Warning: There maybe some switching points of view, later. Sozzie. I had a bit of self-indulgence with this one I'm afraid - lots of musing and introspection but puts on high-minded look of the artiste pauvre it is for my art!

Chapter 24

As Lorna reclined languorously like a sun-warmed cat beneath the pristine white sheets of the elegantly mahogany-carved four-poster, she yawned and smiled to herself. If she had ever, in her rebellious youth, deigned to question the good Catholic doctrine that had been so much a part of her upbringing as to linger like a scorched brand on her flesh, she might have believed in Fortune. Fortune, not just in abstract terms, but as a woman. She smiled at the thought and let her imagination savour it a little longer - it had been so long since she had had the time for her own idle ruminations.

What would this capricious goddess be like? Lorna thought: beautiful, yes. She would be everything that she was not: tall and boyish of stature, though with bosoms quite ample beneath her immodest attire. She would have a rosy complexion with a flaxen cascade of hair down her back though the sweeping lashes that framed her romantic eyes would be dark, like hers. The nose would be discreet and straight, and the eyes themselves sympathetic and blue. But like all such Beauties, in Lorna's suspicious mind, she would be vain and inconstant as the late-blooming rose, loath to betray her thorns. For as fickle as any whore with her treacherous side-ways glances, ready to be romanced by any passing stranger or whim, she would as soon betray them as fold them into her soft embrace.

As she watched the dust particles being dissected above her in a beam of tangential light from the high window, Lorna wondered what it was that made the Goddess smile so favourably upon her. She smiled: or maybe it was the illusory James that had so captured her imagination, for Lorna could not think for what reason she had ended up here, of all places in Paris, if not by pure unadulterated Luck. The bed, and indeed herself lying on it, was in no other place than the magnificent lodgings of the famed revolutionary leader Louis St juste, whom she had been instructed to seek out… But Lorna was not the type to look a gift horse in the mouth.

As she snuggled deeper, gratified by the lack of watch-bells that had come to punctuate even her deepest sleeps and call her to duty at all times of night, she began to dwell on the fine furniture around her. It made her raise an eyebrow at this man, her host, who professed to believe in the value of equality and a desire to liberate the poor, yet surrounded himself with all this opulent luxury. A stray thought wandered across her consciousness: if it weren't for all this hypocrisy, I would join the revolution myself! But it was a traitorous thought and she quickly repressed it back into shadows.

But the idea would not so easily be discarded after it had so recently been acknowledged and a new though was formed from it: that's why I ran away from home. I couldn't bear their upper-class constraints and freely wealded power - a power that should belong to everyone, to good men, like Archie. Lorna frowned at the name - she couldn't afford to think about him, not at a time like this. If there was one thing that could have prevented her from taking the mission, being sent home in disgrace, it was what happened to her friends: the image of his bloody hair and rolling eyes swam into view.

Much as found dwelling on herself distinctly pointless and not to say the least wantonly self-indulgent, Lorna grudging admitted to her sub-conscious that perhaps this was something she did have to think about and very carefully. And, she reasoned, a little judgement on one's own character could never to any harm if it led to enlightenment and more importantly self-reformation. Lorna would never allow herself to become one of those people too arrogant, or just to ignorant, to see their own failings - and she had enough of them, of that she was well aware. And maybe this was one of them.

The thought was mildly shocking, that maybe her lack of introspection, her brazen tendencies to dash headlong into situations based purely on impulsive need or desire, was merely a way to hide her own inadequacies. She had always been romantic, and maybe it was some romantic view of herself that made her determined to be so strong and ruthless. It was that made her kill and that which made love such a difficult emotion to understand. Passion was one thing, but somehow she could not connect the feeling to another human, not in an amorous sense: loyalty, pride and admiration were all feelings she freely acknowledged and engendered.

Silently she cursed Archie for being the cause of this elusive train of her thoughts, but she instantly regretted the emotion - for all she knew he was dead, as she was lying here in relative safety. Lorna wasn't sure how that made her feel. She felt regret and guilt that it would have been her that would have occasioned his death, certainly, and she would grieve as someone who had lost a best friend. But would it be more than that? He frightened her, with his easy charm and lewd wit that always seemed to leave her stranded. She didn't like that feeling; the power he had in that he was running rings around her with some secret that she could not discover. That was ridiculous - love is free and universal, nothing was stopping her from experiencing it…

But there was. Lorna didn't know what love was, and she was pretty sure that her ideas were very different to Archie's. She had a shrewd idea of what he though love was: a good whore who was willing to please him. Or at least that was all he expected in life. Being around the painted theatres he would have entertained the same romantic illusions of chaste romance as she had, but maybe that was something left for the young. And the rich, he would say.

If only he knew what arranged love meant. But he was a lot older than she was… Maybe he was right and that pure love of the soul she had dreamt of as a child didn't really exist. The thought pained her, but it wouldn't leave. Maybe the easiest thing would be to get it over with… But even the thought made her sick with memories of that stinking tavern and even her first time below decks on the Indy. The sights had repulsed her even then, and it wasn't just her Catholic upbringing that was making her feel that way. Lorna rolled onto her stomach and thumped the pillow angrily as she felt tiny beads of salt water blooming at the corners of her eyes.

Another stray thought interrupted her. Then why does he make you feel so strange? It was true every time they were together they fought or they laughed or cried, but whatever the emotion was it was always as explosive as powder keg, and it felt the same inside. At the slightest brush with him she felt shocks running from the point of contact all through her body, feelings she couldn't fully control, and that's what she liked least about them. She didn't like people touching her, it always made her feel invaded, every movement an intrusion. And it was no different with him… Just you're a little more willing to be invaded? And the kiss, don't pretend you didn't enjoy that and for all you know it was mutual… As hard as she tried, Lorna could not quite stop the flame rising into her cheeks, nor the grin she pressed into her pillow.

Thud. Lorna sat up like a ramrod as there came a sound like siege on the door as someone pounded furiously upon the heavy oak, and not a moment after, it had burst open to admit an entourage of billowing ladies, like a full convoy of sails. The rosy-cheeked faces were all eager to help her to her toilet, and into her bath, and into the gown laid out for her. As she was scrubbed and braided, and corseted and perfumed, Lorna could not help but be grateful that the gown was at least of some decent material and not that horrible lice-ridden horror she had been forced into before. It was a plain dark blue with the wide skirts below the nipped in waist, that Lorna could not pretend she had missed being laced into, and felt a sudden pang of yearning for her breaches. She was, however, pleasantly contented to be waited- upon. At least, she thought to herself, with all, this activity you won't have time to linger so idly in your thoughts again. No, she decided, I like being in absolute control of myself, no obligations to anyone or anything - that's why I ran away in the first place.

And with that thought still ringing in her ears, Lorna was swept from the room and down the grand staircase.