"In… indeed, citoyen?" Charitй managed to say, stricken with terror and revulsion.
"This is about Lewrie?" Choundas snapped, dropping her hand and regaining the use of his cane so he could turn towards Fouchй, a feral gleam in his remaining eye. "Something is to be done?"
"He insulted the First Consul, Capitaine," Fouchй told him. "He is to be done away with. Somewhere lonely and quiet, out of sight on the road to Calais. The three of you know what he looks like, so… "
"Sacre bleu!" Choundas exclaimed. "And I will participate in his end? Mort de ma vie, all I have asked of life, for so many years, and it comes to pass? Perhaps there is a God!"
He spun about, more nimbly that Charitй imagined that he could, to face her again. "All the ravages you see, Citoyenne Charitй, have been at his hand… my face, my laming, my lost arm! The ruin of my life's work\ Oui, I will gladly help you murder him!"
Another quick turning to face them all. Swish-clomp!
"But it must not be an easy death for him," Choundas demanded. "With forethought… he must be taken alive. Only for a time, hein?" he specified with an anticipatory cackle. "Give him to me for half a day… a full day, and I will take from him what he took from me so long ago and make him beg for death's release, oh mais oui!"
"That, uhm… might be a bit beyond what is necessary," Fouchй hesitantly countered as he fiddled uncomfortably with his loosely bound neck-stock. "We had thought to make it appear as a highway robbery by aristo-lovers and criminal elements."
"And so it may, citoyen" Choundas quickly countered, his mind a'scheme as he haltingly paced in anxiety, swish-clomp, swish-clomp. "Is the crime brutal enough, it can be blamed on Georges Cadoudal and his conspirators against the Republic, financed by the Comte d'Artois with Anglais gold, from his lair in England… to… to foment anger in Britain against France, because their government wants to begin the war again, hein?"
"Their Prime Minister, Addington, pays the Comte d'Artois for a murder of one of their naval officers and his wife?" Fouchй scoffed at the notion. "Too complicated. They disappear, everyone in the coach, with no one ever the 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!"