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Teresia Cabarrus swanned out of Blakeney Manor and into her carriage with her head held high. Round one to Spain! The wheels crunched on the gravel drive as the coach headed back toward Richmond centre, Kew and across the Thames to the city. So Blakeney had not gone home when he fled the ball and his darling wife was as clueless as a new-born. So where had he gone? Teresia wondered... To Ffoulkes's residence? Unlikely, he must know Sir Andrew was being watched. To France then... but why? Oh, if only she could have heard what was said between the two men outside the stables! She wracked her brain, trying to decide what to do next. She couldn't go to Chauvelin... it was too late, her chance had evaporated last night when she sealed her lips. Why was that? To protect Blakeney... or to take the credit she deserved? Yes, she thought, her head sobered by the morning light, how stupid to think that she felt anything for him. All she could see was that look of disdain. All she could hear was his voice as he goaded her. She alone had found the truth and she, not Chauvelin would deliver the Scarlet Pimpernel to the sacrificial alter of the Mountain.

The carriage drew to a holt and Teresia descended almost before the door could be opened for her. Hurrying upstairs, she changed into the most suitable costume she could find for travel. Her real clothes were stored in Calais, so she did not bother to pack. Taking only her jewels and money, she headed for the door of her room and froze. A clock was chiming the half hour. Madre de Dios! she had forgotten all about Bathurst and his promise to call upon her. Why, oh why, had she not convinced the simpering fool to meet her elsewhere? Outside the house she could hear the clatter of horses hooves. Hiding her silhouette against the wall, she pulled back the curtain to catch a glimpse of her visitor. "Joder!" she moaned softly, when she saw who it was.

It had taken the entire morning and a personal valet with the patience of a saint for Bathurst to get dressed. Not that he was one to typically spend such extravagant amounts of time dressing, but then this not just any other day. No, today there was a lady to impress - and what a lady! Every time he thought of the little Marquise de Foutenay and her large eyes with their thick lashes he felt giddy.

He had won her favour the night before, but she was in a position where she could pick and choose her bed partner and Bathurst going to have to work to keep such a woman who could have any man at a glance. When he stepped out into the morning sun, Bathurst was clad in dramatic black breeches and a hunter green coat edged in silver to complement the gleaming sword at his side, snow white cravat with an emerald cravat pin. The poor valet dressing him spend the last hour being reminded ever two to three minutes how little time remained - it was not his fault that my lord Bathurst couldn't make up his mind! The only detours on his path to his dear little marquise were to Nodes & Sydenham where he purchased an extravagant ruby necklace - he would have something especially made for her later - and to acquire a bouquet of roses. In a relatively short time, long for one anxiously anticipating see the one he adore, Bathurst arrived at the boarding house graced by Teresia's presence. He was greeted at he door by the simpering landlady, who was only too eager to please. "Tell the Marquise de Founteney that Lord Bathurst is here to see her."

She heard her landlady invite Bathurst in and ask him to wait in the drawing room whilst she informed La Marquise of his arrival. Then she heard the woman's steady foot on the tread. Teresia looked around for a way out, but there was none save the internal door to her room or the window. The window was out... a sheer drop of 30 feet... so she crept to the door and peeped out. The hallway was dark and her landlady had another flight to climb before reaching Teresia's floor. She glanced at a heavy curtain that obscured the stairway up to the servants' quarters. Could she make it without being seen? Every second of thought was one less on the time remaining her to flee, so Teresia gathered her skirts and dashed across the landing, just hoping that she would not be spotted.

Bathurst tapped his foot impatiently as he watched the old woman waddle up the stairs, he could hear her footsteps creaking up the stairs and along the hallway above him. Lord, could she possibly move any slower? He wondered if Teresia was awake yet, or was she still abed, curdled up in the center of her bed, sweetly vulnerable in a thin nightgown. He could warm her more than any number of quilts could.

A few minutes later he heard the landlady creaking along the corridor and back to the stairs, heard the stairs groan protest under her weight and waited until the appeared. When she did she was scratching her head perplexedly, �I only just saw her return��

�What are you prattling on about? � Bathurst demanded impatiently. He had no patience for addled old women. �Where is the Marquise?�

�That�s what I�m trying to tell you�� the women implored. �� I saw her come in only a few minutes before you arrived, but she is not in her room. Bathurst pushed past her and raced up the stairs and barged into the room with the open door, looking around the room, throwing open the wardrobe looking inside � as if she was hiding within. The landlady appeared in the doorway.

�Where did she go?� Bathurst demanded.

�I don� know, milor. She ordered a coach early and didn� say where she was off to. But I swear she was here, just now. I didn�t see her go.�

Bathurst looked at her doubtfully. He knew that the Marquise was in danger� what if it found her? The simpering crone might have been paid handsomely to aid in the disappearance of the Marquise. Suddenly, Bathurst grabbed a hold of the woman�s wrist and yanked her closer to him. �If she only just returned, where are you suggesting she went? I don�t see too many places for her to retreat to.�

She had made it. In the dark, she held her breath whilst her landlady went past and then returned. As the woman's footsteps disappeared back down the stairs, Teresia turned to climb the stairs to the servants' quarters. It was dark, but the staircase was so narrow she could grip the walls with ease. At the top she tried the first door. It was locked, as was the one next to that. She turned right into the low-ceilinged passage, trying not to let the bare boards creak under foot. Below she heard Bathurst bounding up the stairs. The third door was locked also... mierdo!... only one left. Bathurst was shouting now, though she was too far away to hear his actual words. The last door, the room at the back of the house, was before her. She tried the door. The knob turned, but the door jammed, obviously warped by damp. She pushed harder and it moved a little. Putting her shoulder full against the door, Teresia managed to force it open, but the noise it made was overly loud in the confines of these attic rooms. Had it been heard below? She couldn't take that chance. Quickly She entered the sparsely furnished room, closed the door and dragged the bedside table against it. Running to the window, she saw it gave onto a small ledge. She leaned outwards, the ledge seemed to join all the houses in the terrace. Would there be a fire escape at the end? There was only one way to find out!

The landlady squealed as Bathurst shook her, clearly unaccustomed to being manhandled in such a way, and clearly unable to give him the answer he sought. If she was a part of this conspiracy, she played her part well. Bathurst pushed her side and searched the room - not that there was much to search - looking under the bed, behind the dressing screens - nothing! He turned on his heels and stomped downstair, staring accusingly into each face he passed as he searched the ground floor. The landlady followed, gesturing expressively to the maids that stood by gaping after Bathurst.

"Perhaps, she went out, m'lord!" the old woman offered as explanation.

Bathurst eyed her coldly, "It looks as though all of her valuable went with her. The woman reddened indignantly. "Did anyone see her leave?" Heads shook. "Then she must still be here."

"Maybe she's in one of the other rooms," one of the maids spoke up.

"Go check the rooms," the landlady ordered, scattering her employees in all directions. "If she is here she'll be found."

"She'd better be here," Bathurst growled.

La Cabarrus scrambled through the small opening with as much care as she could manage, but her dress still tore. One of the ribbons had snagged on the sill and now it fluttered to the floor of the room. Teresia tried to reach in and grab it, but footsteps were approaching. Quickly she flattened herself against the outer wall. The maid had brought a lamp with her and Teresia could see its glow emanating from the room. Suddenly a head popped out of the window and then in again. The Spaniard braced herself for the call she knew must follow, but silence ensued. The maid simply closed the window and left the room.

Scarce able to believe that she had not been seen, Teresia went back to the window, but the maid had locked it. Now she had no choice. She would have to find another way down. Carefully she began to walk along the ledge, fearing to look down.

The maid returned to the floor below clutching the ribbon. "I found this, Sir," she said, instinctively knowing that it was Bathurst who would care, "it's from Madam's dress; but she's gone, Sir."

Bathurst seized the fragment of ribbon for the girl and examined it closely for a minute. Torn. Tattered. Not something that was dropped. There was some violence involved. In three or four long strides Bathurst was at the door and yelling orders at his servants to summon the law. He whirled about and stared the land lady down. "What sort of establishment have you got going here?" He bore down on her as she retreated slightly. "If I find out you are involved I will have you whipped within an inch of your miserable life!" He turned to the maid. "Where was this found?"

"Upstairs," she gulped, then squealed as Bathurst roughly grabbed her arm and shoved her before him.

"Show me!"

She reached the end of the block and stopped. There was a fire escape, but it was in poor repair and looked as though it might collapse at any moment. Gingerly she tested the first rusty rung. It creaked a little, but held her weight. Clinging tightly to the ladder, Teresia began the long descent.

"Sir, you're hurting me!" squeaked the maid as Bathurst man-handled her back up the servants' staircase. He let her go and she rubbed her wrist, which was red and angry from his grasp. "This way." she said sullenly, leading him into the room at the end of the corridor. "There was a chair behind the door, the window was open and that ribbon was on the floor... just here."

The ladder ended ten feet from the ground. Teresia knew she would have to jump. Carefully she lowered herself onto the last rung of the ladder in order to minimize the gap to the pavement below. It felt as though an invisible force were tearing her arms from their sockets. She let go. Landing on all fours, the palm of her left hand was badly grazed and began to bleed. Teresia cleaned it off as best she could, using her under-petticoats so the blood would not be seen. She made her way to the front of the block, just in time to see two servants emerge from the house at speed. They were searching for her! Doubling back on herself, Teresia started to run and was soon lost amongst the alleyways of London town. One bloodied hand-print was all that she left behind.

Bathurst brushed the wench aside and scoured the room. No signs of struggle. Unless the maid tidied it up, he gave her a dark look as he thought this. The maid said the door had been barred� was that to keep someone out or to block the path of a potential rescuer. He strode to the window, opened it, and looking down to see that it gave onto a small ledge. Bathurst climbed out onto that ledge and found that it seemed to join all the houses in the terrace. It was the only way out from that room besides the door. He jogged along the ledge looking for ways that someone might get down, he ran all the way to the end of the block before finding a ladder that let down onto the street. He clambered down and looked around. No clue about direction, no witnesses on the street. This had been carefully planned. He was about to leave when he saw it. A tiny bloody handprint � coincidence? His heart contracted to find it was still wet.

Running back to the inn, Bathurst found reinforcements had arrived and were questioning the household. And a very lucky thing for the landlady too, for they were quick to get between him and the landlady before he broke her treacherous neck as he tried to shake the answers out of her.

There are some parts of London into which strangers are unwise to enter alone and Teresia had stumbled into one of them. Breathless and slightly deshevelled, she stopped running and leant against a wall to catch her breath. A small man, smelling strongly of gin asked her "How much?", but she swore at him in Spanish and he backed off slurring "Aw-right darlin' no need to get precious." Then he stumbled away muttering, "Stupid Spanish slut" and other obscenities. Teresia heard him and thought it probably hadn't been the wisest move on her part to use her native tongue. Her one thought now was to get to Calais and the best way to get there was the Dover packet. Not wanting to go back the way she had come, nor wanting to venture further into this murky English underworld, she turned south... well, the direction she hoped was south... and walked off in search of a coaching inn.

Thought over all the people who might benefit from laying hands on the Marquise as he drove away from the boarding house, letting the authorities investigate that establishment (they had driven him off for fear Bathurst might injure someone before them got any answers). Two names cropped up in his head: Chauvelin and Lady Blakeney. Spies both of them and both took an interest in Teresia. The former was unlikely to talk, but the latter� He knocked on the roof of the carriage and told the coachman, �Richmond.�

The afternoon was mid-way through by the time Teresia found the type of establishment she had been looking for. It cost her a lot more money than she had expected to procure a ride to Dover. She paid, however, and was soon on her way. Vaguely she wondered what Bathurst was thinking... was he cursing her to the heavens? It mattered little to her personally, but she didn't want Bathurst to get to Sir Percy before she did. She wasn't sure quite how she would find Blakeney in Paris. There was time enough to worry about that when she reached Calais and her possessions.

In just over an hour, Bathurst arrived at Sir Percy Blakeney's estate in Richmond, determine to get some answers out of the treacherous Lady Blakeney, even if he had to beat them out of the venomous little bitch. However, answers there were not to be found, for when he arrived the household was in a great commotion and he was informed that neither Sir Percy nor his Lady were home, when she questioned them where either had gone (even though he had a good idea of the whereabouts of the first one), the servants proved less than helpful.

He gather that something was out of place as he tried to question one after another of the servants, but all were decidedly tight-lipped. The biggest clue was a woman's voice, high-pitched and whiney, "... none of heirlooms were taken though, just a few baubles and her papers..." Those few words clicked into Bathurst brain... So Lady Blakeney had flown the coop, returned to her spy Chauvelin now that she had fulfilled her mission. By god! She had not only helped abduct the Marquise, but she was probably even now delivering the last bit of evidence on her husband. Bathurst fingered a few coin from his purse and caught a hold of a passing footman. "How long ago did she leave?" he pressed the coins into the man's palm.

"'bout two hours."

There was no time to return home for a change he would have to manage with what he had on him. With any luck Lady Blakeney would waste time reporting to her scummy little master. Hopefully they didn�t know the locations of the league�s hideouts. Still� why kidnap the Marquise de Fouteney? It made little sense� hopefully it would make more sense in time. As it were, Bathurst gave his driver instructions to head straight for Dover and to only stop long enough stop long enough to change horses.

With any luck he would find Blakeney before Chauvelin and warn him of the danger around him.

The following morning dawned grimly, with heavy rain turning the chalky soil to light coloured mud. She sent a runner down to the harbour to see if the boat was still prepared to sail that day and then sat down to take breakfast. Teresia didn't not eat much. The memories of the last voyage made her stomach knot in anticipation of more seasickness. After a few mouthfuls of toast she abandoned the meal and went to watch at the window for the messenger returning.

The sound of hurried footsteps made her glance up the road in the opposite direction. It was gloomy outside, the rain was sheeting down the window pain and the man had his coat wrapped tightly around him against the weather, but Teresia was sure it was Bathurst. What on earth was he doing here? Had he tracked her? How? Was he going to the harbour? Madre de Dios, what if he found out what boat she was due to cross on? Worse still, what if he booked himself on the same boat?

It had be a long weary night for Lord Bathhurst, and worse one for his driver � not that Bathurst was concerned about the man. No other thoughts filled his head except getting to Dover to cross the channel, going from which ever port town he could get to to Paris, trying to replay the events of the past few days over in his mind trying to figure if there were any sign he could have seen that would have prevented these horrible events that were enfolding. There was worry for Teresia and concern that Blakeney had run himself into a noose � well, guillotine as the French would have it. His coach arrived just before sunrise and Bathurst made good use of the time trying to book passenger. Cost him twice what it should, because the captain could see he was desperate.

He paid the bill for his driver to stay at Fisherman�s Rest until he return and returned to the boat to wait for the tide.

It was almost noon when Teresia headed down to the harbour. She hadn't seen Bathurst again, but the very fact that she knew he was in Dover had her on edge. She was glad of the rain... people rarely looked up when they passed each other by, so there was a certain anonymity to be gained from it. On reaching the small vessel a crew member handed her aboard. She went towards the steps to make her way below deck, but at the head of the stairs she stopped to survey the harbour. Was Bathurst one of those making up the somewhat chaotic scene of harbour life before her?

The anxiety was getting to him, he was clearly seeing things that were not there. For a moment, while speaking to the captain of the ship he�d booked passage on he thought he saw Teresia sailing through the crowd � wishful thinking. He run out to find the apparition, but saw no sign. It was possible she was here, amongst the swarm of bodies or hidden away from sight in the belly of a boat. No way of finding out. He trudged, heavy-heartedly, back to the boat to wait.

The sky was thankfully clear and the wind good, they�d make good time. Bathurst stayed on deck the entirety on the voyage, only see a few of his fellow passengers who didn�t mind the wind in their face. A couple of men, a lady and her nervous son, a hard-looking young woman � French by the look of her, each visited the deck for a few minutes to watch the land shrinking away in the distance or waves, or to see Calais rise up on the horizon. If he had any luck, Blakeney would have fresh horses in Calais waiting.

The Spaniard went below deck and waited for the boat to depart. At least the rain had stopped, she thought miserably as she prepared herself for the ordeal to come. In the end, it was not so bad as she had expected. She still felt ill, but nothing like the waves of nausea she had felt on the first crossing. At last the whole ship shuddered as the anchor was dropped and she could hear voices above chattering in French. Waiting until she was sure of being the last off, Teresia emerged from below deck and made her way ashore. Once on dry land, she headed back to the inn where she had stowed her belongings.

At the Chat Gris, Bathurst accertained that Blakeney and a handful of other had passed through and that orders were to station themselves along the road between Calais and Paris, which meant that it was possible that one of them had seen Teresia passing through in the clutches of Chauvelin or Lady Blakeney or whoever else worked for that annoying midget. Blakeney wasn't expecting him, or this turn of events. While it was unlikely that Bathurst would over take them, it was possible to get to Paris in time to warn Percy and press upon him the need to find Teresia, and if there were others on the road, then it was possibly for him to find fresh horses to speed up his journey.

For the first time in over a week, Teresia looked in the mirror and saw herself, in her own clothes, and felt relieved. She was confident that she had given Bathurst the slip... it was better for him anyway that she eluded him, for she did not want to be forced to have the man arrested. She went down into the main room of the inn. "When does the next coach leave for Paris?" She asked.

"3 O'clock," came the sullen reply. Very well she had a few hours yet. After so long below deck, despite more hospitable accomodation this time, Teresia still yearned for fresh air, so decided to take a stroll. What would she do when she reached Paris? Go straight to the committee and tell them about Blakeney?... no, they would laugh her clean across the Seine. She had to find him, catch him... but how? That was the foremost puzzle in Teresia's mind as she promanaded along the harbour.

Without delay, my Lord Bathurst headed straight for the Chat Gris - if any information was to be obtained or a ready horse it was there. At the Chat Gris, Bathurst accertained that Blakeney and a handful of other had passed through and that orders were to station themselves along the road between Calais and Paris, which meant that it was possible that one of them had seen Teresia passing through in the clutches of Chauvelin or Lady Blakeney or whoever else worked for that annoying midget, Chauvelin. Perhaps Blakeney knew!

Bathurst took one of the waiting horse and drove it with all south and east to that death trap know as Paris, pausing only when he reached an inn just south of Amiens, where he hoped at least one member of the league. And as luck would have it (and fortunately a strange luck seemed to favor Bathurst these days), he came on Hastings - not the league member he'd hoped for, but a welcome sight. Hastings was seated in the corner of the tap room and his eyes bulged when he saw Bathurst.

"What are you doing here?" Hastings hissed as Bathurst took a seat beside them.

"Rushing to Paris to warn the chief," Bathurst whispered. "The Marquise de Fouteney has been abducted, no doubt by Chauvelin... and Lady Blakeney has skipped out. I wager she's done as Chauvelin bid her and is now off to meet him."

Leaving Glynde with Brogard, Hastings set off south on the directions Brogard gave him. He travelled the the better part of the day, caution got the better of him and he stopped at an in near Amiens, to rest the night. Whoever followed Glynde, he knew, would be staying there, while awaying the time with the inn keepers comely daughter who made-up for what she lacked in virtue with searing passion. It was pretty thing that kept him entertained the hour or so his horse needed to rest. She cleaned up right quickly in time to serve him his lunch, with a suggestive wink behind her proud papa's back.

"She's such a dutiful daughter," her papa told his guest, "won't so much as look a man in the eye." No, because she's measuring up his other qualities, Hastings thought. If he were any wiser, he could probably make more money off his daughter's "virtue" then in letting rooms - the girl was a seasoned slut if ever there was one.

It was as he was digging through his purse to pay for the meal that the last person Hastings expected to see entered - Bathurst. Bathurst caught sight of him and came to join him. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"Rushing to Paris to warn the chief," Bathurst told him. "The Marquise de Fouteney has been abducted, no doubt by Chauvelin... and Lady Blakeney has skipped out. I wager she's done as Chauvelin bid her and is now off to meet him." Hastings looked at him incredulously, trying to process the new information.

"Lord! Percy needs to be told," Hastings agreed. "But I don't think Lady Blakeney's gone to meet with Chauvelin..." Hastings tried to fit this new information in with what he already knew. "She was the one to warn them at the barn... I'm sure of that... I wouldn't make sense to run back to Chauvelin... unless she's gone to rescue Armand... which may mean she knows where he is."

The coach was late and the driver seemed to have no great desire to make up time. He went inland, reaching Arras at dusk, where they stopped for food and to change horses. By the time they reached Paris it was well into the night. Teresia tumbled off the coach half-asleep and somehow managed to find someone willing to transport her luggage up the hill to her apartment. She paid him far more than she needed to and then shut her door against the world... she was home, in her rooms, in her clothes, in her life... it felt so good. Teresia wandered to the window and opened it wide to allow fresh air to circulate around the rooms that had been so shut up. Somewhere a clock chimed four in the morning. She stared at the city... out there, in that labarynth of streets and alleys, the man she sought was playing cards, but Teresia Cabarrus didn't know that, nor did she know that he would be fetching water for Marat the next day... where are you, Sir Percy?, she wondered softly, where the devil are you?

�She�s clearly helping Chauvelin,� Bathurst insisted. �Is it not convenient that she decides to run off immediately after helping Chauvelin discover him, that Teresia disappeared conveniently close to the same time that Lady Blakeney and Chauvelin make their get away? Why do you insist on defending her when that viper is probably at this very moment, helping Chauvelin set a trap for her husband?�

�For your own sake, you�d best not speak so liberally in front of the chief,� Hastings warned. �You�d be luck if the worst he�d do is string you up by your ears,� Bathurst shrugged and stubbornly folded his arms over his chest. �All I�m saying is suspend your judgment until we�ve all the all the facts. If you commit yourself to the wrong course everyone might suffer, including your little Spanish beauty.� Bathurst�s eyes hardened and appeared is if he were about to speak, but bit back his remarks.

�If your horse is ready to go after you�ve had a decent meal, or what passes for one, we�ll ride on to Paris,� Hastings said. It was outside of Percy�s plans, but did Bathurst had information the chief would need and in his state he was likely to get into more trouble than good if left to his own devices.