shoulders. She wore an elaborate headpiece with feathers and jewels that artfully concealed her face and was dressed in an exquisite gown. Her eyes, what could be seen of them behind the large feather fan she held, were lustrous. Her face was powdered and rouged, her lips touched with red. She seemed shy and timid, for she clung closely to her companion.
The count and his lady reached the bottom of the stairs and were crossing the lobby. The count stopped to assist the lady with her cloak, then walked over to exchange greetings with the landlord. The lady stood a short distance from him in front of the parrot’s cage. She looked exceedingly pale and nervous. The hand holding the fan trembled.
The parrot had been asleep with his head beneath his wing. A sudden noise-perhaps the landlord’s loud laughter at something said by the count-woke the bird. He let out a loud and raucous squawk. At the unexpected sound, the lady gasped and dropped her fan.
Like an arrow shot from love’s bow, Rodrigo leaped from his chair and ran to the lady’s side. He picked up the fan and, sinking to one knee, held it out to her.
“I give you your fan, my lady,” he said and added in a low voice, meant for her ears alone, “And with that fan my heart, if you will take it.”
The lady stared at Rodrigo with wide, frightened eyes. She was trembling all over now, probably terrified of her lover. But the count was either not the jealous type or he did not consider Rodrigo a threat. He glanced with some irritation at his lady and said sharply, “The gentleman has picked up your fan, Imogene. Thank him, my dear, and allow him to get up off his knees.”
The lady stammered something incoherent. She took the fan from Rodrigo with a hand that was shaking so much that she nearly dropped it again. Rodrigo rose to his feet, made a gallant bow to her. He bowed to the count, who bowed back.
The count took hold of the lady’s arm and guided her firmly toward the door and their coach that was waiting outside. Stephano went to join Rodrigo, who was standing by the parrot, gazing after the woman with love and longing.
“She comes into my life for a brief moment and is gone,” said Rodrigo.
“Funny how that always seems to happen,” Stephano remarked. “I’m off to bed.”
He had his foot on the marble stair. Rodrigo remained in the lobby, yearning after his lost love, who was standing on the sidewalk. The coach driver was opening the door, when the count gave a loud shout, “Assassins! Help!”
Men armed with clubs were attacking the count. He had drawn his sword and was fending them off, all the while trying to drag his terrified lady toward the coach. One of the thugs grabbed hold of the woman and tore her away from the count. She cried out in terror and dropped, senseless, to the ground. The other thugs redoubled their attack on the count. He clouted one with his fist and thrust his sword at another.
The doorman rushed out in the street, shouting for the constable. The landlord stood in the lobby wringing his hands. The parrot screeched. The page boys went running to the windows to see the fight. The maids screamed in horrified delight, and Rodrigo went bounding out the door to save the lady.
“Rodrigo!” Stephano cried. “Are you mad? Oh, for the love of-He’ll get himself killed!”
Drawing his sword, Stephano ran after his friend.
The count’s blade flashed in the lamplight. He jabbed and stabbed with expert skill, but he was hampered by his efforts to protect the lady, who was lying on the pavement. The coachman was on the box, yelling for the count to get in. The horses were stamping, their eyes rolling.
One of the thugs made a dart at the lady and grabbed one arm, apparently with the intention of dragging her away. Rodrigo seized the lady by her other arm and a tug of war ensued, both of them pulling at the poor woman, yanking her back and forth.
“Let her go, you bounder!” Rodrigo cried angrily.
In answer, the thug aimed a blow with his club at Rodrigo’s head. Stephano’s blade sliced through the meaty part of the man’s hand. He dropped the club with a cry, but continued to stubbornly hang onto the lady.
Stephano held his sword poised over the man’s arm. “Let go of her or end up minus a hand!”
The thug apparently decided Stephano meant what he said, for he let go of the woman and ran away. Stephano turned to see the count still fending off two attackers.
“Carry the lady to the coach, Rigo,” Stephano shouted. “I’ll help the count.”
Rodrigo endeavored to lift the unconscious woman, only to find the delicate beauty much heavier than he had anticipated. He staggered and nearly dropped her. “You are a sturdy little thing, aren’t you my love?” he said, gasping.
Unable to lift her, Rodrigo was forced to half-carry, half-drag the lady to the carriage. He shoved her hurriedly inside and turned to await developments.
“Go to your lady, my lord!” cried Stephano, coming to the aide of the beleaguered count. “I will hold them off.”
The count thanked Stephano in a few brief words, then jumped into the coach and slammed shut the door. Stephano shouted at the driver, who cracked his whip. The coach lurched forward and rushed off with such speed that the wheel narrowly missed crushing Rodrigo’s foot.
The instant the coach departed, so did the thugs, vanishing into the darkness, taking their wounded away with them. The piercing screech of whistles announced the coming of the constabulary. Rodrigo was standing in the gutter, gazing woefully after his lost love. Stephano seized hold of him and dragged him off down the street.
“But I haven’t finished my brandy-” Rodrigo protested.
“If we stay to be questioned by the police, you’ll be drinking your brandy in a jail cell,” said Stephano.
“Ah, good point,” said Rodrigo.
“Walk. Running looks suspicious.”
The two sauntered down the street, pausing as any curious bystander would pause to watch the constables race by. An officer skidded to a stop in front of them.
“Did you see where the thugs went, gentlemen?”
“That way, down the alley,” Stephano said, pointing. The constable touched his hat and ran off.
Stephano and Rodrigo continued along the street and were about to cross to the other side, when a small carriage came dashing straight at them, almost running them down. The carriage careened around the corner and was gone.
“Someone’s in a hurry,” remarked Rodrigo.
He and Stephano walked on, dispirited and downcast.
“This entire venture has been an unmitigated disaster,” said Stephano.
“At least we managed to save a damsel from assassins,” said Rodrigo. “That brute actually tried to drag her off!”
“Assassins would have just shot the count. Those men were trying to abduct him and the lady, as well,” said Stephano.
“I saw him say something to you. What was it?”
“Something about being in my debt. He gave a kind of chuckle and hoped someday I would realize what I’d done.”
“That’s a rather odd thing to say to someone who has just saved your life.”
“I might not have heard him right. It doesn’t matter,” said Stephano, shrugging.
“I guess not,” said Rodrigo. “Though it pained me deeply to see him drive off with the woman of my dreams. I don’t suppose we’ll ever know what it was all about.”
“And I don’t suppose we’ll ever find Sir Henry Wallace,” said Stephano.
“Look at it this way, our luck can’t get any worse,” said Rodrigo.
“Don’t say that,” warned Stephano. “You’ll jinx us.”
Dubois had watched in disbelief as Captain de Guichen rushed in, sword drawn, to save Sir Henry Wallace from being captured by Dubois’ agents. Poor Dubois almost lost his faith that night. He was sorely tempted to ask God whose side He was on.
Dubois regained control of himself, however. He did not stay to wait for the constables to find him. He had two carriages stationed around the corner. He ran to one of them. Red Dog peered down at him from the driver’s seat.
