The chase through the streets was both hectic and chaotic. The few souls that wandered the area that evening saw dark figures, some cloaked and some in evening finery, dashing down the street, leaping over carts like horses over a two mile hurdle. Down Davies Street they ran, raining curses on the heads of the pursued and pursuers alike. A quick careen around the corner on to Mount Street resulted in one of the figures sliding into a flower seller who screeched on impact like a plucked pigeon. Seaforth, in the lead, pounced on the fallen like an eagle on a bobcat, talons outstretched. A struggle ensued and a magnificent explosion was heard. Seaforth jerked back as if a puppet on a string and his opponent regained his heels and ran. He ran and ran like the furies were after him straight into the broad chest of a man cloaked from head to toe in a deep navy blue so dark as to be black in the dark of night. Theo ran up to his uncle Seaforth who leaned panting heavily against a lamppost. His breath came out in painful wheezes, the sound grating on his nephew's ears.

Putting a hand lightly to his arm, Theo asked with concern, "Uncle, are you all right?"

James gave a weak grin and replied, "A touch pulled, nothing more. Thank you."

Holt kept his pistol trained on the assailant and the human wall that suddenly blocked his path, "Hold and identify yourself!"

Their assailant turned grimly and doffed his tricorne with scorn. Holt grimaced as he saw the chestnut curls of the vapid David Daventry, an insipid fellow who oft acted half his age. Yet, even children could be dangerous.

The vapid one curled his lip and spoke, "Curse you, Holt, and all those with whom you cry friends. You won't hold me for long. One of you is injured and we're on my playing field now."

Holt restrained the urge to deck Daventry with the butt of his pistol and instead called over his shoulder, "Seaforth, how do you fare?"

Seaforth, his face the very opposite of a tomato hue, bit out a, "Fine, just a scratch. Nothing I can't handle. Who's our new friend?"

Holt arched an inquiring eyebrow at the cloaked figure looming over their captive. An answer would most likely have been forthcoming if three figures had not erupted from the bushes at that moment. With a growl, the largest one launched himself at Holt who barely had time to swing his pistol toward him before knocked into the street in a fierce struggle. Daventry turned and threw a punch at the cloaked figure that had apprehended him, missed and engaged in a somewhat buffoonish two-step. Theo drew close to his uncle in an effort to protect him, but weaponless and facing two foes quickly went down with his head making abrupt contact with the pavement.

One of the two drew a sword and pointed it lovingly at Seaforth's neck, "Pip, pip, friend," he said in a high flute-y voice. "Move and I cut your gizzard. Breathe and I break your friends neck." And he placed his foot on Theo's exposed neck.

Seaforth restrained a growl, breathed deeply with pain and complied. The third individual, seeing Daventry greatly outmatched and about to be defeated, drew his pistol and aimed it at the mysterious figure. No slouch, that fellow dodged out of distance, tripped Daventry and vanished into the mist. With a face that worded a silent curse, the third fellow put up his pistol and returned to the side of the man who held Seaforth at bay. "We need to get these honey bees off this frog and toad." And thus were the three stalwart men bundled away into the darkened streets of London.

Primat's wounds were much worse then they realized. She still had not regained consciousness, which was a mixed blessing, but the wounds needed proper tending. As Alexander hovered over the fallen Indian woman, Anne spoke up in a shaken voice, "Dr. Knight lives but three houses down. Perhaps we should call him to us."

Alexander looked up with eagerness, "I will get him here in three shakes of a lamb's tale." And he disappeared out the door.

While they waited, Cave returned from his reconnaissance mission and informed the ladies that there was no sign of their men. "I fear the worst. I will go at once and try to track them." He made a slight and absent-minded bow and retreated out the window, despite the fact that the door was quite as effective.

It was not but ten minutes later when the front door was flung open and the Scot dragged a medical man in by the arm. The medical man himself, the famous Dr. James Knight who was said to be able to bring the very dead back to life, looked as if he had literally been dragged from his bed. Yet, as all good medical men, he had in hand his medical tools. A quick look at the victim's wounds and Dr. Knight became all business. "You," he pointed a dramatic finger at Erskyn, "carefully, and I mean gently, bring this lady up to one of the bedrooms. Madam, if you'll get me soap and a razor. I want everyone out of my way while I work."

As Alexander carried his precious burden up the steps, Primat began to moan quietly with pain. Alexander's face grew more and more grim until he reached a room and gently placed her on the clean cool sheets.

Dr. Knight realizing at once that requiring the Scotsman to leave would be too much of a Herculean task, turned his attention to the lady. She had second degree burns that could be quite serious if not tended diligently. He gently cleaned her wounds, gently shaving the hair around the wounds so he could apply his poultice. His cooling aloe combined with a rather unorthodox balm should, he hoped, help her recover fully within ten to fourteen days. He explained to Erskyn how the dressing should be changed three times a day. The Scotsman nodded and sat beside the bed, holding the Indian woman's hand in his. Lady Seaforth, hovering tearfully at the door, nodded to the doctor and whispered, "She will be well taken care of. Mr. Erskyn will ensure that she wants for nothing and I will tend her wounds myself."

Meanwhile, below stairs, the circle of friends grew more and more worried as their friends did not return.

Holt determined that the dark cellar smelled of spilled wine (of a not very favorable year) and sea algae. He wondered at the latter but made the assumption that the unexceptional alcohol had made an illegal entry into the country. It wouldn't surprise him if these fellows were also involved in smuggling. He shifted uncomfortably but found that increased his pain. He looked down at his shoulder at the sword that protruded from it and mused that it looked like a 1725 colichemarde. A good year for smallswords. The sword was abruptly withdrawn and Holt grunted in pain as he looked into the angry face of David Daventry.

"Let that be a lesson to you, Holt, you military pig!" The dolt spat. Holt rolled his eyes. What in God's name could Flora have ever seen in this idiot? He whistled a few notes of Lilibulero to annoy him, but had to stop for the pain. Luckily, Daventry didn't notice how much Holt hurt and was infuriated by the impromptu attempt at music. Holt had to admit he couldn't carry a tune.

Daventry spat at his captive's feet and then turned and stalked out of the cell. Seaforth, sitting with his nephew's head in his lap, turned weakly to Holt and said, "What were you whistling... The White Cockade?"

Holt laughed and then groaned at the painful result, "I figure singing Jacobite songs will remind he's no better than any traitor. But it was Lilibulero. I apologize for my lack of musical talent." He noticed Seaforth's grimace. "Are you all right? Shot?"

Seaforth shook his head in amazement, "Again! I can't believe I've been shot again! My wife will kill me!"

Holt laughed weakly and opened his mouth to say more when he realized that he had no breath left.

For a time, the two slept but woke again at a creak that sounded from the depths of their cellar. A voice whispered from the dark, "Are we alone?"

Holt raised his eyebrows at Seaforth. "An unusual question for a guard, surely?"

"No guard am I, but a friend. Are you hurt?"

Holt mused briefly, "Not really. Seaforth, the silly fellow, got a hole in him. The young Havershaw has a nasty crack on the noggin and hasn't awoke yet," the uncle looked worriedly at his charge before Holt continued, "and I stumbled on to a swordpoint. Nothing we can't handle. And you? I assume you're our mysterious benefactor from the melee without?"

Holt imagined the figure bowing in assent in the dark before continuing, "We must thank you for your help and for how quickly you withdrew it."

There was a pause before the voice spoke again in a somewhat apologetic tone, "I believe I can be much more help to you now than I could be as a fellow prisoner. See, I have already found an avenue of escape?"

Holt nodded sagely. He was started to feel a bit dizzy, "Ah, how incredibly useful. May we have the honor of our rescuer's name before we trust him to lead us out of this unholy mess?"

A longer pause this time, before the voice offered, "My name is Mr. Jeffries. But, list, what is that I hear?"

Footsteps sounded down the hall and Mr. Jeffries withdrew further into the shadows. Holt looked quickly at Seaforth, which made his head swim faster, and noted that his friend had slipped into unconsciousness. Great, he thought to himself as the door creaked open, even if Mr. Jeffries would help them escape, how would he do so with two insensible and one on the way?

The two figures that entered the room were two that Holt had no wish to see. Cecily Tillbury, veiled in black so dark that he wondered how she could see, and The General looked upon their captives with something akin to glee.

The next hour was uncomfortable but luckily Holt faded in and out of consciousness so he missed much of the vitriol that was heaped on him. Finally, after a last burst of vindictiveness and a sharp kick to the ribs, the General left and Cecily Tillbury kneeled down before him. She lifted her veil and showed him the scars on her face.

"Do you see, Holt? Do you see what you have done? I hate you and all your kind. I was beautiful once, now look! I am ugly. I, who should, be royally beautiful. You took that from me, you and your little band of Merry Men!" She hissed the last words out and she rocked with fury.

"You are still beautiful." The voice came out of the darkness, as caressing as a kiss.

Cecily started and looked into the corner of the cellar. That voice, she knew that voice. A figure stepped into the meager light. A figure that owned honey hair and deep brown eyes, one that she saw in her dreams and haunted her waking hours. "You!" she breathed as she regained her feet but barely. She made as if to step forward and trembled a bit.

"My poor little bird," he spoke again. "You are as beautiful now as you ever were. More even." He raised a hand to her and she moved to place hers in his. Raising her face to his, a kiss almost blossomed between the two of them. Then he parted his lips and spoke, "Come away with me. Help me free these men."

Cecily shook herself as if released from a spell and took a step back with furious purpose. "Poor little bird! If anything I am a hawk, neither poor nor little! I am stronger then you could ever be and these men will not thwart my chance at the position I truly deserve in this country of ours! Leave or I shall call the guards!"

As he stepped closer to persuade her, Cecily drew a knife from her sleeve and launched the steel blade at him. Dodging but a bit to the right, he looked at the dagger as it quivered from its wooden sheath beside his head. He looked back at Cecily, blew her a kiss and vanished into the darkness, his whispered words floating after, "My poor injured bird, I will return for you."

Cecily called no guards and left the cellar with a quick step that belied her turmoil.

Back at Seaforth House, the women and man gathered in the parlor were holding court anxiously awaiting the return of Cave. When he finally did return, he arrived looking bemused.

Marguerite, distressed at Lady Seaforth's worry, queried the gentleman anxiously.

Gareth, besieged on all sides by worried women, put up his hands and grumbled, "Quiet! Hear me out!" Calmer, he continued, "I lost their trail over on Mount Street, but as I returned at length cast down, a man came up to me and told me that the men I sought were housed at 33 Mount Street in the cellar. He said to hurry or he feared the worst. All the men are greatly injured and need immediate medical attention."

Many cries of distress filled the air and Duncan Tiele worried that any attempt would result in the prisoners deaths. Many suggestions and plans were laid out, however, all were foolhardy. Marguerite had discussed quietly with Cave exactly what was said by the man on the street, and finally, with a gleam in her eye and her sister-in-law's example in her mind, Marguerite announced quietly with conviction, "I have an idea."

'God, how could I have agreed to such an ill-conceived idea,' Duncan thought to himself. 'This will never succeed. How could I have gone along with it?' Then he snorted quietly, and answered his own question.

'Duncan, my man, you were mesmerized by a pair of sparkling dark eyes, and a sweet smile. One look into her eyes and you would agree to any suggestion issuing from those sweet lips.' He sighed, thinking how well the name Marguerite suited her, as she was as bright and pretty as one of those flowers. Duncan shook himself, and told himself to stop woolgathering. It was important to stay alert and be ready for any eventuality. He could not think that this scheme would work, but it had seemed better than any of the others Marguerite had suggested. He blanched just thinking about her dressing as a harlot and luring the guards away from the house. And as for that other suggestion! Well, he wouldn't dwell on that idea (for when he did he got the most disturbing vision and couldn't concentrate).

Marguerite hugged herself in excitement. She could not believe that she was involved in such marvelous goings on. Now, she would have some tales that would rival those that Amy occasionally told. Not that she held any enmity for Amy, it was just that Marguerite had envied Amy for the adventures that she had lived through. Now, Marguerite was going to have an adventure of her own!

And Duncan Thiele's reaction to her suggestions. He had got quite an arrested look in his eyes when she had mentioned Amy's unique way of fitting through a window. He had then loudly denounced the idea, but Marguerite still felt it held merit, and would use it if necessary. Duncan had also expressed concern for the safety of the ladies, and had been staring at her quite intently when he stated he wished none of their lovely ladies to come to harm. Marguerite hugged herself again, this time in anticipation of she knew-not-what. She had felt a strange shivery feeling when Duncan had looked at her and said those words. Oh, life was good at present!

'I hope Jacob is not harmed too badly,' worried Flora, as well as the others. She smiled a little as she thought of rescuing Jacob and having him thank her, effusively, and, ah, physically. Flora blushed at her thoughts, and told herself not to get ahead of the game. The rescue mission had to be successfully carried out before any expressions of gratitude could be exchanged. She was already thankful, however, that they had been able to persuade Anne to go after August Falcon for help, rather then take part in this escapade. Flora knew very well that Uncle James would have been extremely upset for his pregnant wife to be among the rescuers. "Let us begin" Flora murmured quietly to Marguerite." I want my physical expression of thanks from Jacob Holt," she murmured to herself, "and I pray God he is well enough to give it."

"Poor little bird!" raged Cecily, "how dare he call me that. He obviously does not know how strong or powerful I am. I am not injured, I am not injured!" she cried. "I'll show him injured. I'll have my revenge on the whole mealy-mouthed lot, including my two cousins and their husbands. Husbands! Huh! It didn't take either of them long to find meal tickets. I wonder how they managed that. Must be some Eastern folderol that witch Primat taught them, for, it couldn't be love, definitely not love." If there was such an emotion. Cecily was beginning to doubt it.

She whirled and started to pace around the room, and ended up in front of an uncovered mirror. "I'll rip the heart from that maid for forgetting to cover the mirror" she cried, as she stared at the image reflected in the glass. She traced the length of the scar, hearing that soft voice, again, saying tenderly, "My poor injured bird." Cecily closed her eyes in anguish, and started to cry.

Duncan tensed as a small group of men slunk towards him through the gloom until he recognized the leader as August Falcon. Perhaps they should just send this man to the front door to demand the release of the prisoners. Draped in a severe black cloak and with his arrogant demeanor, surely he could convince a sleepy guard that he was the devil incarnate.

"Tummett and a few of his friends thought this sounded like a grand treat, so I brought them along. I'm glad to see you actually regained your senses and sent the ladies home. Now, what's your plan?"

Duncan felt his face flush with embarrassment. "The ladies are behind the house right now."

"They're where? Of all the caper-witted..." Falcon turned and gestured to one of the men. "Tummett, you take one of the men and go find the ladies and bring them around. Quietly."

"Right ye are, Colonel-guv. Harv, you come wi' me." The men vanished back into the night before Duncan could protest.

"Now see here, Falcon. If we thought a direct attack would do the trick, we've have recruited an army ourselves. The ladies' plan seemed to be the best solution to a tricky problem."

"There are any number of possibilities between a major assault and sending ladies into such danger. Tummett's ah... friends have some notions about getting into and out of gentlemen's houses without the occupants being aware - at the time, at least. You'd think one of you would have the common sense to lock up the ladies at home!" Duncan remembered that this man was known to be difficult and quarrelsome. He could vouch for the man's voice - he'd never heard so much disdain expressed in so few words.

"I've heard it said that your own lady has exhibited some skill at rescues."

"Wherefore, I have not informed her of this current contretemps!"

Duncan felt his own rare temper start to rise. "No doubt I could have kept my la... the ladies safe enough if I could have kept them in ignorance, as well. But as they were present for all of today's outrages..."

Tummett came up at a run. "Guv, the ladies ain't there."

Falcon smothered a curse. Duncan felt his entire body go cold for a moment, his breath trapped in his chest. He wondered, oddly, was this what Johnny had felt before a battle? The ladies were in the most dreadful danger. If anything happened to her, to them... He shook himself and turned to attend to the vital business at hand.

"They got in then. Here, Falcon, let me tell you all the plan. Things may get lively now."

Duncan had barely begun relating Miss Templeby's lunatic scheme when a feminine shriek pierced the darkness, freezing the men into silence. Falcon spun away to face the house which held captive the three men and where now the Misses Templeby and Havershaw were foolishly attempting to lure and lull the guards so that they might bring the prisoners safely out.

Both men exchanged a look of mutual understanding then started for the entrance to 33 Mount Street, but were brought up short by the sound of laughter, first a man's hearty guffaw, then a woman's musical laughter chimed in. And grew closer. Surely they were just inside the door. Duncan could hear the deep tones of the man's voice, loud and demanding; then the woman's laugh again, and suddenly the door was opening.

Tiele caught only a glimpse of a meaty paw wrapped around Miss Templeby's tiny waist and he sprang into action, his mind dancing from question to question, 'Where the devil had she found such a fine example of a trollop's garb? How had she entered the house? Where was Flora? And how could she bear that oaf's touch?'

His sword in hand, he was upon the couple before Marguerite had even spotted him or Falcon. The guard was in fact off-guard and could only throw up his hands in self-defense against the madman whose steel was even now touching, lightly piercing the flesh of his throat.

"You foul lump of... of... !" He broke off when he noticed the considerable disarray of Marguerite's dress. "Mar... Miss Templeby, are you all right? Where is Miss Havershaw? Falcon, what the deuce is keeping you, for God's sake? Stir your stumps, man!"

Immediately behind him, Falcon's winged brows went soaring. "Stir... my... stumps, did you say?"

"Not now, please, gentlemen!" Marguerite urged. "This is the only guard I saw. Flora has gone downstairs to the cellar to look for the gentlemen and there may be other guards there. Can we leave off tea and gossip until they are brought out of here?"

Tummet took charge of the prisoner, marching him back inside the house at pistol-point, while a thoroughly indignant Falcon led a couple of men down to the cellar, leaving Duncan to care for a luminous Marguerite.

"Wasn't it grand?" she enthused. "It went like clock-work. I went in through the servants entrance and pretended as if I thought this was the house I had been called to... for my, er, services; but realized I must have made a mistake. The guard tried to convince me to stay - he was really rather sweet, you know, although just a trifle familiar. I promised I would come back after I had finished my work at this other house and he led me right to the front door. Wasn't that accommodating of him?" The words tumbled from her in her excitement while Duncan stood frozen before her. "And Flora slid in right after he'd turned his back, he never noticed a thing. And here you all were, ready to capture him! It was a perfectly grand adventure!"

"Adventure!" choked a furious Duncan. "A TRIFLE familiar? By Gad, Madame, THIS is familiar!" Whereupon he grabbed her roughly into his arms and kissed her thoroughly, without regard to her recent illness or how he must be crushing her. Not before one tiny fist clouted him across the ear did he begin to recover his senses. Slowly he drew back dazedly and put her from him. Margo had not cared for his rough handling of her, but she was not at all certain she wanted to be set aside entirely.

"Miss... Miss Tempelely... Tembelely... Timbly... Dash it all! Marguerite! Please forgive me. I... I do not know what... what came over me."

For long seconds she stared at him, eyes wide as she strove to understand her feelings. A bubble of humour rose in her throat. 'In for a penny, in for a pound,' she thought. Then standing a-tip-toe, she pressed a gentle kiss to his lips and quickly withdrew.

"You must let me know sometime, Mr. Tea-Leaf," she said in conversational tones, "whether it is true that familiarity breeds contempt?"

And just as suddenly as it had come, her boldness vanished and she blushed with shame. One hand rose to her cheek uncertainly, and the other slammed the door in Duncan's face.

Flora's sense of adventure did not extend to actually wishing for more guards in the cellar. It was pitch dark, and the bit of candle she had appropriated from the kitchen did little to fend off the enveloping blackness. Still, if there were any guards down here surely there would be a lantern. Slowly she edged forward away from the stairs.

"Jacob?" she whispered, not daring to raise her voice until Marguerite had got the front door opened and Mr. Tiele could enter. "Uncle James?"

All around her was the damp musty smell of a disused cellar. She had no sense that there might be anyone else down here but herself.

"Jacob?" Now she spoke a little louder. "Uncle James? Where are you?"

The only sound was laughter from above as Marguerite beguiled the guard into unlocking the front door. And then she could hear someone who sounded like Tiele.

Unafraid, she now called out desperately. "Jacob! Jacob, please where are you? It's me, Flora! Uncle James? Theo? Theo, please?" Her voice was rising and she fought down a feeling of hysteria. Please God, surely they were not dead. A light appeared at the top of the stairs and, at the sound of her voice calling for the missing men, August clattered down heedlessly. She turned to him anxiously.

"They do not answer, Mr. Falcon! Please help me find them! Jacob! Jacob!" she called, a wave of fear rising like nausea in her throat.

Falcon raised his lantern and began a systematic search of the cellar, Flora on his heels, calling the men's names alternately. Abruptly Falcon stopped, Flora bumping against him. With unusual tolerance, August merely said, "Quiet for a moment, please!" They stood like statues until finally August heard again the faint sound that had made him pause. In his mind rose the dreaded memory of a time when he had once been locked away in darkness behind an impenetrable wall, with only rats for company as his air ran out and he faced alone hideous death. When his hand rose to point at the wall, Flora did not notice how it trembled slightly.

"They are behind this wall!" he declared. "Tummet, you rogue, get down here on the instant. Tiele, where are you, sir?" He couldn't resist the opportunity for quid pro quo: "Stir your stumps, you sluggard!"