Misuer Chauvelin is cordially invited to a dinner party at Mad'muselle Odette Phebe Isidore's apartment at seven pm. A carridge will be sent by Misuer Chauvelin's residence promptly at quarter to seven to bring him to the party. Please reply by giving a letter of avalablity to her servant Pierre.
Pierre waits by the door until he is given an answer to bring back to his employer.
As soon as Chauvelin arrived back in Paris, he thought it wise to give
Desgas a day or two off, if only to avert mutiny. And the man couldn't
possibly hope to get any work done for another day at least -- he could
barely walk on his own. As soon as the agent had seen his secretary home,
he made for his own residence.
Another message, he thought, as he less-than-politely accepted the card
offered to him by an unknown servant at the door. Reading it quickly, he
was indeed quite surprised ... it wasn't everyday an invitation such as this
one simply appeared from nowhere. He made note of the date and time, and
answered the man with an affirmative. he would attend, as a political
favor, but now there were pressing matters that needed his attention ...
After a very short meal, Chauvelin began his walk towards the pre-set
meeting place named in Robspierre's communication. As soon as he caught
sight of the man that had brought him back from England in such a hurried
rush, he tried to stop panting ...
Pierre rushes in to give Odette the message that
Chauvelin is going to attend. She is overjoyed at the
thought of finally meeting the illustrious Chauvelin.
The next day she makes all the necessary arrangements
for that evening sparing no expense. Odette buys a new
crimson gown made of the finest silks to wear for that
evening. At six-thirty, she sends out her carriage to
pick up Chauvelin. She rushes around the house
checking everything that she has already check
millions of times before. While walking by a window,
she sees him stepping out the carriage door. She
begins to pace back and forth to try to calm down.
Never before in her life has she been so scared of
meeting a person. She has seen him at several parties
where she was escorted by high ranking officials, but
never introduced. After her job was down, sometimes
they would talk about their jobs, of the revolution
and other things in the early hours of the morning.
She learned a lot about him. About his past, and what
he has done to help keep things under control and his
pursuit of the scarlet pimpernel. She admired his
persistence. Odette walks back into her bedroom to
check herself. Chauvelin is escorted to parlor room
and is offered some champagne. He notices that there
are no other guests.
Stepping into the room and quietly accepting his drink, Chauvelin looked
around, briefly. He was impressed in spite of himself -- the decor, while
perhaps lavish, was not extravagant. Tasteful, but not remarkably expensive
... his hopes of this mysterious summons resulting in a somewhat reasonable
meeting rose somewhat. However, perhaps in the way he himself had
interpreted the letter of invitation, Chauvelin had had the impression that
there would be ... other people. Perhaps not, though ...
The agent's natural paranoia began to set in as he wondered if maybe this
meeting had indeed been a set up.
After about 5 minutes, she realizes that it is
rude of her to not greet her guest. She walks down the
hall and into the parlor. Odette can feel herself
begin to blush as she extends her hand in greeting."
It is a pleasure to meet you. You have done so much
for Paris. I have heard a lot about achievements in
keeping the peace and taking care of all the
riff-raff. I have also been very interested in your
pursuit of that mischievous pimpernel. She then
brings him onto the balcony for a short chat before
dinner.
Chauvelin nodded politely at her introductions, giving a wan smile at the
mention of his work. 'Riff-raff' was indeed an interesting term for the
aristocratic class ... He exchanged pleasantries with her, and followed her
to the balcony, for once not in *too* much of a hurry ...
At the balcony, she looks out onto the street and then
over at Chauvelin. She talks about how beautiful the
night is, the latest happenings in Paris, and how she
has invested some money in a new dress shop a few
blocks away from her street. After awhile, she notices
the blank look on his face and realizes she is
probably boring him. Her smile and the glow in her
sharp mysterious eyes begins to fade. She wonders what
could possibly be on his mind. "So......what have you
been up to Agent Chauvelin?" She listens to him with
much intent.
"Hmm," Chauvelin answered, having let himself settle into a 'smile and nod'
mode. Only after another second or two did he realize that the question
directed at him was not, in fact, yes or no. He straightened a bit, and
attempted to put together a coherent answer. "Simply business. Papers,
mostly, the occasional ... diplomatic mission. Nothing at all
interesting." He shrugged with a small, dry smile.
Inside, his paranoia was almost surpassing his tedium. When visits didn't
seem to have a *point*, something was usually up ... he shifted on his feet,
waiting.
After his nod and smile, odette scrunches and raises
her eyebrows. She realizes his lack of interest, gives
a little amused smile which soon fades at his attempt
to answer her question. She gives a sigh and says, "I
believe we have a mutual friend moisuer. Madame
Marguerite Blakeney......"
Chauvelin stopped shifting, and rather obviously. That name was a little
sore on his mind, and yet any connection to Marguerite that she *didn't*
hate could always become an advantage ... He had probably been too obvious.
By the way she was letting her sentence hang, he knew this woman could
tell he was interested. He cleared his throat slightly, and gave a severe
"Yes."
She lets the name lingerer in
the air a bit before giving a pouting face and
continues, "You know, it's been awhile since I've last
written her. We were quite close awhile back. Maybe I
could start talking to her a bit more often.......
possible see what going on in her life. Maybe get to
know things of some use. You know, I've heard many
rumors. possible nothing but then again...."
If I could trust her, he thought. If I could trust her this would indeed be
perfect ... but then what if Marguerite did not? Surely it would be
advantageous to have an agent follow Blakeney, but if she were to find out,
everything would be worthless. He could not allow himself to think too far
ahead, as he usually did ...
She
gives him a shrewd look " Or will my saying of that
name give me a free ride to the guillotine?" Just
then, they hear a ring of a bell that signals that
dinner is to be served. Odette begins to walk off the
balcony and into the dining room.
"The Republic is not in the practice of slaughtering its allies, of course."
Chauvelin followed and in a step or two had caught up, taking her arm in
as cordial manner as he ever used. "A connection to Mlle. St. Just is
indeed a desirable position, and a severed head relays no information." He
stopped at a split in the hallway, waiting for her to indicate the direction
of the kitchen. "Perhaps we can speak over dinner?"
She indicates the direction and they sit down at the
table. She gives him a smile almost sinister yet
seductive. There is a short silence before she begins
to talk. "Well Misuer.........I'm not quite sure I
want to deceive my dear, lovely and beautiful friend
Marguerite. I need a reason, and a very good reason at
that, Chauvelin. I don't like to throw away such a
friend like her every day." Soup is placed in front of
them as the first course.
Chauvelin, having taken a bite of his soup as soon as it was served, paused
for a moment, and blinked. He was doing *something* wrong, it seemed; he'd
gone from 'monsieur' (a title he could not condone, perhaps, but respectful
nonetheless) to 'Chauvelin' in a matter of a minute or less. But let her
think she was the manipulator. He finally swallowed, and only raised a
polite eyebrow at her comments.
"I'm sure you know what I
mean. I recall you two were very, very close once."
She looks away from Chauvelin, tastes the soup, and
puts her spoon down. Odette's sharp wide eyes connects
with Chauvelin’s' as she listens to his response.
"Indeed," Chauvelin answered dryly, ridding himself of the thoughts that
accompanied that past 'partnership' quite quickly. He put down his spoon in
a resolute sort of fashion, and appeared to become more pensive.
"Citoyenne, I prefer to employ my agents through a system of reward -- a
service for a service, of course, be it money, what have you -- rather than
threat."
She became rather startled and a little annoyed at his
last sentence. How could he say that she was all talk
and no bite. She began to tap her fingers on the table
very inconspicuously.
His eyes sharpened; he was slightly miffed that anyone would
question his authority to the point of demanding something of him.
"However, neither I nor my colleagues are beyond holding a citizen to their
perfectly reasonable obligation to serve their Republic -- or go to their
execution."
Odette was quite taken back as the rosy color in her
cheeks slowly faded away. She knew she had offended
him. That is something she never want to do. He was a
extremely powerful man in her eyes as well as in many.
Her main goal this evening was to get herself on his
good side. She began to explain in a calm, persist and
respectful manner, "Please, don't take what I've said
in the wrong way. I had no intentions of offending
you." She had to look away from him for a second, to
gather up her courage. For his face had grown very
stern in appearance. "I will do anything and
everything to serve our Republic day or night. If I
were a man, I could do more than just write letters.
Do you know what it's like to be held back by the
confines of ones own body simply because your a woman?
To have certain myths about your feminity follow you
around and not be able to do a task you are very
capable of doing even better than a man would at it.
Every day of my life I have watched the world around
me run by so called men. Seeing them fail at simple
tasks that I could have fixed in seconds. But they sit
around for WEEKS at times deciding on the eventually
wrong route. I am not patronizing you, just the other
buffoons out there....." odette said passionately. The
soup is taken away and an entree of milk feed veal is
served with several other side dishes.
Chauvelin nodded quietly all through her explanation, calmly starting on his
entree as she continued. "I understand," he said, after she had finished,
glad that she had 'stepped down' a bit. "Incompetence is a serious issue,
and one to be expected -- though not accepted, mind you -- in a government
so young as this one." Again folding his hands tightly before his chin, he
attempted to set the conversation back on the track that he wished it to
follow -- Blakeney.
“You are quite able to do more than just write letters, as you know, and
I'd be glad to reward you for your services ... if you could perhaps think
of anything worth breaking off a friendship with 'mademoiselle' St. Just."
She sat there as she ate her dinner and wondered what
she might request. She had everything she wanted
except one thing. She quickly pushed away that one
thought. For it was virtually impossible at this
present time. She remembered marguerite’s vibrant
personality, luck and beauty which she had grown to be
jealous of over the years. But she never told
marguerite how she felt about her. Holding her tongue
would finally pay off! She let out a silent sigh from
happiness and looked up at Chauvelin from the corner
of her eye. She studied his features and imprinted
them in her mind. She was one to always remember and
look for detail. 'What could be on his mind?' she
wondered. She always liked to know what goes on in
peoples heads to better understand them and possibly
use it to her advantage. "Well.....I can't exactly
think of anything at the moment. Oh, and how are you
liking your dinner?
"Quite well, thank you, " Chauvelin admitted. He did not eat out, often --
or with company, unless for diplomatic purposes which did not often arise,
as he was usually less-than-diplomatic, and thus not the first choice of
officers for such conventions. He could tell that she in fact *did* have
something in mind ... but, for once, prudence reigned and he said nothing.
Also, this meat ... the entire meal had seemed rather expensive. She
wasn't married, else her husband would be here as well, he thought ... he
wondered where, precisely, her money had come from.
After his response she asks, "Not
that it's anything of my business, but what is going
on in the great inspector Chauvelin's mind?
Chauvelin blinked at his plate and looked up, forcing himself to cover his
surprise with a smile -- albeit a small and tight one. He was determined to
at least humor this woman until she had formally agreed to something.
"Small observations," he began, dismissively, as though they would be of no
interest to her. "And St. Just, naturally, whom I have not seen in quite a
while."
"I'm glad you are enjoying your meal" she said with a
bright smile and sparkling eyes. "Small
observations.........the smaller the more important
they are. And as for Mlle. St. Just, it's hard to see
someone as often as we like when they live so far. I
can reassure you that she is well." She pauses and
lifts her eyes solemnly in the direction of Chauvelin.
"I think I have decided on something. I get quite
lonely on Monday evenings. I just simply wish for you
to take some time and drop in to talk and or have
dinner with me if you are not busy or tired from work.
That's all I request for aiding the Republic." She
seems a bit ashamed at her request. Yet still focus
her alluring and distant eyes on him hopefully. "Don't
feel pressured to say yes, I just really don't need
anything at the prior moment but company." Her eyes
drop to her plate that is being taken away. Odette's
nervous shaking hand lifts to brush a piece of hair
from her face. "Would you like tea and dessert
perhaps?" she asks without looking.
"No, no tea, thank you." Far too British, tea (and probably illegal
considering the shoddy state of trade relations during this time), and
Chauvelin didn't find dessert especially appealing at the moment. As he
allowed his plate to be taken away, he immediately assumed his most
business-like manner, "Your request is indeed reasonable Citoyenne; we will, of course, need steady appointments to monitor the progression of your activity. I am more than willing to donate an hour or three of my time each week to
infiltrating this specific ... circle." He nodded, once, as though he were
making a mental note. "More, if necessary, needless to say. Emergencies do
arise."
Odette nods in understanding. "Yes well,
emergencies..." she says letting that word roll around
in her head for a second or two. She sighs at his
business like manner, gives a dry smile and stands up.
She figured it was like him to be serious after he
found out what he wanted. "No dessert, perhaps
coffee?" she asks trying to be a good hostess. She
leads him out into the sitting room for a short post
dinner chat before their goodbyes. She sits down into
a comfy chair keeping good posture. She tries to go
back to the small talk that had been going on at the
balcony before. Glancing up at the clock it is around
9:45. "Well, is there a Mrs. Chauvelin that you must
be getting back too?" she asks.
Chauvelin, feeling it safer in this situation to remain as distant and as
formal as possible, sat only to be polite. "There is not," he answered
neutrally, his facade of patience (for he had very little, actually, at any
time) compensating easily for any amount of emotion that might have followed
that thought. "Instead, however, a large amount of paperwork and a few
deadlines." With that, he stood calmly, and made a short bow. "That in
mind, Citoyenne, I hope you will understand that I must be leaving -- you
will contact me, when you are ready to begin?"
"Yes I suppose. But, what do you want me to find out
exactly?" She asks curiously as she walks him to the
door.
Chauvelin smiled, draining the last of the tact at his disposal through the
effort. "St. Just's connections in Britain may be of use to me." he did
not explain; even he himself was not certain of *how* they would be useful.
Not just yet.
Pierre, a servant, brings him his things. After
he answers, she bids him 'adieu.' When he walks out
the door, she tip toes to the window where she can see
the awaiting carriage to bring him home. 'How can he
be so distant? How can one be without.....without....I
can't think of a word to describe him' she ponders.
'Well another evening has passed. Perhaps the next day
will be more enjoyable. He has no personality traits
other than direct. I guess that's how a job like that
turns a man!' she thinks as she wanders down the hall
to her bedroom for the night.
Chauvelin waved the waiting fiacre away impatiently, preferring to walk
home. The physical activity made it so much easier to paste over her pale
and death-filled image, to know that the blood flowing through his veins
colored his own body, still, even if others close to him had long since
grown cold and white. While speaking of his wife (or the absence thereof)
he had not seen fit to mention that at one time, there indeed had been a
woman ...
Not anymore. He found it much easier to smell the smoke of the alleyways
that led home than to remember that mossy scent that had once filled her
hair -- and no doubt now grew on it! Decay could do terrible things, in the
damp of the coastline.
And so he walked home, inhaling only the remnants of fires gone out,
refusing to see ashes.