Armand looked at Hélène, confused. Why was there a small child in their flat? Armand did not remember a Louise from before he left. Armand began to feel very stupid for visiting Jacques' flat so many times in the last couple of days. No wonder he hadn't been there; he didn't even LIVE there anymore. He felt his face burning as he listened to Hélène talk to Louise.
"He left--in the morning yesterday. He said he had to go somewhere."
"Did he say when he'd return?"
Characteristically silent, the little girl shook her head. Worried, Helene looked up at Armand...
Armand groaned audibly. Jacques was gone, and the only person they knew he had had contact with didn't know when he would return. "Hélène," He said softly. "I don't know if Percy followed me here. Oh, you know who Percy is, right? He's Marguerite's husband.
Percy...yes, the name was familiar...she remembered now. The Englishman Marguerite had fallen for.
Anyway..." Realizing how subconsciously close he came to breaking his promise, Armand paused. "Anyway, I left Percy at the coast a few days ago because we had an argument, and I don't know if he came after me. I know that he would be able to bring you, Jacques, and Louise, if you want, back to England. It's safe there. Our only problem is that Jacques isn't here."
In spite of her brother's absence, Helene's heart leapt. Here, just maybe, was the solution to the problem that had landed her in prison in the first place--passage out of France!
He tried to read his friend's face to no avail and, figuring HE couldn't make the situation worse, said, "We both know it's not safe for you here. If you stay here much longer, you risk getting caught again, and this time, they'll send you straight to the guillotine!" He bit his lip and let the last sentence sink in.
Helene stood and touched her friend's arm gently, looking at him intently. "I know it's not safe for us anymore. I--we've both known for some time. We were actually trying to get passage out when I was arrested..." She shuddered, remembering that awful day. "But--there's something I should tell you." Glancing around, she ushered him inside and closed the door softly behind them. "We haven't spoken since Jacques and I fled, you know, after the Republic--well--took so badly to our attempts at journalism." She smiled wanly at him.
He grinned slightly at her, wondering what this was about.
"This is hard to say--protecting our safety in hiding wasn't the only reason we didn't contact you. I--well--you know that we haven't always seen eye to eye politically."
"Too true," He murmured softly, remembering how he had so often complained about that miserable excuse for a goverment that they had earlier, and then how he had become a Republican when the revolution began. The, he had agreed with their ideals. Now...
Obviously having difficulty with her candor, the young woman took a deep breath and finished in a rush. "Oh, Armand--I know you're a Republican. And I can't blame you--I remember those discussions we used to have, about the government, about the aristocracy--it seems so long ago!--and believe me, Jacques and I have no love for the royalist cause--" here she stopped for a breath "--but you can't possibly agree with what our country is doing! But even if you do, well--you've saved my life and you're offering to help me escape France. So it's only fair to tell you: those pamphlets aren't the only things Jacques and I are wanted for. Since we fled we've been hiding suspect people until they could secure passage. Louise is one of them--her parents were taken only recently--" Coming to the end of what she had planned to say, Helene looked at her friend nervously. "You've saved me, at least--and I can never thank you for that. But please, tell me you cannot agree with what the Republic has been doing to everyone--it's not just aristocrats!" Her eyes looked into his, asking, Can I trust you? But her mind was preparing to debate her position, if it was called for...she loved Armand as an old friend, and their debates as teenagers had always been friendly, but had she jeopardized Louise by telling him the truth? Was it possible that even Armand had become as hardened as the other Republicans of the day? She hoped that his daredevil foray into the prison had not only been based on an old friendship to a very plebian girl, but might portend some deeper feeling...
Armand opened his mouth and nothing came out. He felt anger building up in him when she said, "I know you're a Republican..." and he was about to yell at her and storm away when he choked back his anger and counted to twenty.
Helene watched his expression nervously. He seemed almost angry--but for which reason? Because he no longer agreed with the Republic, or because he found out she had been helping aristocrats?
The rage subsided. 'You ninny,' he thought. 'Of course she wouldn't know that you aren’t a Republican any more. She's been in prison!' "Hélène, I am not a Republican any longer. The antics of la guillotine are not the justice they try to convince us they are; they're murder, and I do not agree with it. And when a friend's life is in jeopardy, I will do anything to help them."
Relief and ecstasy--simply at finding someone who shared her thoughts--broke out in a grin that Helene made no effort to stifle.
Armand touched her hand, smiling slightly.
"Besides," He added flippantly, "If I were a Republican, why would I live with an aristocrat? And an English one, at that!
She shook her head, still smiling broadly--she had actually known very little about Marguerite's new husband, only bits and pieces where news filtered back to her, but she supposed she should have thought of that.
Now, Hélène, are you going to let me help you or not?"
His sharper tone surprised her, but she realized she would be more than snippy if someone accused *her* of being a Republican--especially, she thought ruefully, if she had just saved that person's life at great risk to her own. "Oh, Armand--forgive me; I just had no idea where you stood. And don't think me ungrateful. I am so glad--so glad that you don't agree with what's happening, either! Jacques and I have set ourselves against this in any way we can, but the government--it's madness!" Glancing toward Louise, she gave a sudden sigh. "But I digress. We need to figure out what to do now--you said Marguerite's husband can help us? Where is he? Perhaps we should take Louise--I don't like to leave her here alone; I can leave a note for my brother."
Armand thought for a moment. He had no idea where Percy was. He didn't know if he was still at the coast with Andrew or if the Baronet had followed him to Paris. Now he was at a loss for what to do. He knew the safest thing for his friend would be to get out of Paris as quickly as possible. Thinking as fast as he could, Armand came to a decision. "If this is all right with you," He said slowly, "I think we should leave Paris. We'll take Louise with us, if you like, and we will return to Percy's flat at the coast...." He stopped. How would he get IN the flat? It was locked, and Percy had the only key. Damn! Armand hadn't even thought of having a copy made of it when he was getting groceries. Well, it was too late now. "From there, we should be safe until I can get us passage back to Richmond." Armand glanced at Hélène. Nothing.
Helene frowned. "You talk as if it is so simple...to get out of Paris." She smiled sadly. "I trust you have papers for yourself? But Louise and I have nothing. I could probably get us something forged, but it will be difficult, as now I am a fugitive." She paused, hopeful. "But if Sir Percy could aid us, it would be much easier...you implied he could get us papers, but now you say that we should leave Paris immediately...?" Her words were phrased as a statement, but the tone was questioning.
Armand bit his lip. "Yes, it will be difficult to get out of Paris, but, as I don't know where Percy is, and it could take DAYS to find him.... I don't see any other option." He grinned wryly at her. "We'll find a way, Hélène. I promise."
She smiled at his idealism. Getting out of Paris wouldn't be nearly as easy as he seemed to think, but exhausted had finally caught up with the young Parisian woman, and she felt too tired to pursue the subject with him. But come to think of it, he *had* apparently just waltzed into the prison and yanked her out under the very eyes of the guards....she inwardly shook her head. Tomorrow would be time enough for planning.
"For now, I suggest we stay the rest of the day and tonight here. You need rest, Hélène, and I am sure it would be more comfortable in here for you to sleep than outside."
She laughed wryly. "Of course, Armand," she answered, then teased, "Practical, as always; you have always spoken wisely for your age. Would you like to stay as well, or shall we meet tomorrow? Do you have a place here in Paris?"
"I, uh.... well, see, I do have a place to stay... an inn.... but it's rather public, you see, so, ah.... if it's not to much trouble..." He smiled meekly up at her. "... could I?"
She smiled. "Of course."
Then he realized that all he needed to get back out of Paris was at the inn. "Merde...." He muttered under his breath, so Louise didn't hear. His head snapped up. "Go inside. I will return. I need to fetch my things from the inn. I will be back later. Stay inside. Don't let anyone in, all right?" He winked at the child. "Louise, I expect you to keep an eye on Hélène to make sure she behaves." Then he left, hearing the door close behind him. Hélène was safe for now.
Hélène smiled at his worried instructions. She was two years older, and in some ways, probably far more worldly than he...but in a way she appreciated his caring admonitions. How *would* they get out of Paris, though? This whole thing with Percy had seemed promising, but was incomprehensible--Armand knew the other man was in Paris and could help, but didn't know exactly where? She shook her head.
She realized fatigue was clouding her mind, and decided that sleep was in order before anything else. She looked around. The flat was clean, sparse, and well-organized. It was only one room, with two pallets in the corner.
She told Louise she was going to take a nap, and to wake her should anything happen. Then, without bothering to undress, Hélène let herself down on one of the pallets. Before she had a chance to think about anything, sleep had clouded over her mind.
[ONWARD PARIS]
Unbeknownst to the small Leaguish band, they were about two hours behind the brave travels of the youngest St. Just, Armand. Paying a rickety old carriage, the priest, the wife and the smelly one-eyed man set out for the 'city of love'. The place Blakeney first meet Marguerite.
A young boy drove the carriage, and inside, where the outside noise near made them deaf, Blakeney filled them both in on the past history of Fuelier and what he planned that they do upon entering the city. "I have another place there. Not quite the dump or dive that we just came from." The mask remained on his face, but Blakeney took to speaking English to them now. The driver was outside and up on the roof where his ears could not hear the passengers less they yell.
"There is a companion of mine that can help I hope." Seeing their looks, he added quickly, "A male companion. No more of this female nonsense and unlady-like swift kicks, I assure you." Thinking about it again, Blakeney leaned over and rubbed at his leg which was going to be black and blue by nightfall.
"Our friend works amongst the Republicans of France and has been helping me in the past. His ears are our ears and his mouth is sew shut, so to say. His name is Paul Déroulède and upon arriving in Paris, you two can relax, walk about, do whatever suits you to get an idea of the land. I will travel on ahead and make him aware of my arrival and your presence. There are many in France who would gladly take to our cause, and many who would have our heads. We need to be wary."
Blakeney leaned back into the carriage wall and carried a small smile about his face. So far, so smooth. In the back of his mind, his own words echoed in his head: "There are many in France who would gladly take to our cause...." Doubt crept in as he had not yet seen any signs of police or French revolutionists coming after him. He could not help but wonder if Armand was out there, truly looking to help Helene or to trap him still.
Andrew nodded, suddenly exhausted and worn out. The day had been tiring, both emotionally and physically. He was ready to collapse. Andrew had to force himself to pay attention to Blakeney's words of caution. He heard them all right, he was just to tired to really dwell on it just then. Andrew's eyes slipped shut momentarily and Blakeney had to shake him, just to make sure he didn't fall asleep.
Upon entering Paris, Blakeney (Fuelier) brought Frederick (wife hag) and Andrew (the priest) to his two bedroom flat off the main streets of town. Careful to make sure no one watched them enter the room on the second floor (as Fuelier and his kind did not live in these sorts of buildings) the man who signed his notes with a scarlet flower led then inside and locked the door behind them.
Tearing off the mask, Blakeney felt the rush of cool air don his face and matted blonde hair. "Ahhh....." he muttered and was careful to not sit on anything. The room was modestly well kept. Their were furniture to sit on in the main living room and two bedrooms contained comfortable beds and frames. Dressers and clean closets adorned the small apartment and the windows had curtains. The color scheme was a drab brown and gray, but it was much more of a suitable living environment for these English aristocrats.
On the way into Paris, Frederick had reverted back into his usual taciturn personality. The real reason for his joining the League kept guiltily gnawing at his insides, preventing him from enjoying himself.
"Well, what do you think?" Blakeney beamed at them.
Frederick nodded, admitting approval. In spite of himself, he was impressed. This hole in the wall was clean and livable, but not "aristocratic" enough to attract attention. He had gained a grudging respect for Blakeney's art with disguise in the past several hours, and felt a curious anticipation to get a look at the disguises concealed in the clothes closets.
So far, this game was going well. They made it into France by carriage, but upon smelling the dirty one eyed man, and seeing the priest, it appeared as if they may be visiting some soon to depart this world. No matter, no one really cared if you entered. It was getting out that sometimes seemed tricky.
"There is a water closet down the hall, only two doors down and not many are around during the day as they are out working. I find these times the best to bathe and move about." He was very pleased with their progress and gave them a grand tour of the entire apartment.
"Now boys, there is a whole closet full of clothes and the like that I have collected over the months. Please, grab what suits you, and I encourage you to take advantage of exploring this street, this building and give yourselves a tour. There is the main guillotine about ten blocks from here. There are two prisons to the east and one to the west. Republic members are everywhere but unless you draw attention to yourself as not one of them, for now they leave you alone. With more help, I think there will be more attention to those escaping and well, La! We will deal with that when the time comes. For today, take advantage and explore. I will be back shortly. There is a colleague I must contact.
"That being said, I will take the first advantage of the water closet down the hall, as I am simply damp in this getup." Blakeney did not wait for any reactions, so anxious to be rid of the grimy clothes at the very thought of a bath. He slipped into tan garb of a tall Frenchman and donned a red wig of long hair tied in the back. Giving them a salute and a Blakeney laugh, he exited the room to bathe.
As Blakeney moved around the room changing costume, Frederick removed his uncomfortable wig and granted himself a tour of the flat. As soon as the other man left, he gave an inward sigh of relief and felt some of his tension drain. Turning to Sir Andrew with a lopsided grin, he queried, "Well? Shall we?"
Without waiting for a response, he began methodically looking through the clothes closet, thoughtfully trying to put together a French outfit for himself. Damn! Blakeney had been doing this for so much longer than they had. It would have been nice for him to give us a few tips before he flew off, Frederick thought bitterly. Deep down, he was afraid of making some blunder that would give them away--terribly afraid. For he was determined that he live up to whatever that arrogant bloke Blakeney's expectations might be. Without needing to ask for advice. When it came to Percy, he had his pride to think about.
Finally choosing the slightly ragged and very threadbare garb of a respectable workingman, Frederick left the building to see what he could see of Paris.
Andrew watched Frederick as the man took leave of him. He shrugged and went back to rummaging through the piles of clothes that Percy had stored away in the closet. Never had he seen such a variety! It would take him ages to decide on an outfit. Finally, Andrew came upon a set of rags that would do him justice for the time being. He quickly changed his clothes, and headed out of doors. Maybe, just maybe, he could 'accidentally' bump into Suzanne without her recognizing him. He could always ask for directions. With that thought in mind, Andrew made his way to the familiar park bench. When he got there, Suzanne was sitting with a book in her hands. Andrew tapped her on the shoulder, and she jumped. "Pardon me, madoselle, but wheres might I find zee palais de justice?"
Frederick walked through the streets of Paris, "familiarizing" himself, as per Blakeney's suggestion, with the surrounding streets. As he walked through the market he realized he had not eaten since breakfast--he had missed out on Percy's midday meal in Calais. Buying a loaf of bread, he continued his wandering, tearing off bits of the hard loaf as he went.
Needing to choose a destination, he decided to walk by the prisons Blakeney had mentioned--doubtless they would be concentrating their efforts there, and it would be good to know the lay of the streets. He wondered idly whom they would be rescuing.
It did not take him long to find the buildings--two to the east, as Blakeney had stated. Turning his wanderings west, he made sure to keep his steps clear of the guillotine's square--just the thought of seeing such horrors made him slightly queasy.
When he reached the western prison he ran almost smack into a guard that was standing outside the gates craning his neck around with a *very* annoyed expression on his face. Glad that he had *not* run into the man, Frederick nodded to him. "Excusez-moi, citoyen," he murmured, turning to go on his way...
Message received, Frederick thought sardonically, hastily backing up. At that moment, however, another guard appeared on the scene. Before the Englishman had time to move on down the street, a nasty quarrel ensued...
A jumble of shouting and running around followed, which ended with the two guards running off with very alarmed looks on their faces. Frederick was left in the street alone... "I wonder what all that was about," he mused to himself. But it was past time to be heading back and meeting Percy. Time to find out why they had sailed the Channel in such ridiculous get-up expressly to reach the city ruled by Madame Guillotine...
Frederick re-entered the flat to find Percy and Andrew already returned.
[Off to find some information]
Taking leave of Andrew and Frederick to bathe and be on their own he headed onto the streets. He told them to just leave the door locked behind them and he would be back within the hour to let them back in upon their return.
Blakeney was dressed now with two good blue eyes and a brown hat that flopped over his wig of long red curly hair. This was Niven. The struggling poet and writer's get up was the more preferable of Blakeney's main two disguises.
He had one simple goal in mind, and that goal was to find Paul Déroulède, the French official who had befriended Blakeney months before. Inside his pocket, he held a two scraps of notes. One with
the full name of Helene Leroux and the other, a scrap of paper from a
mysterious "L". Blakeney was not sure how much of a lead he might
get from an "L" or how even the note became into the possession of
the Inn on his honeymoon night. No matter, his goal was in sight and
he set to it with diligence.
Standing fully tall, his long British legs lanked out and despite
the pain from his shin kick of earlier, Blakeney forced himself to
not limp. The clothes were a bit too small on him, the sleeve and
pants coming back just enough to look like it were the only clothes
Niven could afford. The shirt drifted just above his pant line, so
at times, bare stark white flesh was seen.
Moving to the station Blakeney knew Paul to be employed at, he bought
a pear from a local vendor and chewed on it, so a good portion of his
face was covered when he entered. After a small amount of search,
Blakeney found Paul and strode up to him, chomping on the pear.
"Evening Citoyen! Might I check on my chances of writing your
sweetheart a love letter?" Niven's French was a good poor man's
French. Much easier than the slurring to speak to the well trained
Englishman.
Just like evening Paul is present at the meeting of the convention and as usual he sits in the back. He only comes here to observe, to listen to the rants of the people who's only demand is to see the blood flow of those who have kept them under control for so long, the aristocracy, but unlike them Paul feels no hatred towards these people. He feels no desire to watch them suffer like he saw the poor suffer for so long. Paul sighs as he hears the awful laws that have been approved this time. He feels a strong urge to speak up but he knows that it would be foolish. One man against this angry mob equals suicide and then he definitely won't be able to change things. Then he definitely won't be making a difference so he decide to keep quiet...for the time being. He knows that one day he has to speak his mind and put an end to this innocent, useless bloodshed and safe his country from the hell that it's becoming or better already is. A bit absently he leans back in his chair, hands folded on his lap. Right now he knows that the only thing they'll be talking about are these new laws and he has lost interest. He has no interest in knowing how this will approve their so called justice and he only pretends to listen. Instead his mind just lingers on one question. Will this suffering never end. Furtively his eyes wander through the room, his eyes observing the people there as he thinks of a solution. His keen mind keeps searching for something useful as the yells of several citizens can be heard echoing through the conference room but after several hours he hears the gavel slamming on the desk and he knows that this meeting has finally come to an end. Calmly he gets up and gathers the view pieces of paper he has scribbled on. Then he makes his way to one of the exits. Outside the room he walks to one of the newsiest and buys the daily newspaper, concerning the changes in law and government. Uninterested he quickly flips through the first couple pages and then he hears a voice. Immediately he snaps his head up and stares directly in the eyes of Niven. He gives him a gentle smile* Bonsoir Citoyen and eum unfortunately I do not have a sweetheart for you to write to *he keeps looking at him. Now and then he lowers his gaze, looking the man over* but perhaps I can help you with something else?
He reached up and scratched at his near two days old growth on his
chin. Niven was fun to be, Blakeney thought. Swooning about in
speech in the red wig. His own beard, had he ever grown it out, was
a light reddish in hue along with blonde and brown. Not English
fashion, but for the French poet? Oui wei!
Paul narrows his eyes and stares deeply in Percy's eyes. Something about them looked familiar to Paul but at the moment his mind is swamped with other thoughts that he cannot place them. His mind is back in the conference room and unknowingly a tired sigh escapes his lips. He use to love this meetings. He saw them as chance to give the people finally what they deserve. To change the governement so everyone benefits from it and not just one selected group of people but he gave up on that thought long ago. What has happened to that beautiful dream the leaders had? What has made a fight for a deserved freedom from the powers of the rich to a brutal revenge? Paul shakes his head as these thoughts flow through his head. He has no answer, not one he likes and definitely not one that justifies the ways they use anyway but then he remembers he's not alone as he heard a distant voice ringing in his ears. Immediately he snaps his head up and fakes a gentle smile. Paul was raised with the thought that manners are very important and he never loses sight of that and no matter how tired he is, or how annoyed with someone he'll never show it. He'll appear as the perfect gentleman and never show any negative feelings that might rage in his heart. And even though he'd rather go home and be alone for a while to think he doesn't move while the man is still there. He just watches him but in the meantime he thinks about all of this and why he got involved with it in the first place 'cause at the moment he can't think of a reason why he lets people get slaughtered every day just because of what they are. Why he stands on the sidelines and watches innocent heads roll and watch how aristocratic blood fills the gutters of his once beloved France. He sighs again as this is making him quite depressed and gives him a feeling of melancholy combined with quilt but he shrugs it off...for the moment*
"No sweetheart for you Sir?" Blakeney moved nearer to Déroulède and taking off his flat hat, gave a respectful French bow at him. "Anything over time can change. In fact, I hear Madame Guillotine grows more stronger everyday. I wish to help feed her mistress and look to you for guidance."
He watched Paul seemingly give him the brush off at first with the
irritated sigh and the stature of not wanting to be bothered.
Blakeney found it humorous. So humorous in fact, that he had to put
the pear back into his mouth to hide his amused smile.
No one Citoyen *Paul frowns when he hears the way Niven addresses him and he frowns even more when he finds out the real reason why the man is speaking to him* and I'm sorry Citoyen but that is not my jurisdiction *points to another man that is a bit further, talking to Danton* You have to talk to Citoyen Fouquier-Tinville over there. He's the Public Prosecutor and I'm positive he'll help you grand that wish
"I would rather think that the information I secretly seek can be found from within your brain or efforts." He spoke lowly and quietly, taking a hold of Paul's arm and then speaking in a normal tone. "You might have better luck with the women if you let me help you out Citoyen." Blakeney went on, to add to his cover up by giving Paul a run off the top of his head verse. "Tell me what you think of this: Your eyes are like an evening tide, washing on the shore. I long for you in every way, and every day for sure." Blakeney smiled and grinned at Paul. "I think it has promise."
Paul listens attentively and when he feels the grip on his arm he glares at the thin hand holding him. Again he has that feeling that this man looks familiar to him and slowly but surely he puts two and two together. Still he doesn't say a word incase his memory has failed him and this man isn't who Paul thinks he is. Then he could be in serious trouble. Something he can do without. He coughs to clear his throat and nods when the poem comes to an end* It is a wonderful poem Citoyen but eum I have no time for...*sighs sadly* someone in my live right now *He says it with hesitation. Also a feeling of loneliness fills his soul when he thinks of his empty house but he didn't lie. He has no time. Being involved with the revolution is a fulltime commitment. It's like making a deal with the devil and that devil can turn on you within a second. So it's better for him if he has no family or friends. That way no one but him will be in danger if that devil ever decides that he has no use for him anymore. Something that would happen without a doubt if the leaders ever find out about his secret. For a moment a shiver runs down his spine at that thought but he shrugs it off. He accepted those dangers when he offered Percy his help and he knows that helping the poor souls of France is a good thing. A cause worth dying for. Death. Déroulède closes his eyes for a moment and shakes his head. Not a thought that will cheer him up and he bands it from his mind. He just listens and nods when necessary. Then he recognizes Blakeney....* Paul is ready to go away but then Blakeney takes him seperate and Déroulède stares at him. It hits him like a flash of lightening. That gaze, those lazy eyes* P..Percy? *lowers his voice* God man what are you doing here?
"Did you think I would keep you free from my entertaining wit for too
long Paul?" Blakeney smiled and replaced the hat ontop his red curly
wig, explaining best he can what he is after.
*Paul laughs* I sure hope not Percy 'cause it would be a dreary place without you and quite boring. *chuckles* *lets his eyes wander through the hall, looking for anything out of the ordinary as he stops speaking and listens to Blakeney*
Glancing at the others that came from the meeting, Blakeney was
certain to drop his gaze and nod his head out of respect to them that
looked his way. He took to eating the pear, so to cover half his
face with his hand. Moving away from the group with Paul, Blakeney
spoke in quiet tongue about the need to find Helene Leroux and which
place she might be listed in.
"How current do the Republics keep their prison lists? Also Paul,"
Blakeney spoke in quiet French, "If we can steal away for five
minutes, there is a note I have. It puzzles me and perhaps you can
make better sense of it." Niven nodded to a passerby and bite down
hard into the pear.
When Percy is done Paul leans close to him so only his ears can hear what he's whispering* They update the lists daily Percy and lets go outside. There's an abandoned house not far from here where we can talk without having spying eyes watching us and I'll see what I can make of that mystery note for you mon ami *smiles and pats his back. A bit louder to not arouse suspicion* It's very good to see you again Citoyen
"It is good to see you again alive and well Paul."
*leads him down the hall and out of the building. Then walks along the streets* I've been meaning to pay you and Marguerite a visit to congratulate you with your wedding *decides not to talk about revolutionary matters while they're in the open and he talks casually, knowing Blakeney understands why he doesn't answer his questions immediately.....*
At the mention of Marguerite, the Baronet felt his insides chill.
Looking at Paul, Sir Percy took forth a large grin and gave an impish
shake of his head. "What can one say? Marriage must be simply
marvelous as it is nothing that I expected it to be. Such a fool I
am to enjoy it, as we engage in playing real life chess here." Not
to bad. Not bad at all, Blakeney thought. He did not wish to think
of his wife. He did not want to remember he had a wife back in
Richmond. He did not want to picture the first place in France where
he foolishly kissed her and let her spin her vicious web. In the
here and now, he was enjoying the thrill of the chase, so he stopped
speaking further of those matters. Getting the thoughts of
Marguerite out of his head, was a much harder task.
Once inside the abandoned house, Blakeney smiles and passed on the
scribbled note to Paul. "I will leave this with you as its author
remains undeciphered to me.
Paul takes the note and moves closer to the window as it is rather dark in the house. He frowns as he reads it* Hmm *keeps his eyes on the note* Where did you get this from Percy? *questioningly he lifts his eyes and stares at his friend while he waits for an answer....*
Blakeney glances out one of the old windows, always taking in his
surroundings like a trapped animal. Turning to Paul, he mutters
quickly, "It was found outside the walls of the Blue Emerald Inn. Of
all places. While finishing up the honeymoon," Blakeney was careful
for his own peace of mind not to say 'my', " the bottle was found and
the note inside. I say, I have no idea where it came from, but I
assure you I doubt it originated on English soil, where it was found."
Watching Paul study the note a moment longer, he moves about in his
pacing fashion. "Why don't you hang onto it old boy. Find out what
you can Paul and when the mystery shows it face, send word to me via
note to Richmond. After our quick adventure here tonight, I plan on
setting my feet on British dirt once more." He pulled out from his
bag another piece of fruit and turned to look at the door. The
nervous, caged wolf inside Blakeney was ready to not stay in one area
for too long.