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Chapter 50
Northeastern France
Methos had changed vehicles three times and had driven off in different directions each time. Finally satisfied that they were not being followed, he allowed himself to relax.
"I take it you have a place in mind in the area." Eleanor's left hand was in his right at the moment. The touch of her hand on his helped him focus.
From the back seat Derrick looked far more relaxed than he had since Methos had met him... although the boy was picking a bit at his bandaged hand. Ever since telling the boy part of the truth... Derrick had seemed to take it in stride as the answer to all the "weird stuff" and had ceased asking his questions. Methos sincerely hoped that would continue. Now more than ever he was convinced he needed to find time to discover what the boy might know... buried in those strange memories of his... as well as finalizing the unity bond with Eleanor. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it as he let go to turn the wheel into the long shaded avenue.
On either side of the road, cypress trees lined the gravel drive that twisted around through the rising hills. Finally the road straightened and he could see the three-story brick and stone house before him. Built in the early seventeenth century by a minor marquis with royal connections... it had a grand sense of proportion. Of course, Methos smiled at the memory, the marquis had also had a gambling problem. He'd lost the house to the immortal in a game of cards. Methos... having no need of it at the time... had allowed the family to stay on there. The last of them had died during the French Revolution as had so many of the aristocracy. He'd continued as absentee landowner and occasional tenant here over the centuries. It was isolated, and it had been empty for the past fifteen years.
He'd called the caretaker, a man named Bouchet, a few days ago and made arrangements for the house to be opened up and cleaned. There should be no one else there. He'd indicated he would hire a staff later.
"Now remember, Derrick, say as little as possible. Be polite... but speak only when spoken to. Also... do you remember the names I told you?"
Derrick nodded, "You have to use other names so no bad people can trace you. You are Marcel Gambon and his wife Julietta. And I'm your nephew Jonathon, from America." The boy repeated the names over several times in mock phrases to be certain he had them down. "I'll remember." He grinned at Eleanor, beaming a bit in his youthful enthusiasm.
"Just be as quiet and still as you were before, when we were traveling with Phillip. Once we are alone... we can relax a bit." Eleanor reached back to pat his arm. "Then we can spend a few days here and you and ...Marcel," she grinned at Methos... can play games and we can wait for Phillip."
"And Duncan? He'll come too, won't he?" His eagerness was apparent.
"If he can... if it's safe." Methos agreed and pulled to a stop in the circular drive. He stared up at the pale orange brick and the dark windows recalling another time he had arrived here... by private coach. He'd been a bit tipsy as he recalled, but then... life had been simpler then.
They were met at the door by Bouchet who turned over the keys, showed them around the lower floor and spoke proudly of the history of the house. He asked about staff interviews and was told in a few days. They'd be fine for a few days... they were eager to experience the peace and quiet of the estate. Satisfied that his absent employer had not rented the house to buffoons or to dangerous folk... Bouchet had shuffled off to his cottage at the far end of the estate. Methos shut the door behind him and let out a great sigh and then a chuckle.
"I can't believe he didn't recognize me."
"When were you last here?" Eleanor said.
"Just after World War II... I checked on how the place had fared under occupation and stayed here while getting my next set of documents together to move on. He was a boy then."
They found Derrick in a gallery staring at the paintings of "ancestors" on the walls. "Is there one of you here, Adam?"
"No... I'm very careful about things like that... although," he leaned over conspiratorially and whispered in the boy's ear just loud enough for Eleanor to catch his words. "I do have a very excellent one of Eleanor at another home that is a real eye-opener." He ducked as she pretended to throw something. Then they came to what had been the ballroom.
The empty room with its faded rose silk panels, great crystal chandelier and polished marble floor beckoned them to step back in time.
"Were you ever here, Ellie?" the boy asked.
"Just once... but it was a long time ago," she murmured.
Methos came up behind her and cleared his throat. When she turned he bowed formally, "Milady... might I have this dance?"
Eleanor curtsied deeply as though in a ball gown and took his hands. Together they waltzed about the room to unheard melodies, laughing as they twirled. When they finished, he held her closely in his arms and kissed her hair. When Methos glanced at Derrick he noticed a strange look on the boy's face.
Derrick slowly walked over and lifted his arms. "Dance with me Eleanor," he said oddly.
Eleanor smiled and reached for his hands. Together they danced... not a waltz, Methos noted, but a far older dance... one he and Eleanor had danced when they had first married. They'd danced it time and again over the years... and once he'd seen her dance it with Darius. The boy and the immortal shifted and turned, twirling in the age-old steps that were the patterns Methos had so lately used to mark her as his. Faster and faster the two moved as if they had danced this way for a thousand years. It made Methos uneasy and a dark look passed over his face.
As if she felt his unease, Eleanor stumbled in a step and then laughed nervously, holding the boy tightly in her arms and staring at Methos with a look of fear and distrust on her face.
Methos shoved his hands deeply into his coat pockets and shrugged. He smiled sheepishly and said, "Shall we see what Bouchet left for us in the kitchen. He did say there was food for a cold supper." Eleanor nodded, and allowed him to place an arm around her shoulders as they headed for the kitchen; but she kept Derrick close to her... and on the far side... away from Methos.
***
London
"Got it!" Barlow's voice sounded triumphant.
"About time!" Cassandra had been twiddling her thumbs in this cellar for hours. Earlier she'd gone back upstairs and searched everywhere for other hidden entrances or tell-tale clues. But there had been nothing there. At least there were no apparent signs of anything.
She'd spent the last few hours just waiting. In her fingers she turned over the hair clasp and tried to visualize the woman who might have worn it. Tall... short... mortal... immortal... the only clue she had was the dark hairs trapped in the clasp. Their presence told her that... but as to the rest.... Cassandra had no idea. She had no visions... no sense of the owner. She roughly shoved the clasp into her pocket.
Barlow grinned like a silly schoolboy as he motioned her through the maze and up to... Cassandra halted and stared. "It's a vault!"
"What?" Barlow came up behind her. "Son of a bitch! This devious bastard has more tricks up his sleeve than any three immortals." He sighed. "Give me some more time... I'll get it open."
Cassandra waved her acquiescence and stood thoughtfully to one side. Something Barlow had said had caused her to think. "Tricky? Devious? Who do I know like that?" Cassandra grinned with a predatory look... like a cat that knows the bird is hers. "Methos... wouldn't that be too perfect." She could rob him of something... she could put a thorn in his side and cause him pain. "Oh... if it were only so!" She backed out of the maze once more and sat on one of the trunks to wait. She could be patient... especially if it were Methos she might be robbing. She picked up a box of stale crackers she had lifted from the kitchen and began to munch. She was hungry... and this was taking far longer than she had anticipated.
