Joy V. Sheridan writes

Charity Amour

CHAPTER NINETEEN part 3

In his rekindling of survellance, the Fates seemed to have favoured him, for he had not long been screened and secreted about the main drive-way. Hiding his lantern beneath his coat, a heavy post-chaise - or similar model - rolled past him and forward up the steep incline towards the house.

And upon the vehicle’s rear portion, he would have all but missed the returning Fibbins had he not had the good sense enough to keep his gaze constant and vigilant. He had pulled sharply back into the shadow which the holly bushes provided, watching that same vehicle’s postilion do the unexpected, the dramatic. 

The man, seizing his opportunity as the coach was forced to slow, leapt from its back, with neither passengers nor driver any the wiser. 

Something in the man’s gait struck His Lordship as familiar. Using the affixed ‘Hoot’, as owl-like as any man might make, he showed his light. The figure, all but recovering from his crouched landing position, had looked up, then he had disappeared. Again Lord Seyton Clover had hooted. Fibbins - for it was he - had answered: “Hoot, Hoot, Hoot!” Throwing caution to the wind, and not forgetting (nonetheless) that he was an invited guest, Lord Seyton Clover pushed himself forward, into the central pathway. Fibbins, hobbling slightly, came towards him. “What’s this, man: changed your employ?” “No, no, Your Lordship. Forget thus my apparel. I have urgent news to impart! See that coach which has gone ahead?” “The one you have so promptly vacated?” “Yes, Your Lordship. That vehicle carries within its confines none other than your greatest adversary!” “By Zeus! So Fritzi has arrived at last, has he? Now tell me, man, how came you by this knowledge and why arrive in this manner? I had all but given up hope of having you with me tonight!” “I ’ad a brainwave, Your Lordship. Back in Paris. I got the man Mellors into his cups, paying, I might add,” he sniffed, a trifle miffed, “Out o’ me own ’ard earned remuneration.” “You mean,” Lord Seyton Clover interrupted, “the money he paid you for your sister!” “Yes, Your Lordship,” there came a flat tone into Fibbins’ voice, “Anyway, I gets ‘im right plastered then starts probing ’im ’bout Lord Rispian. He tells me that His Lordship Rispian is intended to attended a big do at the Château this very evening. So, I presses ’im and finds out what time he, ’Is Lordship, is leaving and where from. After that, ’twas simple: I bribed the normal bloke who acts with the service, so as I could take ’is place on the postilion - my idea being, you see Sir, to gain as much info as I could. So, it really was that easy!”

“Good man!” exclaimed Lord Seyton Clover. “Aye; but there’s bad news. He ain’t travelling alone. No Sir! He ’as a couple a gentlemen accompanying ’im, if gentlemen be the right word!” “Hurmm,” His Lordship pulled his lower lip to cover the upper, “What would you term them then?” 

“Hired assassins; killers; ’enchmen; professional thugs. They were playing, like a child might play with pebbles, with their blades afore they got into the carriage. No, Your Lordship, I don't like what I ‘ave ascertained ’bout them, not an iota!” Lord Seyton Clover scratched his forehead with a finger: “Is that so?” “There was something ’bout the … urr... build of these gentlemen too, Your Lordship. If you don’t mind me saying so, an’ perhaps it is because I am a man of small stature meself, but I couldn’t help but think they were shaped not dissimilar to yourself...” “And Lord Rispian?” His remarks showed rare prescience. “Still, enough of this. Come now, fortune has favoured us. I brought some apparel as befits a gentlemen’s gentleman when that Sire is attending a party.” Lord Seyton Clover hung the lantern upon the bough of a tree and handed the parcel to Fibbins, who was looking at him, somewhat open mouthed. “Change, John! You heard me. No time now to tell you how it came about. Merely to inform you that I have figured out a retreat should we secure the objective. Now change, and then, onwards to the Château des Amourettes my man. Let us hope that the affair is masked; for I do not wish my cousin to know that I am here also. Or, not yet awhiles...” Fibbins took a short amount of time to change his clothes and soon the pair of them were walking up the drive-way to the entrance of the house. 

On two occasions they were forced to seek refuge from the thundering coaches which with Herculean effort on behalf of drivers and Pegasusian effort on behalf of the nags, cometted past. 

“Methinks,” said His Lordship, "That we are in for a busy night tonight, a busy night verily!”