Part 2

Part 2

It was twelve o'clock, midnight. All was well, the wind steady, the night clear. Pellew returned to his cabin clean of fresh concerns. Hornblower's injury (how did one trip over a rat, anyhow) still troubled him, as did the usual ship annoyances, discontent, stale food, weevils, fleas, fraying ropes, sagging canvas, rust, bilge. Added to this ragout was a revolutionary doctor vexing the hands and a possible French spy.

Pellew absently rifled a few loose papers on his desk. Bearings had been taken, a course plotted, journal entries logged...he could sleep. But something troubled him.

He scanned his desk more closely. It was in some disaray, as usual--sometimes, in haste, he did not put things back properly--but it did not seem like his disaray. Pellew had never considered that he had a particular way of tossing about his papers, but the jumble in front of him looked decidedly alien.

One of the mids had been sent up by the master to compare his bearings with Pellew's--Pellew remembered this, but couldn't recall if that had happened that day, or the one before, or even the week before.

Quickly, he withdrew from his waistcoat pocket a key. His most important papers and dispatches he kept locked up.

A rustle off to the side drew his attention. Pellew's sharp gaze darted to it quickly, but he didn't see anything more than a fleeting motion or a shadow, if that.

"Blast! Rats!" Pellew sighed and yelled in relief. He unlocked his chest, and quickly flipped through his documents. They were all there, all in order. He locked the chest with satisfaction.

And heard yet another rustle. Again, his glance flew to the source, and he saw a bit more, enough to suggest that there was indeed a small animal in his room.

He slid the key back into his waistcoat pocket, taking out his watch, and walked over to his bunk. Four hours, he could sleep for four hours. They were close to England, a few days away. They were close to France, too, but he needed some rest. In the case of a skirmish, he would wake up instantly, as usual.

Pellew took his shoes and coat and waistcoat off, draping the latter two on the back of a chair. A small scurrying movement caught his eye. He tossed his pillow at it, lay back onto his bed, crossed his arms, and fell asleep.

Unable to find the last object her master sent her to retrieve, Franny took it upon herself to locate something else to obtain for him. After several hours of searching for a suitable item, luck was finally with her.

Carefully hidden from view, Franny watched the man move about the cabin. He circled the table then stopped and gazed at the papers scattered about, the very same papers she had just finished nosing through in search of a prize.

The man stopped abruptly then suddenly removed something from his waistcoat pocket. Something small, gold and very shiny. Franny wiggled in anticipation. This was exactly what she was looking for. In fact, the object the man held in his hand was exactly the same kind her master often sent her to seek and return to him. Hundreds of times she squeezed her mere five pounds through the smallest cracks and crevices in search of just such a golden treasure. Every time she returned with one her master made such a big fuss over her and acted extremely pleased. Now all she needed to do was wait.

She watched the man remove his outer clothing, including the piece where the shiny object was hidden. When she was sure the man could not hear or see her, Franny crept silently along the floor toward the chair over which the items were draped. Standing on her hind legs she deftly located the gold object and removed it from the waistcoat pocket. As smooth as silk she slid along the floor and wriggled her way underneath the cabin door, carrying her prize carefully between her little teeth. In the darkness of the ship Franny made her way back to her master.

Sir Percy breathed a sigh of relief as he heard a wonderfully familiar sound at his door. In her customary manner, Franny first deposited her prize onto the bed then leaped into her master's open arms and showered him with kisses.

"Franny, I was so worried. Are you quite all right, cherie?" Percy cooed. "I cannot imagine where you have been." The little dog jumped from Blakeney's grasp onto the bed and pawed at the piece of metal laying there.

"What have you brought me you little....", he stopped in midsentence as he picked up the object. "Oh dear me, please do not let this be from...not from...oh good lord, please let this key belong to anyone other than...."

Captain Pellew roared at his man servant," Find that key! Immediately!"

Holmes jumped at the angry voice yelling at him. Frantically he began crawling on all fours looking for the missing object. Pellew tugged at his jacket pulling all the pockets inside out. "I know I left it here," he mumbled under his breath. Once again he retraced his steps from the night before, trying to remember where he had left the precious item. He looked about his cabin, his anger growing. The room was now in total dishevel. "Holmes," he shouted," clean up this mess!"

Quickly the frightened cabin boy jumped to his feet. "Wha what about the key sir?" he squeaked.

Pellew through on his coat, shoving all the pockets back in place. "Nevermind that! Now get this cleaned up in five minutes. I'll be right back."

Holmes let out a sigh of relief as Pellew left the messy room. Quickly he started the pick up all of the captain's wardrobe that lay on the floor.

Styles twisted in place, trying to forget about the itch in the middle of his back. It had been driving him crazy for hours. All was quiet in the sick berth. Horatio was now resting in his cabin and no one else was in need except him. He closed his eyes and tried to rest when suddenly he heard someone clear their throat. Pellew stood directly in front of him and didn't look too happy.

"Sir," Styles blurted out and tried to get up with the board still strapped to his back.
"It's all right Mr. Styles, at ease."

"Yes sir," he said and sat back down.

Pellew started to pace in front of him. "I need to ask you something."

Styles didn't understand why the captain would be needing him, but waited in anticipation.

"Now understand," he continued," what you are about to do, you mustn't tell a soul. Do I make myself clear?"

Styles nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Good," Pellew relaxed and stopped pacing. Standing in front of the big man he whispered," I hear you are an expert at picking locks?"

Styles blinked in surprise, unsure he had heard right.

"Uh, yessir, I guess.". Pellew nodded in satisfaction, then paused and looked Styles over carefully. Still strapped to the board his mobility was severely limited. Styles watched as Pellew's face grew redder.

"Damn,". he muttered. If he had Styles unstrapped and it caused further injury... Then again, he needed that chest open. Either way, the consequences were not admirable. Finally the captain took a deep breath and turned away. Confused, Styles watched him go then turned his attention back to staring at the ceiling above him.

By the time he returned to his cabin Pellew had cooled off somewhat. His only hope was that Holmes, during his cleaning of the cabin, had found the key.

The place was spotless. Nary a speck of dust out of place. Holmes stood by the door, a timid half grin on his face. Pellew entered, then nodded to the cabinboy.

"Holmes, get Mr. Hornblower for me.", he ordered. The young man was out of the cabin as if he had just been released from a French prison. Pellew stood in the middle of his cabin, his attention focused on nothing in particular. Making his way to his desk he sat and dropped his head back. Closing his eyes he rubbed them with his thumb and forefinger.

"What is God's name is going on on my ship?", he asked aloud. Heaving another sigh he raised his head and opened his eyes. Before him were a pair of black pools staring at him from a face of fur. It took a moment for Pellew to register that it was in fact a small dog sitting on the desk in front of him. Pellew cocked his head to one side, the dog mimicked the action.

"A stowaway, eh?", he asked. The dog stood and took a couple of danty steps toward him before lowering its head and opening its mouth. Pellew could not hide his surprise as the gold key dropped in front of him. Reaching forward, he picked up the slightly soggy object. As his hand closed around it, the dog licked the back of his hand a couple of times. Pellew smiled in spite of himself. Slipping the key into his pocket with one hand he took up the tiny dog in the other. He noticed a collar around the animals neck; a beautifully made white collar dotted with what looked like tiny diamonds. Getting to his feet Pellew walked toward the door. He had more than a pretty good idea to whom the dog belonged.

He passed Hornblower in the corridor. Horatio stopped and immediately turned and followed him. Was that a
*dog* he was carrying?

"Sir?", Horatio asked when he finally caught up to him.

"Find Sir Percy Mr. Hornblower.", Pellew ordered as he continued walking.


By the time Percy arrived, Pellew was standing on deck and the little dog had made its way up onto his shoulder and was now sitting there rather happily. Percy, followed by Horatio and Archie, stopped in his tracks when he caught sight of the captain and his new companion. This was not good. Striding forward, Percy stopped less than three feet from Pellew and bowed deeply.

"Captain.", he greeted and resisted the urge to reach out and grab Franny. Pellew turned and offered Percy a cold, unimpressed smile.

"Perhaps Sir Percy, you would like to explain this?", it was ore of a statement than a question.

"Franny belongs to my wife, Margot.", Percy replied. Pellew cocked an eyebrow.

"Indeed. What is it doing on my ship?", he continued. Percy bit his bottom lip slightly. He should be taking offense to the way the captain was speaking to him, but knew it would be far more trouble than it was worth at that moment.

"With all due respect Sir Edward, what am I doing on your ship?". It came as much of a surprise to Pellew as it did to Percy when Pellew smiled.

"Well put. Tell me one thing, what was, uh Franny, doing in my cabin?". Percy offered a shrug.

"I can only guess Sir Edward that she had a fondness for a man in uniform.", he offered. Tihs time Pellew actually allowed himself to laugh.

"I can't say as I blame her.", he replied. Behind Percy both Horatio and Archie stood in dumbfounded silence. Horatio carefully rolled his eyes toward Archie who could only offer a slight shrug.

"Mr. Hornblower, are we prepared to land tomorrow?", Pellew had changed the subject so quickly Horatio was taken completely off guard.

"Uh, yessir. We should be landing no later than ten am.". Pellew nodded in satisfaction as Franny dropped her head onto his shoulder and closed her eyes.

"And the repairs?".

"All cataloged. It should take no more than a fortnight, as required.", he replied. Pellew nodded.

"Then I suggest to two gentlemen think about what you will do during your leave.", he announced. Percy smiled and stepped toward Archie.

"Why don't spend a couple of days at Blakeney Hall. Meet Margot. It will give us time to catch up.", he offered. Archie beamed at the prospect.

"Thank you Sir Percy.", he said, then Percy turned to Horatio.

"You too Mr. Hornblower. Spend some time in the country.". Horatio went positively white. He looked at all three men before him and wished he could refuse, but etiquitte dictated otherwise.

"I, too, would be delighted.", he replied and hoped he didn't sound as unenthusiastic as he felt.

"Delightful!", Percy gushed and clapped his hands. At the sound Franny opened her eyes and leapt onto his shoulder. When Percy headed back to his cabin Horatio watched him go and wondered how he had gotten himself into this. Archie clapped him on the shoulder.

"It will be interesting to see you on my ground.", he whispered slyly and returned to his duty. Horatio shook his head slightly. This was going to be a disaster.

"We'll see a bit of shooting, I wager. Do you shoot, Mr. Hornblower?"

Hornblower nodded absently as the carriage lurched, pitching him against Kennedy, who sat on his left. Blakeney lounged on the seat opposite, his handsome face unwavering in its smile. His posture, his casual slouch, had annoyed Hornblower from the start of their seven hour voyage from London--and the periodic yips from Franny, who clearly disliked him, also grated, but Blakeney's chatter was the stock of his vexation. This new question did not help manners. Hornblower tried to smile, and nodded, "Yes, sir," and managed to refrain from adding "but not for sport."

"Well, then, we'll run out the guns for you, so to speak." Blakeney smiled more earnestly.

Did the man really hope to make friends with him? Hornblower wondered. He was very persistent, he could grant him that, at least.

"That'll be grand!" Kennedy explained. Poor chap, he probably felt the ice between his two friends--the past seven hours had been a purgatory for even Kennedy. Franny yipped in echo.

Blakeney pointed out of the window, at a field.

"Part of my estate. Gentlemen, welcome to the ancestral seat of the Blakeney family. As the last first born, I welcome you heartily."

Hornblower peered politely and emitted an aaah. The field looked like any other sort of field with plants growing on it. His experience with agriculture was limited: he sorted fruits and vegetables by their degree of spoilage, and was more concerned with squeezing however many barrels of whatever from the Navy's Stores than with the growing of Nature's bounty.

The carriage turned onto another, narrower path, flanked by stone collumns. Franny barked excitedly. Hornblower stole a look at Blakeney. The dandy's gleaming smile had subsided--if only for a second--it had faltered.

And, despite himself, Hornblower felt his own smile (if he'd had one at all) broaden at this small sign of discomfiture.

They came to a wall and a pair of gates, which a liveried footman opened at their approach. Blakeney straightened in his seat and rattled off a brief history or something which Kennedy and Franny paid attention to. Hornblower continued to smile and nod and to observe the small dark cloud threatening to elipse the dashing man's joviality.

"My wife will be happy for company." Blakeney told them. "She has been ill--"

He cut himself off to renew his smile, a bit forcedly.

"She had to absent herself from the season in London, a sad trial. But the doctor thought the bad air and excitement too much. Anyway, she has largedly recovered."

The carriage drew up to the Hall's large stone classical facade, of white pillars and light grey stone. Blakeney explained that his father had added this about twenty years ago. Lined up along the entrance stairwell were two collumns of servants, and, on the top stair, stood two women.

"My wife," Blakeney told them, pointing at the smaller of the two. She was thin, swathed in white, leaning on the arm of the other woman.

"And her companion, Lady Redpath."

Accordingly, Hornblower glanced at her, and startled. Blakeney fortunately was distracted in gazing at his wife. Hornblower shot a warning eye at Kennedy, who was agape with his mouth half open.

They both had met Lady Redpath before--when she had been a duchess.

Blakeney, Hornblower, and Kennedy ascended the grand staircase three abreast. The servants made their sweeps and scrapes as the trio passed them. On the third upper-most step, Blakeney halted, and with a flourish of a white gloved hand--

"Lady Blakeney, Lady Redpath, I would like to present Lieutenant Hornblower and Lieutenant Kennedy, both lately of the Indefatigable under the command of Captain Pellew."

Accordingly, Hornblower bowed and offered his hand to the closest lady, Lady Redpath. She accepted it without a hint of recognition.

"I have heard of you, Lieutenant," she told him in that contralto voice he remembered, "it is a pleasure to finally form an acquaintance."

"Indeed, madam, on both sides." Hornblower smiled; he had heard that line from a swell in London, for which he was eternally grateful. Lady Redpath (for that was how he must think of her now) was in good health, good spirits, and she looked the very picture of a good gentlewoman, except for the faintest of smirks playing with the left corner of her mouth--which no one but Hornblower could see, anyhow.

Hornblower nodded again to her, and stepped aside to address Blakeney's wife. He paid her his bow and, rising, offered his hand mechanically. He had scarcely glanced at her, his brief impression was that she was an invalid. His second, more closer survey stunned him.

"Madam..." he started. She took his hand. "I am most honoured."

She was far more lovelier at close quarters! At a distance, clad plainly in modest white dress and cap and scarves and gloves, she looked almost like a consumptive. Her complexion was pale, and there were dark circles under her luminous eyes, but her features otherwise were delicate and probably beautiful. All she wanted was a bit of health and more flattering clothing. Hornblower felt his head spin. She didn't see or feel this, he hoped, but the bandage around his temple was a more concrete point of conversation.

"Mr. Hornblower, I hope you are recovering well from your injury." Her voice was soft, tinged with an unmistakable Parisian accent.

"Certainly, madam," Hornblower answered, praying that the humiliating circumstances of his injury would not be discussed.

AT that point, Blakeney's laugh rang out, followed closely by that of the duchess--Lady Redpath.

"My dear lady," Blakeney faced his wife, his teeth showing in a wide grin, "the man can stomach a few knocks. The Navy isn't a parlour game."

Lady Blakeney smiled at her husband demurely. "This one looks serious."

Hornblower placed a hand on his bandage. Doctor Frick had put in several stitches, and he had torn these out--a bit prematurely--just before Hornblower and Kennedy left with Blakeney, and he had insisted that Hornblower wear and replace the bandage for two more days. Hornblower promised this, resolving to rip it off once in the carriage, but he had forgotten about it, and now he felt like a sham.

"I've mostly recovered, madam. The doctor has advised me to keep the bandage on for a few more days merely to avoid infection."

"Good," Lady Blakeney smiled.

"Excellent!" Blakeney chimed in. "And his wits have fairly lined themselves up, too, so we can expect some spark at charades. Gentlemen--" he performed a sweeping bow, "Welcome to Blakeney Hall."

He took the arm of his wife and led them through the grand entrance, Franny trotting directly behind him. Hornblower was obliged to pair up with Lady Redpath, who acted with oblivious grace. Kennedy followed them.

Hornblower glanced at the slender figure of Blakeney's wife. There was intelligence in her eyes and manner, and her countenance, though drained, had been genial, but he fancied that he detected a slight disatisfaction.

His own prejudices pinned this to the source of his disdain: Blakeney. He conceded that the man was a fair swordsman and strategist, and that he did have a share of wit (perhaps much more than he (Hornblower) could claim or readily display), but all of these qualities, which would have made a fairly decent man, were housed in a trivial (handsome, yes, exceedingly handsome and elegant--here, Hornblower reflexively bit down on his lip) exterior. And with such qrotesque mannerisms--the extravagant obeisances and dialogues, the motionless grin, the laugh...Blakeney Hall and Fortune appeared to be opulent enough for Society to forgive Blakeney these idiosyncracies, but they grated on Hornblower nonetheless.

But, perhaps, he was blinded by the loveliness of his wife--Hornblower steeled himself to admit that a fine fortune and physical appearance, and Blakeney had both, were usually enough for a wife, and perhaps he overestimated her intelligence, anyhow. Doubtless, she was content.

Certainly, he was envious.

Quiet as a mouse a figure watched as the strangers were led into Blakeney Hall. He ducked behind a potted plant and studied the new men. By their appearances he knew they were not from around here. As the group sat in the parlor, the lad recognized the navy hat the blonde man held onto. "Sailors!" he thought with excitement. Quickly his attention darted to Lady Blakeney. In her lap was his prize. Franny.

Taking the little whistle out of his pocket he blew into it and waited. Franny instantly perked her ears up and hopped off the lady's lap. She ran straight to the boy's waiting arms. Giggles erupted from him as the dog licked his face in joy.
Suddenly a hand reached down and pulled the youth to his feet. "Nigel! I told you to stay in the kitchen," the woman said in anger. Her voice caused everyone in the parlor to look.
Quickly she snatched up Franny and pulled Nigel into the parlor. Handing the little dog to Lady Blakeney she apologized," I am so sorry madam. Please forgive me!"
Lady Blakeney smiled down at the young lad. "Oh Helen, don't worry. I know Nigel likes to play spy."
This response brought a grin of mischief to his face. "Thank you madam," she said as she grabbed the boy by the hand and dragged him out of the parlor. Laughter followed after them.

Retreating into the kitchen, Helen gave Nigel a good scolding before he escaped outside. Once there he used his whistle to bring Franny to him once again. The pair raced to the nearby woods to play. The afternoon sun cast shadows about the trees, making the forest seem foreboding. As Nigel neared his secret hideout Franny began to bark. It wasn't her normal playful bark. Nigel stopped and turned to see why she was making such a fuss. Her yips were high pitched and frantic as he knelt down next to her. Out of a shadow a tall figure suddenly loomed over the boy. Franny instinctively turned and ran. Nigel froze in terror as the man grabbed him by the collar.

Everyone's attention was on Lady Redpath as she entertained them with a story. "Well, I told him to take his hands off me or he could answer to the King!" Archie was laughing so hard, tears streamed down his face. Horatio did his best to appear comfortable but he hated every minute in the parlor. He was relieved when the ratdog, which is what he called Franny, interrupted with her incessant barking. Concern crossed Blakeney's face as he asked," What's wrong sweetie?"
Quickly Franny headed out of the parlor. Percy ran after her, followed by Archie and Horatio. As soon as they got outside they spotted Nigel running at full speed toward them. "What is going on out here?" Percy questioned. Catching his breath the boy handed him a piece of paper. As he read it all the color drained from his face. "Where did you get this Nigel," he spat in anger. Archie placed a hand on Percy's shoulder. "What's wrong?"
But Percy only ignored his friend. "Nigel, where!"
The scared youth stammered," mmmister Smith, sir!"

Blakeney stood perfectly still, an expression of shock and disbelief on his face. "Percy!" Archie said impatiently. With no emotion Blakeney whispered," I have lost my land, my house, everything. I have until the end of the week to vacate this property."

Archie and Horatio looked at each other in stunned silence. Just a few minutes before Horatio had felt envious of Percy and all he had. But now, he felt guilty about having such emotions. Wiping away his feelings he decides he has to help Blakeney, no matter how much he dislikes him.

"How is that possible? I don't understand how you can lose everything," Horatio commented. Archie quietly turns to Nigel, who is still breathing hard from his scare. With a smile he whispers to the boy," Nigel, why don't you go inside and keep Helen company." The boy nods and quickly retreats to the kitchen.

Archie gives Horatio a concerned look as he steps toward the silent Blakeney. "Percy," he says with warmth," we will help you. I won't let you and Lady Blakeney be thrown off your land." Percy silently hands Archie the paper. After he scans it he lets Horatio have a look.

"Who is this Mister Smith?" he questions. With a long face Percy lets out a sigh before he speaks. "Mister Smith used to work this land. That is until I inherited it. I no longer needed his services but I did try to help him find work. He has resented me ever since. Several times he has threatened me with something like this. But I never took him seriously. I knew he had no claim on the land."

Archie put a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "Percy, you have to fight this. Just because Smith got one court to say this is his land, does not mean he can take it." Archie's words seemed to have the desired effect, as Percy looked him in the eye. Horatio chimed in," You know we will do all we can to help. I know for a fact that Captain Pellew had a similar thing happen to him. Perhaps we could consult him on our next move."

"Yes," Percy said eagerly," But one thing gentlemen." He lowered his voice as he spoke. "I do not want any of this to get to Lady Blakeney. She has had enough stress of late and I do not wish her to be involved until I can resolve this." Archie and Horatio agreed. "Certainly."
Percy eyed Blakeney Hall. "Now we best get back to the ladies before they become suspicious."

As the three men walked quickly back to the large house, Percy kept glancing behind him. It didn't surprise him that Mr. Smith would use Nigel to get the message to Percy. He was a cowered, that was for sure. Percy turned his head back around and to his surprise saw Lady Blakeney running out of the kitchen door. Instinct told him to continue walking.
"No, no don't let Nigel of told her…" Percy thought. Lady Blakeney reached her husband, her face aghast.
"My darling, what is wrong? Nigel said…" she stopped short as Percy pulled her towards his chest and gave her a hug.
"Everything shall be quite alright. I'll get it sorted out," he let Lady Blakeney finish crying on his shoulder, then lifted up her head and looked at her, his eyes full of love.
Archie and Horatio stood back several steps both looking at each other. Archie leaned towards Horatio, "What should we do?".
Horatio whispered back, "Well he's our friend isn't he?"
Archie gave Horatio a smile, "Your sure we are?"
"I know I am."
"As am I. We'll help him get through this." Archie stepped forward and put one hand on Lady Blakeney's shoulder and one on Sir Blakeney's shoulder. "So, what can we do to help Percy?"

Lady Blakeney entered her suite, nodding as her maid, a girl from France, curtseyed.

"Fetch Lady Redpath, Violaine, please."

Violaine curtseyed and dashed off. Humming absently to herself, Lady Blakeney sat at her dressing table, briskly surveying her complexion. Her looks were improving, but she was still too thin! and there, she let the matter drop, turning her mind to the much more important matter of the letter.

Nigel, sweet boy, had read it, and had told her that it had something to do with a will. The rest was too confusing for him:



"Dear Sir,

I would remind you of particular matters, vis-a-vis, the question of your succession, as raised by your father's final will and testament, which is but an amendment of the will that has been accepted (this latest having been suppressed), an amendment devised on the occasion of your most imprudent marriage.

I remain yours, &

Mr. R.W. Carling, as representative of Mr. Smith.




Bereft of the actual letter, Lady Blakeney knew enough to piece it together. Blakeney's father eventually acknowledged her, but he never let her forget that she had seduced one of Britain's brightest young heirs (however foppish) from a Parisian gutter. Mr. Smith, on the other hand, harboured no personal grievances against her, but he was totally opposed to Blakeney. There were more than a few irregularities in the harvest yields, and more than a bit of insolence, on Mr. Smith's part, and so Blakeney had dismissed him--kindly, and with providing him with another station, but Mr. Smith resentment continued to fester.

Marguerite, at first, wondered why Blakeney should have treated this man so decently, who had clearly cheated him on numerous occasions, but she hadn't had much time to turn this over in her mind before they were graced with a visit from Mr. Smith's lawyer, a vicious, clever man called Carling. Blakeney had hurriedly excused himself with this unsavoury guest, obviously trying to spare Marguerite the spectacle.

However, Marguerite had not forgotten that his father had threatened to disown him. The thought of his heir marrying a Parisienne actress was a lot for the old boy to swallow.

The business raised another question, however: why didn't Mr. Smith and Carling simply produce the will and expel the Blakeneys from their home? What she had heard of Carling certainly indicated that he was ruthless--on one occasion, in London, as a creditor, he seized every last stick of furniture from an ailing widow. On all accounts, the man had clawed his way up from nowhere, with no friends, no influence, no family, no personal charm or breeding; why would he stop short of a fortune with a legitimate will in his hand?

Marguerite admitted that she didn't know the whole story, why both Blakeney and Carling were hedging, what bits of evidence and counter-evidence they had aired. And Blakeney was so protective of her! He was unwilling to discuss the smallest part of the business with her; he told her that Mr. Smith felt that he was owed some money, and that the bloke could be pensioned off, but demmed carefully. With his raucous laugh, he brushed the matter aside. At which, Lady Blakeney smiled and withdrew, resolving to get to the heart of the matter.

And then she fell gravely ill, due to a late miscarriage and subsequent hemmorage, and for nearly a week, she lingered on the verge between life and death. Once out of her delirium, she sent for Lady Redpath, by that name.

Kitty Cobham had ventured on the Parisian stage during her long and varied career. Marguerite met her, and the two women had hit it off spectacularly well. At that time, Marguerite's salon was one of the most fashionable, and so she invited Kitty--really, Lady Felicity Redpath, a English noblewoman, recently widowed. Kitty was in dire need of a profitable situation, and she soon found it in the arms of the Marquis de Beauregarde--but this was old news! Marguerite chided herself for indulging in memories.

In short, Lady Redpath was a very astute and resilient woman, and she, Marguerite, at the time of her misfortune, was too weak to enact the resolution she desired. Her maternal devotion for her unborn child, unfufilled, fueled her resolve to fix this matter for her husband (whom she loved genuinely despite his queer, and forced, antics).

Lady Redpath had arrived two months ago, ostensibly to nurse Marguerite back to health with spicy conversation. Violaine and Helen were excellent ministers in the arts of warm soup and material comforts, and Helen's young son, that clever Nigel, was a welcome distraction, but Marguerite asked Percy for more company, giving him Lady Redpath's address.

Percy Blakeney had been stricken by this tragedy, and he had tried his best to comfort her, even to the extent of laying aside his foppish facade (thus, she learnt for sure that it was a facade), and he sent for Lady Redpath promptly. This request, however, had pained him, she could see that. And then, he had been sent to France, leading her no time to douse his insecurities.

During his absence, Mr. Smith and Carling retrenched, and Ladies Blakeney and Redpath talked at great length, and Lady Blakeney worried extensively.

Finally, he had returned, too late, and yet, too soon. Carling hadn't given them any time.

Lady Blakeney glanced at her reflection once again. Certainly, she decided, she was wan, but she would be strong. Over her shoulder, in the mirror, she saw Violaine enter the chamber.

"Lady Redpath, Madame."

"Thank-you, Violaine." Lady Blakeney nodded, and the girl withdrew. She turned to Kitty.

"Have you heard?"

The day was warm and lovely as Horatio enjoyed a walk in the garden. The gloom and worry of the day before seemed to fade with the beauty of the new day. The Blakeney's estate was large, Horatio had to admit that. But he didn't realize how beautiful it was. Footsteps approaching interupted his thoughts.

"Horatio!" Archie called out.

"Good morning Archie," he greeted his friend.

"Um yes," he replied obviously distracted. "Have you seen Percy this morning?"

Horatio didn't like the sound in Archie's voice. "No, I haven't. Why?"

Archie grabbed his elbow and proceeded to lead him back toward the house. "Here, I'll show you why."
They were headed to the back of the house. If Horatio remembered correctly there was a nice little pond there.

He was right as they rounded the corner and spotted Percy sitting by the pond, staring blankly into it. The rat dog sat next to him, looking as sad and dejected as her master.

"Oh dear," Horatio sighed. Archie nodded sadly," What are we going to do?"

Horatio looked at Blakeney then back at Archie's hopeful face. Shaking his head in sorrow he tries not to look him in the eye.
"Archie, this really is none of our affair. I don't even know this Blakeney fellow. I think we should just stay out of this as it is."
The frown on Archie's face told him that was not what he wanted to hear.
"Horatio," Archie began," I grew up with Percy. I consider him a brother. I understand if you don't want to get involved. But I must. I owe it to him and his family."

Horatio knew what was going to happen. As much as he hated to admit it, Archie was right. After all Blakeney had saved his life on that French ship. The least he could do was help Archie. "Very well," he sighed.
Archie's face exploded in cheer."I knew you wouldn't let me down Horatio!"
"Wait a mintue Archie," he said trying to calm his eager friend. "First things first, I think we should find out everything we can about this Smith fellow."
Archie agreed," Yes, of course."

The two men turned and left Percy were he was with his little dog. Horatio's mind was already working on the problems at hand. "Let's go see Mister Smith. I am curious to hear what he has to say about our friend, Lord Percy Blakeney."

Horatio scanned himself in the mirror with a critical eye. He hadn't studied a full-length view of himself at great length for ages, ever since he'd tried on his lieutenant's uniform at the tailor's, and he was both fascinated and appalled.

"This will never work, Archie."

"Horatio, you look fine."

The two of them, standing in Horatio's dressing room, were dressed as fops--French fops. Deciding to go see Mr.Smith was a simple matter, trying to figure out a way to evade his suspicions was not. And Archie was no help.

Hornblower cursed himself. He had gotten out of worse scrapes with hardly a second's thought, had weighed the lives of two hundred men in a moment's decision, only to, faced with the task of outwitting a simple farmer, waste hours dithering with garish dandy clothes. Perhaps he really couldn't form a plan except at sea whilst staring into the maws of enemy cannon. Languishing in Blakeney's gorgeous manor must have made him soft. He resolved to get the matter over with as quickly as possible, and to get back to his ship and his normal life. This existence of manicured lawns and silk and sorbert sat ill with him.

"Maybe we should go as emigre priests..." Horatio mused. He was used to running up false colours, not wearing them.

"Horatio," Archie laughed, "Demmed if that'll go over Smashingly."

Horatio snorted, shucking off his violet silk coat. "We can't do this, Archie. Mr.Smith has probably heard that Blakeney has two lieutenants staying with him, and maybe he even knows what we look like."

"But you've got good calves." Archie said. "You could be a swell if you tried. And with a French accent--that'll throw him off, for sure. I mean, nobody expects an English naval officer to have good French and good legs."

"What sort of nonsense is that, Archie?"

"Oh, something Blakeney told me. I think he was joking, though."

Horatio slumped down into a chair. "This is hopeless."

"Oh..." Archie looked at him, crestfallen.

"I need time to think."

A knock at the door brought Hornblower to his feet. Remembering that he still wore the lime-green waistcoat and breeches and shocking yellow stockings that went with (clashed with, rather) the violet coat, he glanced at Archie for an instant, at a loss. Archie smiled back at him encouragingly.

"Get that, will you, Archie?" Archie nodded, resplendent in bright pink and peach with accents of blue, and Hornblower dashed behind a screen.

He heard the door creak open and a contralto pitched "Sink me, Mr. Kennedy!"

"Ma'am, I'm going in for fashion." Kennedy stuttered.

"It's your colour, all of 'em."

Hornblower winced as Lady Redpath laughed. He was not prepared to face her in violent lime-green silk breeches.

"What are you doing in my Mr. H's room, Lieutenant?"

"Oh, well--" and Hornblower swore he could hear Archie's eyes dart towards the screen and then about the room--"The light's better in here."

"Where did you find those clothes?"

"Oh, Blakeney lent them to me. But I'm not his size, so I'll have to get them taken in a bit."

"For what?"

"So they'll fit, Ma'am."

"And then, what, Lieutenant. What will Captain Pellew say about this outfit?"

"Hopefully, he won't have occasion to say anything about this outfit, Ma'am."

Hornblower heard Lady Redpath titter, and then, silence--broken by the steady creak of the floorboards as she approached the screen.

"Mr. H., come out. Show a leg."

"Give me a minute, Madame. Kennedy, would you pass me my clothes--" and again, Hornblower winced.

"La! Mr. H. Is this how you receive visitors? The grand levee!"

"No, certainly not." Hornblower said, gratefully receiving his undress uniform from Kennedy's outstretched hand.

"But I am disappointed, you know. I had hopes of seeing you decked out."

Hornblower frantically shucked off the rest of the silk ensemble. "Madame, I must disappoint you. Kennedy and I were merely...having a joke. I certainly don't intend to set foot outside in this apparel--" and, with that, he draped the lime-green waistcoat over the screen, and heard her giggle.

"Zounds! That's nobody's colour! Does this belong to Blakeney as well?"

"Yes. Though, I doubt, Madame, that he ever wore it."

"You haven't seen him in full-London plumage, I'm afraid."

Hornblower stepped out from behind the screen, buttoning up his (thankfully sober-coloured) waistcoat and met her eye. She curtseyed, he bowed, and then her gaze hardened.

"Now, Mr. H., what are you up to?"

"Madame?"

"You're certainly going about it the wrong way."

"Madame, Kennedy and I--"

She stepped back, and shut the door behind her. Hornblower stiffed as the bolt clicked into place.

"Gentlemen, when are you going to go to see Mr. Smith?"

"T-t-today," Archie stammered.

"Or, tomorrow--" Hornblower said.

"Once we get our surgeons' outfits," Kennedy added.

"No," Lady Redpath shook her finger at him. "You are going to go tonight. As yourselves. To Mr. Smith's favourite pub. You'll wait until he's had a few, and then buy him a few more."

"I see..." Hornblower stared at her. Despite himself, he was both impressed and relieved. Lady Redpath smiled.

"But, as far as you both know, I know nothing of this matter. I don't want to distress poor Lady Blakeney. Agreed?"

Hornblower and Kennedy nodded. Lady Redpath smiled again and glanced at the lime-green waistcoat, draped over the screen.

"You could cut a fine figure, Mr. H., if you tried."

He flushed, feeling her eyes rake over him, and hurriedly made a bow. She laughed, unbolted the door, and left.

A few hours later and Archie and Horatio were on their way to Mr. Smith's favorite pub. The Mermaid was as bawdy as any pub Horatio had been in. Granted he hadn't been in too many, but just enough to know.

As they entered the smoke filled room, Horatio wondered how they would spot Smith. "Archie, you head to the left and see if anyone knows who Smith is. I'll take this side and meet you back here." Archie nodded and began to mingle. It didn't take them long to find their target. He was seated in a corner already well into the happy hour.

"Now what?" Archie asked.
Horatio eyed the corner. "Well, let's go say hello, shall we."

Together they approached the old farmer. He had a head of shockingly blond hair and Horatio wondered if it was caused by too much sun.

"May we join you?" Horatio asked with a smile on his face. Smith eyed them suspiciously but gestered for them to sit.

"What can I do for you?"

Horatio glanced at Archie as he introduced them. "We are friends of Lord Blakeney."

Smith's frown went into a broad smile and he burst into uproarious laughter. "Come to fight his battle for him I see!"

Archie was obviously getting anger as he replied," No, Percy can fight his own battles. We are here as a warning to you."

This only made tears stream down Smith's face as he continued laughing.

Horatio nodded to the barmaid and ordered a round of drinks for them. Giving Archie a warning glance Horatio changed the subject.
"So what kind of work do you do?"

"The hard kind," he growled.
"I don't have any need for fancy clothes or fancy houses like Blakeney. He is a fool."

"How can you say that!" Archie argued.

Smith greedily took the glass of rum from the barmaid. "Easy, he is a pansie. All his life he has never worked hard for anything. Everything is handed to him on a silver platter. Well no more gentlemen."

Horatio glanced at Archie then back at Smith. "You know who we are, don't you Mr. Smith?"

Taking a gulp of rum, he nodded.
"You are sailors or some fluff like that."

"Fluff!" Archie was steaming. Quickly Horatio put a glass of rum into Archie's hand. "Here, drink this," he said, trying to calm him down.

Archie did as he was told but continued his ranting.
"You think farming is hard, you should try being a sailor." The pride in Archie's voice took Horatio and Smith by suprise. They stared at him as he went on.
"I was once like Blakeney, but the sea changes you. Everyday is a life or death struggle. Something I am sure you know nothing about Mr. Smith."

Humbled by his speach Smith reaches his hand out to Archie. "I am sorry son. Please call me Samuel."

Horatio couldn't believe his ears. He thought to himself," What is in this rum?"

"Yes, sir," Archie replied with a small, but growing smile.

"Samuel!" Smith barked.

"Samuel!" Archie echoed enthusiastically. He took a swig of rum, and spoke the name again.

Hornblower tried to look pleasantly raucous, but his perplexity hampered his spirit.

"Hey, son, did ye grow up about here?"

"Not really, SAMUEL, but I was chums with Blakeney. We met at public school, and he'd have me over on holidays, sometimes, which was really nice, good food and so forth--" Kennedy cut himself off with another draught of rum.

"Well," Smith peered at him closely, "There were a bunch of idle scroungers, beggin' your pardon, and I don't suppose I can pick you out."

Archie giggled "I was the ghost, d'you remember?"

Hornblower goggled at him. Archie's face was beginning to glisten, though it might have been merely the sweaty air of the pub. He swiped his forehead tentively and fought the urge to loosen his cravat--and, almost telepathically, Archie loosened his own at that moment.

Smith bent forward abruptly, tipping back a bit as though he'd overshot the mark. "The ghost..."

"yes! that was the year that that barn burnt down--"

"What-"

"There was grain stored in it, I don't remember anything else. Blakeney's father had to buy oats that year. I didn't have anything to do with that, but it happened a week before--" and Kennedy laughed.

"No, I don't recall nothing."

"Oh, good! See, you wouldn't have respected me. It was shocking, mildly, to put it..."

"Kennedy," Hornblower put his arm on Archie's shoulder.

"Kennedy, is that your name? Why do lots of you young turks have two last names instead of plain ordinary first and last ones?"

"No, I'm Archie and," he pointed at Hornblower, "he's formal."

"Formal?"

Hornblower tried to smile. Archie laughed and waved at the barmaid, who sauntered over with more rum.

"So, about this ghost?"

"Well, they thought I was a ghost, seeing as I was in my nightshirt, and I didn't make any noise, because I was barefoot."

"Bless me! I vaguely remember a haunting. Who was it who saw you, that old nag--"

"Mrs. Ellen Curthold!" Kennedy crowed. "I tried to bolt in the bushes as fast as I could--What business does a widow have roaming about the lanes past one in the morning?"

"And what would yours be, lad, in your nightshirt without your shoes?"

"Oh, I had my shoes. I was carrying them in my hand. Anyway, that's over and done with now, and I'm an officer of the Royal Navy. And, though I've tipped over a bit tonight, generally I've improved myself."

"Then why do you gad about with that Blakeney still?"

"He's a good friend, my oldest friend, and he's not as bad as he seems, you know."

Smith snorted. "Not as bad--that's pretty faint praise if I ever heard it."

"I don't understand," Archie exclaimed, "this business about his losing the estate. It seems sort of shady."

Horatio stared at Archie in stunned silence as he continued to blabber on. Smith too was talking non stop. After a few more rounds, Horatio knew the rum was in control of both men. He on the other hand was still nursing his first glass. Hating the way alcohol affected him, Horatio had decided not to get drunk. Thus only drinking one glass.

"Um, gentlemen, it is getting late," he announced. Archie and Samuel nodded as they chugged down the last of the rum. "May we escort you home Samuel?"

The old man thought a moment, then smiled. "Yes that would grand!"

Archie tried to stand up and finally Horatio had to help him to his feet. As he did Archie whispered," We have him right where we want him."

Horatio had to turn his head for Archie's breath reeked of rum. "Yes," was all Horatio said and practically carried his friend out of the pub. It was late in the evening as the three men made their way in the dark. Samuel was singing some song out loud as they went. Archie was singing his on song. "How far to your home?" Horatio asked trying to shut them both up.

"Not far," Samuel said, his speech badly slurred. A few minutes later they arrived at a tiny cottage. It was nothing compared to Blakeney's grand manor. Smith quickly opened the door and lit a candle. Horatio helped Archie inside and to a chair were he promptly fell asleep.

Smith sat down on a bed in the corner and began to snore. Horatio stood and observed the two men for a moment, shaking his head. He would never understand why anyone would treat his body in such a way. Now he had a task to complete. Taking the candle he scanned the small room. Eyeing a desk behind the door he quickly walked to it. "Now to find something to help Blakeney," he thought out loud. Shuffling through the numerous papers he read each one. But nothing was there about property or Blakeney.

"If I was Smith, were would I have those papers?" he thought to himself. "There!" he said with excitement. A small rug on the floor caught his attention. As he picked it up, underneath was a door. Quickly pulling it open, he cautiously started to descend down the stairs.

With candle in hand, Horatio peered about in the dark. The pitiful light barely penetrated a few feet in front of him. As he stood on the last step, he couldn't make out any walls. "What the devil is this place," he whispered, feeling a bit apprehensive. He wasn't afraid of the dark but something about this made him uneasy. Suddenly he remembered the hole in the prison and knew where his fears came from. Taking a deep breath he tried to calm himself. "You are being silly. There is no reason to fear anything here!"
His speech wasn't working and he took a step backwards, heading back above ground. Before he could reach the top of the stairs, the little trap door slammed shut. Uncontrollable fear seized him and he lunged to the top step. He began pounding on the wood, screaming to be let out. Not a sound came from the other side. Horatio closed his eyes and tried to calm his heaving chest. "This is childish."

After a few minutes he finally was able to walk back to the bottom of the stairs. Taking a deep breath he headed forward in search of a way out of his current prison.

Carling smiled at the locked door on the floor. He knew Blakeney's friends would try something like this and was prepared to deal with them. Now he had to figure out what to do with the other one. Standing over Archie he contemplated his fate. "Well I can't kill him. That would bring the whole navy here." He began to pace in front of the drunken sailor. Placing a hand over his eyes, he sighed. "Suppose I could just drop him off at Blakeney's. No, no," he said thinking out loud. "I have to discredit him. That's it!" he whispered as an evil plan formed in his head. Blakeney's friends would suffer right along with him.

Finally Horatio came to a wall in the darkness. His fear had subsided enough for him to think. Now that he had a wall, he would see just how big this room was. With his hand against the wooden wall, he walked along side. Suddenly the wood was gone. Swinging his candle he saw another room open up to him. "This place is huge!"
Cautiously he entered the room. Again he couldn't make out how big the room was. Sniffing the air he swore it smelled of seawater. "That's impossible!" he thought. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of movement. Something darted out of his light. Swallowing hard he watched the darkness, trying to see what was out there. It was definitely an animal. It most likely wasn't dangerous but still Horatio felt uncertain. He heard a scratching noise behind him. Whirling around he was relieved to see the rat dog at his feet.
"Franny!" he cried in relief. "How in the blazes did you get down here?" Picking up the little dog Horatio felt great relief flood over him. His mind began turning and he decided Blakeney must have sent her on a mission. "Why else would you be here, hmmm," he said sweetly, soothing the excited little creature. Setting Franny back on the ground he encouraged her," There must be a way out of her, eh girl." With a wag of her tail Horatio set out following his rescuer, a dog.