Chapter 7

Out in the storm, two men rode the straightest path to London at a quick clip. The lead man turned off the road once they were well out of Eyam to stop momentarily under a large oak. With the cover of the old tree's thick leaves, William Moore opened the satchel to inspect the papers. Something did not feel right about it.

"Should you be doing that sir?" Agent Brighting asked over the sound of the storm.

"Just checking the contents," Moore told his companion. "You know the service mantra. Trust no one." Closing the satchel again Moore turned to his companion. "One should always be wary in this game, Alan. Wary and watchful." He transferred the reins to his left hand and quickly stretched out his right. A blast of fire came from it. Alan jerked out of his saddle and fell to the ground in a heap.

Moore tipped his hat to the dark still form on the ground. He had not wanted the young agent along. Appearances, rules. Fine idea always going in pairs when dealing with such information. I'll have to remember that.

It had been so long since I worked in London, lots of changes. And nobody remembers me, which made it easy to use the half-truth of being a returning agent from a long undercover mission. He had fabricated orders on his return and had found a young man on duty in the telegraph offices to work though. Alan Brighting had been told to watch for any communications that were out of the ordinary, any word of Richard's whereabouts or any message requesting aid or a private meeting outside of London. Moore had furthered his lie by saying that he was on orders from Chatsworth to aid Richard in his return from a very dangerous mission. Moore had been certain Richard would be heading back to London either directly or covertly. If his Prussian operatives had not caught the escaped agent before he left Europe, he had to intercept him on his way to Whitehall. At least part of my errand in England is done. Richard was dead and silent. He now had to retrieve the evidence compiled against him. Without another backward glance at the young agent he had just murdered, Moore turned his horse back onto the road to Eyam to finish his business, decreasing England's Secret Service by one former and one active agent more.


It was a beautiful bright sunny day. The trees were spring green, and the flowers were every color of the rainbow in the valley below. In this setting, two French lovers were enjoying a leisurely picnic on a hill under a shady oak. It was a picturesque hill on the edge of a pretty wood. In the shade, a gentle ardent dark-eyed gallant poured another glass of wine for his lady. She, a blue-eyed blonde in a loose flowing gown, took it looking over the rim of the glass with a sparkle in her eyes that promised far more intoxicating offerings. Her dark-headed companion saw the invitation and accepted eagerly. The Frenchman drained his glass and tossed it over his wide strong shoulder. He took further refreshment from his lady's wine drenched lips. The tender lover drank deeply, not wanting to miss a single drop. Hungrily, he chased further sustenance down her jaw line to her tender neck. His lady giggled in mock protest as his goatee tickled her skin. In response, he mercilessly tickled her more. He moved his adore to her shoulders and the pulse in her throat. On the way, he cherished her ear and paid homage to her golden tresses. The worshipful suitor was just delving into the valley between hillsides when he was jerked away from his feast into a dark cold place.


"Passepartout… Passepartout! Wake up man, time is wasting!"

Jean Passepartout came out of the dark cold place of his slumber into the dark cold room at the Miner's Arms. His master was roughly rousing him. Passepartout was disoriented, but dutifully came to wakefulness. "Master? Has Passepartout overslept?"

"Come awake man! No, you have not overslept," Phileas assured him. "I need to ask you something. The message I gave you to send to London, what exactly did you send?"

"I wrote for telegraph man what you said exactly master." Jean said. "Miss Rebecca Fogg requests Sir Jonathan Chatsworth to come to Miner's Arms Inn, Eyam, Derbyshire. Matter most urgent! God save the Queen! It is as you told me, no more or less."

"Good man!" Phileas praised. He pulled his valet to a sitting position. "Be up and dressed in five minutes ready to leave. You will have to drive the coach. Can you handle that? No, never mind the coach," Phileas said reversing himself. "We will just take the horses, quieter and faster that way. Well, come along man, on your feet!"

Passepartout stood as Phileas left the room. "Something urgent happening," Passepartout said to the four walls. "Something very urgent to be pulling master out of bed before rooster crows."


The valet was in his clothes and downstairs before the required five minutes. His master and Miss Rebecca were already dressed and waiting for him. The landlord was up as well taking directions from Master Fogg.

"Too late," Miss Rebecca called from the front window. "He is riding back up the street and Alan is not with him."

"Who is back?" Passepartout asked trying to get caught up.

"Can we get out through the kitchen?" Phileas asked Mr. Potts.

"The kitchen leads to the storeroom and cellars, sir," Mr. Potts said. "Its service door would be seen by the main entrance. The back door is through my family's apartments."

"Not good," Rebecca announced, "and there is no more time." Quickly assessing the situation, Rebecca decided a game of hide and seek was in order. Their rooms were on the east side of the building where they could be close to Richard. The rest of the inn's guests were lodged on the west side away from Richard's sickroom. That would be to their advantage. "Upstairs I think, Phileas?"

"Quite right," he said. "Passepartout, go with Mr. Potts through the back to the stables. Wait for us there. If all goes well, we will meet you there and head to London. If not, you will have to go on your own. Take this to Sir Jonathan's residence." He pushed a saddlebag into Passepartout's hands. "If we do not meet you in ten minutes, go by yourself. That information must get to Chatsworth. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Master," the valet said, accepting his orders.

Seconds later, Passepartout was heading through the innkeeper's private apartments. His master and Miss Rebecca were running up the stairs. The valet stepped out the back door into the driving rain. His mind was already making plans on how to proceed. He would saddle three horses and pray that three horses left this place together.


Mr. Potts headed back to the common room at the sound of his front door being beaten. Mr. Fogg had locked it to keep the man from getting in again on his own. The innkeeper had been roused from his bed by the gentleman tenant. Quick sketchy explanations were pressed on him as he dressed. Imagine, urgent crown business being conducted under my roof! The old man's pride surged as he headed to greet the late guest. This was also dangerous business. He was not to do anything against the blackguard at the door. Mr. Fogg had instructed him to tell the man where his and the lady's rooms were and lock himself and his family into their apartments. A good plan. Mr. Potts nodded, willing to do what he could, but adventuring with spies wasn't to be part of it.


Unlocking the door, Mr. Potts let the tall nightrider inside. Fresh rain splattered the entry as the man took shelter. The newcomer asked of his guests politely, saying he had urgent business. Mr. Potts told him where the Foggs were to be found, as directed. "Mind you, my other guests are to the other side of the inn and not to be disturbed."

"Have no worry, sir," the soaked rider said. "I will be in and out again as fast as I can. You may go back to your bed if you like."

Mr. Potts nodded agreeably and handed the man a lamp. He then headed off to his rooms again and locked the sturdy door tight.