Off to England

He was a few minutes late to their 3:30 rendevous at the carriage house -- not on purpose, but it seemed to be the way of things with him. He carried two bags, one of which was small enough to bring with him on the carriage while the other was a good size larger. The combination of the two seemed to be a bit too heavy for him, but it seemed from all evidence that he had walked with them anyway.

Setting them down, quite thankfully, he looked around for Teresia. She was never that difficult to find.

Teresia was seated at the rear of the inn, drinking coffee, when Matthieu entered struggling with his luggage. She glanced discretely at the clock. He was late, but no matter. Standing, she waved to attract his attention. Her own baggage lay beside her. Two medium- sized trunks and a small portemanteau, neither of which she'd had to lift even once. It was, mused Teresia, one of the few advantages of being a member of the fairer sex. One smile brought out the chivalrous side of even the meanest male.

"Over here!" she called, "Do you want coffee?" then, seeing his flustered face, "or are you in need of something stronger?". La Cabarrus turned to attract the attention of the landlord.

He saw her and walked over. Putting down the bags, he took a seat with a relieved sigh.

"Nothing hot. Definitely nothing hot," he said with a boyish smile. "It is unnaturally warm today."

When the landlord checked with them Matthieu requested a glass of wine, then leaned back in the chair and stretched out his legs. "So, are all the travel plans arranged?"

"I have the travel permits here." She handed over the documents. "Our coach leaves in 20 minutes. We're travelling by public coach to Calais, I'm afraid, but it's necessary to economise where we can. I hear the cost of living is high in England and we shall have to act our roles as best we can once we get there." She swept a glance around the cross-section of humanity which filled the inn, "I wonder which of these people will be our travelling companions?"

He looked at the papers with interest, having never actually seen such things before, much less ones that bore his name. Then he glanced up at her mention of saving money, a little surprised at the idea of travelling some way other than public coach. It reminded him of the differences between them.

He'd also assumed, what with the riches that she had stored away in boxes in her home, that money was not much of an issue with her. Not that he'd planned on relying on her for everything, but she did know he was of rather limited means.

"I'm not sure. I hope not that one," he said, nodding to a woman who was trying to comfort a toddler who was not at all happy. It would not be fun to share a coach with that child. "I've a question for you. If I'm a French Aristocrat who's somehow managed to get papers to travel to London, why would I return to France afterward?"

It was a question that had been troubling him all night.

"Royalist zeal, Matthieu. There are counter revolutionary forces in the city as we speak, plotting and scheming and cursing their own impotance... just as the revolutionaries plotted, schemed and cursed ten years ago. You can pretend to be a selfless martyr, willing to brave any danger to return your beloved France to its senses!" An idea struck her. "Yes, yes you shall... indeed, you must. If the Pimpernel thinks you're a counter revolutionary, he might try to contact you... and then we've got him!" The thought went spinning around in her head. The bright eyes stared at nothing as the brain worked out every angle. She didn't think to ask Matthieu's opinion, even though his co-operation was key.

A smile grew into a grin, and then he started chuckling. "I can do that. I'm certain of it." Even moreso, it would let him make fun of the aristocrats without them even being aware of it. And that would be quite amusing.

"I can replicate the posture, the attitude. You'll have to teach me more of the manners and customs." He seemed quite excited -- obviously he really liked her idea. "Oh, wait, it's a ball. You'll have to teach me some of the dances."

Pleased that Matthieu seemed so taken with her idea, Teresia gladly agreed to teach him the fashionable behaviour of the aristocracy. "When I've finished with you, you shan't know yourself!" she teased. "All you have to remember when dancing is to bow deeply at the start and end... and not to tread on your partner's toes." No one could say that Teresia was untainted by her aristocratic upbringing, but she was certainly not pompous. That affected aspect of the upper-classes struck her as a source of constant amusement. She expounded her unique theory on acceptable standards of conduct, peppered with ascerbic observations, until the sound of hoofbeats and the rumble of wheels announced the arrival of the coach. "Ah, the coach is on time. A miracle! Entonces, vamos nos!"

He paid close attention, grinning from time to time at some particularly ascerbic comments. Most of what she told him, of course, was utterly ridiculous. It was almost alien, in fact. It amazed him how much artifice and unnatural rules aristocrats forced onto themselves. It really didn't make any sense to Matthieu, even though he'd experienced some of it when accompanying his teacher to the manors an apprentice.

Alien as it was, however, he committed it to memory as much as he could, knowing that their entire mission depended partially on how well he could pull this off.

"Do you think there will be anyone there who knows your former husband?" he asked as he transferred their luggage to the carriage. "That's the real trouble I forsee, someone looking at me at knowing I'm not him."

"That, I'm afraid, is a chance we must take." It was a risk and, should they meet someone who knew the real Luc de Fontenay, only some very fast talking would save them. "Cuidado!" she yelled at the driver, who had taken her trunk from Matthieu and literally chucked it onto the carriage roof. "From my own experience, I would say the risk is slight," she didn't want to frighten Matthieu unnecessarily. "Luc only took me once to England and I had to do most of the talking. He hated speaking English, such a 'harsh' language he called it." She smiled to herself. "And now he's living in a country where they speak nothing but German." The smile broadened, "Oh, how he must be suffering!"

"Oh, good, means I have an excuse to not speak much English," he said, chuckling at her somewhat malicious joy at de Fontenay's new situation.

"How old is he?" he asked, lifting his own trunk to make sure it got gentler treatment than the driver seemed to give. "But then, should we even claim I am really him? I mean, the invitation was to you too...."

"37, although he'd never admit to it." She caught the eye of the driver, as he was about to throw her second valise after the first, and scowled. The man got the message and the trunk was eased into place with excess gentleness. "It is not only women who lie about their age!" Angling her head to one side and chewing thoughtfully on a thumbnail, Teresia tried to visualise he ex-husband standing next to her friend. "He is roughly your height, but much fatter and nowhere near as handsome. Ha! I don't know what I saw in him." The passengers were beginning to board and, to her dismay, la Cabarrus noted that the little brat was amongst them and still wailing. It had the lungs of an opera singer and the melodious quality of a controlled explosion! She wasn't sure whether they would be able to continue their conversation once boarded, or even whether it would be wise to do so. The topics they would have to discuss might easily be misconstrued if heard out of context. "It would be better if you posed as Luc, indeed you will have to to gain entrance, but once inside Carlton House we can say that he is engaged elsewhere and asked you to be my escort for the evening. It's entirely up to you, Matthieu, you must be comfortable in whatever role you choose or you won't be believable."

He smiled almost shyly at her compliment, still young enough to not quite how to respond when being called handsome in such a direct, easy manner. "Hmm. 37 and fat. Perhaps it's best I be someone else when we get inside, then. We can always say that whoever it is who let me in was mistaken, if anyone asks."

He groaned softly when he saw the child. "That will not be fun. I hope they're getting off along the way and not coming the whole way with us."

When the bags were taken care of he gave her a hand up into the coach. Once he sat down, he put the small sketchbook he'd brought with him on his lap and, pulling a coin out of his pocket, caught the child's attention and began to distract it with some simple slight of hand. After a few moments the wails turned into whimpers, and then finally into quiet interest.

The noise in the carriage was now, thankfully, quite less.

La Cabarrus sighed gratefully, this was a new side to Matthieu's nature. She herself was hopeless with children. Men she could twist around her little finger, but infants merely strained her patience. "Gracias." She wisphered.

He smiled at her. "I just hope it lasts," he replied softly. The thought of listening to that til they reached the coast... Of course, neither did he want to be in charge of entertaining the child the entire distance and hoped the rocking of the carriage might lull it into sleep soon. He'd already decided that he wanted to sketch some of the passengers, and wouldn't mind having one of Teresia to add to his collection.

Glancing at the other occupants, the Spaniard quickly realised that discussions on any topic other than the weather would be impossible in the crowded confines of the carriage. She took out a copy of the 'Observer' newspaper and began to read. It was days old, yet fascinating because it offered an insight into opinion of the 'Terror' in England. There were several articles on that mystery man, the Scarlet Pimpernel, and the exploits of his league. She read them all carefully, but found no clues. Turning to the society pages, she was confronted with an account of the activities of the new Lady Blakeney noting that, for a newly-wed, she spent a lot of time on her own. A cold shiver ran through Teresia, as she realised that Sir Percy would probably be at the ball. Letting the paper drop, she noticed that Matthieu was sketching her. She hoped he had not captured for eternity the way she felt right then.

The coach sped onwards. They stopped overnight in a country tavern, but were to exhausted by travel to talk seriously. Sunset of the following day brought the smell of sea air and the bustle of the port of Calais. As the luggage was unloaded, La Cabarrus remarked "Let us see if we can't find ourselves better lodgings than that God-awful hole we stayed in last night!"

The notion of travel had been romantic, but when faced with days of reality Matthieu had quickly tired of it. The rattling of the carriage had made it near impossible to do anything remotely artistic, which left him bored and annoyed. And strangely enough, sitting all day was exhausting, so he hadn't even noticed the poor quality of the last inn. He'd fallen asleep as soon as he'd gotten to his bed.

Calais, however, served to improve his spirits. When he stepped out of the carriage and breathed the salty air he looked surprised -- he'd never been anywhere that smelled of salt. And the sounds were different as well. The cries of the bird, the faint sound of water...

"I'd welcome a chance at good food and a real bed," he said, overseeing the collection of their luggage. A passing seagull distracted him. "Though I would like to see the docks, before we leave. That way I have time to look around without worrying about these things," he added, with a smile and a nudge of her larger bag.

"Very well, accomodation and sustainance first though. We won't see much of Calais tonight, but there will be a few hours in the morning before the packet sails." She stretched her aching legs and shoulders and looked around for a porter, the name given to any lout hanging about on the quayside hoping for employment. In the end, two men were found and she gave orders for the luggage to be taken to an expensive looking hotel they'd passed on the way into town. "You'll have to control the purse-strings when we get to England, Matthieu," she said as they sauntered behind the baggage, "It isn't done for Ladies to handle money. I've made arrangements with Telford's bank to extend a line of credit in your name."

A look of joking alarm passed over his face. "Me, take charge of you? Is it even remotely possible? And do I have to pay the bank back?"

He chuckled at the thought, then nodded. "Very well. Though I hope you'll be advising me. I've no notion of what most aristocratic frippery would cost in France, much less in England. Where will we be staying?"

The Spaniard threw back her head and laughed. Matthieu's fresh-faced naivety was delightfully refreshing. "So many questions! Where does a girl begin? You shan't have to pay back a sous, Matthieu, the money is mine and I trust you not to rob me blind. As for expenses, I shall always be there to guide you; but I fear your currency conversion is a little off. The cost of living is far higher in England than in France, or Spain for that matter." A thought occured to her, "Never tip in England, it isn't done. The aristocracy aren't surprised by good service... they expect it!" Turning the corner they arrived at L'hotel Calais Grand. It had been built it the time of Louis XIV and, though much had been done to the ediface since, it retained a look of decandent splendour. Teresia gave a cheeky grin, "Looks expensive!" she commented. "Shall we economise and take one room instead of two?" Out of the corner of her eye she watched to see the painter's reaction to her flirtatious offer.

"I'll do my best," he reassured her. "I'll probably be so outraged at the prices that I'll be too scandalized to spend much anyway."

He gave her a wink, then nodded at her instructions about tipping. Hed always thought it a natural practice. But it didn't suprise him that the aristocracy did not tip. *After all, they think they're superior to everyone and we should be ecstatic just to grovel in their presence.*

Except Teresia, of course. It was always very difficult to remember that she was of their class, the one exception to his disdain.

And then of course she reminded him of that quite brilliantly with her suggestion about the rooms.

"Oh..." He hadn't thought about that. It even made him forget about the grandeur of the hotel. They were soon to be travelling as a married couple. Sharing the same room. It wasn't as if they hadn't slept in the same bed before, of course...

"It is la citoyenne's choice," he said, managing a smile.

"Aha." replied the Spaniard, realising that she had disarmed him somewhat. "In that case, la citoyenne chooses company tonight!" Approaching the reception, she rang the discreet silver bell and waited. "A double room for the night." she commanded when at last the manager appeared. Arrangements were made and soon they followed a porter to room 12. "Shall we order supper in the room, Matthieu, or do you want to eat downstairs?"

He hadn't meant to seem so surprised, and hoped he hadn't offended her. When she decided on company he realized she hadn't been, and smiled. Suddenly the approaching night seemed to hold very intriguing possibilities...

"Oh, we've been around people all day," he answered her. "I'd like to get away from some of the noise."

Secretly glad that Matthieu did not wish to socialise that evening, la Cabarrus requested that a cold supper be brought to their room. The porter gave a minute bow of acquiesence, a rare commodity in 1792, and disappeared, leaving the pseudo-married couple alone. Teresia began unpacking a few things from her small overnight bag. "Have you ever danced the minuette?" she asked casually.

He unpacked a few things, but, like most men, could get by with very little. "No, I have not," he said, looking at her somewhat pensively.

"I suppose... you might teach me?"

She had been hoping that he would say that. Teaching Matthieu the basics of high society life was something that Teresia had prepared herself for. There was a knock at the door and supper was served. Teresia thanked the waiter and sent him away. Putting the food aside (a cold supper would not spoil), she carefully poured two glasses of wine from the carafe. Thinking that Matthieu looked tense, she made him drink his glassful before the lesson began. There was nothing worse, in la Cabarrus' opinion, than a dancing partner who couldn't relax. "Entonces," she said at last, "first you must bow to the lady, like this..." It felt strange to be demonstrating the man's part. "Then you have to take her hand, thus." She positioned Matthieu's hand correctly and placed her own into it. "Now you try. Remember, it's very important to get the bow right."

He smiled at her instruction to drink all the wine. Thankfully one glass would not effect his balance, and that was important since he was afraid he was going to end up stepping on her feet. Not that he was clumsy. He'd just never danced an aristocratic dance before, or even seen one, and could only imagine that they must be very different from the rather wild, unruly dances you'd find in the drinking halls of dirty Parisian streets.

So he let her guide him, paying strict attention to her every move. It was difficut to see quite how to bow, since her skirts covered her legs and obscured whatever it was she was doing with them. he tried it, got it wrong, and straightened, shaking his head.

"I'm sorry. I can get it from the waist up, I think, but what do I do with my legs?"

Trying to explain in words proved to be an impossible task. She tried lifting the hem of her dress, but found that she couldn't demonstrate the arm movements whilst holding it. "Espera." She said, and disappeared behind a screen in the corner of the room. When she returned, a few moments later, she had discarded the cumbersome garments and was now clad only in her underwear. Showing absolutely no embarrassment whatsoever, she went through the opening moves of the minuette once more.

He hadn't actually thought of the obvious solution when he'd posed the question, but when she disappeared for a few moments he realized what she was doing. He couldn't help but grin.

Matthieu did manage to transform the grin into a more appropriate small smile by the time she reappeared. "You are a dedicated teacher, Teresi," he said, studying her moves. It was much easier to figure things out without the skirts, and it was nice to have an excuse to stare at her legs, which were quite attractive, even under hose and linens.

While only practice would make perfect, he seemed to get the basics of the opening moves down relatively swiftly. "Ok," he said with a smile, after getting her approval. "What next?"

Pleased with her pupil's progress, Teresia felt no qualms about introducing the complicated spiral moves. "Look over your shoulder and into my eyes as we circle each other... it's more romantic that way."

This was more difficult, especially when he was heading in one direction but looking in another. He quickly forgot how scantilly clad she was as he concentrated on learning both steps and the proper bearing.

The timing was difficult to get, and then he realized why. "It might be easier if we had music. Maybe you could... hum, or something?" He gave her a hopeful smile.

Teresia wracked her brain for a suitable tune. It's amazing even the most common song can elude one, when one most wishes to remember it. Eventually she caught the right note and began to sing. "La-la- lalala la-la la-la la-la." They stepped together and held hands, "la- la-lalala la-la la-la la-la." Two paces forward and into the circle, "laaa-lala-lalala laaa-lala-lalala laaa-lala-la la-la laaa- lala." Stop. Turn. Bow. Teresia clapped her hands, "Estupendo! We'll make a gentleman of you yet!" She laughed her merry laugh and they began the dance again.

The humming made it much easier -- it gave the dance form and rhythm and so it made much more sense that it did previously. He still thought it a rather stilted way to dance, but he supposed all of those huge dressess and aristocratic posing would make more energetic dancing less than 'stylish.'

Still, he was pleased with her approval, and happy that he was succeeding. And he laughed at her words.

"But I don't want to be a gentleman," he said with a smile as she started the dance again. "I will be a painter who can dance, though," he added with a wink.

They got to one place where he was supposed to guide her through a twirl. Instead, he put his arms around her and spun wildly with her, with an exuberance utterly out of place in the aristocratic dance. He grinned at her. "That's how you *really* dance."

She gave a yelp of surprise and delight, as Matthieu span her around so sharply that her feet momentarily left the floor. "You're incorrigible!" she giggled, "Don't try that with an English Duchess!!" But la Cabarrus too preferred the free spirited dances that had become the fashion in France. Clasping her arms about the painter's neck, she began to sing a more up-beat melody and let herself get carried away with the dance.

"Oh, I won't. I'm sure I'd disapprove quite strongly of such utter impropriety," he said, hardly able to contain a laugh. "But I think you like this a lot better than the minuet."

He winked at her, and when he recognized the tune she was humming he joined in, his voice somewhere between a tenor and light baritone.

He'd always wanted to dance with her, and it was wonderful to dance after having been contained in the carriage for so long.

Teresia did not reply to his statement, but the look of joy on her face as they danced said it all. They twirled around the room, the dance getting faster and faster, until la Cabarrus became dizzy and tripped over. Back onto the bed she fell, dragging Matthieu with her and laughing the whole time. "Dios mio, the ceiling is spinning!" she giggled, "You sing very well, Matthieu."

By the time he landed beside her, arms tangled around her shoulders, he was laughing too.

"No I don't, I'm awful," he said between laughs, waving his hand to negate her praise. "But _you_ sing well. And dance well. And probably everything else well."

He grinned at her playfully.

She mirrored his grin, "Try me!", and pulled him closer.

The invitation sent something akin to an electric tingle through him. Pulling her to him, Matthieu kissed her, not a shy gesture by any definition. One arm he kept around her shoulders, while the other slipped down to rest on her not-so-covered hip.

He kissed her, as she had hope he would. Her memory had served her correctly, saying that Matthieu was anything but backward in matters of that kind. Returning his kiss with full hispanic passion, she entwined her leg with his, a move made far easier because she was already half undressed, and rubbed her bare foot against his shin.

A soft, content sound escaped his throat, and he ran one hand gently through her long hair. This was much, much better than learning all those silly aristocrat rules.

He shifted to lie on his side, which brought them quite close together. Still kissing her, he ran his hand down the thigh that was now hooked around his, stroking her through the soft silkiness of her garments.

A small tingle of pleasure ran down her leg as he touched her. Teresia moaned something in Spanish and began to untuck Matthieu's shirt from the back of his breeches.