don't say? Blood-thirsty lot aren't you."

"Not at all, one would sooner accuse the denouncer of blood-thirstiness, than the executors. We follow the law, we do not write it."

"Oh really?" I couldn't think of anything else to say, he was serious. "Do tell me who he was, I would like to see a blood-thirsty person."

"You have not far too look, Elisabeth Darcy stands just over there, she signed the warrent herself, I watched her."

Chapter 7

Posted on Wednesday, 17 April 2002

Now where am I? Elisabeth says that I had just had a shocking revelation and was staring at her. I have never understood how Elisabeth can remember so much, least of all remembering where I was up to in a story as well as where I was up to in the actual reality. However, I'll trust her today and we will start with the fact that I'd had a shocking revelation made and was staring at her. Though why I was staring at her I don't really remember. Or to clarify that more clearly...methinks that is grammatically incorrect...I remember exactly why I was staring at her, but why I was staring at her is beyond me. Elisabeth tells me that looks terribly confusing, but I must admit I cannot follow her there.

Suffice to say, I was staring at Elisabeth, and continued right on staring at her until Horton noticed my line of sight and dragged me off for a discreet pummelling in some otherwise unoccupied room.

I must admit that on the whole I am not at all an advocate of boxing as a sport. But there is something about a bout of fisticuffs which is inexpressibly relieving, and this case was no otherwise. I think I spent about five minutes exchanging blows with Horton before I remembered what was going on. I thumped Horton soundly to ensure he wouldn't follow too closely and raced back into the reception, pausing only briefly to tidy up before re-entering the reception. For those of you who might be puzzled about Horton's blood-thirsty behaviour, I must admit there was good reason for it. I never have liked the gossip which arises because the Best Man stares at the Bride for too long.

For why it was my job to be 'messenger' of bad news to the Chief is really quite simple. I had known the Chief the longest, and therefore by following the bewildering ramifications of the English mind I can assure you that it is expected that the oldest acquaintance invariably carries the worst news.

"What's up?" Sir David was uncanny....as a matter of fact he's still uncanny, still reads me like an open book much to me dismay.

"It's that visible?" I turned my attention to the little mirror which stood in the secluded corner David had dragged me into. To this day I have no idea how Sir David managed to get us so nicely isolated and away from everyone, but he did.

"Not to anyone else I should think." Sir David lent me a hand straightening my cravat.

"A blessing in a lousy disguise." I flicked Sir David's fingers away from my cravat and straightened it once more. To say the least, the gossip caused by a worried looking Best Man is even worse than the gossip caused by a staring Best Man.....combine the both of them and I shudder at the results.

"So what's the problem?" Sir David turned his attention to his own cravat.

"Have you told her yet?"

"No....why?" Sir David twitched his cravat and made it frightfully skewed, he wasn't going to fix that in a hurry.

"There are some rumours circulating concerning her and the arrest warrant for le Marquis de St. Cyr."

"Rum...where from?" Sir David was going to have to depart and fetch a new cravat if he wasn't careful.

"It is very vague and filamentous."

"Well find out fa....who, where and all the rest." Sir David had caught my eyes in the mirror, and he wasn't letting go of them, much to my dismay....I was going to have to tell the truth now.

"Horton had it from de Batts first, Whelan got told it by that tiddly guard and I got told it by Olivier. By all three of them she signed the arrest warrant and specified the charges."

"Not even for a sister...." The Chief died off, his eyes losing focus as he got lost somewhere else. "She is not to be trusted, make sure the others know. Under no circumstances what-so-ever is she to hear even the slightest whisper of the truth." The Chief's eyes had turned slate-grey and were immeasurably harder than that rock.

"You believe it." To say the least I was shocked.

"How can I believe otherwise? She swore years ago she would have revenge on the family." The hardness departed, leaving desolation in its wake.

"I have missed something." It was a good minute later when I spoke.

"Only some miserable history. Five years ago Thomas de St. Cyr....not Laurent's boy....was engaged to marry Jeanne de Bennoit. Then Thomas abruptly broke it off with no explanation and went to England. Jeanne waited for five months, then realised that Thomas was not returning and killed herself. Elisabeth swore at her sister's place of burial that she would avenge herself."

"Why did Thomas terminate the engagement?" To a certain degree I can take things, but even I expect someone to explain why an engagement is ended.

"Because Thomas was a spineless fop." Sir David responded shortly. "Don't ask further, it's a sordid history which I have no intention of going into."

"But David..." I stopped as I caught The Chief's eyes once more. Five years had certainly been how long Thomas de St Cyr had been in England for. Likewise, Thomas de St. Cyr was unquestionably a spineless fop. How this tied up with the Chief I had no real idea and as I met those grey eyes I decided that I didn't want an idea.

"Any more questions John?" The Chief was straightening his cravat once more.

"No....She didn't know Marie or the children did she?"

"No. She didn't know either Marie or the Children...neither did she ever meet Laurent, he was only ever a name, the elder brother of Thomas."

"I think I'm going to be sick." It is very difficult to admit that one has been fooled without feeling sick.

"Well leave the room then." The Chief finished fixing his cravat and made one last, tiny adjustment to the small sapphire which was pinned through it.

"What are you going to do?"

"Nothing." It was the face of Sir David Darcy, Bart. which looked down at me, blank, slightly imbecilic and utterly devoid of emotion. "She must never know we even suspect the truth, let alone know it. She is not to be trusted John."

I watched as Sir David returned to the crowd and his bride. My familiar eyes could see the change, but I doubted anyone else could. Sir David's face was that little bit too blank, his manners hat little bit too good. Sir David was playing a role which had been trained into him since before he could remember. Playing a role, being a person, and focussed purely on what he was doing, not once considering where he was doing it, or who he was doing it with. I suspect I could have walked up to him and he would not have honestly recognised me, though his conversation would have persuaded the entire world we were old friends.

I spent the rest of the reception with a glass of wine in my hand, the same glass with the level unchanged, and thankfully no one noticed that I was not drinking. They took it for granted I was already drunk. I watched Sir David depart for England with his Bride and then I went and got drunk. Looking back one might have thought that I knew in advance it would be the last time I got even remotely near drunk, for I kept myself soaked to the eyebrows for the entire week until I had to join Sir David in London. Not after Ciudad Roderigo, or B....not Bastille, but a place starting with B. Down on the Spanish-Portuguese, border. It is a fortress town and they held out to the very end. We sacked it when we had triumphed and Harry Smith married a Hidalgo. I've often wondered whether Kincaid wasn't in love with Juana....I would have fallen in love with her had it not been that Harry had married her before I even laid eyes on her. But still the name eludes me, it starts with B and we sacked it in about 1811 or thereabouts, because 1812 was marching to and from Madrid and then we were in Tolouse for 1813. I didn't get drunk after Waterloo either....I know for a fact it wasn't Brighton, which still houses that ghastly Palace of the Prince Regent. I never did like the Oriental look and I still don't like it......I do wish I could remember the name of that city.

Chapter 8

Posted on Sunday, 21 April 2002

There is one hat in the world which can be seen once and never forgotten. That hat was a spreading effort, well endowed with feathers, but fortunately no fruit. That hat was also perched of my hatstand, dwarfing it to a size which seemed ridiculously small. That hat also warned me that I really should have stayed hidden away until I was actually sober.

"John!" Annie came flying out of My Room in a whirl of purple and cream silk. I call it My Room because it is not a formal entertainment room, but neither is it a study, or a library, hence I just call it My Room. Such an ugly word room, distinctly displeasing to the eye, yet our language fails to provide an alternative word, so it will remain a room.

"Mother." I embraced her gingerly before engaging in a campaign to ensure the top of my head was still attached....I was fortunate this time. "Is Ed here?"

"No, left her at the dressmakers." Annie was dragging me back to my room. "Now promise me, you will not be sick for Lady Belmont's soiree."

"You want me to go to Lady Belmont's?" I spoke in a feeble manner and I felt feeble. In fact I wouldn't have been surprised if I was gaping.

"John, if you do not show I will not let you be sick for the de Bourgh Ball." Have I ever mentioned that Annie, when she feels so inclined, can bring to bear the most awesome powers of persuasion. My defences collapsed, and had I not been a man of eight-and-twenty I fear I would have cried. The mere thought of the de Bourgh Ball reduced me to quivering jelly....It still reduces me to quivering jelly, even though they have thankfully faded into the dark well of history.

"I'll be there." I felt even sicker than I had before, if such was possible.

"Good, I'll now get you a drink and let you sleep off your potations." Annie departed leaving me to moan feebly. Annie brewed only one drink and it was the cure of all ills. Truth be told I rather suspect that she put arsenic in it. Suffice to say that Annie's cure-all was precisely that, a cure-all.....either that or a kill-all. But since I am still alive it clearly didn't kill too often.

"John, so delighted to see you." It was Sir David who came gliding so elegantly across towards me, a vapid smile on his face and blank eyes which I had seen positively spitting fire and enthusiasm on occasion.

"Sir David." I shook his hand.

"I heard you had a cold, I do hope you are better."

"Infinitely." I sighed and looked around the room. "Do tell, I heard you got married?"

"Yes, she's off dancing I believe." Sir David turned his head, and sure enough Elisabeth was dancing with my brother.

"Should I pity her or my brother?"

"I would pity both." Sir David tucked my hand under his elbow. "Come, I need to win Thor of you."

"Oh do you?" No one challenges me to a game of cards like that. Least of all when it concerns my best hunter.

"Yes I do as a matter of fact....and what persuaded you to come?"

"Annie refused to cover me at the de Bourgh Ball if I refused to come tonight."

"Oh dear." And that was the only answer Sir David would give, but it more than told me that I would be very unhappy before the evening was out.

London formed its opinion as quickly and decidedly as it had ever made a decision. Lady Darcy was the toast of society, even though she was married and five-and-twenty years of age. Sir David, ever popular, met no major disapproval about his choice. As for me? Well I became even more popular as daft-wits became persuaded that since Sir David had become saddled I was guaranteed to follow. As I said, daft-wits.

Did anyone in London show no joy at the sight of Elisabeth? Oh yes, Thomas de St. Cyr. Thomas looked like he had been gutted when he first saw her. He looked gutted the second time he saw her. In fact Thomas de St. Cyr spent most of his time at any social event glowering at Elisabeth and looking gutted when he wasn't glowering. But enough for now, I will carry on with Lady Belmont's later, for it was the first of what could only be called epic battles. It made Waterloo like a stroll in the meadow.

Chapter 9

Posted on Friday, 26 April 2002

There is something so irrevocably final about chapter 9, rather like the rifleman's charge. For the first step, maybe step and a half, of a charge he can cry frightened and stop. However after the second step has been completed there is no turning back, you charge to death or glory....and being a rifleman you usually charged to both.

Lady Belmont, that ogre of my youth, is....or was, a third cousin on my distaff side....though come to think of it she could be a fifth cousin...or...suffice to say she was a very distant relative, the ramifications of any family tree I find boring....unless I am arguing with Hermione, at which point I know for a fact my memory is 100% reliable for nine generations for half the families in England. However I am not arguing with Hermione and as a result Lady Belmont could well be the King of England for all I know....though I must admit, I hope she is not.

As I remember I spent a lot of that evening hiding in a corner and wishing that all poets could die a slow and painful death. Not saying that I haven't been told a million times that it is an art form of purity and something or other else I've taken great care to forget over the years. Suffice to say I have no taste for poetry when it gets read to me and I have no choice concerning the variety.

All these painful ramblings of course bring me back to the point that I was hiding, and Elisabeth observes, not so sotto voce, that I'm a very bad hider. I hold that as utterly irrelevant, one hides in society where everyone assumes you're looking for company. Why is it that a person visibly seeking company of some form or other is avoided like they have the plague? Elisabeth is now laughing openly and I must admit that there was a specific sort of companionship I was looking for, and there are very few girls willing to sit around in a seat when they can be ogling a poet or dancing.

"What do you think you are doing?" The voice, very soft, came from behind a potted plant, which was the only thing behind me. Correction, I thought the plant was the only thing between me and the wall, but my misapprehension was corrected. The voice belonged to Elisabeth and to say the least she sounded unhappy.

"I was sleeping." Sir David's tones did sound remarkably groggy, and considering where he'd been at five that morning it would not have surprised me that he was sleeping. With the threat of the de Bourgh Ball over my head I can assure you I was very awake indeed.

"Well you shouldn't!"

"Why not?" There were times when Sir David's logic is completely unanswerable.

"It isn't polite." Of a certainty, Elisabeth was quick, her English had improved out of sight, and on top of that she was fast getting a feel for the way to make the average Englishman behave. I say average because Sir David wasn't behaving and had no intention of starting....he also isn't your average Englishman.

"Why should I be polite when I didn't chose to come?" There was something in that response which warned me that trouble was brewing. As when trouble starts to brew I first had a look around to see who could hear, and then set myself ready to ward off any nosies who decided to come within hearing.

"Common decency demands it!"

"I have it on your good authority, Madame that I have no decency." That was a leveller, and if nothing else had warned me that the Darcy household was far from strawberries and cream, that undoubtedly did.

"Why..." Elisabeth's voice rose slightly and I saw a couple of heads start to turn. As they say 'uh-oh'.

"We will not discuss this here or now." It was flat, it was cold and it would have silenced anyone else. But Elisabeth was not anyone.

"If you think...." Elisabeth got no further before there was a disturbance behind me. I didn't look back, but mostly because I could guess what was happening. The faint whimper confirmed my suspicion.

"John, do follow us, we do not require company." It was a soft whisper as David moved past me. I watched them move across the room and then out of the room. For most of the world they were leaving, a peaceful departure. For me I knew David would not drive back to Richmond until that argument was over. I just prayed he wouldn't have to break Elisabeth's heart in the process. Having seen them leave the room, I departed myself a couple of moments later, by another door.

What does one do when standing guard over the queen of all fights? Elisabeth retained her dignity at all times, though I suspect she might well have thrown something at David if they had been in Richmond. David was being unbelievably British and forcing Elisabeth to practically spell out every argument she made. In fact I didn't blame her for half the things she said, I would have said them myself because he was being unbelievably dense.

"Your propensity is to hate anything which separates you from sleep." When and how they got onto that subject I have no idea, I'd actually chosen to ignore a lot of the fight, it wasn't my fight and it was rather embarrassing to be able to hear that which was none of my business. The only time such situations are not embarrassing is when your life depends on your knowing what is happening.

"And yours, Madame, is to so completely misunderstand the actions and motives of other that it practically makes existence a farce." The door swung open and I jumped behind a nearby statue. Sir David emerged and glanced back into the room, he did not look like he'd just had a fifteen-minute argument with his wife. "I'm certain Lord John will be happy to provide you with escort, Madame." David closed the door and without even glancing at me headed off down the hallway. "By-the-bye John, you don't look even remotely like Mercury, do move."

"Thanks." But I was speaking to myself and I knew it as I came out from behind the statue, which as David had observed was of Mercury....a chap who has wings on his feet or something like that....Greek Mythology I think...possibly I should have paid a bit more attention at school. I glanced at the closed door and pondered my options, but eventually I figured the only option was to walk in there and hope she didn't decide to dislike me.

"You're never far away are you." Elisabeth glanced up dully from her seat on the Louis something-or-other sofa. It is my opinion that the French are an unimaginative lot, at least name-wise. Sixteen King Louis', in my opinion that's too many.

"Is that meant as an insult?" I paused by the doorway and eyed her cautiously. I've never had to deal with someone after a fight before, and I had no idea what to do.

"If you're insulted, then yes it was. If you're not insulted, then no it wasn't." Elisabeth stood up and gathered together her things.

"Well I don't actually know if I am insulted." I continue to watch her warily.

"Whose friend are you?"

"I'm everyone's friend if they'll let me." I glanced around the room to check nothing had been dropped.

"Are you my friend?"

"I honestly don't know. Am I?" I looked down at her curiously. Elisabeth was a rarity, she could cry and still look beautiful....still is a rarity for that matter, for he still looks beautiful when she cries.

"I hope so." Elisabeth took my arm and we moved down the stairs towards the front door.

"I hope so too." I had no idea where this was going.

"What did I do wrong?" That caused me to almost fall down the stairs.

"How do you mean?" I responded cautiously, while finding my feet and casting an accusing glare at a perfectly normal stair.

"Please don't play the fool."

"I'm not right now, I'm just uncertain as to what you're referring to." I was also highly embarrassed, but that was beside the point.

"You heard it. What is the difference? We never fought in France."

"Maybe it's just a married thing." I shrug in a hopeful sort of way, but she didn't swallow it, and I didn't really expect her too.

"And your parents fought like that?"

"Well....not really." I hesitated slightly over my response, my father had died when I turned five and to say the least my memories were foggy and somewhat non-existent.

"Thank you." We were by now outside and I realised I had a second predicament on my hands. David sends his carriage away during an event, and since I lived practically next door, I didn't have a carriage. The result was that we were completely devoid of transport in the middle of London and Annie was still upstairs.

"Mm." I glanced around in a slightly irritated manner wondering what I was going to do.

"Would it cause too much talk if I went to your house?"

"W-ell." I hesitated for my rooms were a bit of a mess. "Frankly, I doubt it would create any talk. Cup of Chocolate?"

"Please. Do you know what's wrong?"

"Why should I know?"

"Please, just tell me the truth."

"Elisabeth...." I stopped uncertain of how to phrase my response without exposing anything. "I'm not David, I don't know how his mind works....except that it can work much better than mine. Likewise it's been a week since I last saw you, and that was in France, this is in England. Suffice to say, if I hear anything out of confidence that I think you should know, I'll tell you."

"Have you heard anything in confidence?" Elisabeth stared back up at me and the only thing I could do was stare back. "Thank you." Elisabeth sighed wearily. "Why can't he tell me? What did I do?"

"Elisabeth...."

"Well look at it from my angle for a moment. I've given up everything for him. I left a life I loved, I left my family and all my friends, I left a language I knew, I came to a country where I am an oddity. If you think I did it for fun Lord John Alastair let me let you in on a secret, I didn't." Elisabeth's voice was shaking. "I gave up everything for him, and what I get in return..." She spread her hands speakingly and helplessly. "Why can't he speak to me about it?"

"Possibly he doesn't understand himself really...." I hesitated, I had to say something, but what could I say without betraying either or both.

"Well why can't he say something?"

"Because that's not the sort of person he is." I was back on solid ground and thankful for it. "David will observe a problem, analyse it to the best of his abilities, and then when he has a conclusion he will speak."

"Then why did he speak to you?" Elisabeth was crying again, but there was nothing I could do and I certainly couldn't comfort her.

"Because unfortunately it was me who made him aware of the problem in the first place. I didn't do it intentionally Elisabeth, but I did. If you want someone to get angry at because of all this, get angry at me, not David. If I had kept my mouth shut you might have got a few months of peace before-hand."

"Well what did you say to him?" As I said, Elisabeth was not stupid.

"I don't think you want to know." I hedged warily.

"It concerns me, so yes, I do wish to know." Elisabeth stopped and looked up at me.

"Elisabeth..." I moved my hands helplessly. "It's men's business to term it politely. Yes, the matter did concern you, but not in that way."

"I'm an actress Lord John, there's basically nothing I don't know and I certainly am not likely to take on coy."

"No, you're not." I grimaced. "It's a cultural irregularity, that's all, something which is normal to France but rather grates on our English nerves."

"Well if you told me what it was I might be able to avoid it."

"If you did it again...." I paused as I let us into the house and instructed my man to tell David where Elisabeth was. "You'd probably be hung." I penetrated the small kitchen and began cautiously to make hot chocolate, one of the few skills I have in the kitchen.

"You've an awful lot of books." I don't know what instinct it was, but Elisabeth most kindly dropped the matter and turned to banal matters.

"Most of them come from my uncle." I moved back to the door to watch her.

"There was a man staring at me this evening and he didn't look happy."

"Dark hair and a bad cravat?"

"David said it was an awful cravat."

"I doubt he was that polite on the matter." I stepped back into the kitchen and brought out the hot chocolate. "Do you know Thomas de St. Cyr?"

"No, never seen the man in my life. He knew my sister though." There was a brief flicker in Elisabeth's expression, and it looked like pain.

"You never saw Thomas de St. Cyr before?" I handed her a mug of chocolate and moved to pick up the book I had been reading that afternoon.

"No....why?"

"He seems to think he knows you very well....I'll let David know you don't know him."

"Why?" Elisabeth looked curiously at me.

"Club talk, nothing major, but it can make things complicated." I avoided the matter and ignored the ice in my stomach. With luck David would come before too long, or at least send a carriage. Elisabeth hadn't even known Thomas and yet....

Chapter 10

Posted on Wednesday, 1 May 2002

There are three things I consider to come under the category of VERY disconcerting. The first, is to get splashed just before you enter another person's house. The second is to fall off your horse. The third is to wake up the next morning with a bad headache, something I invariably get after sleeping in my chair, a ruined cravat, and your best friend's wife lying on the lounge, comfortably tucked up.

"Do be obliging and wake-up." It was David's voice who disturbed my rather worried wonderings as to how Elisabeth had ended up on my lounge.

"I am awake." I fear I spoke somewhat testily, for it as two in the morning and I was not very awake.

"Good." The Chief pulled me from my chair and inspected me sharply in the dim firelight. "You look like you've been soaked....but I think you're just half asleep still. Go get dressed, and I'll come myself if you're not back in five."

"Aye." I staggered from the room, and was delighted by the icy air which snapped me into the world of almost fully awake. To get dressed in five minutes is not all that difficult....provided one is not about to go to a ball. Riding breeches, a shirt and coat take all of about two minutes, which leaves three minutes to locate a cravat that is not smothered in lace....also stockings. Boots are not acquired until the door is reached and stockings are easier to find than cravats...and fortunately my man polishes my boots. Hair is also not a concern, you just pull it back after having pushed a comb through it, and refrained from howling when a knot is discovered. I must admit I was one of a very few who did not complain when the army decided that hair must be worn short, so much less troublesome....I was very unpopular for a while because I wouldn't join in bewailing our visible pates.

"For once you're under five minutes." The Chief was pulling on his boots in the front hall.

"But what of Elisabeth?" To say the least I was worried, she was still in my house.

"I left a note with your man in your name. Grovelling apologies and the lot, but you have a problem with your estate which needs immediate attention. Your mother says that your horse has the staggers."

"My mother wouldn't know the difference between a horse with staggers and a kick in the nose." I wrenched my boots on in irritation. "It's the middle of winter."

"Well do you see Elisabeth as actually announcing that you're off dealing with a horse with the staggers?"

"Well what do I do if she does?"

"Correct her and say it was bilious or something." The Chief pushed me out the door where the horses were waiting.....much to my amusement I was on Priest, the horse just this moment accused of having the staggers.

"I think I'll pray nothing it wrong with it at all." I swung easily into the saddle and shot off after the Chief, I sort of hoped he'd tell me the reason for this midnight escapade before we reached our destination.

Paris is a city like no other on earth....and what's more, it smells like no city on earth. My current position was in the corner next to some stairs. The stairs were steep and the corner uncomfortable, but it was also the only place where I could see my objective without actually sitting in the immense puddle of water which stretched across the road. As it was I got very damp every time anything larger than one person passed....and as the Guard passed every couple of seconds I was in fact soaked.

Hermione says that the beggar in rags wears rags for he is too poor to buy something new. This I disagree with. I hold that the beggar wears rags because he cannot afford a waterproof, and rags drain so much better than normal clothes do....I have a lot of experience in the matter.

The question is of course, why was I sitting in a corner in rags to begin with. I must admit if I had to give a personal reason I still am unable to do so. If you were just asking why I had taken the position? Well the Chief had pointed and so I had gone. Why was I really there? Well the Compte de something-or-other was lined up for shortening and the Chief had decided that he should not be shortened. Just a tiny bit over a day and a half separated my current position from my comfortable room in London. To say the least, what the Chief does not know about networking really is a waste of time. A trip that usually takes between three and eight days, is now commonly done by us in about twenty-four hours...provided that the weather is favourable.

It should not surprise anyone to know that the Compte de something-or-other survived. We always succeeded, provided the French Government didn't do something like chop the man early. We had a day and a half warning that the Compte was getting chopped, our best effort was a three hour separation between news that someone was arrested and getting the person out. That was le Compte de Tournay, a friend of Sir David's father....or something like that. Suzanne de Tournay, the daughter, was a friend of Elisabeth's, much to my surprise. We did them in three hours....or we got Madame la Comptesse and the two children, le Compte was delayed which really threw our...the Chief's, plans into havoc. For a while there were some among us who feared that we would fail to save the Compte. Fortunately such fears were groundless and he lived to see his seventy-second birthday!

Any other comments? Well yes, Elisabeth's greeting when my 'horse' recovered from the 'staggers' was something to be heard. But that is another chapter and another time.

Chapter 11

Posted on Sunday, 5 May 2002

"Staggers?" There is something remarkably interesting about a well-arched brow which decides to arch further, and I wasn't certain I wanted to know why.

"Ahh....it's what happens when you've had a glass too many." I smiled in what I hoped was a winning manner. The eyebrow raised itself another notch and I knew that my winning smile had failed in it's task, I was in for another interrogation.

"So I've been lead to believe.....you really should stop your horse from drinking, it might throw you one of these days."

"It already has." To say the least I was feeling a trifle morose, for I had been thrown coming back from Paris....actually maybe I should correct that, I wasn't thrown, my horse was shot out from under me...but the result is the same, and when you're not expecting it, you usually end up on your face. In my case the impediment was a tree an the right hand side of my face was still a trifle....colourful shall we say.

"It does look a trifle colourful." Elisabeth's critical eye is rather a nice one, and though I might object to her husband's critical eye when he casts it across my battered visage, Elisabeth could stare to her heart's content and I wasn't going to complain.

"So where's your wayward husband? Sleeping?"

"In the North Country actually." Elisabeth gave a tiny sigh. "There was a courier waiting while we were at Lady Belmont's."

"You haven't seen him since the soiree?" I in fact knew she hadn't, but it wasn't knowledge I was meant to have.

"No. Do you know what sort of trouble he might be having?"

"I honestly have no idea." I rubbed my head and frantically tried to think up something. "Anything from flooded fields to a bad boot day to tell the truth. Though I do remember him having some concerns about Sultan."

"If he worried as much about his property as he worries about that horse he might not have problems."

"That's not fair Elisabeth." It didn't matter what was going on, I had no intention of Elisabeth getting away with a remark like that.

"I know." Elisabeth suddenly covered her face. "But I don't find it fair either, I've barely seen David since we came back to England. He's always going somewhere on business, and he never explains what the business is. If I ask he just looks vague and admits that he has no idea what the business is either but that his man of business insists that it is important."

"Is there anyone you talk to other than me?" It was a question that had been bothering me a lot lately. Even Ed had people she talked to, bookish Ed who muttered rude comments after every social event because she so disliked talk of dresses.

"Well..." Elisabeth looked away and down, a move that more than answered my question.

"What about Mlle de Tournay?"

"Madame la Comptesse will not allow it." Elisabeth spoke in a whisper.

"Why?" To say the least I was puzzled.

"It was something I hoped to leave behind when I left France....unfortunately I didn't. Madame la Comptesse heard of it and she will not let Suzanne speak to me now."

"Oh." I bit a thoughtful lip, glancing between that bent head and my own boots, it would be several days before Sir David returned and I wasn't certain what he'd think of this bit of interference.

"I don't even have David to speak to." Elisabeth looked up with sudden energy. "You've got to help me Lord John, you've got to help me."

"How?" I was very wary, I was having a difficult enough time as it was keeping from stumbling when she was around.

"Your horse did not have the staggers, Lord John, and neither have you had pneumonia, nor did your great-aunt die...."

"She did! I promise you she did!" I could see where this was headed and I didn't like it a swat! Damn! David and his innate talent for persuading people he didn't know a shovel from a pick-axe when they hit him. Though thinking about that matter I suspect there are very few people who could tell them apart after being stuck. Maybe I should use a bridle from a stirrup or a harrow from a plow....or even staggers from a ditch. "My Great-Aunt Sophia, distaff side, hairy old gorgon who liked eating me for breakfast."

"Except you didn't go near her!"

"Of course I didn't, I told you the Gorgon liked to eat me from breakfast and I'm certain her friends would have frowned at my celebratory dances."

"Quit the distracting effort." Elisabeth abruptly glared and I felt a sick pit well up inside me, I was about to be decommissioned from the League, the Chief would never let me remain if there was the slightest possibility that Olivier could actually nail me on some point the next time I turned up in Paris.

"Well what am I meant to do? You've most kindly told me I've been lying to the world for most of the past year!"

"Well haven't you?"

"Of course not, in fact I've told the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth." And it was, my mother had only said I was recovering from pneumonia, no one troubled to ask when I'd had pneumonia.

"There are times when I really wish you were my brother, I would so like to hit you!"

"Why don't you?" It was mean, but I desperately didn't wish her to say what I was positive she was about to say.

"I'm not your sister!" She glowered at me. "So who's your Chief?"

"My Chief? Well my Chef is Antoine....but Chief?" I scratched a very unpuzzled and worried ear.

"Lord John, I just want to know why my husband is going to a great deal of trouble never to be home."

"Why don't you ask him?"

"Because he won't answer."

"Well then isn't it possible that I'm not allowed to answer?"

"Then I'll go back to the other question. Who's your chief?"

"Are you saying I have to answer one or the other?"

"I am as a matter of fact."

"And you're not going to leave me alone until one is answered?"

"No."

"How can I know that you then won't insist on getting the other answer?"

"Do I look like a fool?"

"No....but that doesn't really say anything."

"You'll never trust my word again if I double-cross you. Is that clear enough?"

"Where did you pick that up?" To say the least I was startled, all she needed was a cockney accent.

"Oh, I went for a walk the other day."

"Well whatever you do don't say it at Lady Catherine's ball, business or no business, David will probably kill you if she catches you talking like that."

"Why?" Elisabeth was perplexed.

"She's his aunt, and more than that I'm afraid you'll have to meet her to understand."

"Who is George?"

"It depends, there are rather a lot of Georges to be found in this world."

"He gave me a seat in his curricle when I ran into trouble, but he never seemed to give his last name."

"Blacks?"

"Four." Elisabeth had got the hang of our horse talk thank goodness.

"Silver and black curricle?"

"Yes."

"George Wellman-Richt, he used to punch me up at Eton until David decided I was a friend. Must admit he tends to....move in a different circle to mine so I can't really say."

"Has David spent a lot of time in France?"

"Intermittent, he has some property there I believe." I was worried.

"So, enough of that, what's the answer to my question?"

"Bother." I frowned at my hands. "Laurie can tell you why Sir David is busy."

"Laurie?"

"Yes."

"Why can't you?"

"It's not my story."

"Does Laurie have another name?"

"I'm not sure, I was told that 'Laurie told me to tell you to tell Sir David that...' the rest you can find out when you've spoken to Laurie."

"You are ever so helpful." Elisabeth's tone was dry. "Would you possibly tell me who your Chief is, just as a nice good-bye present?" She smiled, and as far as winning smiles went, mine wasn't even in sight, let alone contention. What can I say? I merely moaned in despair and fled. David was going to kill me!

Chapter 11

Posted on Thursday, 30 May 2002

Well my gloomy and gut knotting prediction was correct, the Chief nailed me to England. At first I must admit I was majorly unimpressed, I did not like being left behind. After the first week though I realised that even if Elisabeth hadn't sprung me the Chief would probably have nailed me in England. That realisation depressed me even more I must admit. I rather enjoyed racing around France with the National Guard on my heels, gives value to life and a meaning to what used to be a very boring existence. However being nailed in England meant that I actually could turn some serious attention to my estate, which I must admit had suffered a trifle during our time running back and forth between France. I spent a fortnight feeling depressed, hard-done-by and generally grumpy, and then daylight shone through.

Olivier Monteux was in London. To quote Lord Grenville, Minister for Foreign Affairs...ie. the chap in charge of telling the Frogs that we disliked 'em, Robespierre had the impudence to actually accept an invitation to send an ambassador of the Republic of France to England.

The ambassador was Olivier and I must admit that I had a nasty feeling emanating from my midriff. I didn't want Sir David to be right. It wasn't just that I didn't want someone close to us to betray us....I also didn't want it to be Elisabeth. Let it be a flash in the pan. Let it be just the avenging of a sister's death. Let it be almost anything you want....Elisabeth was a friend and it hurt badly enough when she was merely David's wife and she had been instrumental in the death of one of his friends....now I had been stupid enough to actually become friends with her. Would I survive if she actually did help Olivier find the Chief?

Have I ever before observed that the Chief can persuade the entire world he is in a dead panic with his poor brain dithered out of existence while silently and emotionlessly cataloguing the entire contents of a room? I have always felt that if I wished to take up a life of crime I would immediately persuade the Chief to be an associate.

However this is a talent I do not possess. In fact if I look like I'm in a dither, I am in a dither, and the night about five weeks after I got grounded in England I was in such an utter dither that I'm surprised I wasn't carted off to bedlam. If you believed society gossip my country house currently housed myself, Whelan, Lord Ashington, Gramercy (as we call him, he's got three hyphenations and it's even worse to spell than it is to write), Paul Hassleton, Bingley, Sir David, Sir David's sister Georgiana, Edith...my favourite sister, Maria, my most disliked sister, and Evangelina....who is some sort of cousin and who Hermione is absolutely determined I am to marry. In truth the only person I feel sorry for is Evangelina...she has to live with Hermione all the time whereas I can escape to London whenever...In fact I almost married her four years ago just to get her out of Hermione's claws. However Evangelina most accurately observed that she'd find living with me even worse than living with Hermione, so I retreated. Truth be told there was only me, Ed and Evie in my house, and Hermione would have been horrified if she had realised what we were doing.....I was teaching the girls to ride astride, which requires the wearing of most unladylike breeches.....but we were all having fun and breeches are so much more decent than having leg on display.

However, I was in a dither, and now I'm in a distracted dither and there's no one to set me back on course.....novel idea, maybe I'll try setting myself back on course. I was in a dither, and I was in a dither because Elisabeth was standing in my study demanding that I take her to France. It wasn't even a polite ask, she said that if I didn't take her she'd go alone and very likely get into trouble. If you ask me that's a categorical demand with nothing polite about it. She knew as well as I did that if Sir David knew she was gallivanting around France unattended because I refused to go with her I would be the one pounded into dust. It never really made sense why she thought that Sir David didn't love her since the entirety of society knew that he'd object to the Prince about anyone who made Elisabeth uncomfortable.

Such was my dither in fact that it wasn't until we were in Paris that I realised that Sir David was meant to have been in my house and she never even asked the first question about him. As Ed tends to say, dirty work was afoot and no shortage of it. My nice comfortable life at any level was at an end and it remained ended for the next ten odd years, because it was after this jaunt to Paris that I joined the army. Things were quieting down in France, and even if they hadn't been the Chief wasn't letting me return to France and I was more than a little disenamoured by London Society. That resulted in my being packed off to India....until it disagreed with me and I got returned to England.

However that is where the current turn of events stands, Elisabeth bullied me into going to France and it wasn't until quite a bit after I got there that I learnt why she had been so emphatic about bullying me. Strange ways doth move the feminine mind....or some-such trash along those lines, forget who said it, but he was likely a poet with a straight head for once. Ed has just invaded my sanctuary with the information that we have guests and Evangelina at the door. Evangelina has been such a good friend, one wonders whether I might not have actually married her had I been a bit more tactful in my youth.

Chapter 12

Posted on Monday, 10 June 2002

Makes me feel like I have a big beard and a crooked wig....fortunately I have neither. Though I'm guaranteed to have both if I am ever prised from my peaceful slumbers at six in the morning again...particularly if I was not in bed before 4:30.

"I beg your pardon sir." It was Bates, my man, an irreplaceable part of my life who was about eighty years old and looked every inch of his age.

"Margle-mumph." I pulled a pillow over my head and ignored the man.

"I beg your pardon sir." Bates....again....if he kept up like this he was going to become replaceable....VERY SOON!

"Go away....Far away." I grabbed my other pillow and ignored the man.

"I beg your pardon sir." Bates sounded almost hassled....which he had never sounded in his life....so truth be told I only thought he sounded hassled, since I'd never heard him hassled before and one can only guess at the hassled sound-effects of one who has never been hassled.

"This had better be good Bates or you're fired."

"Yes sir." Bates looked gloomy. "There's a Young Lady downstairs."

"Well if it's Evie or Ed, let them in, if it's not, tell them to go away." I reached over the side of my bed for my third pillow.

"It's not Lady Edith and neither is it Miss Watson...I have tried to make her depart, but she refused."

"Well I'm not going to marry her whatever she says."

"She doesn't wish to marry you sir, she's already married and quiet happy."

"How does anyone refuse an order to go away and then even make you come disturb me?" I was now awake, I was also in a very bad mood. "Especially when they don't even wish to marry me. What else could she possibly want?"

"She didn't want money either sir, she wishes to speak to you on an urgent and important matter."

"And how did she persuade you to deliver this all?"

"She said if I would not bring it up she would bring it up herself."

"Go back to bed Bates, we'll talk about your continued employment when I next see you." I waved the man off and fell out of bed. At six o'clock on a very cold morning there is only one way to get out of bed and ensure one does not get back into it, and that is to fall out of the bed and pull all bedding after one's self. By the time various limbs have been untangled and the bedding is remotely near the bed again the bedding is also cold so the bed no longer calls. It took me fifteen minutes to put myself in order and get downstairs that morning, and believe me the person waiting for me was the last person I was expecting to see. It was Elisabeth.

"Lord John, you are taking me to Paris!"

"Ahh." After all what else can one say, it was six o'clock in the morning, and it was a VERY cold morning, and I had just been told I was escorting someone to Paris. I wasn't supposed to even leave England, let alone travel as far as Paris. "Are you certain you want to go to Paris?"

"If you won't escort me I'll go by myself."

"Sir David would not like that." I was speaking primarily to myself.

"That is why I'm asking you to escort me." Elisabeth had a remarkable talent for responding to even a private conversation with one's self.

"Couldn't someone else escort you?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because they don't know the knowledge which is needed for knowing." Elizabeth's jaw set stubbornly.

"What?" It was six o'clock in the morning and her accent was getting worse by the second.

"Are you taking me or do I go by myself?"

"This is blackmail you realise! David will skin me if I don't take you.....come to think of it he'll also skin me if I do take you....Why do you need to go to Paris? Why so suddenly? And why me?"

"Are you taking me?"

"Yes, dammit! But I'm expecting gold all over my coffin when Sir David has finished making his displeasure known."

"Rubbish." There is something utterly damping about a response like that and with a feeling of great doom and gloom I grabbed my bag, which lives in my study in the perfect condition to walk out the door if need be.

Calais is a place I do not like. It is crowded, it is dirty, and it smells of fish....I do not like fish. Usually we avoid Calais, but I did not think Elisabeth would take too kindly to climbing the cliffs and running the four miles to Phillipe's humble abode so as not to be caught by the Coast Guards. I say Phillipe's abode is humble with extreme sarcasm, it makes even my brother's rambling edifice look like a little cottage. Currently being trapped in Calais in an EXTREMELY dirty inn makes Phillipe's a dream, and but that I would be killed for a third time for deserting Elisabeth I would have runaway already. I wonder when I will reach the limit that I will be killed so many times that I will realise that Sir David will never actually kill me and that it is merely an excuse on my part so I don't actually have to form my own opinion and then stick by it. Honesty compels me that the few fights I have with David are invariably of my instigation, and if not because I actually hit him, then because I am so abominably rude that Id very much like to hit myself...a difficult feat, but I continue my efforts to perfect the art.

"John!" Elisabeth came into my room.

"Yes." For reasons known only to Elisabeth she insisted that I pose as her brother.

"We are leaving immediately."

"Are we?" I laid my book aside.

"In fact we leave yesterday."

"Where are we going?"

"Paris." Elisabeth departed and with a sigh I sent forth the call for our carriage and packed my bag again. We stopped in...well I think it started with an A, but I am very uncertain. It is...Abottsville....or maybe NOT! It is not my habit to stop three times on the way to Paris, but I had Elisabeth in my charge and I am QUITE certain that fast travel is bad for the ladies....even Evie ....Abbeville...possibly...HOWEVER! Even Evie has drawn the line at my pace of travel, and she rides at the head of any hunt that comes near her. Clearly one can travel much faster on horseback than in a carriage.

"John!" I was reading when Elisabeth entered my room, and I was still supposedly her brother. How I could possibly be her brother is utterly beyond me...she makes me look even more like....oh Evie says I'm a striking likeness and he's some horror to be found in some book she likes to read....very ugly anyway. Suffice to say we started for Paris ten minutes later. We reached Paris in two days and I was very sore. I was not at all polite when Elisabeth finally deigned to admit one, why she had required to come to Paris and two why I had to be the escort. In fact one might say I was exceptionally rude. In fact I actually walked out on her and it was only the fact that she still knew Paris better than I did that I didn't manage to remain walked away from her. I know certain bits of Paris exceedingly well, but Elisabeth knows all of Paris exceedingly well, she caught me in fifteen minutes and I still haven't heard the last of it.

Chapter 13

Posted on Sunday, 14 July 2002

I do not understand it, but it seems that I merely have to place a toenail outside the beautiful portal of any parisienne abode and I am instantly soaked to the skin. Possibly the difference is that in Paris I never have protection from the rain while in London the rain can only find me if I'm stupid enough to agree to spending a day at the Jockey club with David...I say stupid enough because he invariably lightens my pocket and equally invariably it rains...I feel confident that if it didn't rain he'd probably still lighten my pocket. Regardless of all that it rains! Rains very hard infact. Elisabeth was not impressed one might say and Evie was even less impressed, but the reason for Evie's presence has not been explained yet...even to me!

As observed in the previous chapter I walked out on Elisabeth and she managed to capture me in fifteen minutes. I remained captured for the simple reason that Evie had somehow materialised in our accomodation during my temporary departure. Evie can be a very strange creature, but she has an undeniable skill...that skill is the fact that I've never yet not actually obeyed an order from her...I am not stating that my action was willing and cheerful on all occasions, but action there undoubtedly was.

"Sit." I had most reluctantly entered the accomodation after Elisabeth had retrieved me and that word met me in the doorway.

"Here?" I looked very doubtfully at Evie. I looked doubtful for the two-fold reason that one I couldn't really believe my eyes that she was there, and two that I really didn't wish to sit in the doorway...it was drafty.

"Anywhere you like...provided it is within the precincts of this room and not under something."

"You seem to imply that I wouldn't." I gave a sniff while depositing my person on a chair which looked like it might possibly bear my weight.

"You merely infer that implication from my words. All I did was state the bounds within which you posterior should be deposited."

"Are you deliberately talking like that in an effort to confuse everybody?" I eyed Evie with a great deal of doubt. Evie might not have attended University...but she still knew one hell of a lot more than I did on any subject...with the exception of mathematics...and truth be told I'm not even certain she doesn't have me thrashed on that as well.

"Elisabeth is not listening which leaves only you to be confused...are you confused?"

"Yes." I responded with perfect frankness because long and painful experience had taught me that if Evie's aim was to confuse me, she would confuse me. If I lied about my confusion, then she would merely confuse me even more. Evie is the only person I know who has responded to a question asked by Lady Catherine de Bourgh in such a way that Lady Catherine gave a polite little cough and asked whether she would repeat that remark. Lady Catherine cited a slight touch of deafness as the fault of her mishearing, but since everyone was confused except for Evie we all knew she was lying.

"Then I have some hope that you'll let Elisabeth finish her explanation...without interruption of any imaginable, or unimaginable, form."

"But what is there to listen to?" I rose to my feet to glare at her. I did not glare for long for the simple reason that no one could glare at Evie for long. "She told Olivier Monteux how to catch David."

"How about you sit down again. Count your income and account for every penny of it if need be and then let us know when you think you can listen to what she has to tell you." Evie hadn't even stirred from her seat on the window. I don't know what I would have done without my Evie over the years, she saved me from making a mess of things so many times.

I looked at Evie and she passively looked back, those quiet grey eyes giving me nothing. Evie had her hands folded in her lap and truly was the calm centre of the cyclonic hell I dared to occasionally call my life. I glanced across at Elisabeth. Elisabeth was stalking up and down the longest wall of the room and she was clearly paying attention to nothing in the room for she kept kicking the small wicker table. Elisabeth was clearly upset about something and it showed for she had her eyes closed. I looked back at Evie and she continued to gravely but passively return my look.

"Please?" That is the other nice thing about Evie, I rarely have to explain what I want.

"A prisoner with the name of Jacques was released three days ago. Jacques was an exchange prisoner. That's all I can say." Evie finally gave a small smile before rising to get Elisabeth's attention. I had a nasty feeling that I was going to be tired tonight.

Chapter 14

Posted On: Friday, 13 September 2002, at 2:09 a.m.

I was tired that night...and the next night...and the next night...and the next night. Infact it was the most thrilling four days I spent with no sleep at all....and I wasn't doing anything. Well I wasn't doing anything unless you consider sitting in a corner being kicked at regular intervals doing something...I must admit that for me that is not doing anything, that's just sitting in a corner getting kicked.

Why was I sitting in a corner? Well it is one of the best ways to remain in one place for an extended period without becoming labelled as suspicious. Or maybe you are labelled as suspicious, but not as suspicious suspicious...or maybe I'm starting to get the hang of Evie's mode of conversation when her sole intent is to confuse the world. Suffice to say that as a beggar in a corner you can sit much closer to the prison without exciting suspicion than as Lord John Alasdair when a certain Sir David is residing within...I wonder why?

I am distracted...FAR TOO DISTRACTED!!! Motives are such an amazing thing. Everything has a motive, conscious or otherwise, recognised or otherwise. Motives colour the world within which we reside and draw silly faces on the sky and in the clouds...am I insane? I don't think so...though I will admit that I have never put particularly much into the endeavour of satisfying the world that I conform to what they consider normal. Evie now informs me that that is why I have my own novel charm. I think I will be sick.

Why would a woman send a man she doesn't know to a guaranteed death by one of the bloodiest methods known to man? A simple matter of motives. When given the choice between A dying or B dying she had no problem assigning B to the noble task of dying since she happens to know A and doesn't know B...or in this case thinks she doesn't know B since in actual fact she knows B better than she knows A but since she doesn't wish to know B she doesn't really know B...okay I've confused myself now.

The whole matter is very simple indeed. Olivier Monteux, for his own devious, conniving and generally unfriendly reasons wished to lay hands on a person he only knew through their regrettable propensity to leave little blue flowers behind...Forget-me-nots, and Olivier most certainly forgot-him-not. Faced by the task of finding an ephemeral object one starts by the process of elimination and in the space of a year Olivier had eliminated the whole way to knowing that his elusive prey resided in the ranks of those who were supposedly members of the Ton...otherwise known as he figured out that his prey was not French and had been raised by a French governess.

What to do when you reach a dead end? For Olivier it is simple, find someone to blackmail. In this case he did the simple, he scribbled himself a little arrest warrant with a charge of treason against a man called Jacques...Jacques wouldn't know treason if it came and hit him over the head with a hammer...though in that situation I probably wouldn't know it either. Truth of the bikky is that Jacques had one interest in life, the Theatre, and everything else was classified as boring and totally ignored. Jacques was Elisabeth's former leading man who looked remarkably like Laurent...Laurent, as I must needs remind Evie, was le Ci-devant Compte de St. Cyr who had a reprehensible and spineless brother Thomas who now lives in England. Jacques was also Elisabeth's brother...not by blood, just the type of relationship they had. Jacques had another 'brother' Paul and the three of them had lived together for years...how many I don't remember, but Elisabeth's father Pierre had not approved of either Jacques or Paul, but disapproval did not stop him visiting. Anyway Olivier wacked a treason charge on Jacques and then waved the matter under Elisabeth's nose with the simple option that either Elisabeth supply the means to a name or Jacques head would roll. Looking back from now one has to ask who can blame her...but then I most certainly could blame her and I most certainly did!

But back to the original topic of this very detoured ramble! I was doing nothing for four days, and in those four days I verified three things. Thing one, Jacques had not been released. Thing two, Olivier had possession of the Chief and knew he had the Chief. Thing three, the Chief knew Jacques was in the same prison. That of course left thing four which I had figured out as soon as I figured out that the Chief was in the clink...How in hell was I meant to tell Elisabeth Darcy that in her efforts to save an old friend, who wouldn't be saved anyway, she'd doomed her husband to die as well. To say the least it was not a prospect I looked forward to...one could always hope I might acquire the magical key, which might enable me to persuade Evie to take over the task for me.

I didn't discover the key, but Evie worked her usual stunt with ice cold logic. There was no two ways about the ginger bikky, if I didn't tell Elisabeth myself, Elisabeth would likely feel that I had betrayed her, and having a mad Elisabeth on my hands was not my idea of fun...then again I certainly had no intention of envying David if he ever extricated himself from Olivier's hands...in his position I would have considered the Guillotine pure bliss, for Elisabeth would not be happy when she heard the size secret her husband had kept secret...then again I actually had Evie on my hands, and Evie was not happy that I had never told her that David was the Chief and hence she was not speaking to me. Life was horrible and tomorrow was going to be even worse!

Chapter 15:

Posted on Tuesday, 24 September 2002

"John Frederick Ambrose Ovid Alasdair, if you don't get here right now I will SCREAM!" There are some things a man never wishes to wake up to after his first night of sleep in four days, and one of them is his entire name...particularly if that name he has carefully failed to remember since he was born.

"In my opinion you already are screaming." I rolled over and fell off the windowsill I had been sleeping on.

"Wake-UP!" Evie kindly applied a firm boot to my ribs, and even if I hadn't already been awake, that would definitely have made me awake,

"Next time you kick me in the ribs, do take your boot off first!" I shifted in to a position I would be better able to guard myself in and massaged my ribs.

"Next time why don't you just wake up." Evie turned and flounced across the room...no doubt she would have flounced out of the room had we had another room in this lodging she could have flounced into.

"Just because my eyes are shut does not mean I am not awake and a member of the conscious world." I gave my ribs one final rub before reaching over to retrieve my shirt. Nothing, not even Evie's sensibilities, were going to enduce me to wear that shirt for a second longer than was absolutely essential. "So why wake me up?" It was only after I finished pulling that detestable shirt on that I realised the entire conversation had occurred in French.

"M'sieur Olivier Monteux wishes to speak to you." Evie responded primly and I noticed that Elisabeth had somehow vanished.

"Olivier?" I stared at her in momentary disbelief. "Get me another shirt then!" I cast the detestable shirt into the corner and dove for my portmanteaux, which fortunately contained a couple of acceptable shirts and a pair of riding breeches.

"Why should I get you a shirt?" Evie had a smile which I never liked. "You seem perfectly capable of getting your own shirt."

"Evie!" I grabbed the chunk of bread which was my breakfast and made short work of a corner of it.

"If I hadn't met both of you in London, I would be horrified." Olivier's soft voice prevented me from expanding on my theme.

"What in particular horrifies you Olivier? That I'm in the same room as my cousin in only shirt and breeches...or that I'm in this abominable little hovel the Concierge had the gall to refer to as an apartment?"

"The latter, I must admit." Olivier had wrinkled his nose up in distaste. "How can you bring your cousin here?"

"Very easily, it is the closest accommodation to the prison where you are holding an old friend of mine. Miss Watson came to visit a family relative."

"I've no doubt she did." Olivier's tone was dry. "You do realise I could have had you arrested for loitering any time these past four days?"

"Oh I doubt it." I settled back on the windowsill since the room lacked seats. "You wouldn't arrest me...even if you could find me."

"I managed to get a mutual friend of ours."

"That is entirely another matter...and since we're on that matter do I have to wave my Certificate of Immunity under Robespierre's nose, or will you kindly let me visit our mutual acquaintance?"

"No need to wave your certificate anywhere...I rather suspected you had one since you took little trouble to hide your activities. Come tomorrow at eight, the guard will admit you."

"So kind of him. Anything else?"

"If you really were the idiot you behave like I would have a list several miles long...but as it is I have nothing further to add." Olivier nodded briefly and departed.

"Wily old fox." I turned my disgusted attention back to my bread.

"Cryptic remark." Elisabeth had returned to the room.

"He is." I shrugged and finished my bread before looking gloomily out the window.

"Who's the mutual friend in gaol?"

"Is that any of your business?" Even the knowledge that she had done it in ignorance couldn't take the bite from the fact it had happened.

"Possibly."

"The mutual friend Olivier was referring to is the man you wanted the name of a couple of months back...my Chief." I refused to look away from the view out the window, I knew that if I looked at her, I would do something I later regretted. "Olivier knows why I'm here, he knows what I'm up to, and he's just laying out some ground rules for my entertainment."

"With out meaning to cause offence, why is this Chief so important that you'd risk your life to save his?" Elisabeth was sounding perplexed.

"The Chief has a wife, and if she knew I let him get Guillotined without even attempting to save him she'd probably Guillotine me with a blunt penknife."

"He has a wife and..." Elisabeth's voice died away, then she gulped hard. "Do I know the wife? Does the wife know what her husband does?"

"The wife does not know what her husband does, her husband feared she might betray him one day." I pushed off my windowsill and headed for the door, deliberately not looking at Elisabeth. "Evie, I'll be back this evening...I think." I paused at the door. "You know the Chief's wife very well indeed...in fact even the Chief doesn't know his wife as well as you do." I finally met Elisabeth's eyes and understanding was starting to flicker. "He won't die, and neither will Jacques." I don't know if Elisabeth said anything. I don't know if she tried to follow me. I ran from that room as if the hounds of hell pursued me, and even though I told Evie I might return, I didn't return that night...though I did make sure they had no trouble. Now I had to visit the Chief, who might be being Sir David...I would have to wait for his cue to know what my actions should be. I also had no intention of seeing Elisabeth again until Sir David had his feet firmly anchored on English soil.

Chapter 16

Posted On Monday, 14 October 2002

Dawn is an interesting time of day, and in my not so humble opinion it comes in two flavours. There is the dawn which is divine to see, makes you actually want to live for the day it heralds. There is also the dawn which comes either with a hangover, or severe depression, and either way not only do you not like that dawn and have no desire at all to live the day it brings ... but also you wish you were never born! Today was a dawn of the latter type, I had no wish to even see the dawn, let alone live ... in fact I wished I had never been born.

I was drinking some lukewarm dirty dishwater which some concierge had the gall to call a cup of tea, when the dawn came. Dawn in Paris is not a good time, it is foggy, the sun looks a bloody red and in truth it is generally a bad time of day to be around when you're rather worried that your life will be terminated within the next twenty-four. Olivier wouldn't dare let me sit around and smoke while he sharpened the guillotine anew...if I was caught I would undoubtedly face a firing squad. A foggy, blood-red dawn with damp streets and puddles everywhere. Nothing is more guaranteed to give a man the blue dismals...unless it is Evie arriving to announce that Elisabeth would like to speak to me and that Ed had arrived .. I so wanted my family around when I was executed for pure stupidity.

"John." Evie had slid into the seat across from me and then studied me for several minutes in complete silence.

"Evie." I had returned the level stare for there was nothing else to do.

"So David will not die, and neither will Jacques."

"No." I responded calmly.

"Olivier Monteux will not be satisfied for a two to zero guillotine exchange rate."

"I rather suspect him to be in a raging fury over the matter actually." I responded calmly enough, the dawn had passed and I seemed filled with peace and calm. The future spread out like a crystal sea ahead of me, there was no questions to be seen.

"The exchange rate will remain at two to zero?"

"If possible." Not a ripple of doubt disturbed that crystal sea of the future.

"I don't want a possibility John ... I want a statement and I want it now."

"What happens if I unintentionally break the statement?"

"Then I get very angry with you."

"That would not be nice." I paused. "What happens if I leave it at the possibility stage?"

"I will be on your heels for the entire day."

"That would not be kind of you."

"Easy, make the statement and ensure the exchange rate remains sound."

"Why did you never marry me?"

"Because you wouldn't have liked it at all." Evie smiled.

"Mm." I pondered the dishwater in my hand then abruptly rose. "I'll see you at ten in the apartment ... unless Olivier intends to execute me without trial I can't possibly fail to arrive and you know where to find me if I don't."

"Elisabeth and Ed will be there too."

"Then I shall be surrounded by Es...find out what they're willing to do, because we might require a couple of distractions."

"Elisabeth would get guillotined herself if it would help..."

"David would guillotine me if I let her within four miles of guillotining."

"And Ed as you well know is willing to do anything provided you'll buy her a couple of books in exchange."

"And you?"

"I have to do something or you'll undoubtedly get yourself killed for some stupid reason."

"How kind of you." I rose and departed, the Temple Prison beckoned and the hour of eight was fast approaching. I couldn't do anything until I knew whether or not the Chief was plotting anything...and since he undoubtedly was plotting something I needed to find out what it was.

The Temple Prison is not a place I would advise as a health resort ... unless I was advising bacteria and general filth. The prison was not a nice place, and the Chief's cell was even worse.

"They let you in?" The Chief had been studying the view out the window when I was shoved into the cell.

"Yes ... and I'm hoping they'll also let me out again." I glanced briefly around the room and then wrinkled my nose, it was not pleasant.

"Who's here?"

"Me and the three girls ... Whelan could probably arrive by tomorrow with Allan, but otherwise they're all to near the coast."

"Well I'm stuck here for the time being because that window is a touch on the small side."

"A touch?" If he was lucky the Chief might have managed to push his big toe out that crack in the wall which he referred to as a window.

"Elisabeth wants to see you."

"No doubt to call me all sorts of names." The Chief's tone was sneering, but his eyes weren't, we both knew that an alternative mode of communication was required.

"She's already done that, I think she's requesting special treatment for you."

"Wonderful ... I'll see you anon." The Chief nodded and after a further and equally brief exchange about coats and cravats I departed. Olivier would not have been happy if he had known the importance of cravats and coats. To be a well-dressed gentleman is so important ... particularly in Paris when the difference between one cravat or two can mean the difference between life or death.

Chapter 17

Posted On: Tuesday, 29 October 2002, at 7:23 p.m.

The human mind is a truly amazing bit of machinery at times.

Unfortunately I think mine was a defective mind for it wasn't working at all. The Chief had given me a heavy load of information and the old gears within the cranium had ceased to turn. Evie not so kindly advised a bit of oil and a kick in the pants. Ed suggested that the oil was unnecessary. Elisabeth merely shredded another handkerchief and looked frightened.

"Perfectly simple." Evie had been reading a book with no attention. "We have Jacques who is somewhere in the city."

"He's in safe storage, where Olivier can't get at him to put us in a real bind." To say the least I was fast becoming grumpy. I had always known that I wasn't remotely near the Chief when it came to mental equipment, but I'd never realised how defective it was. We'd been plotting for the better part of twenty-four hours and so far the only idea which had been of the slightest use was my suggestion to wait and see what the Chief had in mind.

"Storage which you have no idea where is."

"I never said that." Ed was beginning to get on my nerves.

"It's merely storage he won't tell us about." Elisabeth finally discarded her shredded handkerchiefs. "You'd better get up John, I require an escort to the prison."

"Why do you call him John?" Ed's brows had drawn slightly together.

"Because he calls me names and I will not be polite to someone who is rude to me."

"It's hardly impolite...just informal." I untangled myself from the windowsill as I spoke. "Why shouldn't she? It's hardly like I want a title waving around in this place."

"Not wanting to encourage the National Razor? How cowardly of you." Evie's expression was teasing.

"Just like custard...we'll be back in a couple of hours." With that I shoved Elisabeth out of the room and banged the door behind us before stomping down the stairs to relieve pent-up irritation.

"You are unhappy?"

"I'm in a bad mood that the only good idea I've had in twenty-four hours is to ask the man we're meant to be rescuing how to rescue him."

"I must admit, I find it difficult to believe he's as good as you say." Elisabeth seemed uncertain.

"Promise me you won't pull a Snobby Lizzie on him? Please, for me, just pretend the last bunch of months never existed...PLEASE?"

"That will be suspicious...and what happens if he doesn't change?"

"Trust me?"

"I don't know why I should." Elisabeth hesitated.

"I'm not asking for logic...do you trust me?"

"Yes." Elisabeth hesitated for a long moment before answering.

"My word on it, Sir David will follow your lead...please don't doubt him Elisabeth...he'd move the world if he thought it would help."

"Then why...?" Elisabeth let it hang.

"Most men would have divorced you...annulled the marriage. Sure, we're a bit stuffy about it, but David has the prestige and the reputation which would let him get away with it...London believes that you signed the warrent for the arrest of the Marquis de St. Cyr...Laurie. London also believes that you laid information against him."

"It is fashionable to be late, so we shall be late...we need to talk." Elisabeth pushed me into a nearby cafe and laid an order. I sank into the chair with great relief primarily because my legs were threatening to stop carrying me. I didn't want to stay though because I was terrified of what she would now tell me...Such a coward I am, and with a shocking distrust of human nature.

Chapter 18

"I have known Olivier Monteux my entire life...he is a relative of the family and our one link with the Ancien Regime..."

"Wait a minute." This I did not believe, that Olivier was related to the French Nobles he seemed to so enjoy lopping the heads off.

"Olivier Monteux was the bastard son of le Compte de Mal. The Compte had no legitimate sons so he legitimized Olivier...and Olivier still hasn't forgiven him." Elisabeth paused. "Olivier's mother was my great-great aunt...a half sister of my Great-grandfather and much younger." Elisabeth hesitated. "He also has believed I was going to marry him since I was twelve..."

"That's fifteen years!" I have to admit it, I didn't like the idea.

"He can count." Elisabeth rolled her eyes. "Olivier just waited...it's a talent Olivier has, he has a bottomless supply of patience and about as much emotion as...as...as a stone." Elisabeth wrinkled her nose. "Olivier is cold, he is calculating...he's also saved my life a rather large number of times and pulled a lot of strings to help my career."

"Meaning he considered you his property?"

"Olivier has no property...I can't really describe it, but he considered me a responsibility...in some ways he was very like an older brother."

"Only royals get away with marrying siblings."

"Dammit he is not my brother...a third cousin or such-like in reality."

"Elisabeth...please don't swear."

"Then don't you be stupid."

"Continue." I frankly couldn't think of a response to that.

"Well basically that was it, Olivier was just waiting for me to decide I'd had enough of acting...then Sir David appeared on the scene."

"A slight hitch?"

"A major hitch...in Olivier's life planning at any rate. I sometimes wish Olivier had been a legitimate son, then he would have been Guillotined with the compte...who was 92 when he mounted the stairs."

"Well he certainly wasn't in a hurry to hand over the estate to Olivier."

"Olivier was equally disinclined to inherit them." Elisabeth paused. "Then Sir David came...I got married within a month of meeting him and then decided that Olivier must have been speaking the truth when he said that a month is not sufficient time."

"With David it is, what you see if what you get...unless he feels he has a good reason to conceal the truth from you...and he didn't feel that until we were kicking our heels at the reception wondering just how to haul le Vicompte de What-not out of prison."

"I have never heard of him...but I will take your word on it. What happened at the reception?"

"Olivier not too subtly observed that you must be having a perfect day and after a couple of enquiries he graciously let drop the fact that your name was on the arrest warrent for le Compte de St. Cyr...we had already heard of that matter though...just didn't want to believe it...we also didn't expect him to get shaved quite so quickly."

"He was involved in a plot to rescue the Dauphin."

"Half the world is...possibly the whole world as long as you ignore America. How did the Committee get him and not the rest of the plot."

"It was a note he left after visiting my father...it was addressed to L.de S.C. and signed C. I kept it because I was uncertain what to do with it...Olivier found it and I made the mistake of thinking he was only joking when he threatened to use it...Olivier liked my sister Jeanne almost as much as he liked me, and he still hasn't forgiven Thomas. If I hadn't kept the note, Olivier wouldn't have found it and le Compte might still be alive, so yes I am responsible, but no I did not inform and no I did not sign anything."

"Good, I adore you Elisabeth and right now we had better move or we will be too late to visit. Pretend things are like they were, but whatever you do, do not feel the same inside...he'll know whatever your behaviour...but your acting must be bad, a facade...whatever you shout do not let your eyes be angry."

"He won't..." Elisabeth let it hang.

"If he does I'll beat him to a pulp."

"Considering the fact he is considerably larger than yopu, I would not be confident of managing that." Elisabeth's mouth was twitching with laughter.

"Then I shall nobly and heroically die in the attempt...and so you may tell the Chief from me!" I rose on that note and we departed for the prison.

Chapter 19

Posted On: Monday, 4 November 2002, at 9:06 p.m.

What happened in the Prison that day I do not know...but by the end of the day I had no questions but that le Comedie Francais never utilised more than the tiniest fractions of Elisabeth's abilities. By the end of that week, which was quite frankly horrific, I was rather of the opinion that hadn't managed even the faintest scratch on the surface of her abilities. No detail was too small for Elisabeth when it came to a character...and as a result I fooled Olivier not once, but three times...of which I am exceptionally proud.

I waited outside the prison that day, and every other day that Elisabeth visited. I never asked any questions and I never intend to ask. Suffice to say Elisabeth was crying when she emerged on the first three visits and resigned every other visit...the real Elisabeth was that, you could see it in her eyes. But the Elisabeth whom everyone else saw was usually angry, pouring forth streams of relatively vitriolic French about the many shortcomings of the man contained within.

I saw the Chief myself once in that week...and he was a complete blank. Conversation was desultory between us and all in all he rather seemed to have kicked the bucket concerning continued existence...I hope Olivier was fooled because if I hadn't been very familiar with the flood of information which emerged with Elisabeth I would probably have been in a dead panic about his pure listlessness...he barely stirred when I described the Prince of Wales' new coat, a shocking garment and nothing will persuade me otherwise...looked like the lining was hanging out!

"He's not said anything to you has he?" Elisabeth met me quietly at the door as I sought an unobtrusive entry after my third visit to the Chief.

"It depends on what is meant by said?"

"It's all work isn't it? It's all Jacques, getting Jacques out of the country, getting Jacques to safety..."

"You don't want Jacques out of the country and in safety?"

"Yes!" Elisabeth abruptly snapped, for the first time since we had arrived in France. "I want Jacques safe...mais je...I...je voudrais le retour de mon marie."

"You're a great actress Elisabeth and the whole world knows it...well the whole world as considered by the English Aristocracy. You must forgive the doubt and suspicion which is part of our aristocratic upbringing...he trusted you, that trust got totally wrecked...he's going to be mighty wary about ever restoring that trust because he's a human being who gets hurt...particularly by pretty brunette's with sharp tongues and acidic wit."

"But how? As you said, I'm an actress. As he's said several times now, I could just be acting for pride or...or..." Elisabeth ground to a halt, her English failing her and a lack of understanding of the cross-translation into the french.

"I don't know." I gave her a brief hug. "I really don't know...but I've no doubt if it's meant to be a way will occur."

"Why have you never married?" Elisabeth stared up at me after I released her.

"Why? Primarily because no one will have me."

"Do you love Evie?"

"What is love?" I pondered for a moment. "With Evie we are both perfectly comfortable with our current friendship and feel no compulsion to change it...or at least I don't and Evie tells me on a nearly monthly basis that nothing on earth would possess her to marry me."

"Ed says you have too high an appreciation for the female form for any woman's toleration." Elisabeth's comment sounded doubtful.

"You do not agree?"

"Pierre appreciates the female form...I think you are just bored."

"Which makes the matter even more repulsive."

"Not at all, it merely makes the actions automatic and disinterested...as a result I consider you a friend and it does not concern me if you hug me for I know it is not...like that."

"Someone has certainly been using their ears while in England."

"David has a lot of books and I had a lot of time with nothing to do...Louise helped me."

"Right." I choked briefly and then grinned. "We better get in before Ed starts thinking dark thoughts and we waste too much valuable plotting time, ton marie needs rescuing."

"You are very confusing...speak one or the other...don't mix!"

"Je suis ton seviteur, madam." After I said it I regretted it, for her eyes fogged over and I remembered where I'd first heard that remark used in that manner. It had been Jacques...and it had been the night she first met the Chief. Life could be foul!

Chapter 20

Posted On Monday, 28 February 2005

What can one say? I love London. Paris isn't too bad, but it isn't London. It's something in the word I think. London. London! LONDON! ... no, I think London is best. Quiet and yet noisy. Discreet and yet able to stop anything. Rather like Evie come to think of it.

Evie says that any place can be anyone's London. As per usual when Evie makes a remark of any kind it leads to extended distraction and thought on my part. Considering that only London could possibly be London, one therefore must conclude that I merely use the word to describe that which I otherwise find indescribable. But what is the indescribable? What is it that I feel compelled to mention, but that I have no tangible knowledge of? What is this ephemeral fairy of thought I pursue? Evie informs me I become quite poetic ... my ears are now red and I shall cease to embarrass myself and will get back onto topic ... I suppose London is for me what Pemberley is for Sir David, but whereas I say London, he says Pemberley. Does my brother say Snellington??? I sincerely hope not! But I do know that for Elisabeth it is Paris ... Evie will not tell me the name of her London.

Why do I speak of London? I speak of London for the simple reason that I am in the mood to speak of London. London in her filth. London in her beauty. London in her sickness and London in her health. What can I say, London is not merely a name, it is an entire vocabulary. What does that word conjure up? Mist, barges, balls ... too much food and wa-a-a-a-a-a-y too much wine. Smells and sounds. What can I say, it just isn't Paris!

I have neither the inclination nor the time to go too deeply into what happened the rest of the time while I was in Paris ... primarily inclination is lacking I will admit. What does one say of a period like that? In a way it was heaven in disguise ... a VERY good disguise. But likewise it was also hell. Elisabeth laughs at the point and Evie covers her mouth attempting to look prim, but in truth she wants to laugh with Elisabeth.

We had had fun, and I must admit that those months we spent in France were probably the most salutary of my life. The exception being the last week. That last week in Paris is a week I will never forget, and I think it is made particularly poignant by the fact that I never saw Paris again until Napoleon was sent to ... .Elba. Nearly wrote St. Helena, but that would have been a shocking falsehood ... erm well actually Elba is the falsehood. Evie kindly reminded me that I went almost straight from the Battle of Tolouse to the United States of America. A vile country, but I learnt a lot about how a Naval Officer should not behave while I was there. It was after Napoleon was sent to St. Helena that I saw Paris again ... it hadn't really changed.

Is it possible for a person to change within a week? I hope it is. Elisabeth is kind enough to describe it like a candle. A candle is not very bright ... in fact you can't see anything in the dark with a candle. Apply a match though and it makes all the difference, suddenly you can see and read. A candle is the potential, but the flame is required for it to fulfill its potential. But a flame can also flicker and be filled with doubts about its capacity to illuminate. The only question is whether the flame courageously runs itself out of wick, or gets snuffed halfway there by a little adverse puff of air.

I am a trifle distracted I think. I believe the Chief continued people smuggling out of France after that week. But truth be told there wasn't much smuggling to do. The revolutionary machine had started eating the arm which fed it, and executions were tailing off very quickly indeed.

It wasn't really a conscious decision not to go back to France ... it just didn't seem to work. Something was in the way. Something prevented my taking part in the action. Now I am rather of the opinion that the truth of the matter was that I knew nothing could possibly improve on that last week and I wanted the memory to remain untarnished by anti-climax. Though it may seem strange that that week was a climax compared to the mad months beforehand.

It seems strange to sit here. There is a fire burning in the grate and the curtains are a deep emerald ... Elisabeth advised burgundy, but this is a room decorated for my comfort and with a total disregard for any other consideration. There are only six people in the world who come into this room, four of them are Darcys, one of them is an Alasdair and the sixth and most important is a Watson, Miss Evangelina Watson in fact. Evie rests against my knee as I write this, she steals much of the heat from the fire and she is laughing with Elisabeth. Two of the four Darcys are also in this room, the third and fourth rest upstairs in my bed with a faithful nurse nearby. Those boys will always be spoilt I fear for I am a shocking facade of an imitation godfather for both of them, they know it and they utilize it to the maximum.

In a place like this war seems impossibly distant. War, revolution ... fighting of any type in fact. Even People Smuggling seems distant and dreamlike in this environment. A distant and exciting dream. I think back to my life before people smuggling and I shiver a shudder. In some ways that life was pleasant, it was an empty life, no doubt, no fear, no sorrow ... but likewise there was no true excitement, little happiness, and no quiet. When filled with fear indifference can seem so wonderful and perfect ... but truth be told I infinitely prefer the fear and discomfort which seem to travel hand in hand with this utter euphoria. I may say otherwise when fear and doubt are thick upon me, but the truth in my heart will ever out, nothing on this world would persuade me to return to that life ... not even Evie, and thank goodness she has never tried.

Sir David observes that in this lengthy ... diatribe about my life I have neglected to even mention what happened in that past week. Sir David speaks the truth and I look gloomy. Evie comforts me with the remark that the entire world cannot think in linear lines or life would be boring. Comforting enough words, but truth be told there are times when I have my doubts about the possible use of a mind which seems to think in surrealist curves. Evie observes that it is entirely possible that everyone thinks in surrealist curves, but there are those who ignore the curves and force their thinking to the linear.

Evie dictates at this point that I am to write the following. I do not really agree with this dictation, but it follows. The eventual rescue was the brainchild of John. That is the dictation and that is what I do not agree about. I would never have had the idea but for some extended talking with Elisabeth and Evie the day before. To this day Sir David has no idea why he was released ... though we did reassure him that no life was lost or endangered in our efforts. Elisabeth has no idea either of how it occurred, I knew she would not be able to deny the information to Sir David should he ask and did not wish to make her suffer the information. In fact beyond myself and Evie there is only one man who knows what happened which resulted in Sir David being released from prison with his head still connected to his neck. His name is Olivier Monteux ... in a way he is in fact the only man who really knows.

Olivier Monteux is dead now, his name lost among the mists of time but for his appearances within these pages. Except for those of us seated in this room I think there are very, very few people who remember this man. I must apologise to the shade of Olivier, for he has been cast much in the light of a villain on these pages. Olivier was no more a villain than I or Sir David or any of our friends who helped in smuggling people. I said it once and I'll say it again, in almost any other circumstances, I could have made a good friend in Olivier Monteux. Olivier was a man who believed in something ... the fact that we believed otherwise is not really here nor there, it just happened. I disagree most strongly with Olivier and his views, but I must in all honesty admire him for the strength and courage with which he supported and fought for his views ... though I rarely admired the means he utilised for that support.

It was no daring rescue, which freed Sir David, though our departure from France was a little ... exciting, shall we say? It was no precisely timed act of unrivalled daring which freed Sir David. What freed Sir David was something I doubt will ever be equaled or even attempted. The night before Sir David was released I went to visit Olivier Monteux in his lodgings. I went alone. I went attired as an English Peer ... in fact I went as myself, an honest man with a modicum of intelligence and perhaps a little too much charm.

What passed between Olivier and myself that night will remain a thing which only myself, Olivier and the night air ever knew. This story was about the fun we had, and the degree of invaluableness this brush with legality held for those involved. Most of all this was a story about the importance of honesty.

Hermione once asked Elisabeth how she could possibly trust her husband when the entire world knew he had lied to her for months. I don't remember what Elisabeth answered at the time, but I do remember what Elisabeth said after the event. Who can not trust a man who is so true? Many might say it is a woman's right to know of her husband's activities. By the same token a husband holds all rights in regards to the activities of his wife. But to live at that level all time must be spent with the partner which leaves no time for anything else. Everyone has bits of their lives which are unknown to others. To our knowledge it made little difference whether Elisabeth knew or not ... correction we saw nothing in her knowledge but the destruction of what we were doing. Was it Elisabeth's right to know what we were doing? We all think not. Evie merely observes that Elisabeth was never asked about Laurent and hence any judgments were skewed. Elisabeth response is ever true to Elisabeth.

'If I had known, I would have come ... as it is, j'aie le retour de mon mari.'

What more could anyone ask for? Elisabeth got that ... almost a year after I joined the army. In a way it did take a miracle ... though they were on very civil terms after Sir David's release. They were friends, Sir David wasn't risking being taken for a mickey, and thank-goodness Elisabeth had the patience to wait for a chance to prove her own truth. The truth was provided by an unlikely source and I still laugh when I remember the letter Evie sent which recounted the event. Elisabeth's Angel took the form of Lady Catherine de Bourgh and a very public interrogation. I don't know where Sir David was, but he had missed that particular ball ... probably in France, and he nods when I lift that query. Lady Catherine wanted to know why Elisabeth had not born Sir David a child ... I think it most restrained of Elisabeth not to have given Lady Catherine a very detailed description of why no child had come. Lady Catherine then proceeded to bewail the world at large the fact that Sir David was trapped into marriage with the French Hoyden (Elisabeth observes that she thinks Lady Catherine most polite not to have used the word she was undoubtedly thinking which was salaude ... not a word Lady Catherine would use in any situation). By Evie's account, and Elisabeth laughs and nods in response, Elisabeth had responded that divorce was possible in England and she doubted that Sir David considered himself too trapped ... Evie suggests at this point that Lady Catherine was shocked, I'm still surprised she didn't die! So it went on and by the end of the evening Elisabeth had more than settled her position as a Queen of Society (for she had been most restrained and elegant throughout while undergoing one of the cruelest possible tests). Lady Catherine left in a huff and delivered unto Sir David a lecture about the impropriety of his wife and her scandalous behaviour. Sir David has never told us what he told his Aunt, but Lady Catherine refrained from poisoning any event with her presence for quite a large number of years. I was in Portugal at that time so unfortunately missed all of Lady Catherine's years of exile. Neither has Sir David, nor Elisabeth even mentioned what happened the next time they met after the event of Lady Catherine and her 'advice' ... thank-goodness! I didn't and still don't wish to know.

Elisabeth casts me a dirty look and petitions a special request which I lay below. It is Elisabeth's petition, but it comes equally from her and from Sir David ... even Evie is curious to see how I will word it.

The simple version of what passed in Olivier's lodging? I asked Olivier to set Sir David free and Olivier said he would think about it. I thanked Olivier for his time and patience and the next morning Sir David arrived at our lodgings with the observation that we had an hour to win free of Paris before the guard were informed of the escape. I know not what prompted Olivier's decision, like Sir David, he is too complex a man for me to attempt second guessing.

Sir David watches as I write and I feel deep peace. I have lived a life and I have done all I wished to do. I have lived a life, which has been filled with friends and experience. I have lived a life knowing that it is not the Genius who does everything. I am not a genius and no doubt anyone reading this book could think of innumerable ways whereby to daring free the Chief. That is the way I chose, and forty years later I feel confident I would still make the same choice. I can think of no greater gift to bestow upon a person than deep contentment and good friends. I could die tonight with no regrets, content and happy.

The End

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