Frank took to the task of delivering the small notes to the addresses
Sir Percy had given him. One to Edward, Andrew, Tony, Armand, and
Frederick. Each had the same secret scribbled scrawl of a
handwriting and each were written on white parchment paper with a
scarlet red waxed seal of the pimpernel flower.
Inside the note it read:
"Tomorrow will come
Come anon alone
Thomas, his faithful manservant, handed him the note early in the afternoon.
Reading it in the light of a large bay window, Frederick could not help a
snort of disgust. All this rigamarole! Trust Blakeney to come up with
this.
Frederick came to a sudden decision. This was obviously an obscure test of
sorts. The arrogant bloke wanted to see how well his friends would do.
Well, Frederick was not stupid--he could do as well as Blakeney at disguise
any day. Or at least, he thought, reconsidering the years of experience
Blakeney had and his own lack of talent with stealth, he would do better
than Percy's most extravagant expectations. Rereading the note once more,
Frederick's tall form crossed to the fire, and he tossed the bit of
parchment into the flames to blacken and crumble.
He got to Dover late that night, and taking a room at a grimy inn that he
wouldn't have looked twice at ordinarily, began working on the materials he
had brought for his disguise. It took a surprising amount of work to
procure dirty and ragged clothing. Using a cracked pane of a mirror,
Frederick blacked out several of his teeth. Chewing some foul, low-quality
tobacco made them a satisfactory shade of yellow. He tried to work on his
face with bits of rubber and glue, but after several artless attempts he
settled for streaks of charcoal and mud and a ragged wig. It felt
ridiculous to be dressing up as a woman, especially with his large build.
Fortunately he did not have to be a feminine woman, he thought, quite the
opposite.
A torn sash, so grimy that it was difficult to make out the red, white and
blue of the cloth, completed the outfit. With the few francs that he had in
his pocket, and an inside flap containing a quantity of English pounds, he
set off to book passage to Calais.
An old skipper in a boat so rotted it looked as if it could not possibly
withstand the crossing accepted his shillings greedily (it would never do to
get off a fancy yacht at Calais looking as he did), and he came aboard to
wait for the tide. Inwardly, he felt more and more absurd. No matter how
much time he had spent on his disguise, he felt transparent. Even more
ridiculous was the rasping falsetto he attempted as the voice of an old hag.
The weather held, and the crossing was uneventful. But as Frederick stepped
onto the dock at Calais, he felt his confidence draining. Where was he to
go? He was early for the meeting, but had no idea where it was he needed to
travel to. Eventually he decided just to skulk about the square, looking
for odd characters coming of the boats from the Channel. He felt certain it
would be easy to spot his fellow disguised Englishmen.
Half two (as the English say), however, came and went. Frederick found a
corner from which he could watch the dock activity, and idly loitered there,
becoming a bit more nervous every minute. Had he been supposed to glean
something else from that note? Every thought from the idea that this could
be a conspiracy to the thought that it might be a nasty joke of Blakeney's
crossed his mind. What if all the others had already been captured?
Uneasily he watched the antics of a few crazy drunks staggering toward the
pub. One of them fell and seemed to twist his ankle. Other passerby came
and went, but no obvious Englishmen. Damn Blakeney!
The afternoon marched on. The drunk who had injured himself limped back
across a nearby street, accompanied by two hags--probably prostitutes,
Frederick thought idly, and rather uneasily--exchanging lewd shouts with the
native people.
His anxiety beginning to nibble at him, Frederick continued studying the
passerby. After a few hours the same old drunk staggered out of a nearby
flat. Funny, Frederick thought, he no longer seemed to have that same
melodramatic limping--no, no, his eyes must have been deceiving him, there
went the man favoring his ankle again as if the leg would fall off. Amusing
himself by watching the man, Frederick saw that he was accompanied by--at
first Frederick thought that it was the two hag companions. But instead, he
saw--a minister? And another woman, a new one, trailing after them.
Odd...what had happened to the two hags?
Hags! Suddenly things seemed to spring together for the Englishman. Could
*these* be his compatriots? This thought was so ridiculous he nearly
discarded it. But then what...? Well, there was only one way to find out.
Staggering from his corner in his best imitation of a drunk citizen,
Frederick formulized a plan. Thinking of the old drunk's earlier actions,
he zigzagged tipsily across the street, teetering to fall just in front of
the two men emerging from the flat. Flailing on his way down, Frederick
grabbed the collar of the man in the lead, pulling him momentarily down to
bend toward the street.
Maintaining his iron grip, Frederick leered in the man's face. "Sorry,
citoyen," he slurred in French dialect, barely above a whisper. "Din' quite
see where I's goin'...think I 'ad a bi' too much whiskey..." he coughed,
continuing in a rasp, "Tus English drink, tho', methink...can' compare to
th' French stuff, no, sir..." Even as half of him thought with a daring
pride of how he was taking some action, the other half of him couldn't help
feeling--well, ridiculous. Pretending to be a drunk old hag, and waiting
for a man he didn't he know he knew to recognize him...staring waveringly
into the man's one eye, Frederick waited for some response.
When Frank handed Armand the slip of paper at the table that morning, Armand
was both thrilled and dismayed. He would be leaving Axelia in Richmond,
unless she wanted to go with him... no, that was impossible. He couldn't
even hint at his joining this... this League. Percy would quickly have him
sentenced... Armand gulped, feeling guilty for even thinking about taking
Axelia. It would be dangerous, anyway.
He noticed the crest it was sealed with: a small, scarlet flower. Armand Was instantly reminded of the rose that he had given Axelia the night before. "Half of two past"... that was clear enough. So was the disguise, date, and urgency: alone and fast. But where in Paris? It was a large city, and dangerous now. Armand knew many hags lingered around the guillotine during the day. Maybe Percy wanted to meet there....
Shaking his head, Armand decided he would look at the note later, when he was alone. He tucked it into the inner pocket on his green coat and looked up
at Axelia.
"La, my dear, aren't you going to eat?" She had not yet taken any food. Armand glanced at his plate, filled to the maximum and grinned sheepishly. Well, he was starving!
Dressed as an old NAG? Andrew had a hard time suppressing laughter. For some reason, the note struck him funny even though the situation was serious. Remembering Percy's instructions, he quickly burned the note. Andrew's eyes lit up at the upcoming adventure.
A tiny problem awaits poor Tony. He's in Scotland on his honeymoon and does
not receive the note until too late....
Staring wide eyed at the ceiling, Edward Hastings could do everything now but sleep, and sleep was the one thing which he desired and needed most. A moment after this thought, he heard a knock at the door and the muffled exchange of a few voices. Gregory must have done his job well, for a moment later he heard the door open and close again, and both of the voices had ceased. Content that he was in the hands of such good servants, he smiled wide and rested back against his pillow, intent upon giving sleep another try. However, before he could even attempt it, Gregory knocked at his door, and Hastings was forced out of bed, not wanting to look weak, you understand, to answer his door. "Yes Gregory, what is it?" He was handed a note, and then the servant stumbled away, not saying who'd brought it.
The strange poetry on the paper held some importance, he knew that. "By the
devil! Why can't I remember..." His aching head thought back to the previous
night at Percy's, then he immediately turned over the slip of paper and
discovered a seal of a pimpernel. "That blasted sign..." He stared at it a
moment in silence, then laughed out loud. "Deuce take it! The old man was
serious!" Chuckling to himself and almost forgetting his imposing and sudden
exhaustion, he dressed into his best clothes and stumbled around his room
for
that which he was told to bring.
Having retrieved all that, he put the old clothes in a bag and walked
downstairs, warning Gregory to saddle up his fastest horse, which he did
anon. He knew the note said to be dressed as a hag, and for sure he would
be.
But not now. He refused to allow his servants and all those at his home to
see him dressed in such ill clothes. That said, he went outside, where his
horse was awaiting, mounting, and began his long ride.
He set out late that evening with a note to his wife that he set out
by her doorstep. Stealing off into the night, Blakeney rode a simple
black steed as near as he dared allow towards the wharf's shore. He
had been renting a small room in a dirty part of the Warf for over
six months now, where he would be seen entering and leaving as a
young English trooper dressed in navy drapes and a long flat hat.
Somewhere in the night, between Richmond and the Warf, Blakeney would
pull off the main rode and make the switch of attire from Gentleman
to Seaman.
With the steed put into a stable for the while, the "Seaman" acted
drunk and made his way to the room. The rent was always paid on
time. The owner of the building thought he rented it to a quiet one
of the Royal Navy who drank when docked. To date, there were never
any problems and Blakeney kept up the cover.
Once inside the locked room, Blakeney unlocked the closet and further
unlocked the large chest that contained more obscure outfits: wigs,
shoes, masks, scabs, scarves, aging power, shawls... you name it. He
was a master of quick change and he needed to head out on a steamer
to Paris tonight. Onto another persona.
Dressed as an old man, Blakeney stole away into the night and boarded
a quick steamer. He was in need of more numerous disguises. His
mind was racing full circle again. His choppy thoughts came across
unfull when he scribbled the notes to the bounders. He would let them
fend for themselves in coming up with some sort of hag-like costume.
That in itself was sort of a game for him. So far, his whole
operation was undetected. Even if the bounders came across one by
one into Paris in an obvious manner, he would be there to stop and
detour them. No one suspected, so for now, action was more prominent
than plan.
Meanwhile.....
Riding away from his home, Hastings was glad to have pulled on his warmest
clothing. Though it was generally warm this time of year, he had recently
been plagued with an unusual cold sensation through his bones. No matter the
temperature outside, he remained quite frigid on the inside. The warm
clothes
he had on now were doing a fairly good job of keeping the cold under
control,
and he was grateful for that.
Mentally he began to calculate the distance and time it would take to reach
the inn. He couldn't reach the shore in a day, that was for sure. He looked
forward to the exquisite wine he would have while awaiting daybreak and the
continuation of his journey, at the Fisherman's Rest. His old friend Jelly
was still running the place and would be quite generous as always. The idea
of a warm bed near an equally warm fireplace was so inviting he urged his
horse to move more rapidly toward their destination. He tried, of all
things,
not to think about this mission which Percy was sending him and the others
on. He was so baffled by it! He could make no sense of it and that
discouraged him so that he thought it best to simply push it from his mind.
Reaching a hand back to assure his bag of horrid shreds of clothing are
still
attached to the saddle, he relaxes and rides on, looking forward to catching
sight of the Rest.
The next morning, after a restless night, Blakeney limped into the
streets of Paris, heading towards the theatre. He had done his
homework over the past times and knew where he could find one of the
theatre's seamstresses. Instead of purchasing garments and the like
from England, whose dull cloth would only prove to stand out like a
sore thumb on the French soil, Blakeney choose to gamble and go into
the lion's den for food. He needed common clothes for common ladies.
Limping around, an old man, with short gray hair and a patch over his
left eye headed towards the place rumored to house the seamstress
Adelle. As he passed, speaking in perfect French, he began to whine
to the other poor dressed as he to help him to find her whereabouts.
Hearing a knock at the door Adelle happily opened it wide, expecting to
see her sister Annette. At the first glimpse of her visitor she pulled the
door back close, allowing only a slit to remain. This creature on her
doorstep was NOT her sister. She viewed a destitute, haired-haired old man
lounging against her door frame. What could he want with her? Other than a
handout she was clueless. Suspicious and distressed by his presence she
asked
to know what his business with her was.
The old man gave barely a bow of his head to her. "Sorry M'm." He
spoke in a broken dialect of poor French. "Me name's Fuelier. I be
a parson fo the church of Prodistantiates. I got meself five
daughters and five sons yew see. I know, one be thinkin' me poor wif
and I be cath'lolics instead of Prodistantiates." The old man
coughed out a laugh. "I am in need of somethin simple like fo
clothes fo them." Seeing her alarm at his appearance, Blakeney, his
back really hating the days he had to stoop over, took a step back
and brought a hand up to his patched eye. "Forgive me app'rance
M'm. I 'ad me two good eyes once but the master done plucked it from
me years ago."
Adelle wasn't sure she believed this stranger entirely. But he was
obviously poor and in need of new clothes, that much was true. She had never
been one to turn away someone genuinely in need but she doubted this man
could afford newly sewn clothing. suddenly she thought of an alternate
solution. Not wanting to offend the man she tried to choose her words
carefully." Sir to be honest, sewing a wardrobe for your family...might be a
little out of your price range. But I still might be able to help. My sister
and her husband were expecting me over today to collect some clothing they
can no longer wear. I work at the theatre you see and it was their
impression
I could use them for costuming. Perhaps they might fit your family and
yourself?"
Blakeney was about to shoot himself. Was his costume 'so well
thought out' that if he offered her a large sum of money it would be
completely out of character for Fuelier? He decided to not risk it
and shook his head up and down in a nod.
"That would a be mighty nice of yew M'm" Reaching into his "trick"
pocket, his hand poked through a hole in his clothes and he pulled
out a bunch of coinage which started to spill into the street. The
coins were each of small value and numerous. "Will this be enough
M'm? Enough to alter them a little so me children look like good
clothes and not like a handi'down theatre clothes? At that age of
caring they are."
Kneeling down, his dirty fingers quickly began to pick up the spilled
change.
Some form of emotion shining out from the one visible eye of Percy was
enough to tell Hastings that he'd made an even bigger mess after simply
trying to fix things. He knew Percy never should have asked him to join
anything! All he did was mess things up. Feeling lower than low, he pulled
his hat back
atop his head, only to remove it again and take Adelle's hand in his own,
and
pressing it gently against his lips. "I beg your forgiveness Madame, for not
having introduced myself earlier. I fear my head is elsewhere this
afternoon." He looks momentarily at Percy and then back at the ladies. "Well
I see my helper here has other duties to attend to...so I'll just fetch the
suit myself and be out of your ladies' way. Thank you very much for all your
hospitality Madame Annette." Nodding his head politely he slipped from the
house quickly and began his walk back to the Inn where he was staying. The
sooner he was out of France, the better. He had caused Percy so much
trouble,
he knew, that he was too ashamed of himself to even look at the fellow, much
less ever speak to him again. "You'd think just this once, Edward, that you
could get something right! Perhaps you are the fool everyone takes you for."
He sighed heavily and continued on his way, his earlier light step replaced
by two dragging feet, and his head no longer held high.
Fuelier followed, she walked faster than his limp and he made no real
effort to try and keep up with her. Along the way, a few of the town
people called his name or gave a teasing flirt. Blakeney was
thankful Adelle got to witness this
Adelle blushed as many of the openly loose woman shouted out to her
companion. He was quite popular among the people apparently, but she wished
they would refrain from some of the lewd comments at least while she was
around. Trying to make some conversation so as not to appear rude she
turned to him. "Obviously you are very well known around here..." she began trying
to recall his name. " Monsieur Fuelier. I walk this route often and have
never seen you before. What is it you said you did?"
After 15 or so minutes they reached Annette's home. Letting herself in
Adelle
whispered to the servant at the door to perhaps keep an eye on her....guest.
Blakeney hobbled along behind her. Flirting madly with any of the
prostitutes or day to day poor that he had built relationships with
along the past few months. Hearing her, the old graying man turned
his non-patched blue eye to her. "Parson M'm. Think of it as part
of me dutiflied duty to the Prodistiniantes church." He smiled and
offered further, "These days, drink helps me get buy. Long live the
Rep'blic!" He shouted and made some hand gesture to a drunk man
stumbling almost along like himself.
Looking into the deep blue eye Adelle smirked. She was willing to believe
this man was very poor off, that he was in need of clothes for his family,
even stretching so far as to trust herself in his company on the walk to her
sisters. But believe that he was a parson? A church leader? Had she not been
biting the inside of her cheek to prevent it, she would have burst out
laughing. But Adelle didn't mind playing along with whatever game or
self-delusion the man held so kept silent as they continued on.
Annette heard the door open and shut behind itself and she was quick to
stand. "That must be her now!" Quickly she dashed to the door and pulled her
sister into a tight embrace. "Adelle how are you!" Her eyes fall upon her
visitor and she gives him a smile as well. "Hello. I'm Annette, Adelle's
older and more charming sister." She grins and looks back at Adelle.
"Not to worry you dear, but you might want to keep on eye on him" Adelle
whispered in her sister's ear as they embraced referring to the man in the
doorway. "But he seems harmless enough so far."
"I see
today is the day for visitors, hm? I have one of my own here. His name is
Edward Hastings, he's from England. Oh Adelle he's so perfect for yo-"
Suddenly she remembers Percy's presence and she blushes quite red and
smoothes her skirt to hide her embarrassment. "Is there something you needed
Adelle?"
"Visitors from England? Since when did you begin entertaining English
gentlemen Annette? I'm sure Logan might
have a thing or two to say about that" Adelle said as she winked at her
sister completely ignoring Annette's hesitation to mention the subject in
front of Fuelier. "But then again, you think every man you meet is perfect
for me. And yes I do need something. Do you recall those clothes of yours
and
Logan's you were going to give me to use at the theatre? Well I have found a
far more practical use! Monsieur Fuelier here " she stopped and indicated
that he could come inside. "desires that I fit the clothes for himself, his
wife, and children. They would enjoy them much more I'm sure than some of
the stuck up thespians I know!" Grinning she looked from Annette to Fuelier
and back again.
Fuelier nodded his head and took a step back. His appearance was
anything but appealing and he knew that with the young
ladies. "Ple'surah to meet you Mlle. Always nice to be a meetin'
with the charmin' ladies and sistahs even? All the more ple'surah."
He had not been invited in, so he humbly hung out at the door. After
all, these women were to help him. Listening to the two sisters,
Blakeney nearly lost his character, hearing that Edward...
HASTINGS... was here in the lair of the Republic? What was going
on? He was ready to bolt inside the house.
Thinking upon this, he scooted back a little more from the doorway.
He felt sick inside. Marguerite. Armand. Now life long friend
Hastings. Was there not one person in the Baronet's world he could
count on? Just how foolish was he for taking on these adventures,
getting people like the St. Cyrs killed, and then bringing more
untrustworthy people into his life?
Fuelier waved back and forth on his feet, the nerves of Blakeney
coming through as he felt sweat form upon his brow and back. He
glanced behind him, considering just giving this idea up and
bolting. The problem that kept his still at the door was Fuelier was
established as a real person in this town. He grit his teeth and
forced his brain to calm down and think clear.
The more he thought about it, the more Hastings began to feel guilty. Even
if
this was just a silly game of Percy's, the least he could have done was go
along with it, what? Humor him a little. There wasn't much he could do just
now, after all, he was dressed as a gentleman, and...well the least he could
do was aid in Percy's cover a little. He strained to hear any and every word
Percy could possibly have said to the ladies, to gather up any information
that could be used in his defense.
Upon hearing Edward was present, Blakeney was already backing away
from the doorway, to keep out of view. When Hastings appeared from
around the corner and looked at him, he could only hope his disguise
of a short gray wig, smelly clothes, dirt and patch over an eye
did not give him away. He had no idea why the man was here, nor what
he was doing. Had Hastings arrived hours early to warn some French
official? Damn! Damn! Damn!
Hearing Percy utter no names which to identify himself with, he frowned. He
would have to improve as he went along, no? But drama was something he found
he was rather good at. After all, he had all of England convinced he was a
ladies man, didn't he? This should be quite easy.
Stepping out from the parlous, tucking his book into his pocket, he looked
at Percy and a look of surprise and shock ran over his face. "Good Heavens!
What are YOU doing here? I thought you were to go to the tailor for me, and pick
up the new suit which I traveled here to have made?" He looked apologetically
at Adelle and Annette. "Good help is so hard to find now a days, isn't it? I
found this man at the steps of my Inn and had immediately sought his help.
It seems the money I offered him was not nearly enough."
What on earth was he doing? Making a big deal of his presence and
putting him as the center of attention? Blakeney felt more sick
inside and his brain quickly started to scan all memories for an
escape route. Hastings was trying to get rid of him? This was not
good. Not good at all.
He sighed a little and pulled more money out from his pocket and placed it
into Percy's
hands. "There now. Is that enough? As soon as you are through with these
ladies you can come with me to pick it up immediately. At least that way
you'll have, in some small way, earned those coins." He didn't even glance
at
the girls at first.
Fuelier stood there shocked, his one visible blue eyes popping out of
his head. The reaction had nothing to do with improv acting.
Blakeney was truly shocked and had no idea why Edward handed him
money. Standing there, stooped over like he was, all he could do was
stare at the money in his hands with his jaw hanging open
dumbfoundedly.
Momentarily silenced by the intrusion of the second guest's irritation at
Fuelier, Adelle stepped back against the foyer wall. She was thoroughly
confused. She was getting clothes for Fuelier but he was getting clothes for
this Englishmen? Waiting for an introduction to this supposedly "perfect for
her" man and an explanation as to what was happening she watched the two
strangers in the familiar house.
He wondered inside if any of his act was reasonably
believable, and he felt just plain awful at having to make something up to
Percy. He never should have botched things up in the first place. Obviously
this isn't a game! It's for real, and he, Hastings, had done a serious
wrong.
One he would pay for dearly, whether by his own conscience or Percy, or both
perhaps, was the question.
Unsure on what to say or do, he kept his head hung low staring at the
ground. For those looking on at Fuelier, it would seem his
actions were due to the disgrace and shame at being ridiculed for
begging and taking the offered money. In reality, Blakeney lowered
his head due to the disgrace and self shame he felt inside his soul.
Hastings meanwhile, unable to control his curiosity about the lady he's been
told so much about, stuck his head just slightly into the meeting hall to
see
her. When his eyes instead fell upon the old hag behind her, his pale
complexion turned pallid and he quickly moved himself back into the parlor
where he would be safe. "So the old boy wasn't kidding," he mused to
himself.
He realized then that a later encounter with Percy will get him a good
scolding. Oh well. He could give Percy anything which he received and
possibly more, in the way of words at least. But for now he found this
situation highly amusing, and sat back down upon the couch, retrieving his
book and reading a little more while he waited for Annette to return.
Annette, meanwhile, is still very confused but her sister's explanation
clears her thoughts some. After closing the door behind Edward, she smiled
and made sure Percy was inside. "Please, wait here." She calls to some
servants, who bring tea for both her sister and her guest. Meanwhile, she
goes upstairs and fishes around in a trunk for those old clothes that her
sister had inquired about. Finding them, she was quick to bring them back
downstairs and put them into Adelle's arms. "There you are. That's the whole
lot of them. It's really wonderful to finally be able to have them out of
the
way! They were such a burden just wasting away in that trunk of ours. I do
hope they're to your liking Monsieur?" She gasped slightly and corrected
herself immediately. "Citizen." Feeling a little awkward at all these
strangers coming one right after the other, she managed a homely smile and
looked at Percy and Adelle. "Well...Logan is working late this evening...
To
Percy "That's my husband..." Back to Adelle. "So, perhaps the two of you
would be willing to keep me company? I was just about to ask Mon-Citizen
Hastings, but he left so quickly I hadn't the chance..." She sighed a
little.
She had so wished he would have stayed, perhaps long enough to talk to her
sister and perhaps plan another day to spend with them. She was so happy in
her marriage! She just wanted her sister to be as happy as she was. And
Monsieur Hastings was so charming..."Please say you'll stay? I don't think I
could take no for an answer just now." Suddenly she was struck with an idea,
and she assumed the answer was yes without really waiting for a reply.
"Adelle! While I plan and ready for dinner, go see if you can't catch
Citizen
Hastings and persuade him to return back here. He's so kind...he returned a
letter to me that I'd dropped earlier. And not only that, but he stayed
until
he was able to place it directly into my hands. Such a gentleman!" She just
then remembered Adelle's comment on English visitors coming to call and
laughed. "Perhaps, Adelle, you would have preferred to see Lord Anthony
Dewhurst here again, hm? Then you could take to your habits of spying once
again!" Suddenly, she remembered poor Percy's figure standing just inside
the
doorway. "Come in Citizen, I insist. You're trembling! There's a fire
burning
in the parlor, you can warm yourself there." Ushering him into the parlor
she ordered more tea to be brought to him while they waited for dinner. "Is
there anything else I can get you to make you more comfortable?"
He stood there listening to all this. Watching Hastings abandon
him. Blakeney was not sure why that surprised him. It seemed to be
a theme lately. These women talked more than Marguerite trying to
get every last detail out of them.
When finally the conversation turned in his direction, Fuelier nodded
his head down a little more, bringing forth all the French coinage
he had, plus the bills Hastings threw into his hands.
*"Is there anything else I can get you to make you more comfortable."*
Fuelier spoke to Annette and motioned with the coins at Adelle's
arms. "Just me clothes fo me kids Mme." Fuelier moved over near
Annette and quickly thrust the coinage at her in a gruff manner.
Then he stepped back towards the door, looking at them both and then
settling his eyes on what Adelle held. Waiting.
Annette moves swiftly back over to Percy and returns the money to his hands.
"You are doing me a favor by taking them. I don't want your money."
]
Hesitantly, Fuelier takes back the money. "It ain't roight Mme. A
man should be able to pay fo when 'e can when 'e can." Blakeney was
not sure if they knew who he was. Perhaps it was a trap. Perhaps
Edward warned them. For what reasons, he did not know but for now,
he continued his part. If he had to break out of here and through
these two women, then so be it.
Slowly, he lifted his arms towards the clothes. Doubts sunk into his
head if this was such a good idea or not.
Adelle placed the mound of clothes in his outstretched arms. If he
decided to stay he could always put them in the hallway. "When should I meet
with your family Citizen? I need to know their measurements if I am to
alter
the clothing." she said smiling warmly. As long as he wasn't yelling about
the granduer of the Republic or flirting with prostitutes he was tolerable.
In fact, he wasn't quite so bad after all.
Fuelier watched them and hugged the large pile of clothes to his
chest. Reaching out for the rest of the pile, he tossed clothes over
his back. Whatever she brought down and could carry, he took.
Bowing and stepping backwards, Blakeney excused himself. "I thank
yew fo yew trouble. Me family won't be any more a trouble to yew.
Kind souls yew ar'. Very kind..."
So with a sigh Adelle trotted out the door to try and catch the
departing guest. He was only a house or too down and very deep in
thought. "Monsieur Hastings?" she called out hesitantly.
Seeing the door open, Blakeney quickly turned and pushed his way
past. He looked over to see where Edward was coming from, and
quickly head in the other direction.
Don't dawdle, fast.
In Paris we meet,
Half of two past.
Dressed as a hag.
Upon reading note
Burn you nag."