Therese felt herself half shoved by her husband, and half moved by her own
power as she lurched toward the voice. Her hand slipped in her strange
rescuer's, then held, and suddenly she was atop his horse behind him.
She didn't know how she managed to stay on. The world seemed to spin, a
fantastic amalgamation of noise and smoke, gunshots and shouts. Her head
spun.
Then, suddenly, they were lurching to a halt, and the exhausted Frenchwoman
let her nearly limp body slide from the horse to slump on the ground. What
had happened? Wha...? Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong.
Someone was crying out, someone she needed to help....
Desperately, Therese reached a feeble hand outward, trying to soothe the
pain that was crying out so close to her. But blackness was already closing
in over her....
A few feet from Armand's prostrate form, the slight woman slumped over
unconscious, unable to keep upright any longer. A combination of exhaustion,
starvation, anxiety, and excitement had served to make her fall in a faint.
The young Vicomte watched the movement in the room. His mother was
sitting against the wall. He was still not sure why the men had
brought them here, and why they were being helped, but he would do
anything to keep his mother safe. That is what his father had wanted
wasn't it. That is why he send his mother out, and not Suzanne. The
whole ordeal was so clouded in his mind. When things calmed down, he
would ask them to watch over his mother, he would go back for the rest
of his family himself. He had no plan, he knew nothing but he had
blind determination.
The Comtess did not see the others, she watched the walls. It would
not be long before she was back to her normal self but until she was
out of France, she felt as if she could not speak a word. These men
did not seem to know who they were. At least the one who brought them
made no mention of it. There in the shadows she could see a form, not
details but the same clothing and look of the Frenchman who had broke
the rope keeping them in and distracted the guards long enough for
them to run. Was this all planned. No, it couldn't have been.
"Nobody, as far as I know." Andrew whispered, looking around. Then he
was simply confused. "I'm fine..." Even as he spoke, Andrew's hands
appeared to be shaking. "Just shaken is all.." Andrew frowned. "I
just thought that you were getting the de Tournay's out of Paris..I
would have done so myself, but you wouldn't let me." Andrew said with
a tone of accusation in his voice. "I've no idea where they are. We-
or, I at least- lost track trying to get Armand to safety. Will he be
alright?" He asked anxiously, before his thoughts switched back to
Suzanne..."Suzanne!" He whispered quietly. "I've got to get her out
of there...please, Percy.." Andrew voice dropped even lower. "It
would kill me if..anything ever happened to her.."
With the tone coming from Andrew's mouth, Blakeney immediately looked
up and into Andrew's eyes. It was the wolf in him that demanded to
rise up to any challenge, as any leader should. Listening to Andrew,
Blakeney saw from the shadows the son of the Comte come into his
view.
"Andrew, what on earth are you speaking on?" Now it was Blakeney's
turn to appear confused. "The De Tournays are right behind you."
Still he kept to the shadows and the voice in which he spoke was
low. "What is all this about Suzanne? I thought perhaps if any did
not make it, it might be the Comte himself......." The voice trailed
as the dark picture became a little clearer. "Andrew... who do you
have with you here?" The feeling one gets upon realization of a job
failed or faltered in some way flushed through his face. The
Pimpernel was not sure he wanted to know this answer.
So it was that when they entered the dim interior of the barn,
Richard had still spoken barely two words to his rescuers. Instead,
he pretended to devote himself to the still limp form of his wife.
She didn't need his ministrations, and indeed would wake soon enough,
but he needed to seem busy for fear of catching someone's eye--and
needing to say something.
Fortunately for him, the others were frantically busy over one of
their number. Richard sat in a dark corner with his wife, gently
stroking her cheek, marveling that they had lived. And wondering what
it would mean. Yes, they had their lives; they had each other--but it
could not be denied that their world had just been turned completely
upside down. Even during the worst of the Revolution, it had never
occurred to the aristocrat before that he might have to work for a
living; now the possibility reared its ugly head. And to presage all
of these changes, he actually owed somebody the most precious thing
he owned: his life.
The men were talking in quiet tones close by. Just then, the
Frenchman's wife began to stir against him. She cried out softly,
disoriented and still dreaming, before finally coming awake in his
arms...
******
Therese woke slowly. Blackness swam before her eyes. She could not
remember where she was, only that someone needed help, needed
her...Slowly, her husband's face swam into view above her, concerned
and anxious. "Monsieur..." she murmured, a gentle smile fighting the
disoriented anxiety on her face. "Are we...? Did we...?"
"Shh, ma belle," the man answered softly. "Everything is all right.
We're--safe, now." A strange quality had entered his voice, the tone
of instability. He did not know what had happened or what would
happen to them, and the feeling was a strange one. Not even in prison
had he felt so out of control, but he hid the emotion well.
"But--someone--he..." Still reeling, Therese tried to pull herself to
her feet, despite her husband's protests. Usually a deferential
woman, she ignored her lord for once and struggled to make out her
dim surroundings. Anxiety filled her face. Had she dreamed it? The
cries of pain still echoed in her head...
Men--two men, talking. And in the corner-- "Mon dieu!" It was a
breathy whisper. She recognized him in a moment. He was the one, the
one who had pulled her off that awful tumbrel--dead? Could it be? She
was by the young man's side in an instant, before anyone else could
move. No, not dead, he breathed, though shallowly--and just a boy!--
and blood stained his clothes. His leg was bandaged crudely.
Therese reached out a slender hand, usually so timid, but now with a
sense of purpose and direction. Her fingers brushed the boy's
forehead, and she murmured soothingly as he stirred. He was young--so
young! She turned an agitated gaze upon the other men in the room,
ignoring her speechless husband for the moment. "He is burning with
fever, my lord. Can you light a fire or bring water?" Her voice was
shockingly calm, amazingly purposeful, and with a surprising tone of
leadership. But before the men could move, the fantastic place and
time seemed to catch up with her, and she burst out-- "My lord--you
have rescued us, and I lay down my life at your feet. I know nothing
of medicine for his wound, but your man is burning with fever, and I
am a woman and a mother. I have sat by my small daughter's bedside
through scarlet fever and smallpox, and I beg you to let me help this
boy!" Still flushed with the excitement of the rescue and the
disorientation of waking, the woman's speech was perhaps more
impassioned than was necessary. But she felt she needed so strongly,
so desperately, to help. As she spoke, her fingers stroked Armand's
flushed face with a motherly gesture, pushing back his sweat-dampened
hair. Her daughter might be gone, but the mother had not disappeared
from her.
Armand woke up thirsty again. Percy was not near, but a woman was.
Armand didn't recognize her for a minute. But then he remembered that
she was Louise's mother. He had pulled her off the cart.
Why was she here and Percy wasn't? He felt his leg. The makeshift
bandage Percy had affixed to the wound was there. It was dry. And not
crusted- with- blood- dry. Dry. The leg still hurt, though,
something awful. He tried to bend his knee, and it felt like he had
been stabbed. He decided not to try THAT again. His thirst was a
raging hell in his throat When Armand swallowed, trying to get some
saliva into his mouth, he felt like he had eaten the chalk he used
to use to work out his sums. Sitting up, he tried to get the woman's
attention. He couldn't talk due to his dry mouth. He managed to make
a soft noise.
Therese felt the boy stir under her caress, and turned her attention back to
him. "Shh. Just stay still. It will be all right." She realized suddenly
that the boy might not be French, as the other men had been speaking
English--but he had called out to her in French back in that awful Paris, so
he must understand what she said. Her English was very poor in any case.
Waiting for Andrew to answer him, Blakeney's attention was soon
turned to the woman who came to life. At first, he recoiled back
more into darkness. This action was more involuntary than a decided
choice.
She did not see him move back. Her attention was on the poor boy--mon dieu,
he looked to be about sixteen. What on earth was he doing in a place like
this? A scheme like this? Why had he risked such a young life to rescue
*her*?
The woman was calling him 'Lord' and speaking to him as if
she knew his identity and new his sin. It was not her daughter who's
life he left behind in the prison, and soon recognition set in and
the mother of the small child he bonded with so quickly forced him
into retraction.
"I will fetch some more water." His voice was unusually quiet in
such a situation. Moving away from Andrew, it was beginning to dawn
on Percy the exact number of lives in this hut. He could see the
Comtesse and the Vicomte, but Andrew knew nothing of the rest of the
family. Uncertain of the truth, he stuck to silence to ponder and
think things through. Turning towards the slate of wood at the end
of the barn that had always been his entranceway, Blakeney stooped
through and thoughtfully walked over to the well.
He took longer than he should have, trying to piece together the
shots he heard along with the gruesome sight of the young Sprout's
leg. Troubled by the second shot, Percy wondered if his fleeing
caused the shot or if it ended in a prisoner's life. One of the
betrayed De Tournays?
The eerie silence of this night plagued him. By now, he would be
laughing and talking of plans to his newly escaped convicts as they
would congratulate each other on such a night's victory. Tonight was
not such a night, however. A man wounded. Two prisoners splitting a
family in half with no idea of there whereabouts.
After the other man had gone, Therese continued talking softly to the
injured boy, trying to comfort him with her voice. "Just lie back and rest.
Everything will be fine." Dividing her attention, she raised the hem of her
skirt and began tearing off a strip of the thin fabric of her petticoat.
"You're very brave," she continued softly, her voice still barely above a
murmur. "I thank you. You and your friends saved us. You are good men."
She finished tearing the strip and folded it neatly. "But now you must
rest. You have a fever, and you must take care to guard your health against
infection. Just lie still..."
Creeping back into the barn like an accused, Blakeney handed Louise’s mother the flask filled with cool water for Armand. He spoke not a word and kept his
fact still in the shadows where possible. Taking out his matchbook,
he put it in her hand. "To build a small fire to ward off the
cold."
She glanced up at him as she took the flask, expression unreadable, but
something jumped inside her. She had never built a fire in her life before.
He walked away, and she turned the matchbook over in her hand. It couldn't
be that hard. And she must learn to be strong, strong for her new life.
She must learn....
She set aside the matches momentarily, along with her train of thought.
That could wait. Careful not to spill any, she tilted the flask to soak the
piece of cloth she had torn from her clothes, then held it to the boy's lips
for him to drink. He was able to take it himself, and she pressed the damp
cloth to his forehead with the gentleness of a mother.
Moving past Andrew, careful to keep his voice low for now, Percy
Blakeney made his way over to the Vicomte. "Tell me, did you ever
see your father or sister ride off near you?" The half crazed
Frenchman that yielded a machete just hours before, still with soot
and grease over his teeth, asked the young man. There was a
worriment doubt in his voice, for he did not wish the mother to hear,
but at the same time, the horrors of what might have become of them
filled his soul.
"You do not know where they are?" he asked, slightly taken back. "I
did not turn around, once on the horse we flew until we met up with
the party you see here now." the Vicomte looked over to his mother,
who seemed oblivious to all around. He turned slightly to face his
back towards her and get their voices in another direction "The little
of what I saw was my father trying to pull my sister from the cart. I
saw nothing else." he stood worriedly trying to understand why this
man who had risked so much to save them, did not know what had become
of the others. "Is there anything to be done to find them?"
A chilled tossing of water could not have broken his gaze at the
moment. His paranoia was true and people had been left behind.
There were times in the past he had failed in rescuing them, but
never were they friends of his parents, nor were they rescued in
partialiality. Slowly glancing back at Andrew, Blakeney could only
summon that he did not know, for Ffoulkes feet had not become weak as
news like this effected the other man so.
Looking back at the Comte, he gave a single thoughtful nod, still
speaking in French. "I will go back tonight and find out where they
are." His lazy blue eyes raised a bit to see the young Vicomte. "We
should make immediate plans for you and your mother to leave
immediately for England. The other two will need to put great
distance between this place as well as my man will need real medical
attention." Working out his thoughts aloud, Blakeney wasn't really
even talking to the Vicomte. Things did not go as planned, and it
was time for the wheels to churn to come up with another.
Listening in silence, the Vicomte watched the Frenchman. "Is there
anything I can do, Perhaps I can stay with your friend. Then you will
not have to worry about him." the young man pleaded, but would not
resort to begging. "You have helped us, I feel offering to help in
anyway I can, in any way to help save my father and sister." his
thoughts constantly alighted to why they were here, why they had been
singled out, among the thousands.. perhaps he would learn some day.
"All in good time...." He neither answered with a yes or a no to the
help the Vicomte offered. His mind wandering over potential
scenarios on how to get back and spy about, Blakeney's feet slowly
were moving away in his eccentric manner, from the Vicomte. When he
turned, he was only inches away from Andrew. The lazy blue eyes
blinked and looked upon his best friend. What had Andrew heard...
what had he seen? The silence could mean he heard nothing, or it
could mean he was in shock over hearing about Suzanne. Either way,
the situation was not good.
Andrew trembled as he looked at Percy in complete shock. Suzanne
hadn't been rescued? Biting his lip in a shaky fashion, Andrew turned
away from his best friend in order to keep from saying something
sharp- which couldn't be avoided because he was angry.
"Percy..." He tried not to think about where poor Suzanne might
be...he only wanted her there with him, in his arms. "This is not
right." Andrew finally spun around to face him. "She was LEFT there?"
He got right up in his face and glared at him. "Heaven knows what will
become of her....I can't believe..." His voice dropped yet again. "We
fowled up like that...her life could be in danger..and if she dies, it
would be ON MY HEAD." With that, Andrew stormed out of the barn. In
his state of anger, he did not hear Percy's quick footsteps coming
after him..a hand grabbed him roughly on the shoulder...
He turned after Andrew's monologue and looked at the Vicomte. "As
soon as daylight breaks, you should take the others, including the
injured boy, and head towards England." Blakeney still did not know
the revelation of names had already been given to this Frenchman. "I
will fetch the other and get him to lead you..." He paused a moment,
thinking of Andrew's heated words and then responded simply with, "I
will go alone tonight and finish the job."
Not waiting for an answer, Sir Percival Blakeney, Baronet left the
barn and easily enough, found Andrew. At first he was reluctant to
approach, for his first inclination was to holler back with equal
passion at the other man. What should he have done? Allowed himself
to become captured when chased? Who would lead them then? Andrew?
Bah! Andrew could not lead his way out of a well conducted parade,
much less the chaos he himself endured.
More time ticked by and Blakeney forced himself near Andrew. Placing
a hand upon his shoulder, he said sternly, "You will lead the others
back to Richmond. Do not take Armand to Blakeney Manor. Take him to
a doctor for healing and blame yourself for the shot in his leg."
Slowly the plan seemed to be working and forming more clear inside
his mind. "As for *my mistake*, I will correct it beginning now.
Good luck, and remember: Don't get caught." Removing his hand, he
remained the authoritative figure amongst the group and he conveyed
that he expected his orders to be obeyed.
"Percy," Andrew sighed. "Can you SWEAR to me that you'll bring
Suzanne safely back to England?" He didn't doubt his leader, he was
wanted to make sure that Suzanne would get out of Paris. If Percy
didn't do it, Andrew would. "If not, then I swear that I will go and
get her myself. I know I promised, but we are here- in France, now..I
am willing to risk my life for her.."
"I swear to give put forth my best and not give up until it is over."
He went to turn, and then paused a moment, swiveling his head back
around, "You forget Andrew, I don't like to fail... besides, you
would have no stomach if the situation got tight. No my friend, I
need you to lead the wounded and tired safely to England. That is
the path best suited for your talents. Mine are to return to the
city."
Andrew wanted to pitch a fit- he still wouldn't let him go to her!
Poor Andrew was on the verge of tears. "Percy, I am in love with this
woman- and I barely know her..I just want to..." Here, Andrew had to
trail off to keep his emotions under control..."I try, Percy, I
really do- but..if there's anything else I can do, let me know, and
I'll be there for you."
"If you wish to help her, help you, help Armand, the De Tournays and
the Louise's parents... get them safely back to England. Take the
same schooner that we took to cross over. Get them to a safe inn and
keep them there for now. As for the Comte and his daughter, there is
nothing you can do for them save take care of their family. Honestly
Andrew, you and I both know *how* you get. Your love will cloud your
good judgment."
He said it with sincerity to Andrew, but he felt the bitterness in
his heart of the truth it held.
"I've never been in love like this before, Percy." Andrew shuffled his
feet and looked at Percy, not missing the pain in his friend's eyes.
"It scares me...is this what true love feels like?" Andrew's lip shook
a little, from emotion. "I hardly know the girl...it would kill me if
I lost her now. How can I keep mind over matter here, Percy? You know,
not letting my emotions get in the way of the safety of the league and
the people who are counting on us?" Andrew looked down. "I just don't
understand..this change.." Andrew placed his hand over his heart, as
if it were breaking in two...
"I am the worst to consult or console of such foolish matters of the
heart Andrew. For now, I can only say tis time for action, not words
and poured running emotions. Stop it man. 'Wants to go to Paris to
free with words like a cupid arrow.' " he said mockingly. "Enough.
Speak no more of it." He shook his head and placed his hands up as a
barrier between Andrew and himself.
"Go do the job Andrew. You can 'swoon' like a female later."
Andrew didn't say anything- what could he say? Nothing. That was the
extent of it all. "There is so much at stake, here..." Andrew began to
pace, which he did only when he was nervous. "I can't screw things up
this time, Percy..I let you down before." He paused. "I won't, this
time..I swear it!" Andrew added that for empathies. He had made a fool
out of himself last time, well, he would not let that happen twice..
"You do not have to tell me what is at stake Andrew. Good God man!
Get a hold of yourself. Listen to you... If I moaned about
every time things did not go my way, nothing would have ever gotten
done months ago. Don't swear idly to me, just do. I need you to
perform, not wail about. Go to Armand. Get safely to England."
"I'll see you in England, then?" Andrew asked softly, trying not to
draw too much attention to themselves as they talked. "Armand, the de
Tournay's and Louise's parents will all reach England safely, you have
my word." Andrew knew where his loyalty stood, he just had to block
out the emotions that he was currently feeling in his heart..
Nodding, he clapped Andrew on the back. "I know you will ol' boy.
I'll meet up with you at your home where I will take back Armand.
Take care with the Sprout....." He slightly slipped into a bit of a
caring mode, but then just as easily left it. Sprout caused a soft
spot with Blakeney and it confused him to hate his sister so. No
matter, a job was where his focus needed to be and without another
word, he turned from the barn and headed off back towards the ten
miles to the city by means of the road of grass and trees.
Armand took the flask willingly, and drank a few mouthfuls. He listened to
the talk. The vicomte wanted to stay here with him... no way. Armand had to
help Percy. He couldn't stay here... like an invalid. Not when there was work
to be done! He gulped more water, but he still couldn't talk loud enough to
be heard. The sound of escaping air through his lips was the only thing he
heard.
He was obviously agitated. "Shh. Don't try to speak. You must rest--"
But he would not be deterred....
Would he ever be able to talk again? This was so agitating! But he was over
reacting. The boy knew he was just dehydrated. There, he could speak above a whisper now. He sat up on his elbow, the glazed look lifting from his eyes. He was alive. Only just, but definitely alive. The traces of a boyish grin lit up his young features. "Percy... Let me go with you."
She did not understand the English, only that he was upset about something. She conceded to silence as he talked to the other man.
In another century, she might have been more. But she had been cultured to
be an aristocratic woman, with no outlet for accomplishment or success.
When Louise was born, she had devoted herself heart and soul to the child,
motherhood being the only thing she might be allowed to excel in.
Now she realized she might have to learn self-reliance. But unlike her
husband, the thought came without fear. Now, she moved a little way away
from the boy, and silently began her first attempt at building a fire.
Lying his hand on the shoulder of the boy, Blakeney gently pushed him
back downward. "If you get excited like this, you will only reopen
the wound. Rest Armand." This was an odd sort of feeling. Who had
ever worried for him before? This was on odd thing indeed and
Blakeney did not know how to take it. In his usual manner, he
remained quiet when introduced to new things, trying to figure it out
until he owned the knowledge of the situation.
"You forget Armand, I've been doing this on my own," All his life?
True, but he wished to make it not sound quite so, "for well over a
year." Yes, that would do. "One girl. One man. I will heed my own
orders and not get caught." He tried offer Armand a smile, but in
the darkness it was rather futile.
Annoyed, he sat back up.
"No, I can do it!" He said, agitated. Why did nobody ever listen to him????
Yeah, his leg hurt like hell, and he felt even worse than he looked. "It doesn't matter that you’ve been doing this for however long you have been... you have allies now... you need me--US. You need to help. I can do it, I know I can! It's not that bad!" He grimaced. Only a surface wound... just a bit of blood....
And the small movement wore him out slightly, the pain taking away any
strength he might have had before now. He sat back a little, leaning on his
elbows. In the dark, you could only see the two pairs of eyes, one set fair
blue, the other bright green.
"I won't let you do it alone..." And now he was repeating himself. He
couldn't remember exactly what he had already said. Sad.
Letting loose a loud languid sigh, Blakeney looked down and sat down next to
him. "What am I going to do with your Sprout? Trying to look after me
again?" He tried to sound like the light hearted Sir Percy but he was tired
and the mistake of not getting Suzanne and her father wore at him. "How can
I convince you that you coming along will only make matters worse?"
"Someone has to keep an eye on you, Percy," He said, lightly, moving so that
he could watch his brother. He winced. "There has to be SOMETHING I can
do...."
"I tend to perform best alone Sprout. Go home and get yourself
better so your sister does not ride me like the act of the riots when
we return. If you are not back in seemingly one piece, I fear I will
lose my neck to another if the guillotine does not find me." He
referred to Marguerite strangling him if anything happened to her true
love and precious brother. Why was he still sitting here anyway? He
should have embarked on this journey already. The Baronet was
becoming anxious.
"The hell you do! I'm not going home without you, Percy. What would I tell
Marguerite?" Mixed with his French accent, his mocking of Percy was quite
something to hear. " 'Oh, I'm sorry, Marguerite, but Percy made me go home
with Sir Andrew and some random people we picked up on the way'? And what
will she think, anyway, about me boing shot! Merde!" He gritted his teeth.
"Stand up, Sir Percival," He said through his clenched jaw.
Not taking well to orders, he stared with a flash in his eyes and
grabbed hold of Sprout's arm. Being mocked was something he was not
in the mood for. "You will say not a word to Marguerite!" His voice
raised quickly, but as soon as he caught himself, he equally lowered
his tone and released the fiery grip he almost delivered to Armand.
In a sharper and much quieter tone, he hissed, "You will tell nothing
of this to Marguerite..... and you will go home to get well so there
is nothing that Marguerite knows."
"I'm not afraid of you! Go ahead! Hit me!" Armand glared at him. "She's my
sister, Percy! I got shot! You don't think she'll notice something? Like why
I'm home and you're not? If I come home without you, it'll be worse for us
both, and you know it! Better to return together, injury or no, and give her
some excuse. Like you accidentally shot me on a hunting trip or something. You
play such the idiot at home, no one would doubt it! Now... stand... up!"
Anger only flourished more through his mind as Sprout insulted,
threatened and spoke to him so. Had Armand not warned him to do it,
Blakeney might have back handed the boy, injured or not. As things
came about however, Armand did taunt Percy, making him do the very
opposite of what the sprout wanted, therefore resulting in him not
making a move or muscle to touch the boy.
He had his own agenda, but in order to get that underway, he needed
to take care of and bypass Armand. The brother wore on his nerves,
and soon, he breathed slowly and heavily, to calm himself from
loosing control. To loose control of oneself was to become
defeated. Blakeney slowly stood and in silence, bit his tongue and
waited.
He set his jaw again. This was going to hurt. Grabbing Percy's arm, he pulled
himself up on the one good foot. Gingerly, he put the shot leg to the ground
and leaned a little of his weight on it. Damn, that hurt. No matter. He
looked up at the Englishman.
"There. I can stand. It hurts like hell, but I can do it." Carefully, he let
go of Percy's arm and took a step. His gave a silent gasp of pain. Oh god, it
hurt. But he took another step. He turned back. "And I can walk."
"So can a man with one leg, if you call that walking." Blakeney was
not amused nor impressed by the actions of his brother in law. "Lie
down Armand. If it means you will rest, I will return here in one
night's time where you all can wait. We will travel together I
suppose....." He was changing his plans and did not like this.
Armand was making him compromise.... and he did not like this.
"However the head start would serve the ladies well and give them
peace of mind. To have a fellow Frenchman along would help the
women." He paced a little and slipped into his mind where he found
his best thinking. With a slight turn, he glared at Armand. "You
should let me go and do what is best for all and not tear at the
wound."
"So can a man with one leg, if you call that walking." Blakeney was not
amused nor impressed by the actions of his brother in law. "Lie down Armand.
If it means you will rest, I will return here in one night's time where you
all can wait. We will travel together I suppose....." He was changing his
plans and did not like this. Armand was making him compromise.... and he did
not like this.
*Ha ha ha!*
"However the head start would serve the ladies well and give them peace of
mind. To have a fellow Frenchman along would help the women." He paced a
little and slipped into his mind where he found his best thinking. With a
slight turn, he glared at Armand. "You should let me go and do what is best
for all and not tear at the wound."
A compromise... Armand could detect the death-look on Percy's face and
decided he had pushed a little too far. Sliding to the floor, he cringed.
"One day. And only one. If you haven't done it by then, you have to come
back, or I swear to god, I'll go after you. Not Andrew. ME. Understand?" He
looked up at Percy, every ounce of strength wiped from him.
"I do not remember you calling the shots, but I do recall a young
fool wandering around Paris by himself freeing a woman named
Helene." Blakeney shook his head. "Damn you Sprout for forcing me
to put the lives in this barn at further risk with your stubbornness."
He turned and moved back near the slat in the back of the barn,
pushing the wood aside to make his exit passage. "Now hold up to
your end and rest. Pray that it is only I that comes back to this
place and not the Citoyens. I only hope Andrew will remain safe. I
will assume you can tell him of the 'orders' you gave me. Adieu."
He was gone before he could reply. He scowled. "Damn me for my stubbornness, huh? I never said anything about keeping the rest of the group here..." He muttered, en François, under his breath. "And I wasn't wandering... I know Paris better than he ever will... it comes from living there."
The boy and the man--who seemed to be the leader--were both speaking
English, and too quickly for Therese to understand more than a scattered
phrase. As they spoke, she moved slightly away, not wanting to interrupt.
She decided to try to build the fire. How hard could it be? She had seen
the servants strike matches before. But scraping the head of the match
gently against the side of the box only produced a dull scratching sound.
She tried again, a little more firmly, but still without confidence...
She broke two before she got one to light, and then was so surprised and
startled that she dropped it. The tiny flame went out, plunging the barn
back into semi-darkness. Finally, she managed to get a small blaze going,
but the straw burned quickly and she kept having to add to her little pile
lest it go out. She was becoming quite frustrated with her endeavor when
she sensed someone come up beside her.
"I brought some wood. It will burn slower," Richard said tersely, not
looking at his wife. He was not angry with her, but frightened--she was
already adapting to a new lifestyle, and he was still tumbling from the old
one. He dropped the few branches on the ground he had gone outside to
break, and retreated back into his dark corner. It was all he could handle
right now.
Therese looked after her husband with concern, wanting to go to him--but she
had to finish this first. With a little determination and some singed
fingers she finally managed a small fire. It crackled cheerily in the dark
barn; night had fallen since they had come. She went back to the boy. The
leader had left, and the boy was mumbling to himself in French...
He closed his eyes, but sleep would not come. Instead, he lay with his eyes
open, until darkness came in and shut his eyes. He didn't sleep well, for
even in his dreams, he was sulking....
"Can I help?" Therese asked gently, in French. "You can talk to me, if you
want..." It was an awkward expression of sympathy, but was all she knew how
to do, and it was obvious the boy was upset.
He jumped, not expecting her to say anything to him. "Non... non, merci. I don't think you can help in this particular situation. Even I can't convince Percy otherwise...." He shook his head. "Thank you again, Madame."
Percy. It was a name she would have to remember; she owed all of these
people her and her husband's lives. "It is not necessary to thank me,
monsieur. You have saved all of us. Thank you." It felt odd and yet
somehow right to call him "monsieur," though she was an aristo and he was
little more than half her age. "My name is Therese D'Amours, and my husband
is Richard. Do not--do not mind him. He is good man, but this has been
very hard for him. I thank you for us both."
"I... I only did what was necessary, Madame... I did what was right. You owe
me nothing, I promise." A little smile flickered across his weary features
when she called him "monsieur". Well what else would she call him? He
realized she didn't know HIS name. "I'm Armand... Armand St Just..." He breathed his name out softly, very tiredly.
Therese smiled when he brushed off her thanks, though she took note to
remember his name. "Perhaps you only did what is right, M. St. Just...but
sometimes it is simply that which is the measure of a hero. Too many people
simply take what is easier over what is right."
The half moon, as it threatened to disappear behind the seemingly
ageless clouds, offered little comfort to ease the plagued Baronet's
mind. Each footfall he stepped, sounded as if he were in a grand
chamber room, the clumping echoing throughout the open landscape of
dying grass and scarce trees. In reality, the tracks he did were, as
always, taken with great care and he made only the smallest of normal
sounds. He was no small rabbit or bird that could breathlessly
travel low to the ground or high above it, regardless how he wished
it to be so.
The words of the Sprout confused and baffled around inside his
cranium.
Who before reached out and wished to accompany him wounded? Frank
had gone to great lengths on different occasions, but Percy knew
Frank was a paid man. That is how their relationship started out.
His mind was tired and weak to the emotional strain the guilt of
Armand put upon him. Alone, out in the darkness, he allowed himself
these insecure thoughts. Better here and now than when others neared
and depended on his quick actions.
Each footfall brought him closer to the city and further from
England, where he desperately wished to go. Where were his friends
on his night? Frank would be dealing with Marguerite at the Blakeney
Manor. Armand and Andrew, he had left them bleeding and disappointed
back in the barn. Tony and Frederick? Last he knew, they were in
France going after Tony's wife, Yvonne. That was her name, wasn't
it? Another French woman or was she English? Percy couldn't
remember.
Glancing up, he saw in the distance the city wall. Coming in was
never a problem, but tonight he had Armand's blood on his hands and
arm. Strolling in as normal would not do. What would Frederick say,
if he knew Armand had been shot? He seemed the only strong minded
one in the group, and Blakeney often looked to him to rely upon.
Hastings. What in the bloody hell ever happened to the man? What
did it matter? The group, although he would have liked to seen it
grow a bit, was able to split up and do multiple tasks. One had to
admit, that was a good position to be in.
Kneeling in the grass, Percy reached down and began to dry wash his
arms and hands with soft and powdery mud. He spat on them to wash
off the fingers where Armand's blood had caked onto himself, in a
poor attempt to clean them further. Glancing down at his pants, he
knew there was nothing to be done about the dried blood there.
Against his tan burlap clothes, the blood splashed this way and
that. He sat and thought a moment.
"A butcher."
Standing, turning to head into the city, France's newest occupational
butcher entered with one twitchy left eye and a shaky right hand.
From all the years of observation of others from Sir Algernon's boat,
the ease in which Blakeney could draw upon a library of personas and
attitudes was near a frightening thing. No man should ease that
simply out of his own skin, into another's.
Once through the gate, Blakeney thought of taking to the rooftops to
reach the prison, but admitted the failure of that thought. Had he
been spotted, he would be identified more than likely. At a snail's
pace, he inched his way in a hum drum manner towards the main town
square. The sun would be up soon, and the town would come alive.
Besides, he needed to purchase fresh game and a clever. His machete
was gone.
The darkness still hung heavily, and the air was think. Sitting again
a small part of the cool wall, Suzanne stared out at the deep blue
sky. The night would soon be over, and she would have enough light to
see where she was put. It was something she wanted to see. Having
spent the night in this room she had heard others cry out, people
praying for release. Most of them had another family member, mothers
had their children, or sisters. Suzanne was alone. For all she knew
the rest of her family was dead.
It was the lack of light that gave some comfort. Without the light,
she would seek her own source of comfort of a new day. At least if she
was to die, she would be joining her family, not to be alone any
longer in this hole. Soft tears came down her cheeks, and another
woman leaned down beside her coughing violently. Covering her face,
Suzanne cried.
The morning came and went with much ease. He had sat there wondering
why a butcher would come into a prison, or if there was a way that he
could sneak his way through. Nothing that made any bit of logical
sense helped him. This was a puzzle and a mystery, with the added
pressure of Andrew and Armand. Had he been back in his den in
Richmond, the time allowed to him would make this challenge an
enjoyable one. He loved to find solutions so, but it was not to be.
The afternoon threatened his pace and with a dead and unplucked
chicken at his feet, he sat with a yellow glass of water just inside
the walls of a dark inn.
The clever lay across the table, the dried blood on it looking old
and used too many times to count. A simple purchase from the chicken
farmer in exchange for few too many francs. No questions. No
answers. No names. Just money and goods. Staring off out into the
streets of the city, Blakeney's mind was full of activity.
Finally, he began to write two different things and then over one of
them, turned his back to the room and outside. Hovering in a way to
shield from prying eyes from whatever goods he was protecting.
Laying a few francs on the table, he stood and took hold of the
chicken in one hand, and the clever in the other, leaving the inn.
The long walk past her city's Madame Guillotine lead him straight to
the prison doors. He handed the guard his note and smiled, still
with the soot and grease over parts of his teeth. His smell was
rancid and his body dirty. The once mess of blonde tangles were
greased back to look brown and contained under a hat. "New torture
tactics from the head Citoyens, me thinks." He smiled and lifted up
the chicken and clever. The guard, seeing the official note from
this man, nodded and let him in.
Slowly, carefully, Blakeney's eyes scanned around the prison cells.
There larger type captivities made for slow movements on his part,
for there were too many people to try and observe for even his quick
mind. He chuckled and swung the dead chicken in his grip, as he held
it by the legs. Softly calling out, "Here kitty kitty kitty."
It was insane, but then again, it was meant to not make sense.
A voice started coming down the hall. Her eyes had become adjusted to
the gray walls and darkness around her. Then as the voice neared she
could hear the low spoken voice and the words. Watching the barred
entrance she waited to see who was walking the halls. Looking around
her, it seemed this unknown figure had the attention of most of the
people in the room she was in. Suzanne stood against a beam that
raised up in the middle of the room. There seemed no point to it's
presence, but it allowed her away from the wall where others had taken
her place.
"Oye, this one me thinks I goes in first." Using the clever as an
extension of his arm, Blakeney pointed to the cell directly next to
the one where he finally found Suzanne De Tournay. So far, he failed
to find the father.
The guard let him inside the cell, and stood back with his arms
crossed, in a relaxed and amused type manner. He was the only guard
on duty and decided to take a break.
Blakeney moved near to one side, glancing about to make sure his
bizarre behavior grabbed the attention of most and slowly made his
way over to a young man. Thrusting the dead chicken's legs at the
young man, he hollered, "What you think this is? You see a dead
chicken eh? This is gonna be you!" And he laughed manically trying
to make the Frenchman hold the corpse.
Watching in disgust, Suzanne turned her head as she listened to the
man speak. His cruel words, even with her head turned came through.
The horrifying laugh made her look back over, trying to see what was
going on.
Moving to a different corner of the cell, Suzanne wanted to hide from
this man and his chicken. Was this the pre show for them. The terror
before the guillotine. Leaning against a wall a short ways from the
entrance, Suzanne tried not to fear this man, he had skipped so many
other cells, perhaps he would walk right by this one.
For now, Suzanne's fears were answered. Making his way from cell to
cell, swinging around the clever near the chicken's neck and truly
disturbing those inside, Blakeney's eyes still searched for her
father. This type of prison was a holding for aristos only. It was
not large nor catacomb like. It was attached to a building, converted
in the lower floor to the likes of a prison. People where huddled
together worse than rats, for even rats have a chance to flee.
The entire time, Blakeney was rude, crude, doing a good job of
disturbing the others. Not once did it dawn on him that he might be
more harm than good. Laughing and speaking ill things lowly to
individuals. Shouting out their fate to the group. The guard
laughed and some prisoners sobbed. He was too convincing, and he
could not help the others. His goal was to find the father, and free
them both and he was acting relentless trying to go from cell to cell
to come across the Comte De Tournay.
When at last, he admitted defeat, he had the guard let him into the
cell of Suzanne De Tournay. At first, he kept from her, seeing her
hide from him like the plague. Then, he limped over to her, speaking
lowly and dangling the chicken to his side. "Ain't you a pretty
thing? Here kitty kitty kitty."
As the man came into the section Suzanne had been thrown into, she
tried to make herself small and hide herself behind another. To no
effect. Suzanne's eyes went wide in fear as he came towards her in a
slow almost taunting fashion. As he approached and seemed to single
her out a few of the woman she had been trying to hide among
scattered away and stood watching. Suzanne's eyes were not on the
man, but on the chicken at his side. "Leave me alone." she whispered
softly wishing him and the foul smell around him away from her.
The laughter escaped his lips and he reached quickly for the back of
her hair, and gently, pulled her to him. Pretending to kiss at her
neck, he whispered, "Be offended, act scared, but I'm the same man
from last night. The Pimpernel. I need to know if you know where
your father is."
The crazed man sputtered loudly with a laugh about how pretty the
color of blood red would go with her dainty little dress. Pulling
back for a moment, Blakeney gave a twisted grin but his eyes were
intense with care.
She cringed as he pulled her over to him, but heard his words. The man
from last night. The one who had run at them like a crazy fellow
yelling insults.. but freeing them momentarily. He had come back? When
he pulled back she still was still frightened, but she looked up into
his eyes. With a slight shake of her head, she tired to tell him she
did not know. She was not quite as afraid of him as before, but did as
she was told, and with little effort tried to pull away from him.
His lips pulled back in a snarl and spat out, "You may think you are
a useless wench, but I think not!" Without saying another word, he
turned and left for the cell doors. "Oye, matie. I got me an idea."
The guard let him out of the cell, and the two moved over to the side
and whispered, taking laughter and looks back at Suzanne.
The guard pointed over to a closet, and Blakeney opened it, putting
on a shelf the clever and dead chicken. Taking out some rope and a
canvas bag, he laughed and swayed back and forth. "Remember maite,
after I have a go at her, I'll come back for your turn." The creepy
smile on his face looked back into the cell lustfully as he awaited
the guard to let him back in.
He limped over to Suzanne and laughed at her, grabbing her wrists and
started tying the rope around them. He did not make any eye contact
with her, but spout out some of the most foulest things by means of
description of what he was going to do to her once alone. Placing
the canvas bag over her head, his hand wrapped around her waist,
pulling her back and tightly into his chest and whispered, "Scream."
Blakeney began to drag her out of the prison cell, with the anxious
guard on duty opening the door for him.
Watching him come back, there was something in the way he looked at
her that made her fight as he wrapped the rope around her wrists, she
didn't care any longer that he had perhaps tried to save them before,
she truly believed the things he said he was going to do and it
terrified her.
The whispered command only made her voice her opinion of him, as she
let out terrified cries from under the canvas bag that held her in
darkness to where she was being taken. She stumbled and dragged her
feet as he pulled her along.
'She's a good actress.' he thought, as he dragged her out of the
prison cell that the guard locked behind him. The guard reminded him
to keep her quiet and to not take his sweet time. Blakeney nodded,
placed his hand over the burlap sack, over her mouth, and glanced at
the prison doorway then looked back at the guard. "I'll be needing
me another, more private exit way." The guard nodded and led them
towards the back, opening a door that lead into a dark alleyway.
Both men giggled and the guard reminded him again to hurry up.
Once alone, he whispered into her ear, "We are alone and outside.
For this to work, you must do as I say." His voice was normal,
gentle, heavy with his true English accent. "I'm not going to hurt
you, and I am now going to take this sack off your head."
Slowly, he removed the sack and took out his knife that was tucked in
behind the back of his trousers. Quickly he worked the knife, still
having Armand's dried blood on it, and cut at the bonds most recently
made to her wrists.
"We don't have much time... he is expecting me to come back there
with you. Foolish is the lustful man." In a few different ways, he
spoke from experience.
Though he had covered her mouth she still let out cries and struggled
with him, though her attempts were muffled by the bag and his hand.
The next thing she felt was a cool breeze and then heard his voice.
She stopped struggling and stood still. The bag off her head she
nodded waiting to hear what he told her to do. Taking the time to get
a few deep breaths, calm herself and understand so she could follow
anything he said. Bringing her hands together she held her wrist
rubbing where the rope had been. "What do you want me to do?" she
finally asked softly.
Putting the knife back to its proper place behind his trousers, he
gently took hold of her wrist. "Follow me." Turning, Blakeney ran
with her down the alleyway. It lead to sort of a dead end and he
could reach up over the wooden wall. "Seven feet roughly." Looking
back at Suzanne, he asked hurriedly, "How good are you at climbing
Milady?"
"I've never climbed before." Suzanne looked worriedly over at the wall
in front of them. Were they trapped. Nervously she looked from the man
in front of her to the wall. "I can try to climb." it was the best she
could do. Never had she been asked to do any such thing. Then again,
she had never been in a situation like this. "What's on the other
side?"
"I will assist you Mlle." He kneeled down, thinking two different
options, when his eyes came in direct contact with the bottom hem of
her dress. Perfect. Each stitch in place as a well made piece of
clothing should be.
"Oh this will not do." He took hold of the bottom of her dress, and
in his eccentric, Pimpernel goal driven type manner, wielded forth
his knife again and began to cut unevenly, and tearing at the bottom
of her dress.
Watching wide eyed as he tore at her dress, her instincts told her to
pull away and stop him. What could she do... what was he doing. "What
are you doing?" she asked in surprise. How did ripping the only dress
she had left help them get over the wall?
"If you go over the wall, in this part of town dressed so fine, you
will be pegged for sure. Here..." He clawed at the earth and picked
up a handful of dry dirt. "Take some and smear it on your arms, your
face." With his other hand, he placed the knife in his mouth, took
some dirt and began to rub it on the cloth on her back.
Holding the dirt, she looked at it. Then making a slightly disgusted
face began rubbing it on her arms. Soon she had dirt streaks across
her arms and face. Reaching over she scooped up a bit more dirt and
pressed it into the front of her dress. She felt horrible, but it
couldn't be worse than what those men had wanted to do with her.
Letting out a soft sigh. She looked over at the man who had been
helping.
"Will I fit in better now?" she asked, then took her hair down from
the tight roll and ran her dirty fingers thought the long brown curls
trying to tangle them.
"Nearly." He took the knife from his mouth and took hold of her
sleeve, ripping it. "Clothing is just the exterior Mlle, remember
that." That being said, he kicked the excess and striped clothing
over in a corner and got down on his hands and knees.
"Use me as a step Mlle. Once up, look all over and wait until you
think it is the most clear to climb over. The fall will still be 7
feet on the other side, so go limp and try not to land on anything
save your hands and feet." He glanced up at her and went quiet.
Clothing is the exterior? What did he mean. Not asking questions she
walked over and climbed up onto his back, carefully not trying to hurt
him. From the higher vantage point she could see over the wall, her
hands resting on the top she watched several people walk by. The
street went quiet and she started to put her foot over when she saw a
large group go by, waiting they passed and she pulled herself up.
Dangling there she pulled harder trying to get herself over.
With a startled cry she landed at the bottom, her feet then her
knees. Seeing more people coming she moved into the shadows to wait.
She was light, this girl of Andrew's. While waiting for her, as she
stood on his back, slowly it began to sink in his mind that this was
Andrew's girl. The daughter of De Tournays, his parent's friends
long ago. Good Lord! What on earth did he say to her back there
with the dead chicken? His face flushed a little and he would have
laughed if allowed.
When it was his turn, Blakeney leaped up, swung a leg over and jumped
down. The action was swift, calculated and all his physical prowess
made the jump smoothly. Leaping over walls was something he had done
before. Taking her wrist again, he pulled her out into the
street. "Come on. We need to make haste." Draping an arm around
her waist, he whispered in her ear, "You are my poor wife. Act like
it." He gave no further instruction and headed straight for the East
gate of the city.
Nodding, Suzanne in turn placed her arm on him and walked at his side.
She was not sure exactly what he had meant by poor wife, but she
guessed she would find out. Wife she understood well enough. Why was
everything so confusing. Trying to keep calm and collected she let him
lead her as they walked. Once or twice she looked up at him, trying to
figure out why he was helping her. Her shorter legs made it slightly
difficult to keep up with his hurried pace, but she tried not to let
it show.
When they reached the gate, he took out the papers he had tucked deep
in his coat. One slight change to them, he wrote "Madame &" in front
of the name shown on his paper. It was not the best job he had done
before, but it would have to do. Most individuals needed to have
papers, but Blakeney was going to enforce this new rule if he had
too. They were getting out.
Glancing at Suzanne De Tournay, he gave a nod of his head and looked
back at the guard; waiting.
Raising her eyes once she looked towards the guard, but then looked
back at the man holding onto her. Afraid to look at the guard for long
she draped arm over his shoulder as she waited for him to let them
pass. His wife, she repeated to herself several times before leaning
against him, starting to feel faint. She couldn't do this now. Taking
a deep breath she glanced back over to the guard.
The guard looked from the paperwork to Blakeney and puzzled for a
moment why there where one set of papers instead of two. Right
before the man said a word, Blakeney stepped close and pressed the
hard steel of the knife into the man's gut. "You seem to be quite
alone at the moment Monsieur." The guard's partner was visible, but
strolling at the other side of the gate. "My suggestion is you let
us pass and take the money I will have dropped at your feet."
The French words had the added emphasis of the knife pressed once
more and when it cut through clothing, the guard felt the cold object
touching his skin. The young guard nodded and whispered, "Pass. Pass
you dog."
Taking the papers back, Blakeney took hold of Suzanne's wrist and
pulled her quickly through the gate, his knife still held just
underneath his sleeve, ready to use if needed. The pace in which he
led her was quick and he turned right the corner just beyond the
gate wall.
The words exchanged at the gate did not come to much of a surprise, the
previous day seemed to have taken the shock from everything making
little things such as knifes being held to another, not as much of a
horrifying experience. Watching, Suzanne had moved herself slightly
behind the man who had been pulling her along and watched.
When he reached around and grabbed her wrist, she almost tripped and
fell. Her strength was slowly leaving her. She had not eaten at all
the previous day, and had not slept there in that open arena she had
been herded into as if she were cattle. His long strides made it
difficult to keep up and she began to fall behind.
"We don't have much time to reach the woods. Run as if your life
depended on it." Keeping hold of her, Blakeney broke into a sprint
for the woods, knowing full well that soon enough they would be
followed. The woods were not dense nor thick with trees, but the
long wheat grass came up near his chest. Just as the pair entered
the forest like territory, shouts from behind at the east gate were
heard and heavy footsteps sounded.
"We are almost there. Come on!" He tugged hard at Suzanne, and
looked behind him, his round blue eyes glancing back at the gate.
Forcing her faster, yanking on her as one pulls the rope on a
stubborn horse, Blakeney urged her onward. The voices sounded as
they just hit the line where the tall yellow grass grew. The two
perused hit an area where the trees grew larger and started to become
dense. Blakeney did not run to the safety of the forest.
Suzanne saw the woods ahead and almost breathed a sigh of relief, they
would be safe once out of sight. She could not do any such thing, or
ask any questions, her breath came in short little gasps and she kept
towards the woods, but suddenly she felt him pulling her in a
different direction and nearly panicked.
"Lie Down!" His whispering command ordered her, where upon he helped
to force her to lie in the dirt, while he himself draped himself on
top of her. Reaching out there was a pile of dead hay, near in
yellow color like the wheat grass, that Blakeney began to cover their
bodies with. He quickly started to throw the grass at their feet,
tensely growling, "Make not a sound! Don't move a muscle." The
shouts of the guards grew nearer and Blakeney covered up their legs
and backside.
Using both hands, he reached forward, took the last of the pile of
hay and spread it over their heads. The voices of the guards could
be made out deathly close and each word they spoke was heard
underneath the hot grass. Pressing himself down into her, Blakeney
held his breath as the intense blue eyes watched the shadows walk
around them. One guard was five feet to his left. The next nearest
he could see eleven feet to his right.
The guards talked amongst themselves about shooting first at anything
that moved. They neared closer, and one man stepped upon Blakeney's
fingers. Closing his eyes, he clenched his jaw and uttered not a
word. Not even when the group of guards continued on and away from
them. He still lied upon poor Suzanne, thinking not of her
discomfort of fear. All his concentration was for hearing where the
guards went and keeping his own breathing near silent. The voices of
the guards conducting their search would come and go, behind them, in
front of them, into the woods and then silence until it started all
over again.
With her cheek pressed firmly to the dirt, Suzanne was near tears as
she strained to catch her breath and keep still at the same time.
Moving was not an option, his weight pressed her down and she could
feel the blades of grass that she lay on and the rocks poking into her
stomach. They were gone weren't they, the voices had gone at least the
little she could hear of them from beneath him. Why didn't he get up
to let her breath.
When the voices of the guards could be heard no more, when he still
remained lying there, on top of the poor Aristocratic girl, when the
day grew on and the minutes turned into an hour, he decided it was
safe enough. Pressing his hands into the ground, Blakeney pushed his
weight off the daughter of De Tournay and rolled onto his side.
"I believe they are gone now." he said in English. "Are you hurt
Mlle?" He reached out a gentle hand and placed it on her shoulder.
It was the first act of kindness he shown to her since they met, for
anything else he acted upon blind instinct and harsh action in order
to survive.
Shaking her head, Suzanne looked downward and brushed the dirt and
tiny rocks off her cheek. Finally looking up, she glanced over to this
man who had done to much, and yet put her through such hardships, but
she was alive. "Are they gone now?" she asked speaking also in
English, "Where are we going? I don't think anywhere is safe anymore."
"They are gone... Tis about as safe as one can ask for." He stood
and brushed the grass, hay and dirt off himself. Reaching up, he ran
his finger along his teeth to remove the grease and soot. Now all
his teeth appeared present, but gray. With his other hand, he
reached down to help her up. "We are going to where your mother and
brother are in hiding. From there, to the safety of England Mlle De
Tournay."
Putting her hand to her lips, her eyes went wide. "My mother and
brother? You know where they are?" the safety of England. It was all
too much. "I don't.. I just don't understand." Keeping herself from
overflowing emotions, she resisted the urge to hug him for his
kindness. That.. and he knew her name, all this was strange, "Why are
you doing all this? There is no way I could repay you for everything
you have done for me." Suzanne stood there looking up at him, trying
to figure out who he was.
He stood silent for a moment, having the silent debate inside his
head on what he should tell her. His hair was slicked back, so it
looked dark brown and not blonde if she could even see it underneath
the hat. Finally, he made his decision.
"I am a loyal member to the Englishman whom calls himself the Scarlet
Pimpernel Mlle. By his orders, you were to be rescued." What would
he say when Andrew and her were together again. Nothing hopefully.
Sprout, Andrew, the lot of them swore to secrecy not to tell a soul
who they were or why. Still, by saying what he did, it would become
very apparent, since she knew Ffoulkes, that Andrew was in League with
the Pimpernel. Some things could not be helped, he supposed. As long
as *his* identity was kept out of it.
"Why us? And why did you come back for me. You had already saved half
of my family. Why risk going back, not that I'm ungrateful you had,
but I can't seem to understand why this man, who I don't know would
rescue a family of little importance when so many others are there."
Then she sighed "I ask too many questions, forgive me. Just lead the
way, and I will follow silently if you wish." Suzanne started once
again brushing the dust and dirt from her dress. Her hair was in to
much of a tangled state to mess with and she simply pulled it into a
knot and secured it as best she could.
"Yes, we should move." Blakeney went silent and turned, heading now
into the cover of the dense woods. The night began to grow upon them
and there was ten long miles to cover tonight still. Besides, in his
head, he wished to hurry remembering the warning of the Sprout. Damn
fool would get them all killed if he started hobbling this way.
The silence was long, and after a while he turned and saw the girl
putting forth her best brave face. He glanced around a few times,
looking behind himself and watched this girl. Suzanne De Tournay.
Friend daughter to his parents. Love, which inside his head he even
said with distaste, interest of Sir Andrew.
Finally, he stopped his heated pace and waited for her to catch up,
where upon Blakeney held his long legs in check and moved only as
fast as she. Breaking the silence, he offered, "You know, you will
see Sir Andrew Ffoulkes when we reach the place of hiding." Not sure
what else he should reveal, he bit his tongue and waited for her to
respond.
"Sir Andrew?" Her eyes lit up, but she said no more. She could not
even begin to place all this together. Even in the three and a half
weeks he had not heard from her, most likely thought his letters
unanswered, now he was there in France... and she would see him. Yes,
she wanted to be back with her mother and brother again, but this gave
a bit of a push, and she was able to keep her steps better matched
with the man who was now walking beside her.
In a way, he near shook his head and laughed. In the same way,
seeing her enthusiasm to see Andrew raked at his soul. Oh, to feel
once how this woman felt. Excited to see and be besides Marguerite!
Yet, his life was no fairy tale and these adventures he embarked upon
were the only things to brighten his day, since not his wardrobe.
Meeting her pace again, Blakeney was curious about where Andrew met
this girl. Was it his place to ask such things of a lady? He
supposed not but the night grew forever silent and even he wished to
think about something besides Marguerite. Not of their meeting
however, for it would probably be filled with youthful excitement and
happiness. That would only make him yearn for 'her'.
"Are you tiring yet? I failed to bring you anything to eat Mlle,
however I could offer you some water." He took the flask out from
his inner most jacket pocket and held it out to her. It was a simple
silver flask, like all the others he owned. He looked at Suzanne De
Tournay and could see why Andrew cried over her the way he did. She
seemed a good woman.
"I was tired before we started, but the water will be fine, thank
you." Suzanne offered a brief smile and took the flask from his hand.
Carefully uncapping it, she slowed slightly as she brought it to her
lips, taking only a small amount of the water before reclosing it. She
sighed and held it back out for him to take. "Thank you again." she
said as she looked ahead into the dark night. "things always seem
different at night." she said softly then looked behind her. Still she
was afraid of them being followed.
"Yes, things tend to cover up what they seem by daybreak." He too
took a drink from the flask and then returned it to the inner pocket
of his drab burlap coat. What had she seen? What did she know of
all this? If he kept talking, would she someday recognize the voice
of Sir Percy? Probably not, for his speech was lower than normal and
when Sir Percy talked, it tended to go up in pitch and speed.
"We are about half way there now. You are managing quite well for
lack of horse." He thought for a moment and spoke again, "I do
apologize to you Mlle Suzanne. I hope you will not think me rude
for my actions earlier. I did not mean to be so harsh with you, not
in word or by touch."
Wither she had put those things out of mind by force or had truly
forgotten, it took a minute before Suzanne could reply. "No, I do not
suppose I could think badly of you. If it was necessary... well, it's
over now. There is no need to worry over such things." she watched the
ground now. Only halfway there, it seemed they would never reach where
they were going before morning. Though she was sure that was an
exaggeration. She wanted to ask about her father, but he had asked her
before if she knew where he was, obviously he did not know.
The answer from Suzanne satisfied him and he fell back into
thoughtful silence. She had not eaten. Neither did he. Probably
not the lot of them at all. He knew he could go easily with limited
nourishment but what about the women? The father and the Vicomte did
not even cross his mind. They were men, therefore had no hardships
like the women.
The rest of the walk was done in bitter silence. The more they
neared, Blakeney could tell by Suzanne's actions that she was
becoming more and more excited to see Andrew. Not that, he guessed,
she was not excited to see her family, but the look on her face and
the growing smile was only the type he observed that women gave their
men. 'Bah!' he thought to himself. He knew that look when it was
directed at him once. Twice if you counted that lying priss Mary.
Shoving his hands in his slacks, Blakeney lead the way directly to
the barn without his usual sneakiness and headed straight up to the
door. It had been 24 hours. If there were going to be caught, there
was no escaping it now.
Opening the door for Suzanne, Blakeney glanced inside to see Sprout
sleeping pretty much where he saw him last. The others were huddling
about, and Blakeney dreaded confronting any of them at the moment.
What was going to happen when Suzanne and Andrew united again? It
was obvious to him who "these men" were and who they were associated
with.
Blakeney closed and shut the barn door behind him, and spoke while
turning around in the darkness to them all. "Take rest for this part
of the night now, for we leave for the sea town before the dawn."
Moving over near Sprout, Blakeney leaned against the wall of the barn
and sat in the darkness. His lazy blue eyes watching over them all.
Listening to the reunion of the others.
He had not been sleeping, but he had been dozing fitfully, worried about
Percy. He prayed, even in his sleep, that his brother would make it back. After what seemed an eternity, he heard one... no, two! people enter the barn. Unable to open his eyes from sheer exhaustion, Armand only listened. He heard one figure move over towards him.
The boy managed to open his eyes now. His leg was sore. Very sore. It felt
raw, as if it were bleeding again. There was some dried blood on the
makeshift bandage Percy had put on him. Armand drew his hand away, trying to
locate the person who had moved next to him. Green eyes found blue, even in the dark, and Armand breathed a sigh of relief.
"You made it..." He whispered, happily.
Suzanne stepped just inside the door letting her eyes adjust to the
dark. After listening to the man's advice, she turned to look about
the small room in the barn. There was little light, but she could make
out figures huddled about.
"Pierre." Suzanne exclaimed and rushed over to grab her brother, and
to hug her mother who sat beside him. Kneeling to the ground beside
them she smiled warmly, happy to be with them.
It was the look her mother gave her that reminded her of the way she
looked. Her dress ripped along the bottom, one sleeve missing. The light material given a brown tone from the dirt they had not only ground into it, but also from being smashed onto the ground for the hour waiting for it to be safe to continue. Her fair skin streaked and also browned. All this gave her a slightly leery feeling. Her family recognized her, but would Andrew. Was he even there, she had not seen him, but the man told her he would be. Every so often even as her mother spoke, asking about how she was, why she looked the way she did, Suzanne would look up, hoping to find where Sir Andrew was.
A rather worn out Andrew had fallen sound asleep amongst the hay-
barely moving. It was only when he heard voices that he woke up.
Voices. Who on earth..Blakeney! He had returned with Suzanne.
"Suzanne," Andrew took in a few deep breaths. "SUZANNE!" Excited now, Andrew jumped up from his spot in the hay, ran all over creation looking for his love. Where was she. "Suzanne?" He was completely startled when she came up..unnoticed and threw her arms around him. "Well, hello there, little lady." Laughing slightly, Andrew drew her in close. "Gone swimming lately?"
Having such a trying time getting there, Suzanne had nearly given up on seeing Andrew before she fell asleep. Hearing noises coming from a different corner she raised her eyes to find him looking around. What was he looking for? Her, she wondered. Excusing herself away from her mother for a moment, she crept over to where he was. Looking up at him, she laughed softly and shook her head. Taking on step back , Suzanne reached out and took his hand. Not finding words to truly express how happy she was to see him, she smiled as she looked up at him. "I missed you." Suzanne's voice being so quiet, she could hardly hear herself, but she did not want her mother to hear and in such tight quarters it was hard not to.