King, Ship, and Sword

wiser. The First Consul does not wish a new war with Britain… at least not yet. I have his personal, spoken assurance on that matter.'

'His wife, too. Oui, I saw her with him!' Choundas crooned with an evil hiss, shrugging off the quick dismissal of his initial scheme. 'If they must disappear, the coachmen, horses, carriage, and all, then an out-of-the-way place could be found where all that could be disposed of… an hour or two with her, before his eyes, before I begin on him, and that swaggering lout, that despicable fumier would beg-'

'Ahum!' Fouchй pointedly coughed into his fist. 'You will be in at his demise, Capitaine Choundas. That must be enough.'

'If you insist, citoyen, then… it must be so.' Choundas seemed to surrender-too quickly for Matthieu Fourchette or Charitй to believe. Choundas set the exposed half of his face in a wry smile of contentment, but… she and the police agent shared a quick, dubious look and an even briefer nod in mute agreement that, if they had to be saddled with this hideous monster, they would have to keep a sharp eye on him at all times… and keep his half-insane fury on a tight leash!

I must have Denis with me, Charitй de Guilleri vowed to herself; to keep this 'hot rabbit' Fourchette from laying his hands on me, and… to keep this disgusting beast from killing anyone who denies him his revenge.

A sour taste rose in her throat, a chilly feeling in the pit of her stomach,

and a weak, shuddery feeling that forced her to sit down in her chair once more, with only half an ear for Fouchй's plan being revealed.

As dearly as she desired Lewrie to die before her eyes, for her own revenge, still-completely innocent coachmen, Madame Lewrie, and any unfortunate peasant who happened by at the wrong moment must die as well? Callous as she had been over the fates of those taken in the merchant ships by her and her brothers, her cousin, and the old pirates Jйrфme Lanxade and Boudreaux Balfa, this just didn't enflame her former passion or hatred of all things English.

It felt to her, of a clarifying second, as foul as the touch of Choundas's lips on the back of her hand!

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

The hired servants, Jules and Marianne, were paid off, the last funds in their temporary bank account had been withdrawn, and a coach had been arranged for their journey to Calais. With their travelling valises at their feet, Alan and Caroline waited in the foyer of their lodging house for their coach's arrival, whilst the concierge and her servants were busy abovestairs; so far as Lewrie knew, fumigating the appartement after being occupied by 'Bloodies.'

Yet the coach-and-four that drew up by the kerb outside was not theirs, for a French couple emerged from it with some hand-carried luggage, and began to palaver with the concierge, announcing, so far as Lewrie could follow the conversation, that they wished to take lodging for a fortnight, and would she show them a vacant appartement. Barely had they gone abovestairs before a second coach rolled up, and out of it popped Sir Pulteney Plumb and Lady Imogene, as well as two other couples whom Lewrie didn't know from Adam and Eve. They also bustled in with hand-carried luggage, as if they would seek lodgings, too.

'The concierge is busy, is she? Good!' Sir Pulteney said with a snicker. 'See why we asked specifically what you would be wearing for your departure, haw haw? All ready? Names are not necessary for now, but these fine people are old companions, summoned back to work in our endeavour. All change now, quickly!'

The women, one with sandy blond hair and the other a brunette, had entered in light travelling cloaks over their gowns, their faces and hair obscured by long-brimmed, face-framing sun bonnets. Valises were opened, and the cloaks stowed away in them, revealing that both women wore plain light-grey gowns very similar in colour and cut to the one that Caroline wore. The brunette further produced a wig from her valise, changing herself to a sandy blonde, too.

The men had entered in broad-brimmed hats more suited to a day on horseback, and light riding dusters to protect their suitings. At the same moment, they revealed themselves in black coats, buff waist-coats, buff trousers, and black top-boots. A quick change of cravats to match the dark blue one that Lewrie sported, a change of hats to a taller model with short, curly-brimmed hats much like Lewrie's, too.

'You've both sets of laisser-passers? Good!' Sir Pulteney said to the first couple. 'Off you go, then, Thomas, you and your lady and we shall see you in Dover.'

At that, 'Thomas,' or whoever he was, picked up his valises and offered his 'wife' an arm. They stepped outside into the Rue Honorй, and entered the waiting coach, which, Lewrie could note from a vantage point back in the foyer's shadows, quite blocked the view of any watchers. The coach clattered off, heading west.

Not half a minute later, a second coach, almost the twin of the first, with a four-horse team of the same colour, drew up, facing the other direction.

'Andrew, you and Susannah next. You're on!' Sir Pulteney urged, almost shoving them towards the doors. 'Last one to the Queen's Arms Inn pays the reckoning for all, haw haw!'

He tapped his long walking-stick on the parquetry foyer floor impatiently as the second couple of 'Andrew and Susannah' exited and got into the coach, which headed east, whip cracking.

'Now for you and your lady, Captain Lewrie,' Sir Pulteney said hurriedly, cocking his head and ears as the rattle of a third carriage could be heard. 'Calm as does it. Show serenity and unwitting blandness to the guards at the porte. They'll have orders to report your passing… all of them will. After they allow you to leave the environs of Paris, which I expect they will, for any attempt in the city would be too incriminating, let your coachees proceed at their normal pace. You'll be using the Argenteuil gate, so you must say that you will be taking ship at Le Havre. We Will catch you up on the Pontoise road, before your coach crosses the river Oise, where we shall put into play other measures to throw the authorities off your scent. Now be on your way, quickly! Go with God, and we shall see you shortly!'

Lewrie heaved a deep breath and picked up his valises whilst Sir Pulteney shrugged out of his elegant suit coat, tossed his hat to the sideboard table, and whipped out a white porter's apron, to play a servant's role to carry the rest of their luggage to the coach that was, that very instant, drawing rein right by the doors. Lady Imogene gave Caroline a fond, assuring hug, then shooed her out to join Alan, with a last instruction to smile and be gay. 'You are going home to England, n'est-ce pas?'

Once inside the coach, though, and under way, Caroline pressed her hands together and shut her eyes as if in prayer, looking wan and pale, whilst Lewrie fussed and shifted on the leather seat beside her, to rearrange his coat and waist-coat, trying to get comfortable.

'Alan…,' Caroline muttered in a fretful, conspiratorial whisper, 'will they really let us pass, not snatch us out? Or murder us in one of the poorer stews? We've seen them, passing through. Crime is surely rampant in them… unremarkable!'

'Still too public,' Lewrie decided, patting her knee. 'Casus belli… or bellum? Plumb's right about that, at least. It'd mean war, even if they put me on trial as a spy and slung me into prison. From what Bonaparte said to us t'other day, it sounds as if things're tetchy enough already. As Plumb says, their best chance'11 be out in the countryside.'

Seeing how fretful Caroline still seemed, he took her hand and gave her an encouraging squeeze. An instant later, and she turned to lay her head on his shoulder, silently demanding to be held, no matter if the sight of one of his former lovers had put her off intimacy the last few days. Nigh sixteen years of marriage-no one could call it 'wedded bliss,' exactly- counted for something, he supposed.

'We never should have come to France!' she fiercely muttered on his coat lapel, and he could feel her body shudder at the brink of hot tears of remorse. 'I'm sorry I ever…!'

'Oh, tosh, m'girl,' Lewrie calmly objected, though his own guts and heart were about to do a brisk canter. He kissed her forehead and muttered into her hair. 'It was half my idea, d'ye recall? And… if ye dismiss