Good afternoon everybody. I hope everyone had an amazing Christmas and New Year. Here's another chapter for all you lovely people who messaged me after the last one. As always, please feel free to favourite, follow or review. I also love hearing from you guys if you wanna message me about anything or just say hi. I know I repeat this every chapter - so sorry! - it just means a lot to know people out there are reading and enjoying what I'm doing.

Thesilentmage x


Percy sighed. He could hear Andrew and Hastings in the other room. He was being distant but he couldn't plan anything when he was being talkative. If anything though, it grieved him. It was behaviour like this that had driven him and Margot apart all those years ago. Luckily things had been fortunate enough to bless him with his wife's love and devotion that had sent her to France to save him. Twice. His men were loyal and deserved better than this harsh treatment but he needed to think.

His head was practically swimming with thoughts … too many to comprehend. All of them, as confusing and painful as the ones before. What else did he expect? What else did they expect? This was no ordinary mission… this was no ordinary rescue. It was his daughter! His daughter…

Percy groaned as he fought back another pain filled urge to break something. Every moment that passed without answers, without knowing if she was safe, was another thorn to his heart. He could still remember the precise moment his world had changed forever.

It had been an early spring evening when it had all started. The air was light and floral as the scent of the blossom tree outside wafted into the corridor. In many ways, the evening was perfectly ordinary. There had been no sign it would turn into one of the most significant evenings of his life. It had only been when he had heard the distinct sound of his heavily pregnant wife's pained cry echoing down the hall that his world had turned inside out and upside down.

Percy had flown to her side as if hell itself was after him. What he had found had set his heart racing: Marguerite, clutching her stomach, bent over as she tried to swallow another pained cry.

It could only mean one thing, and his fears were confirmed as she turned to him, sensing his presence, as she choked the words, "the baby's coming."

"The baby?" was all he had managed to splutter. It was as if the air in his lungs had vanished as he staggered to her side, supporting her weight as best he could. "Now?"

"Yes, Percy," Marguerite snapped back sharply, turning whiter with every passing second. "Now!"

It had been hours since then. Hours of white-knuckled agony. Hours of pacing and trying not to crumble from the sounds of his wife's agonized screams down the hall. No matter how many doctors or midwives were in there with her, it would do nothing to ease his terror until he saw conclusively that both his wife and child were safe.

He was so enraptured in his thoughts that he almost missed the sound of the door opening at the end of the hall, and Dr. Forster calling his name, "Lord Blakeney?"

Percy's head whipped up at the sound of his name.

"Would you like to meet your child?"

His heartbeat was deafening as Percy staggered to his feet and let them draw him to the one place he desired to be: with his family.

His family? zounds. How long had he craved to utter those words? To have a family of his own, to not be alone in the world anymore, to replace the ache that had been left by his own parents.

Percy Blakeney had never felt more blessed than as he hurried to his wife's side. Of course, the room was still dark, with the drapes drawn and only the roaring fire and candles to bathe the place in an angelic hue.

The maids and nurses had clearly done a thorough job, as all traces of dirty sheets, bowls of water and towels were nonexistent. In fact, the room had been prepared to appear as if nothing extraordinary had even happened.

Even his wife looked somewhat normal, propped up against a mountain of pillows, dressed in a fresh white nightgown.

"Percy," she beamed breathlessly. Her attention drew immediately to him, now the only other occupant of the room. "Come in… all is well."

Marguerite looked absolutely radiant, with her hair tumbling free. Yet, the look in her eyes was what sent Percy's heart racing, especially as he followed her gaze down to the object cradled in her arms, wrapped snugly in a white woolen blanket.

The moment his eyes landed on the small bundle in his wife's arms Percy Blakeney felt his entire world grind to a startling halt. It was as if everything and everyone had simply vanished, frozen in their own dimension.

This feeling was one he had only felt on a few occasions in his life, the cause always being his dear beloved Marguerite. He had never loved another the way he loved that woman; the woman who was smiling at him sluggishly as she cradled their precious bundle in her arms. Yet, gazing at the child he knew was his, Percy knew he could add another to that precious list of those dearest to him in all the world.

"Is that…?" he murmured, barely a ghost of a whisper.

"Yes," Marguerite nodded encouragingly, turning the child ever so slightly so that they were clearer to see. "Would you like to meet her?"

Percy nodded. His steps were hesitant, almost as if afraid of spooking both mother and child. A moment later and he gently sank on to the mattress beside them, his eyes wide and burning with pride.

"We have a daughter," she all but whispered, adoration dripping from every syllable. "I'm sorry it's not a son but-"

"She's the most beautiful thing I have ever seen," was Percy's only response. He seemed entirely unbothered by the manner of her sex, instead all too enraptured with gazing into her sapphire eyes and clasping her hand within his. "I love her more than my foolish words can say, Margo. She's perfect. Utterly perfect, and all ours."

Marguerite couldn't deny her tears as they brimmed in her eyes, matched only by her husband's. The pride and adoration they shared at that moment was divine, and neither seemed able to contain it. In fact, as their lips met it was if they had transcended into a whole new realm of bliss.

"I love you," they both proclaimed as they drew apart a moment later, and looked back to their daughter.

"This, dearest little one," Marguerite began with a pleasant giggle, "is your father Percy."

"A pleasure to meet you, Mademoiselle," Percy drawled in his usual teasing tone. He even placed a delicate kiss to the back of her tiny hand. A soft gurgling noise was all the reply he received. However, the way his face lit up it was as if Percy Blakeney had just heard the key to eternal life.

How he longed to stay in that moment forever. He probably would have as well, were it not for the sound of hesitant knocking at the bedroom door that interrupted their revery.

"Come in," he called.

The door opened slowly, to reveal a rather shy looking maid standing there, head bowed. "I do beg your pardon you lordship and ladyship," she began with a simple curtsey, "it's just that Lord Ffoulkes demanded I bring him news of the child. He and the other guests are waiting in the drawing room in quite the state of anxiety."

"I'm sure they are," Marguerite laughed.

Percy had all but forgotten his guests downstairs, who had remained through all the excitement. Their evening had been interrupted, and he knew better than to believe any of them would have gone home at such an occasion. As it was, Andrew and Armaund had all been taking it in turns to restrain Percy from bursting into the bedroom when his anxiety reached its peak.

Now that the whole trial was over that panic and desperation was replaced with nothing but relief and joy. He couldn't wait to share their wondrous news with the others. He couldn't wait to introduce them all to the newest member of his family…

"Tell them all is well, extremely well," Percy whispered proudly, eyes never leaving his daughter's. "You can also tell them we have a beautiful baby girl… called Cosette?"

"What?" Marguerite gasped breathlessly. Her eyes widened as she turned towards her grinning husband. The confusion was clear to behold. "But… I thought we agreed we'd name the child after your parents?"

"Well," Percy beamed warmly, pressing a kiss to both his daughter and his wife's foreheads. "I changed my mind. As touching as that sentiment was Margo, I can't help but feel your mother's name would be more fitting for such a tender creature as this one. Joan, as much as I treasure it, feels like the wrong choice."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely," Percy smirked. "Besides, who need adhere to tradition? She is a Blakeney by birth, we needn't labour the fact with her name too. However, it is your decision as much as mine."

"Then Cosette is perfect." Her tone was resolute as she tried the name on her tongue. It was clear by the growing smile that she concurred. The name was perfect. "Cosette Violet Blakeney it is."

"Welcome to the family."

The night felt as if it was a lifetime ago. How could it not?

Finally, he had had enough of thinking and stretched his weary limbs out and stood up. He must look a sight. However, he shook his head and marched across to the window. He was tired of that armchair and needed life. So gazing outside he felt a little relieved to see life below him. He would find Chauvelin soon and when he did-

Not now. He needed to talk to Andrew, Armaund, Hastings, and possibly Tony if he was awake. They needed to plan.


Cosette was afraid - for the first time in her life she felt uneasy about her position and a terrible longing for her comfortable home at Blakeney Manor clouded her weary thoughts.

The estate seemed all the more welcoming right now, instead of cowering here alone in the midst of Paris. Especially when her only company were the drunkards and their 'companions' that crowded the smoky rooms of the tavern. She was alone and would only survive this by cunning, and by her's alone.

Cautiously she had sheltered herself in a small alcove of the room, hoping to hide plainly in the safety of a crowd. Should Chauvelin or Fouché have tried to find her, the crowd would have provided enough of a deterrent to allow her an escape. Besides, after the solitude of the past week, Cosette was devouring the life around her. So many people… so much noise… it was enough to restore her spirits even a little. She was content to sit there a while and merely watch, sipping at the drink she had managed to procure from a passing barmaid.

Food was pointless when she could swallow nothing mainly due to her terrible anxiety that had succeeded in clogging her appetite. That and the fact she had no money did not help. A little longer and she would find some she promised herself. At this particular moment, she would settle for the warmth of the fire and shelter from the harsh rain that started to pour outside. Not to mention her freedom of Cityoenne Chauvelin …

Finding her father was all that mattered right now. She would do this alone and she would be strong, for her father and mother's sake if not her own. It was for them she would be strong. She was so close. A few more hours Cosette. Just a few more…

Who knew? Perhaps her father was amongst the very crowd around her? Or perhaps he and the others were close by already, searching for her still? It was a feeble hope to cling to, but it was all she had.

She turned around suddenly, startled by a voice from behind her. She twisted to see who was there. To her utmost surprise there stood a woman. Well, it seemed like a woman but her drunken stance made her hunched figure seem small and hid her face in the shadows of the candlelight.

This didn't stop Cosette as she noted the wild shiny copper hair hanging loosely around her shoulders which complemented her red ribbons well. Plus her tight fitting dress clung to her figure in an almost indecent way (and showed a lot of her décolletage). More surprising than that was the most unnatural smile upon her ruby luscious lips.

Nimbly Cosette leaped aside just as the woman collapsed on to the small stool opposite spilling wine in a large amount. Cosette just stared in curiosity crossing her arms waiting. In fact, it took a moment for the woman to look at her properly but even then she looked distant and well... Drunk. Her brow glistened with droplets of perspiration.

Cosette just watched a moment before deciding to talk to her. "Excuse me, Madame," she began slowly.

The woman stared at her. "Oui?"

"May I help you in any way at all?" she replied confused at this slightly older woman's purpose here. There were seats elsewhere.

"Are you Cosette Blakeney?" came her slurred reply. Cosette paused.

"And what if I were?" she snapped folding her arms and leaning back against the wall behind her. She looked rather unladylike with her crossed legs and arms and her balancing chair.

The woman however just laughed straightening herself upright. "Lord, you look like your father doing that," she scoffed jovially. Cosette stared in terror- how had she been found here? How did she know her father?

"My father?" she breathed desperately.

The woman nodded and smiled properly. Hence Cosette could finally see the colour of her eyes - which were a pale grey. Despite their murky colour they were wide in honesty. This Cosette could see plainly so allowed the woman to continue her speech.

"He and I were good friends. That is when he used to come to Paris for pleasure not, for his beloved Pimpernel," she chuckled taking another large swig from the half-full tankard. "It was one of these visits that, through me, he met your mother, dear Margot. For she used to act with me in the Theatre Des Arts. Quite an act we were."

Cosette urged her to be quieter and stopped and chewed her lip in thought. Suddenly it dawned on her. "You are Madame Juvai!" she exclaimed gasping.

"Indeed."

"But you are -"

"Retired? Oui. I now sing amongst mere men."

"I thought you were in Lourdes?" she whispered leaning in surprised. For it was true, she had heard her mother and father on several occasions discussing their friends' whereabouts now that the revolution was over.

Madame Juvai nodded, drinking another large gulp. "I moved back as I was visiting my sister for a while," she nodded. "I arrived back some weeks ago, and needless to say I was most surprised to find out that I was not the only visitor recently come to Paris."

"What?" Cosette blinked, suddenly trying to make sense of the woman before her. "What do you mean?"

"Why, your father of course," Madame Juvai purred raising an eyebrow, her voice sounding remarkably almost like a cat. Cosette gasped as she was handed Madame Juvai's nearly empty tankard.

"My father?"

"Indeed. He too is in Paris, or so I'd wager considering I saw none other than Andrew Ffoulkes himself snooping around my neighbourhood a day or so again, dressed in a ridiculous getup."

Cosette suddenly choked, spluttering her drink at the unexpected news. To hear they were here… It wasn't hard to read her expression and Madame Juvai shifted in her seat.

"He was inquiring after any news of Chauvelin, who used to occupy a house not too far from myself," she explained. "It is not a large leap of faith to assume your father must, therefore, be in France as well. They never go anywhere without the other."

"You saw them?" Cosette gasped, eyes wide as she all but sat up as if she had been burned.

Madame Juvai nodded. "I did. I also heard he was looking for a girl that fits your description. Again, not a hard leap to work out what he was looking for. Especially not when I saw you across the room a moment ago, looking the very image of your mother."

Cosette groaned, collapsing in despair on to the table with a thump. Cosette just buried her head under her hair and wished for her home. Percy's sweet and jolly voice and witty remarks filling the air around her; her mother's gentle smile and how much they loved each other.

Right now she longed to be before the great fire in the library with her parents, burying herself in literature and not... Well, soot and dust and a little tobacco. She wished for the sunlight to stream through the large paned windows and flood the room with light. She wanted to be surrounded by her friends and family.

A tight feeling in her chest made her want to yell out in fury. She was so desperately alone.

Madame Juvai smiled gently. "I do presume since Chauvelin seems to have been somehow mixed up in this whole affair that there weren't any young gentlemen involved with your disappearance, eh what?" she mocked almost identically to Percy, and it stung bitterly to hear.

Cosette gasped sitting up sharply. "Most certainly not!" she cried rather too loudly, causing several nearby tables to turn and stare at her.

"Good, I didn't think so," Madame Juvai replied merrily. Thank goodness for that, Cosette wondered. "If not though, why are you here?" she queried slowly fixing her gaze on the tired and weary girl.

So it was then Cosette told her the whole sorry tale. Surprisingly Madame Juvai seemed rather calm about it all, waiting until she had finished before making any remarks.

"Seems like one of the cold-blooded things Chauvelin would do - and Fouché for that matter," she breathed resolutely as a strand of her copper hair fell across her face. "Do you know where your father is right now?"

Cosette shook her head sadly. "No, I had hoped to find him around but he is far
too careful for me to just find him, else Fouché would have found him too. I just pray he hasn't done anything stupid or rash yet," came her worried whisper.

Madame Juvai paused. "I think I know how you could find him," she began watching Cosette's eyes widen.

"You do?"

"Yes, there is a party tomorrow night at a house in the Rue de la Terre. It is for one of his friends - Monsieur Autorro Mazzerini. He has eyes all over Paris, and will almost certainly know how to find your father, and how to get you home," came her hasty reply.

"Then that is where I must go," she explained determinedly.

"I will take you there and if I send word to him now, he will surely be able to send your father a message and tell him you are alright."

It was almost too good to be true.

"He can find my father?" Cosette muttered skeptically.

"He can find anyone, my girl," Madame Juvai assured her. "He can tell your father you're alright, and to meet us at the party. It'll be safer that way - crowds are better to hide in. They're overt enough that they're practically covert."

"You have yourself a deal, Madame Juvai," she nodded extending a hand. Madame Juvai smiled shaking it firmly. Progress at last. "But can we not go now? Must we wait till tomorrow?"

Madame Juvai tutted, but not unsympathetically. "Are you mad? It's dark out and as you said, Monsieur Chauvelin will most likely be out looking for you. Fouché will also have his eyes out in the city, considering how much this means to him. You must stay with me till tomorrow, and let them lose the scent. Then we will go together and find your father. But first, you must relax and raise your spirits a little," came her demands. Cosette nodded, thankful of the kindness.

"Wait, what do you mean raise my spirits?" she whispered timidly. To her horror, Madame Juvai laughed and rose.

"You finish that," she commanded gently, tipping back the tankard against Cosette's lips till the burning liquid poured down her throat.

Cosette almost gagged but managed to swallow the horrid drink in one go.

"Good," Juvai praised, before helping her to her feet. "Home for us. You need rest, and I need to make plans. Let's get out of here before we're noticed."


Will was beginning to worry. They had spent all day dashing about Paris in search of Cosette, and what had they to show for it? Nothing. That's what. Not a thing. No rumour or whisper, nor a shred of information. He never surrendered but now, alone in this desolate hell hole, he felt close to it.

What would Percy say? What would his father say for that matter? He had failed them. He had failed Cosette too - his best friend in all the world.

He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair, glancing down at the drink in his hand. A drink wouldn't solve this, but it might ease his pains for a moment. Clasping the grimy holder firmly he tipped back his head and gulped down the lukewarm liquid. It burned his chest warmly.

He glanced around the room desperately and sunk onto the small rickety stool beside him. The seat wobbled uncertainly and Will nearly felt himself tumbling over. Was nothing in this place even remotely decent?

However his attention was soon drawn towards the man who was steadily approaching him: He was well built and dressed in shabby clothes, a soldiers uniform?- Many of which had several holes in them. A darkly coloured scarf was wound around his neck and worn boots shuffled along with him. He seemed unshaven and smelt foul, of alcohol and urine?

He wrinkled his nose in disgust and shuffled away from him. The man approached quicker and plonked down beside him.

"Will?" he asked.

Will looked up and smiled. Oh yes… Beneath the grime, he could now see him clearly. That and the deep British accent helped him. Beneath the ostentatious get up was none other than Hastings. Who else would pick this beaten up den to quench their thirst in?

"Good God man! Lose your clothes did you?" Will chuckled merrily, eyeing his get up. Hastings groaned at him and rubbed his chin woefully.

"This retched get up was all I could find. I smell atrocious and am in need of a severe wash."

"I'll say. What did you do? Roll around in a pig pen or something? You smell worse than the sewers do."

"I had little choice-" he began. It seemed however that his voice became swallowed up in a roar of voices.

People all around were singing, clearly swept up in another night of drunken revelry.

Will turned, watching the sight with an odd fascination. It was like nothing he had ever witnessed before. By contrast, Hastings smiled a grin of familial affection. Clearly, it was a sight he was more than accustomed to.

"These Frenchies and their singing," he sighed affectionately.

Will watch him lazily steal his drink and guzzle down the contents. He offered no protest. It was hard not to admire the spectacle. It wasn't as if he had ever been the type of person to frequent taverns. There was a certain freedom in the air in the way people drank, danced and gambled without a care who was watching. In a way, it was spellbinding. It was a whole world away from the constant scrutiny of Almack's and London society.

Or so it was until Will noticed the latest members to join the revelry. As he saw the three men entering through the doorway, it was their attire that sent his heart into a flutter. He may have only been in Paris a handful of days, but he had come to recognize the French Police uniform anywhere.

To say he was surprised to see the guards in here, and so early was an understatement. They had been informed that a patrol was not due for another hour yet. Clearly, their intelligence was wrong, or the guards had simply decided to abscond from the remainder of their shift. Either way, the tavern had suddenly become a lot less appealing.

"Hastings," Will gasped sharply, nudging his arm to gain his attention. "Look. Quickly. Over there."

"Damnations," Hastings finished, his eyes wide in shock. He clearly couldn't believe it either as he also noticed the unwanted guests. "What on earth are they doing here?"

"What does that matter now?" Will shot back, leaping to his feet. "Come on. Hurry."

With that, Will tried to hurry across the room. Hastings followed eagerly, however they could barely make it a step with the throngs of people swinging about wildly, merging in a dense sea of bodies.

It was like trying to wade through quicksand. Will had no control, and even beginning to throw himself forward, it did little good to help him clear the way.

Will simply following Hastings' lead as he burst out the doors desperately, and out the back of the inn and outside. They were greeted only by the sheets of rain that fell, and empty streets.

No one could be seen.

If only he had turned at that moment and stared back into the throng behind him. If only he had paused and watched through the doorway. He would have seen the momentary glint of blond hair as none other than Cosette herself passed by, eyes drawn elsewhere.

Fate was a cruel mistress as it tore them both apart once more, each in their own direction and oblivious to their potential reunion.