Chapter 30

Edited by Old Rotorhead

Jake was naturally worried, and decided that whether Hermione and Susan had been abducted or not, it could do no harm to talk du Sang-Frappe. If they had already been abducted then it would get the hunt underway sooner. Accordingly he set out to find the address he had been given. This turned out to be a nondescript building on an out of the way street. He entered a large foyer with a wide curved staircase ascending to the first floor. He noted that there were two men engaged in conversation just inside, but too alert to be just bystanders. He approached a desk behind which a rather bored looking young man was sitting. He asked for Commandant du Sang-Frappe.

“The Commandant is very busy at the moment, Monsieur. I will ask him. Who shall I say is calling?”

“Sir Jacob Whi...”

Before he could complete his name, the young man called to the two men. One detached himself from the conversation.

“Camembert! Take Sir Jacob up to the Commandant immediately.”

Jake was conducted up the stairs and along a passage. The man knocked on a door, opened it and ushered Jake into the office. Du Sang-Frappe rose from behind his desk to greet him.

“My man found you?” he asked.

“No,” said Jake. “I have had a warning that the Comte was going to abduct Mademoiselle Grey.”

“He already has,” said du Sang-Frappe grimly. “And Lady Hermione too. I was having them followed but my man was too far back to do anything. How did you find out?”

“The Comte’s mistress, or rather ex-mistress came to warn me. He had taken his fury out on her. He had beaten her quite badly from the way she was moving.”

“Ah yes, that will be Michelle Roux. She will be looking for another benefactor,” said du Sang-Frappe.

“Yes,” Jake grinned, “I got that impression.”

Du Sang-Frappe laughed. “Attractive, and very accomplished I understand. But I think Lady Hermione would not approve. Now, I am waiting for information. I know he has left Paris, and I am waiting confirmation that the ladies were on the same train. He has a private car. If they are, then they are headed for his château. It is near the town of Saint Agur, the Château Rochefort.”

There was a knock on the door and a man entered. He had a brief conversation with the Commandant.

“Right, we are headed south,” said du Sang-Frappe. “I’ll explain more on the way.”

At Jake’s request a message was sent to the hotel to reserve their suite. It rather went against the grain to pay an extortionate price for something that they wouldn’t be using, but it couldn’t be helped.

Du Sang-Frappe explained to Jake that the coach had been seen to pull up alongside the private car belonging the Comte and the ladies had been hustled into a baggage compartment. The car had then been attached to an express going south.

They arrived at the station in good time to catch the next train, another express. There was a sergeant waiting to accompany them.

“They were on the train, Patron,” he said.

“Thank you, Boursin.”

Du Sang-Frappe requested a private compartment and for the train to stop at Saint Agur, something it would not normally do. He was informed that someone had already requested this, and there would be no problem.

“I wonder who requested the stop,” he remarked to Jake. “I suppose we shall find out.”

There were two stops on the way, and they were able to relieve themselves and obtain some food. By the time they arrived at Saint Agur mid morning with the temperature already rising their friendship had reached the point where they were Jake and Denis. A lady alighted from the train answering the question as to who else had requested the stop, and a couple of trunks were unloaded from the baggage car. She spoke to the station master who shrugged. Leaving her trunks she left the station and started walking briskly towards the town.

Denis approached the station master to enquire about transport.

“Alas, Monsieur, as I just told the Comtesse, there normally is at least one carriage, but for some reason Monsieur Brouette, who normally meets the trains has declined to do so. You will find him in town. It is not far.”

They set out to walk into town, the Comtesse just ahead of them. She clearly knew where she was going, and by the time they reached Monsieur Brouette’s premises that worthy had informed her that he had no transport, and she was venting her displeasure on him.

“Where is my coach?” she demanded.

“Monsieur le Comte has already taken it, your ladyship,” Monsieur Brouette told her. “I have nothing else.”

“That is my carriage over there. I shall use that.” she she told him.

“It is here for repair, your ladyship.”

“It looks perfectly alright to me.”

Denis decided that it was time to intervene. He introduced himself and showed the man his credentials.

“It seems to me, Brouette, that you have been told to refuse transport to anyone who comes here. I am here to investigate a crime. If you obstruct me in the course of my investigation, I shall ensure that you are sent to Devil’s Island to serve a long sentence.”

Monsieur Brouette was now quivering with fear. “But sir, the Comte will beat me.”

“Not my problem. You have a choice. I suggest you get that carriage ready.”

Monsieur Brouette was wringing his hands. “But I have no driver.”

“You know perfectly well Brouette,” the Comtesse told him, “that I can drive. Now get moving, or the beating I shall give you will be far worse than that which my husband can do.”

She turned to them. “I am the Comtesse de la Grand Fromage. It seems my husband is trying to thwart anyone who wishes to go anywhere. Can I give you a lift?”

“We are trying to reach the Château Rochefort, my Lady,” said Denis. We need to have a word with your husband.”

Not fifteen minutes later Jake, Denis and Sergeant Boursin were seated in the carriage, which was harnessed to a fine pair of greys, and the Comtesse was in the driving seat. She stopped at the station and her trunks were loaded. They set off to the Château Rochefort.

The cell contained a table and two chairs but nothing else. There was a small window which had once had bars, but these had rusted away a long time ago. Hermione stood on a chair and looked out. She shuddered at the sheer drop down to the river perhaps three hundred feet below. She got down and realised that she should have examined the chair first. It was none too sturdy. The table was possibly worse. She stopped to think.

“What are we going to do madam?” asked Susan.

“Judging by the way we have been treated so far I should think we will be provided with food before too long,” said Hermione.

She looked closer at the table. She pulled it out and turned it upside down and wiggled a leg.

“Stand on that side,” she told Susan who immediately did so. Hermione pulled on the leg. There was a cracking sound and the joint gave way. Hermione staggered as it did so, then stood upright with a leg in her hand.

“Let’s see if another one will come off.”

Susan gripped one and pulled. This time there was no warning crack and Susan ended up on her backside. In her hand she had the other leg.

“Now,” said Hermione, “we’ll stand the table against the wall. A chair either side should hold it up.”

They now had two heavy pieces of wood that they could use as clubs.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to use your gun?” asked Susan.

“If I have to fire it the noise will attract other people. And I don’t particularly want to kill the men if I can avoid it.”

“Have you killed other men? Oh, I shouldn’t ask, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry,” Hermione had a tight smile on her face at the memories. “The answer is yes.”

They sat on the chairs for some while until they heard footsteps coming down the steps. They stood, one to each side of the cell, leaving the way from the door to the table clear, reckoning that the guard would bring their food on a tray. The key was inserted in the lock and turned, the door opened, and the guard brought in a tray of food. He was relaxed, dealing with a couple of women would be no threat to him. As planned, Hermione moved first attracting his attention. He turned to her, and as he did so Susan hit him over the head with her table leg. He turned towards her and Hermione immediately repeated the process. He collapsed on the floor, insensible. Susan removed her petticoat and tore it into strips. Hermione secured his hands and feet, and then taking a wad of it forced it into his mouth, waving aside the reek of garlic. She used a strip to tie across his mouth and around the back of his head.

“Let’s see if we can find a way out,” said Hermione.

Outside the cell Susan locked the door and handed the key to Hermione. Hermione removed the Derringer from her boot. They went up the first flight of steps to a landing where there were two doors. They looked into both and discovered that they had discovered the château’s wine cellar. The information was of little use at the moment, so they made their carefully up the next flight. When they reached the landing there was a pair of doors opening into a large room. There was a piste down the centre and at one end they could see a man wearing a protective jacket, his mask in one hand and a sabre in the other. At the other end, his back to them looking out of the window over the gorge, stood the Comte. His mask had been dropped on the floor beside him, but he still held his sabre. In his other hand he held a piece of paper. He glanced over his shoulder at them, then turned back to the window.

He held up the piece of paper. “I was wondering how long it would take you to escape! I have just learnt, Madame, who you are. Your reputation precedes you. It was remiss of me not to follow up on my earlier question, but that is water under the bridge. It leaves me with a problem. I could return you to Paris, and apologise profusely for my mistake, or I could throw you over the cliff into the gorge or I could set the dogs on you. Much more satisfying, and I tend towards that.” He was clearly furious. “I have been attacked by your maid, and now you are causing me problems. It is un...”

At this point something was stuck firmly, although not painfully into the crack of Hermione’s backside. She let out a squeak as she jumped, and in reaction pulled the trigger of the Derringer. It had been pointed in the direction of the Comte, and certainly had she aimed it, the bullet would not have struck the Comte as it did, in the left buttock.

Hermione looked behind her to find a large shaggy hunting dog that appeared to be grinning at her. She smiled and patted it on the head.

The Comte screamed, felt his buttock with his left hand, brought it back to look at and saw blood. The pain was beginning to build and he screamed again, turned, and waving his sabre he moved towards Hermione, little caring that the Derringer had a second shot, his face a white mask of fury.

The other man had been watching, but now moved. He was too late, Susan had seized a sabre from the rack and was between the Comte and Hermione.

“You’ll do first,” the Comte screamed at Susan and his sabre slashed at her. She parried and he had to step back to parry her blow. Suddenly there was a flurry of movement and the Comte’s sabre flew from his hand. Susan’s sabre was now just pricking his throat.

“Foncimane!” the Comte addressed the other man. “Do something!”

“I am your fencing instructor, Comte, not your assassin. Bravo young lady! I do not think I could have done that myself.”

Hermione was gently fending off the dog which now had it’s nose firmly sniffing at the same level, but had moved to the front. Susan had backed off slightly, but still had the sabre raised. The Comte wasn’t sure whether to attend to his wounded buttock, or massage his bruised knuckles. He looked at the dog

“Phydeau, you treacherous cur...”

There were footsteps on the stair as the other man came down to investigate. He had his revolver in his hand. Hermione was just out of sight of the steps. The dog’s ears pricked up. He recognised that the footsteps were caused by a pair of boots that had kicked him on a number of occasions. There was one other thought in Phydeau’s brain and that was that he had found an interesting female, and females were territory to be guarded. So when the man did a highly professional high speed entry into the room, and almost instantly grabbed at Hermione, he found that he had a large set of teeth embedded in his wrist. He screamed and his revolver clattered on the floor. Hermione bent down and picked it up.

“Phydeau. Drop it!” she commanded the dog.

Phydeau reluctantly let go of the man’s wrist, and sat growling.

“I’ll put him in the cell,” Hermione told Susan.

“Is there another cell for this one?” asked Susan.

“I’ll see.”

Hermione indicated with the revolver that the man should move towards the steps. The growling increased as he moved.

“Come Phydeau.”

The dog stood and followed the man who went slowly down the stairs, holding his wrist. When they reached the cell Hermione told him to stand back while she unlocked, and opened the door. With the constantly growling dog the man did not dare move until Hermione indicated he should enter the cell. She locked the door behind him.

“You can untie your friend,” she told him.

She looked around and found there was another cell with a key in the lock, then returned upstairs. She opened the door and left it ready to receive the next prisoner.

Nothing had changed when she got back up stairs, Susan was still standing back almost daring the Comte to try something, the Comte was still holding his buttock and the fencing instructor was still relaxed watching. Hermione stopped and Phydeau sat by her and leant against her.

“You must be a bitch,” snarled the Comte. “You have seduced my dog!”

Hermione laughed. “Get down the steps, or I’ll put a bullet in your right buttock, then you’ll have a matching pair.”

“But I am bleeding! I need medical attention.”

“And I should care? We’ll see if we can find a doctor. Now get moving.”

De la Grande Fromage, looking anything but grande limped slowly down the steps, the dog following him, and then Hermione. She ushered him into the cell and locked the door.

“Come Phydeau,” she said, and returned upstairs. She found Susan sitting down, shivering, although not from cold, and tears on her cheeks.

“She is a magnificent swordswoman,” said Foncimane. “But I think she has never been in action before.”

“I think you are right,” said Hermione. “It is a bit of a shock.”

Foncimane looked at her thoughtfully.

Hermione put her arm around Susan and lifted her to her feet.

“Come on, let’s find the toilet, I need to go. Then we’ll find some food and a drink, there’s plenty of wine in the cellar, must be something drinkable.”

“What you seek is at the back of the floor above,” said a smiling Foncimane. “I will go and get some wine and meet you in the kitchen.”

Hermione looked at him.

He laughed. “No, Madame, I shall not attempt to help them. You have my word. I never liked him, and appealing to me to attack Mademoiselle Susan was a despicable act.”

It took half an hour for Hermione to sort out Susan and attend to her own business, and then they joined Foncimane in the kitchen.

“The staff seem to have left. But there is bread and cheese and wine,” he said. “The bread isn’t very fresh I’m afraid. But the Comte keeps a good cellar.”

The day was now quite hot as they followed the dusty road towards the château. The Comtesse kept the horses at a trot.

“I assume that you have business with my husband,” the Comtesse stated. “I know he is here because he took the coach. Why he should leave instructions that no one else should have transport I’ve no idea.”

“No, it is strange. I cannot imagine why,” said du Sang-Frappe, somewhat untruthfully. “We need to ask him a few questions.”

“It is unusual for a Comtesse to be able to drive,” said Jake, making a hasty subject change...

The lady laughed. “I wasn’t always a Comtesse! I was brought up on, a farm, and farm girls have to work. I ran away to become an actress and Fromage wanted me to be his mistress, but I held out for more. So here I am, I have a title and a husband I hate to go with it. Have you never driven, Sir Jacob?”

“Once, in a mad dash to avoid an angry mob,” Jake laughed. “Fortunately there was a cavalryman who stopped the horses because I couldn’t!”

“What about you, Commandant?”

“No. I ride, but there are always cabs in Paris.”

They came to the village, sleeping in the midday sun.

“This is Clochemerle,” said the Comtesse. “Not far now.”

“Do they have a um...” asked Jake, somewhat at a loss to know how to ask the Comtesse for what he wanted.

The Comtesse laughed. “A pissoir? No, they don’t have one. They spend most of their time arguing about whether they should. Silly people! I’ll stop when we a through the village. There are plenty of vines you can hide behind. It might even improve the wine they produce here,” she laughed even more.

Another half hour and they emerged from a small wood. Standing in from of them was the château.

“Château Rochefort,” the Comptess announced.

She drove up to the front door and stopped.

“Where is everyone? Where is the groom? Let’s go in.”

She moved to the edge of the seat, and Jake placed his hands around her waist and lifted her down.

“Ooh la la, such a gentleman!” she said, and led the way in the front entrance.

She marched ahead of them, and ended up standing in an immense hall. There was a table down the centre which appeared to go on almost as far as the eye could see, perhaps a slight exaggeration, but on the benches either side there must have been room for a hundred people to sit. There was a gallery around three sides of the room, and no less than two fireplaces each big enough to roast an ox on.

“Where the hell is everyone?” she asked again.

She then strode off again, through an arched opening and along a passage which ended up in a very large kitchen. She stopped when she saw the three people sitting at a table with the remains of a meal in front of them. The three men stopped behind her.

“Foncimane!” she exclaimed. “Is one woman not enough for you?”

The fencing instructor leapt to his feet, but the first to speak was Hermione.

“You took you time, Jake! You missed all the fun.” she said. She looked at du Sang-Frappe. “He’s down in a cell, Commandant, as are his two men.”

“I never had any fears, Lady Hermione,” du Sang-Frappe replied with a bow. “Nor indeed did I expect anything less. Are they still in one piece?”

“More or less,” Hermione replied. “The Comte will require the attention of a surgeon, I’m afraid I shot him. and my friend here,” she indicated the dog, “bit one of the men.”

“I’ll show you the way,” said the Comtesse.

Du Sang and his sergeant followed her out of the kitchen.

Jake gave Hermione a hug. “I was worried about you,” he told her.

“I should hope so!” said Hermione. “Would you mind giving Susan a hug. Without her I should have been killed by that mad man.”

Jake hugged Susan. “Thank you.” he said. “for looking after her.”

“I was the one who got us into this situation,” she replied. “I suppose I shall have to leave now.”

“Certainly not!” said Jake. “You are a valued member of our team.”

They heard some noises from the lower floors, and it really sounded as though there was a great deal of merriment. Jake looked at Hermione with a questioning raised eyebrow. Hermione shrugged.

The Comtesse arrived, or more correctly, staggered back into the kitchen, flopped onto a chair and once again burst into a fit of giggles. Eventually she was able to get a word out.

“You...” a serious burst of giggles, “shot him...” hysterical giggles, “in the arse!” she was incoherent beyond this for several minutes.

When she had calmed down, she got to her feet, threw her arms around Hermione and said. “You shot him in the arse! He will never be able to live this down ... and I shall make sure of that. The whole of Paris will be laughing at him. And it’s not even done by a man, but a girl.” She dissolved into another fit of giggles.

She sat down again. “That will be worse for him than being sent to jail! Bravo! Although I should prefer him being sent to jail.”

The Comtesse looked at Foncimane. “Where are all the servants?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged a shoulder. “There was no one here when I arrived.”

“That useless object down stairs will answer!” and she left.

Foncimane looked at Jake. “Your Mam’selle Susan is a superb swordsman, Sir Jacob. I should not have allowed the Comte to reach your wife with his sword, but before I could move Mam’selle Susan seized a sabre and stopped him, and disarmed him. Superb!” He turned to Susan. “You must teach me that move.”

“It will hurt your knuckles,” said Susan. “You saw that.”

“Who taught you?”

“My father, Major Grey. He was a fine swordsman, but more, he said to me that you fought to win. A draw was not good enough.”

Foncimane nodded. “That is true. But you have never used you skills in anger before.”

“No. It was a shock. I was determined to protect my mistress.”

“And you did so magnificently! And you my lady. You have done these things before.” It was a statement.

“Trouble just seems to find us,” she squeezed Jake’s hand. “I’m not sure whether it is my husband’s fault or mine.”

Du Sang-Frappe came in.

“After what I have just witnessed I’m glad I’m not married,” he grinned.

“What happened?” asked Jake.

“The Comtesse came down and threatened to kick her husband’s arse. Forgive me ladies. But she got the information she wanted in seconds. I wish we could interrogate prisoners like that!”

“Foncimane!” came a loud cry from the big hall.

“I’ll see you later,” said Foncimane rising and leaving hurriedly.

The Comtesse came into the kitchen. “I’ve dispatched Foncimane to the village. It seems that mad enfoirée of a husband of mine dismissed them all on a whim. I told him he’d better bring the doctor. Kind of me really, I did tell Fromage that I’d get Michelle Roux here to dig the bullet out with a carving knife, she deserves that pleasure. The look of terror on his face was a pure delight!” She picked up a bottle, “Where’s the corkscrew?”

She sat and Jake opened the bottle and found a glass for her.

“I am Marie,” she said. “Now tell me who you are. And what has been going on.”

“You’ve only heard good things I hope,” said Fitz, as he entered the office.

“Of course, Captain,” replied Angelica teasingly. “Could there be anything else?”

“Sit down, Captain.” said Dennis. “We have a problem, and in the absence of Sir Jacob we have little option but deal with it. We think you can help. It’s probably easiest if you read this.”

Dennis passed Fitz the letter. Fitz read it through and placed it back on the desk.

He looked at Dennis thoughtfully. “And you want me to go and sort it out, and bring the ship back.

“Yes,” said Dennis.

“Preferably with a profitable cargo,” said Angelica.

“Of course,” said Fitz. “But what about the ‘Greyhound’?”

“‘Aurora’ is sailing with two masters at the moment. So Sam Vimes can take her over, and Captain

Johnson can take over from you.”

“Your thinking is that Tom and Sam don’t have the experience, and George is too old. None of them have experience of steam ... neither have I for that matter. So I’m the favourite for the job.”