An Unusual Courtship: Behind The Shadow, #2

By Antoinette George

Compelling romance and swashbuckling thrills.

Behind The Shadow: The dramatic and gripping story of one man with two lives and the woman he craves, but cannot have…

He was the handsome aristocrat and charismatic adventurer who created a dynasty and she was the feisty, unconventional woman he loved. He was English and she was French, two strong-willed people determined never to give in to each other, and a devious, diabolical enemy determined to exact revenge on the smuggler who had constantly evaded him and thwarted his nefarious plans,

Set at the end of the 18th century when France was on the cusp of a bloodthirsty Revolution, this is an exciting and unputdownable tale of daring escapes, broken promises, distrust and misunderstandings, all threaded through by a passionate and turbulent love affair, a scorching romance that wouldn't be denied.

Part 2: An Unusual Courtship        

She'd nearly lost her life but had survived, thanks to The Shadow. However, now in London, Marie-Catherine de Mornay is bereft, heartbroken and angry. Her distrust of men has been compounded by the smuggler she'd finally lost her heart to: he'd broken his promises, abandoned her, and for all she knew he could be dead, given who he was and his profession.

She tells herself she has to move on and be practical. That means finding a wealthy husband who will be willing to help support her refugee family. Although an aristocrat by birth, she is a foreigner without a dowry and with only her looks to commend her, Marie-Catherine knows her task isn't going to be easy. Also, whether she can find someone she cares about enough to tie herself to for a lifetime she doubts, but it has to be done.

Once again, Marie-Catherine is determined to succeed in what she sets out to do and so starts to look for a man she can finally put her trust in, even if she doesn't love him. But will she find one and can any man really be trusted? Even her beloved brother?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brangwyn Press
• Release date: Dec 18, 2020
• ISBN: 9781914160011

Book preview

Chapter One

Normandy: Easter 1790

And so it began. The carefully laid, audacious Plan was finally reaching its climax as the disparate group of individuals left their cottage hideaway and set off for the final time towards Rouen. Reynard and Francis had arranged for all their belongings and those from the de Mornay house, plus Fluffy, to be passed on to some of The Shadow’s men, organised by Benjy, and taken to his ship which was moored in Honfleur; some of this had already been done over the preceding days. Now, the remaining items and dog were in one wagon with Reynard, so he split from the rest to go to his rendezvous before returning to the Fortress walls to wait and help later.

The Plan was actually fiendishly simple in its concept, but still an enormous gamble, given the number of individuals needing to escape. Being Easter Sunday, and with some of the group now familiar visitors to the guards and inmates of the Fortress, the ‘holy’ amongst them would take the opportunity to increase their numbers under the guise of holding a service there. It had been presented as Easter Communion both for guards and inmates and for their ministry to include the prisoners who couldn’t leave their cells, which was most of them. This, of course, would involve much to-ing and fro-ing to bring in necessary items... like the Communion wine promised to Dupont and all the guards, but also altar pieces and cloths and some candles, goblets and all manner of innocuous but necessary holy accoutrements. It was intended to spirit out the four members of the de Mornay family amongst all this coming and going, dressed as nuns and a friar, right under the noses of the befuddled guards who would, if all went well, be slightly overcome by their wine… enhanced by an apothecary’s soporific, acquired by Carlotta earlier in the week. Just like the escape from the Tower of London as described by Eddie all those weeks before in the gypsy camp. Except, as he’d pointed out, that had involved spiriting out one single man. This plot needed to remove four people… four who would be frightened, weak and in the case of the Baron himself, possibly incapacitated. Risky didn’t begin to cover it.

Cat and Carlotta entered as usual, greeting the guards with wishes for a happy Easter. Fortunately, Dupont was not in evidence and the pair privately sighed with relief. Father Marco, the one genuine priest, followed and engaged with the guards, informing them of his intention to take confessions and hold a short Easter service and Communion if they wished to attend or cleanse their souls for their work in that place. He had following him the other two ‘friars’ and told the guards there would be a couple more clerics to help bring some items to set up a small temporary altar and seating in the central area within the larger, communal dungeons, where they would hold the service and take confessions. Used to the comings and goings of the nuns and friars, the guards were not particularly bothered. The mention of free-flowing, rich Communion wine was the only aspect that piqued their interest.

The two ‘nuns’ made their way around the dungeons with which they had become so familiar over the past few days, checking to see how many guards were on duty and who they were. Eddie had hoped that being both a Sunday and a religious celebration, there would be only a minimal contingent on duty that day, but no one knew for sure whether Bernheim or Dupont respected such an important religious festival, even more so when the new Government in Paris was trying to diminish the power and influence of the church and its part in people’s lives, and it was all part of the gamble. However, it appeared he had surmised correctly, for whatever reason, and this element of risk had paid off.

Finally, the two women arrived at the section where the de Mornay family were being kept. Cat hadn’t seen them since Carlotta had confirmed their presence there, so her apprehension and excitement was at its peak. A guard opened the women’s cell and the one adjacent at Carlotta’s request and she ventured inside the first. Cat politely passed the time of day with and then waited for the guard to get bored and saunter off, pretending to be sorting medicines in readiness to go and assist her colleague, and then she entered. At first, in the gloom of the dank cell, the incarcerated women saw just another nun. But when Cat drew closer and approached her mother, the Baroness did a double take, gasped and would have fallen if Carlotta hadn’t been there to support her. "Mon Dieu, Marie-Catherine... c’est toi?" The older woman could hardly believe her eyes and her two daughters simply gaped, completely speechless.

Oui Maman, c’est moi, and she threw her arms around her mother who sobbed brokenly in her arms.

"Shush, Maman, you must be quiet, don’t rouse the guards. We’re going to rescue you, all of you." Cat then turned and hugged her now sobbing sisters. Crying was commonplace in that hellhole so the guards thought nothing to hearing sounds of distraught women.

Quickly and quietly, in hushed voices, Cat and Carlotta outlined their part in The Plan to the desperate, haggard-looking women and then Carlotta slipped out of the cell to retrieve from the disused cupboard the hidden nuns’ habits she and Cat had worn under their own disguises on their previous visits. They’d brought in spare wimples and coifs, hidden with their bandages and other cloths and the guards hadn’t noticed the difference. Their visits in and out of different cells as they ministered to the sick and offered comfort were generally ignored, so no one took any notice of Carlotta as she bustled around with what looked like small piles of linen. Then, while Cat stayed with her mother and sisters, ostensibly praying, Carlotta went into the adjacent cell.

The Baron was lying on a pile of dirty straw, eyes closed. Cuts and bruises covered his face and upper body and his filthy clothes were torn and stained with blood where he’d been clubbed, beaten and whipped viciously. Bernheim and Dupont hadn’t yet discovered where his money and valuables were, but they still had the option of brutalising his wife and daughters in front of him and the torture chamber was the last resort. Even the strongest men tended to break when they saw their loved ones being raped, abused or brutally beaten and virtually no one came out of that torture chamber alive to tell the tale. It took only the strongest and most resilient men, in both mind and body, to resist what Bernheim and Dupont meted out.

It was fortunate for the Baron that although he and his family had been enjoying Bernheim’s unique form of hospitality for over two months, that man and his lieutenant had merely been ‘softening him up’, as in mere beatings and whippings, along with virtual starvation, as a precursor to their more serious undivided attention. This was mainly because they had more interesting and pressing individuals to concentrate their efforts on first, before they got round to dealing with the de Mornay family. Bernheim was also hoping to find the missing son and daughter so there would be no relatives left around to cause him problems.

This was one of the reasons the family had been targeted. They had no close relations left alive in France and Bernheim, for reasons neither Eddie nor Cat could understand or knew about, apparently believed the family were quietly wealthy. Certainly more wealthy than they actually were. That was why Cat and Eddie presumed some of their neighbours might have had a word in Bernheim’s ear to encourage him to ‘investigate’ the family with its liberal tendencies towards their tenants and servants. They could think of nothing else. However, Bernheim had virtually given up on the son and daughter reappearing, presuming the missing siblings were staying put safely in England where he’d discovered they’d gone. The Baron’s turn was therefore imminent, due after the Easter weekend, had Cat and Eddie but known it.

Carlotta had done the best she could to tend the Baron’s injuries and knew he was weak and very sick as a result of his ill-treatment, worse than she’d realised when she first saw him; she was desperately worried he’d not manage to walk even slowly out of the Fortress, despite help from one of their friars. It was a dire and critical situation, an enormous problem for everyone involved, but there was no other option. She bent over the frail man and whispered, Baron? Are you awake? Baron? Baron? Philippe? Wake up... look at me...

Slowly, Cat’s father opened his bloodshot, puffy eyes and stared glassily into the eyes of the nun stroking his scruffily bearded, hollow cheek. Baron, you MUST pull yourself together. The situation is critical. Your daughter is here to rescue you, but you have to be able to walk. Baron? Baron?

Cat had crept into the cell and came up behind Carlotta. She knelt down on the straw next to her, took her father’s hand and brought it up to her lips. Hello, Papa, she whispered gently in a choked voice as she took in the sight of the brutalised man. She now knew what went on in the Fortress, had seen some shocking sights there and desperate, tortured and sick people, but it still hadn’t prepared her to see her own family in such dire conditions. She was reeling with emotion and towering anger, literally shaking with it.

The Baron slowly opened his eyes and looked into the face of the nun gazing back down at him, visibly shocked to the depths of her being but trying to be strong. M… M… Marie-Cath’rine? My wild… little bird, is that… really you? His voice was hoarse and shaky.

Yes, Papa, it really is me. We’ve come to take you, Mama and the girls out of this terrible place, Cat whispered urgently, but you have to help us. You have to be very quiet, then try to get up as you need to be able to walk out of here. Do you think you can you do that, Papa? I’m afraid it’s the only way.

The Baron looked at his daughter, trying to absorb what she’d said and nodded, then shook his head, bewildered and confused. You’ll have… to… help me. I don’t know… I… I’ll try… and slowly, painfully, after a couple of unsuccessful efforts and a lot of stifled groans, he managed to sit up.

Cat and Carlotta looked at each other and Carlotta raised her face to the ceiling of the noisome cell to mutter a desperate prayer to the Virgin Mary to come to their aid. It had been a very long time since she’d prayed, but she’d done more praying in the past week than since she was a child at the local convent. Moments passed but they had to persevere, so with a lot of encouragement and some sips of brandy from a small flask, with the help of the two women, Philippe de Mornay finally made it to his feet, weaving on the spot and taking a few tottering steps. The effort cost him greatly and he fell back against the wall, wheezing and holding his ribs and obviously needing to sit down again. Cat was rendered virtually speechless by the state of her father now she could see him more clearly. He was a shadow of his former self: thin, dirty, hollow-eyed, covered in suppurating sores and bruises and his clothes were also blood-stained. She swore with a clenched fist over her heart and closed eyes on a taut and furious face that Dupont and Bernheim would pay. Somehow, some day. Carlotta heard her mutterings and put a reassuring hand on her arm, understanding how she felt.

While Cat stayed with her father, Carlotta went and retrieved the friar’s cassock she’d smuggled in one day amongst some thin blankets of similar serge material, into which the Baron would have to change, plus a razor and scissors to deal with his hair and beard, leaving everything with Cat. Then she returned to the Baroness and her daughters and waited to escort the first one out.

Meanwhile, at the main Fortress entrance gate, there had been a flurry of activity with the friars bringing in the necessary accessories for the Easter services. So far, everything was going according to The Plan.

Heart in mouth, Carlotta led out one of Cat’s sisters, head down in the nun’s habit. She encountered and engaged in an almighty scold of a couple of the friars making their way out of the gate, the poor men apparently having forgotten to bring in the communion wine. The guard laughed at this and hurried the little group out with a few ribald jests about remembering to bring the important stuff in first next time. As soon as they reached the wagon outside the Fortress walls, Severine de Mornay, the youngest of the sisters, was hustled away into the arms of her agitated, waiting brother. He breathed a sigh of relief. One down, three to go. Francis watched impassively, taut nerves on edge, wondering what was happening inside. A man of action, he wasn’t used to standing and waiting while others did the dangerous work and his whole mind was seething with worry over Cat. He was armed to the teeth, as was Reynard, and there were armed men, both gypsies and some of The Shadow’s best and most reliable crew members, all loitering nearby with a wagon full of muskets and gunpowder; just in case something went wrong and they had to try and fight their way into the Fortress and rescue the nuns, friars or the de Mornays. No-one wanted that nightmare scenario, but they were ready for it.

Overwhelmed with relief she’d been successful in her first effort and her confidence boosted somewhat, although still apprehensive because of the state of the Baron, Carlotta now took a heavy basket containing several clinking bottles and chased a friar along with another basket of larger flagons. At the main gate, she handed her basket to the guard with a speaking look that expected him to do the gentlemanly thing and help her carry the liquor inside with the inference, by a look behind her and a ‘tut tut’ that the other two would be following shortly. The guard followed her inside without question and was rewarded after some delayed fussing by Carlotta, with his own personal bottle to secrete inside his jacket for comfort on his lonely duty. The same process was repeated with the guards on duty at the inner gatehouse.

Nuns went in. Friars went in. Nuns and friars went out. Nuns and friars came in and out... and so the subtle pantomime of errands continued over the next two hours until all three women were out and Carlotta decided her hair must be grey under her wimple and coif, especially when the Baroness went out, being much stouter than her daughters or Carlotta and Cat, but in her voluminous habit, the guards hadn’t noticed. The gate guard watched it all, happy with his bottle, as did the guards on the inner gate. Then the guards changed. The ‘holy’ people deferred to the new guards, wished them happy Easter also, handed them some wine and Carlotta moved amongst them, encouraging a toast to Jesus, resurrected, risen to his Father in Heaven, and giving thanks to God for his wine and blessing.

Cat took the women’s discarded clothes and bundled them in lumps under some sparse blankets on the straw in their cell, making it appear they were asleep; she crossed her fingers and then shut the dim cell door. Most prisoners didn’t even have the luxury of a flea-ridden blanket but the ‘nuns’ had brought some in with them and shaken them out to show the guards, insisting some of the sick and shivering prisoners should have some covering. Therefore, when Carlotta had hidden a friar’s cassock among some, they’d simply peered at the armful of rough material and waved her through. Eddie’s planning had covered every small detail.

Because of his injured and weakened state, unable to walk unaided, the priest, ‘friars’ and ‘nuns’ had convened a hasty meeting and decided the only way to get the Baron through the gate was to concoct a story about him having consumed too much communion wine to explain the support he needed on his way out; this would obviously now have to be later in the day. It was risky, but the only thing to do and all they could think of... and they were desperate. The Baron had been cleaned up, his beard shaved off, the worst of his facial wounds covered by cosmetics and he sported a tonsure, but even that effort had exhausted him, although he sat upright through most of it.

Eddie had carried out that last minute mission to the local theatre after Carlotta had told him his father had lots of cuts and bruises on his face. He said he wanted something to cover his facial scarring on his upcoming wedding day and was waving a heavy purse as encouragement. He had come away with various pots and instructions from a sympathetic and romantic wardrobe mistress, who’d raided the main dressing room to find something to help him. Privately, he hoped the thick, glutinous skin-coloured paste would work. He never told the others, but he’d tried that idea for himself, many years before, when he’d been around twenty and desperate to socialise and mix with young women in his social circle without them cringing at his appearance. However, he’d eventually abandoned it as nothing he found seemed able to cover and hide his horrific, long and puckered scar, before he picked himself up and forced himself to go out and about once more, back to his normal, unenhanced countenance.

Around lunchtime, having set up a makeshift altar near the communal dungeons to hold a short service for the occupants, Father Marco let it be known to the guards he would spend some time taking confessions in a few empty cells adjacent to the communal ones and the other guards could come and pray quietly in advance, if they were so inclined. In the meantime, the gentle and deeply caring man continued to visit the sick and dying in the other cells, with the other friars and nuns in attendance. Mysteriously, during the morning, bottles of communion wine had also made their way upstairs to the guards’ off-duty rest room and to their various guard posts around the prison as a ‘little Easter treat’ from the clerics as gratitude for allowing them to carry out their ministry for the prisoners during Holy Week. These bottles also each carried a small amount of the sleeping draught Carlotta had purchased. As with all the other bottles and flagons, not enough to send them to sleep, but enough to make them dozy, drowsy, good tempered and generally uncaring to exactly what was going on about them. Ostensibly, a handful of simple, now familiar, nuns and friars posed no threat.

Chapter Two

So far, no one had seen Pierre Dupont. The longer they were there, the more Carlotta worried as they knew he was supposed to be on duty. She and Cat were scared he would suddenly appear and order an inspection of all the cells or suspect something was afoot when he realised how dozy a lot of the guards were. The Baron’s condition had caused all sorts of problems and Carlotta berated herself for not realising when she’d first seen him and discussing with Eddie what they should do. Cat told her not to punish herself as it wasn’t her fault and they would simply have to be strong and stick to The Plan, and their last-minute plan, to haul him out as late as they dare risk it as an inebriated friar.

As Eddie had continuously reminded them all, making off with one prisoner was one thing, removing four was a whole other, fraught with risk and danger, so they must be prepared for all manner of unexpected events. Once the four had agreed to The Plan, he and Francis had privately discussed and gone over the idea in depth, with all its potential pitfalls and risks and the pair had decided it was the only way. It was one of the riskiest ventures The Shadow had ever undertaken, not that he didn’t face an enormous risk every time he went on a run on his ship, but of course that was one of his main reasons for doing it. This was a very different adventure and for very different reasons.

It was also the biggest gamble of gambler Edouard de Mornay’s life and the odds were stacked against them, but Eddie had to hope Lady Luck and Fortune would be with them on this occasion. He’d quoted Latin and Virgil at them all, making them roll their eyes at his never-ending knowledge and Francis privately recalled long ago schooldays at Eton where he’d embraced the same motto himself whenever he got up to mischief with his best friend. Audaces fortuna iuvat - fortune favours the bold – and Eddie had told them since they were definitely all bold and brave, Fortune would be watching over them. He had to be positive, if they didn’t think he believed in his Plan, they might falter, but neither he nor Francis could come up with anything else that had the same potential to succeed.

Finally, the makeshift Easter service was concluded and amidst much further bustling movement through the main entry to take away the candlesticks, altar cloths and other holy accessories, the friars managed to ‘escort’ their apparently rather inebriated, periodically and quietly groaning brother out the gates. They laughed embarrassedly at one curious guard, saying he’d had one too many sips of the wine and never could hold his liquor. The guard merely laughed back at them and waved them through wishing them a happy Easter. Releasing their pent-up breaths, the ‘friars’ made it through the walls and collapsed with relief on the wagon. The family were now all out and they were hustled away quickly on another wagon driven by Eddie to rendezvous with a fast coach that would speed them to Honfleur, The Shadow’s boat and finally, the safety of England.

A half relieved but still impatient Francis, a jittery Reynard, an amazingly calm Father Marco and the other hopeful ‘friars’, stayed outside and waited, anxiously, for the remaining two nuns to appear.

Cat and Carlotta were tidying away the last of their medical supplies and the remaining bottles of wine into their baskets before making their final departure, when a loud bellowing was heard coming from somewhere above. Carlotta froze and Cat blanched; both recognised that voice.

Suddenly, he appeared on the open stone stairway above and swaggered down to confront them, the piggy eyes in the pasty, pockmarked face leering over them. Aha! If it ain’t our very own little Easter angels o’ mercy.

Carlotta crossed herself and sketched a brief curtsey, anything to appease the brute. Cat just stood frozen to the spot and bowed her head, clasping her hands in front of her and holding her breath.

Well, well, well, leavin’ so soon, Me Luv’lies? Done our Christian dooty, ‘ave we? Saved sum souls ‘terday? he laughed maliciously. An’ no one ‘as ‘eard MY confeshun; where’s th’ bloody priest then? I’ve changed me mind, I wanna confess me sins...

Dupont belched and staggered nearer to them, hoiking his dirty breeches up over his corpulent belly. He’d obviously been drinking and stank of stale liquor, terrible body odour and the fetid smell of the dungeons. Cat recoiled before she could stop herself and he noticed. They’ll make ‘is ‘air stand on end, if ‘e ‘ad any, he cackled at his own joke through yellowed, broken teeth and peered more closely at the two women. "So, yous leavin’ wivout sayin’ adieu or wishin’ me ‘appy Easter? ‘Ow un’oly ov yer. Yous cud at least gimme me an Easter kiss then I might ‘rise’ ter the ho-cashun," he guffawed drunkenly at his lewd, sacrilegious wit.

He moved even closer and leered at the two nuns. They stood there quietly, heads bowed, arms crossed now and hands in their habit sleeves. Carlotta was worried and put her hand out and groped for one of Cat’s to squeeze it tight. Not out of fear, although she was indeed terrified, but she was more terrified that Cat would lose her temper and do something reckless – and then, who knew what might happen. She’d hadn’t forgotten Cat’s oath to herself when she’d seen her father earlier.

Dupont sniggered again, a malevolent expression on his face. Well, sorry ter disappoint yer, M’Dear ‘Oly Laydees, but much as th’ thought o’ fuckin’ th’ pair ov yers tergether wud make fer an int’restin’ divershun, Carlotta looked at him and gasped in alarm, her nails digging hard into Cat’s hand in warning, acshally, I’ve ‘nother, sweetah li’l distracshun upstairs ter hoccupy me this evenin’ since I fancied sumthin’ diff’rent terday, bein’ Sunday an’ Easter an’ all, an’ I want sum more o’ yer delishus wine befores I hindulge meself wiv ‘im. Me Easter treat ter meself ‘cos I’ve bin so busy lately…

"Yes, of course, Monsieur, Capitain, Carlotta replied appeasingly, not sure she’d heard him right about the ‘him’. Then he peered at Cat and poked her roughly in the chest. Yous there, Madam ‘Oity Toity, if yer knows wot’s good fer yer, find me more bottles an’ foller me upstairs, NAH; an’ ‘urry up abaht it." He rubbed his crotch lewdly and watched as Cat looked at Carlotta.

Quietly Cat said, Sister, go and follow the brothers. I will assist the Captain and be with you directly, and, to Carlotta’s dismay, she took hold of a basket with the remaining wine, then turned to follow Dupont, nodding to him, her eyes cast down in humility, ready to do his bidding. Dupont looked at her thoughtfully for several seconds, his lecherous eyes moving up and down her figure in its voluminous grey robes, taking in her soft white hands and the peachy complexion under her wimple and coif, before turning to make his unsteady way back up the stairs. But after a half dozen steps, he paused and turned to look at her as if making a decision and pulled a length of thin rope from his pocket, wrapped it around Cat’s wrists and started to drag her along behind him.

As he made his way further upwards he turned to the woman behind him. ’Urry up an’ foller. Stop dawdlin’, will yer. Mefinks I may ‘ave a use fer yer after all… much bettah than a bleedin’ confeshun, and the pair of them disappeared out of sight, Dupont’s lecherous, malicious laughter echoing back down the stairs into the darkness.

As she watched the pair disappear, Carlotta was beside herself with fright, for a moment not knowing whether to go and seek help or stay and follow Cat and Dupont. It was a nightmare choice, but she decided she’d possibly end up Dupont’s captive along with Cat if she followed by herself, thinking about his depraved threat to them both only minutes before. She would need help from one or more of the ‘friars’ outside to extricate her friend without bringing attention to themselves, somehow. Decision made and quickly picking up her own basket, she ran along the dark, narrow passages of the Fortress, only slowing when she passed some guards, then up towards the gates and finally returned to walking sedately when she approached the main entrance. Forcing herself to smile serenely at the guard on duty there she said quietly, My Sister is just taking some more wine to... Captain, er, Dupont, is it? I just need one or two of the friars to come back and help me for a moment with the last of our belongings, perhaps bring another bottle or two for him, if we have any left, so I will return momentarily, and nodding to the bemused guard, made her way out to the wagon.

Outside, an alarmed Francis grasped Carlotta’s arm when he saw she was alone and blanched when he saw her agitated expression. Where is she? he rasped before she’d had a chance to utter a word.

"Oh Dios, Alex, I didn’t know what to do, she clutched his arms for support before rushing on, Dupont came upon us just as we were leaving and... and he forced Cat to take the remains of the wine upstairs for him. Carlotta was now shaking with fright but took a deep breath to hold herself together. He kept giving her strange looks... you know... she looked at Francis meaningfully, but he’s got something else already planned in his quarters he referred to, something vile, so hopefully just wanted some more wine and to take her down a peg or two as he thinks she’s got too many airs and graces; he called her Madam Hoity-Toity. I don’t think he’ll do her any harm, IF she keeps her head, and makes her escape once he’s occupied with his other diversion."

Carlotta didn’t know who she was trying to convince, herself or Alex. Then she looked him in the eye, wondering who she was trying to kid and burst out with her real fears. You know her, I’m more worried about what she’ll try and do to him if she thinks she has a chance, rather than the other way around. You should have heard her when she first saw what state her poor father was in, swearing dire revenge on Bernheim and Dupont if it was the last thing she did. From what he said, I think Dupont’s got a man, actually it’s probably a youth, up in his rooms already for his entertainment this evening; presumably some poor prisoner; it’s beyond depraved, so I hope he lets Cat go because he thinks she’s a nun... but, but... and she whispered, he may want her because he thinks she IS a nun. You should have seen the way he looked at her, she shuddered, "and he has her wrists tied so I don’t know. Oh, Madre de Dios, Alex, you have to help her." She crossed herself, broke down and started to sob.

Next to him and equally alarmed by what he’d heard, Reynard took one look at Francis’s angry face and flashing eyes and grasped his arm in a hard grip. "WAIT! Alex, wait. Don’t do anything rash, Mon Ami, think carefully. This is a very dangerous situation."

She’ll try and fight him, I know she will, the crazy woman! Francis swore long and hard and wrestled to break his arm free. Fuck, fuck, fuck, she drives me completely IN-SANE. I KNEW we should’ve sent her off with Eddie and the rest of her family. I’m going in to get her. He tried again to push Reynard away. Let me go, Reynard, he snarled and gave the gypsy a mean look.

Restraining his friend with enormous difficulty, Reynard stood firm. Calm down, Man; CALM DOWN! Get a hold of yourself. We have to think this through. You can’t just go storming in there like a knight on a white charger. Think what we’re dealing with here, this is the Fortress for fuck’s sake. Engage your brain! Reynard was a voice of reason amidst the red mist engulfing Francis and the rising concern of the group around him.

Carlotta pulled herself together and spoke. Thank God I had the presence of mind to tell the guard on the gate I needed to sort out some last things inside, so he’s expecting me to return with a couple of friars and the last of the wine for Dupont, if we have any left. Alex, you don’t look remotely like a friar, I’ll go back with Serge and Fabio. She indicated the two men who’d been ‘friars’ for the past few days. The guards will probably recognise them and hopefully take no notice.

Francis shook his head angrily but before he could say anything, Father Marco raised a hand amidst the hubbub. NO! I’LL go and take Alex. I’m a real priest, and older, so they’re least likely to suspect me and I can try and divert them if need be, in case someone has to deal with Dupont or anyone who raises the alarm. The best man for that is Alex, and Carlotta knows her way around. He looked at her, Do you know where Dupont’s quarters are, My Child?

I think so, Father, she replied hesitantly. "Up in one of the towers, the main one, it’s the biggest, near where Bernheim’s office and quarters are. I came across an old woman who was on her way out the other day so I asked her who she was and what she was doing; she apparently