Authors' Foreword
Hey, all! It's been a while, and sorry it took so long for us to get back to the fic. Unfortunately, life, and it's complete and utter unexpectedness, delayed a bit. Well... A lot... That said, however... We're back, and hopefully fully on track, so have a read, and we hope that you enjoy what we've uploaded for you!
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Miriam sighed as she made her way towards the Arc de Triomphe. She was quite certain, to her chagrin, that she looked every inch the expatriate to the locals. If not a pure tourist!
She dismissed the addition her mind insisted adding to her worries as sheer nerves. After all, her French seemed at the very least acceptable to the locals if their reactions to her wording and accent were any indication! That made the former the more likely.
Of course, her fashion sense, always keen, had allowed her a semblance of fitting in with her surroundings… At least, more than she might have during a warmer time of year. Her greatcoat — which she had pulled tightly about her lithe form to keep the cold winter wind from further chilling her — was rather stylish and in keeping with most of those she saw walking along the Avenue des Champs-Élysées.
I shall probably have to update my wardrobe before the next season... She grimaced slightly at the thought, then shrugged, It cannot be avoided, unless I wish to make myself more of an outsider here in Paris than I am already!
At least the directions she had obtained from the concierge, neatly written and in fluent English, were clear enough for her to follow! The problem came with the use of monuments for directions, more of a nuisance than normal considering that a few inches of snow had fallen over the evening. But some monuments, such as the Arc de Triomphe, would be unmistakable even with feet of snow burying the city.
Granted, it was not much of a problem for Miriam, merely annoying. For Jonathon — as he had complained in his familiar, jocular manner — things were far more problematic, as he did not understand French very well at all. It had not seemed a bad idea at the time to split up; they could cover more ground, and could easily recognize the larger landmarks by sight. After the fact, however...
She sighed, hoping that she had made the correct decision searching separately from Jonathon. It had been sheer supposition that Bartholomew and Miss Go would have come to Paris to handle the blueprints, and while that conjecture had borne fruit, it left them a troubling quandary. The villains had multiple areas with which to divest themselves of the blueprints, which she and her partner had pared down to two possibilities. Splitting their efforts had indeed allowed them cover them both, but now that they had done so Miriam worried that, perhaps, the blond may get himself into more than a spot of trouble.
The industrial section was a rough and tumble place, after all, and as strong and resilient as her friend was, he was not a fighter of particularly high caliber. Wrestling? It was true that very few could beat him. Fisticuffs or the more intensive combat arts Miss Go had seemed trained for? It was far from certain, when it came to Jonathon, unless he could actually manage a solid grapple with an opponent...
That observation sharply compounded Miriam's concerns, especially considering the ghastly affairs which had gone on just getting to Europe. Yes, she concluded to herself with a moueof worry, I think it is a definite, well-founded fear. How in the world do we continue to find ourselves in these situations?
Oh. Right. Hunting down Lipsky and forcing a confession from him. That man seemed to exude trouble like some type of poison, and he was greasy enough to get out with little trouble at all! I'm surprised Miss Go had not discovered a way to use it for her own purposes! Shaking her head, Miriam looked to the directions again. The paper said to look for the collection of cafés which were clustered at a three-way intersection…
"Over here, Ms. Possible!"
Miriam crumpled the paper in an angry fist. There was only one person whose voice could be so charming, yet repulsively confident at once.
"Bartholomew Lipsky!" she hissed under her breath. Miriam clenched her other fist as she rounded gracefully in the direction he had called from. Sure enough, the man in question was standing just outside the entrance to a stylish looking café that seemed more of an actual restaurant than a quaint eatery.
It took her aback to see him looking so expectant, as if he had actually been waiting on her. To her great frustration, despite the fact that she had chased him across an ocean and half of two continents, his attention was focused less on her, and more on the pocketwatch he held! Even as she stewed, that part of her that had reported on fashion noted the watch was almost ornate in its understated simplicity, and only added to the clear invitation his words and posture intimated. Had she not known better, she would have thought he had a previously scheduled lunch date at the café.
That lunch date being me, if I must hazard a guess… she deduced with an ire deep enough that it managed to surprise her. Forcing her anger down into a tense calm, she took stilted steps toward him until she was standing just down the steps from his position.
"I had wondered when you would arrive. I had set aside a window of fifteen minutes for you." He put his watch away in the front breast pocket of his suit jacket, Miriam now noticing that he was sans his normal greatcoat, and gave her a grand smile. She barely resisted the urge to grimace at the painfully theatric expression as he beckoned to the door. "Come in, sit with me for some coffee and a light brunch."
It took her a few moments to process his request. Once she had, it was almost too ludicrous to even consider. "You cannot be serious!" she gaped, "Why should I bother to drink tea with you? For all I know, it may be poisoned, or filled with foul medicines! And that is without mention the wrongs you have committed against me."
Bartholomew's expression screamed surprise, which, Miriam felt confident, was a sham, as well as a small amount of hurt. "Miss Possible, you think so little of me? I, as a proper gentleman, would not stoop to such pitiful attempts to defeat so worthy a foe!"
"It may not be you who does the deed..." Miriam responded in a low voice, remembering the rather cruel turn of events Miss Go had thrown at poor Jon in New York City. Who knew how debilitating a light digestif mixed with a colon cleanser could be, save for that witch?
He hummed in recognition of her comment. "I can assure you that Miss Go is not here," he said earnestly, motioning to the café once again. "I merely wish to spend some time with my foe in a less... Contentious setting, you understand?." When she did not move, he sighed. "Please, Miriam, what must I do to prove that my intentions are not foul?"
Miriam huffed, barely resisting stamping a foot like an impatient horse as she took the time to think on his offer.
You are in a precarious situation, Miriam… she counseled herself. You cannot do anything until he makes a move. As we found out in Italy, he has his family's rather powerful reputation supporting him throughout Europe. You are only an American reporter, one wanted in your own country, as well. At least Mr. Poirot was able to assure you that you were not wanted anywhere in Europe for the theft…
She narrowed her eyes as he stood patiently awaiting her decision, and pursed her lips as a realization struck her, He could sit here all day if he wanted, just waiting for you to tire. He could possibly even call the police right now to report you following him, and with his family connections, it would be taken seriously as a threat to his person… She sighed as unobtrusively as she could before nodding minutely, At least if you are here you have a chance to thwart his scheme, whatever it may be… And you can get out of the chill for a few moments!
"I suppose," she began slowly, watching him carefully, "that my worries would be assuaged if you were to partake of the same foodstuffs I will."
Miriam was rewarded for her observation; not for any slip-up in villainy, as it were, but in his surprising expression of delight. Instead of the grandiose, rather death's head like affectations she had seen in Middleton and later in Naples, it was instead a small upturn of the lips. She barely kept her expression sober as his eyes twinkled in some hidden merriment and a light chuckle slipped gently from his lips, seemingly without his own notice. It lasted a few scant seconds before he once again assumed the façade of a malefactor, but it was enough for her to grasp at just what he hid behind that very mask.
The awareness surprised her so much that she had a sudden urge to research his past, wanting to understand how a man with such potential for warmth could turn to callous villainy.
"I see," he said with a knowing tone as he turned towards the café, missing the sudden change in Miriam's posture, looking less like a trapped rabbit and more like a cat whom had just caught sight of a particularly juicy mouse. She managed to school herself to neutrality once more before he glanced back to her with a large, toothy grin on his face. "Then that is what we shall do."
Miriam stood awkwardly for a few seconds as Bartholomew opened the door and stood aside with a bow. She noticed that, despite being nearly forty years old, he was a powerfully built man as muscles bulged and stretched some portions of his suit's jacket. "Our seat is straight back, the last on the left; my coat is draped over my chair. I am sure you will recognize it?"
She nodded and made her way toward the table, which already had a small selection of bread and cheese laid out for them. She got there before him, and pulled her seat out by herself, first checking it over. Satisfied that he had not stooped so low as to use poisoned tacks or some similarly untoward form of attack, she removed her coat and draped it over the back of her chair. It was an unconscious action, as she had been raised more around men than women in her life, and had picked up on some of their habits. She then sat with an air that mixed dignity and propriety that indicated she was a progressive woman who did not expect to be coddled.
It seemed to be the right thing to do, as she saw Bartholomew's lips curve slightly wider than before as he watched her seat herself. Keeping attention on his face out of the corner of her eyes, she saw his expression fall into one of concern as she pulled her seat close to the table and straightened. "Is something the matter with you now, Bartholomew?" she asked, as if without a care.
Realizing he had been caught, Bartholomew put on a genuinely charming smile, oddly mixing his villainous bombast and the sincere expression she had seen twice already. "My apologies, but I was wondering which beverage you were going to order."
"Tea," Miriam answered curtly as Bartholomew sat, almost causing him to fall from his seat. He cringed at her blunt response; an expression she felt was as overinflated as that of any stage performer. She took a tentative sniff of the air and allowed a bare smirk to grace her features, "Chamomile, specifically."
"Would you be amenable to coffee?" he asked tentatively, "I would rather not drink tea at the moment, and drinking coffee at the same time as drinking tea is not a pleasant thought."
It only took her a moment to decide her response, which she delivered in a rather more austere tone than she had taken up to that moment. "No I would not. You are the one who desires this meeting; the least you could do is allow me my drink of choice."
"As I thought you would answer," he sighed, surprisingly lacking in his normal theatrics, before waving a waiter wondered slightly at that, having expected a more curlish response. She quickly schooled her curiosity, lest she utter any of the questions lurking beneath her tongue.
They sat in silence for a minute as they waited for the order of tea to arrive. The air was thick enough to have made a pleasant soup as Miriam eyed Bartholomew suspiciously. Her suspicion redoubled when he became much too intently focused on a chip in the table. Thankfully, the waiter did nothing more than bring them their order and leave. Either he was an intuitive lad or his shift was nearing its end, she concluded.
Miriam waited but a moment for the tea to cool before pouring a cup for herself. Bartholomew mimicked the action, distaste clear on his face. It was Earl Grey, which drew the barest grimace from her, though she relaxed when she tasted the healthy addition of chamomile. She guessed she should have allowed her foe to pick at his leisure, but she had been drinking alcohol a bit more than she preferred, having lacked her favored tea, which seemed to stem her desire for alcohol. Nonetheless, the choice was unusual; to her knowledge he was not of any English descent, his family instead being Germanic.
Her urge to research his past solidified into determination in that moment. She did not actually know anything about Bartholomew Lipsky save for what she had discovered from her contacts on this side of the Atlantic. She studied him briefly over the rim of her steaming tea, though she kept herself from being obtrusive about it, while thinking about their past interactions.
Mannerisms, quirks, plots, personality... They all painted a picture for her, but — as she had seen today — it was as an impressionist's fleeting imagery, as opposed to the realist's ponderous attention to the smallest detail. The picture she had of the man was lacking the history, the minutia, that any reporter such as herself craved, leaving the man before her a complete mystery. Perhaps I can gain a starting point during this conversation? She lowered her tea after taking a healthy sip of the hot liquid, waiting until he had finished his own sip as a show of good sport, and asked, "What is it you wanted from this meeting, Lipsky?"
"What do I want out of this meeting?" Bartholomew breathed out slowly, setting his tea on its saucer. He leaned back and considered the question, steepling his fingers as he gazed at her. After several seconds of silence save for a light sip from Miriam, he answered, "I want to know some things… About the wrongs which you say I have committed against you. Pray tell, what could I have done to earn your scorn, and such dogged pursuit?"
Miriam pursed her lips, carefully lowering the tea to the saucer and setting both back to the tabletop. She folded her hands in front of her and favored the man across from her with a stern gaze, before biting out a quiet, "Surely you heard that I am now a wanted woman due to your actions over that ridiculous Electrostatic Illuminator?"
Bartholomew blinked in shock and Miriam was surprised that it seemed unfeigned. She cocked her head slightly as the man reached up to smooth his pencil-thin mustache in thought, before he took a deep breath and shook his head, "I had not, Miriam. Though I have no idea as to why you would have been considered the guilty party, what with the number of witnesses to the event who would have clearly seen Miss Go! I must say that you have my sincere apologies."
Miriam opened her mouth to reply hotly to his comment, but he raised a finger, "I must also say that I can do nothing for you, my dear. As I did not steal the dingus that I was after, claiming guilt would be most… Problematic. Especially considering my lineage…" He surprised Miriam once again by grimacing, "My family, most especially my mother, would be quite… Put out, were any claim of guilt to be made against my person. And she would put much pressure via diplomatic channels to bury any accusations, even with a written and signed confession from me."
"Really…" Miriam's voice was cold, but her gaze hot with anger. Bartholomew raised his hands in a gesture that seemed designed both to ward her aggressive attitude off and apologize at once.
"Overall," Bartholomew drew out after Miriam's glare cooled slightly, "I have to assert that it would cause more problems for both of us, and quite probably result in a worse punishment than any youcould receive for the failed thef-…"
"If it failed, then where is the Electrostatic Illuminator, hmmm?" Miriam asked sharply, and Bartholomew's eyebrows rose towards his hairline.
"It must be at the site of the fair!" he protested, his voice as sharp as Miriam's, "It dropped from my hand before Miss Go and myself were carried away by the wind."
"I…" Miriam took a deep breath and calmed herself. Reaching out carefully, she picked up her tea and raised it to her lips. "I see…" she murmured as she took long sip. Glancing down into her cup and seeing it was essentially empty, she poured another cup and then returned her gaze to Bartholomew. "Now allow me a question, Bartholomew." Her attempts to prevent the heated argument from affecting her quickly began to fail her, thus she asked in one breath, "Why do you act as an imbecile as often as you do when you are clearly more intelligent than you let on?"
Bart flinched at 'imbecile', but confusion quickly took place of dismay. "I am not quite sure I understand."
"Oh yes, because I certainly believe that!" She let some anger seep into her voice along with a touch of sarcasm, though she kept her voice to a proper conversational level. "Stop playing me for a fool. It seems rather obvious you are pretending to be a villain. It was never more obvious than it has been simply sitting here talking with you. What I want to know is why you would make a fabrication of such villainous actions?"
"My intentions are anything but a fabrication, Miriam!" He sniffed disdainfully at the entire concept, and smirked slightly at Miriam's disbelieving snort. So much like an angered lioness… he thought, forcibly keeping his smirk in place lest a true smile at his thoughts shine through, "I am merely going by the codes set down in the Book of Villainy. You can neither join, nor be a member in standing, of The Guild of Calamity and Villainy, without following the code. They have very strict guidelines, and are required to offer assistance to the authorities when a member has gone rogue, when a freelancer begins to besmirch the name for the guild, or when a madman's desires delve into the realms of wanton slaughter or destruction for destruction's sake."
"Villainy implies malicious intent. You would think that those involved in the career of villainy would be incapable of even gathering with no bloodshed," she observed. "I certainly do not see you as a villain, no matter how well you look the part. It is not the costume that makes a person truly good or evil in character; it is the person themselves who determines what path they take."
"Perhaps…" Bart conceded with another of his brief grins, "And perhaps I should add that the guild is a group of reasonable, gentlemanly villains, as opposed to thugs and common thieves? Any gentleman would try to avoid unnecessary troublemaking!" He sobered slightly and speared Miriam with an intense stare, "Now Miriam, you were correct in saying I had an ulterior motive in this. My motive was to learn of you as a person. What makes you, you? I have found you, I admit startlingly, to be one of the most fascinating women I have ever encountered. I find myself wishing to know more…"
He let Miriam digest that for a moment, drinking the last dregs of the tea in his cup, before pouring another. "And that, my dear, is why I wished to talk with you today. No scheme. No plot. No thefts." Smirking, he added, "I am sure your friend, the buffoon, has gotten himself in trouble by now trying to preempt what you two thought would be my plan. You may wish to cut your teatime short to save him from his own foolishness."
"I am quite certain he could handle anything you could send his way," Miriam scoffed, her nose upturning slightly, "He is a gentleman himself, after all, and as you said yourself, a reasonable gentleman tries to avoid unnecessary troublemaking." She smirked slightly as Bartholomew nodded, "Though with that established, I wonder why you find yourself in so much trouble… As such a reasonable gentleman, of course."
"Astute in reason and blessed with a rapier wit," Bart nodded at her, holding his hand before him as if holding a foil to acknowledge a point, "Touché, my dear. And to answer your question, I am a reasonable gentleman, of both upbringing and of bearing. I am also, however, a man of science, and a man with powerful anti-imperialist beliefs!" Miriam's eyes widened slightly at such a bold statement.
The red-head took a sip of her tea to keep herself from exclaiming in shock, and Bart continued into the growing silence, "As such, it is not only my duty, but my honor to pursue any avenue I might to stop such actions. That is why I joined the Guild. I gain some minor protections from the law in many countries, so long as I keep my actions within certain, reasonable levels.
"As well," he continued in a manner that easily identified him as a scientist, "I, being a Guild member, am forced to keep in mind my own actions at all times; while I may commit some small violence in pursuit of my goals, those acts will be less than the daughter of Prince Dakkar, a rather well known villain herself before following in her father's more… Subversive footsteps." Bart paused for a moment, pursing his lips slightly before shrugging, "And even if I embraced that worthy gentlewoman's methods, they would be far, far short of the kinds of excesses that the imperialist autocrats of the world use now!"
"What do you mean?" Miriam asked, shaken by the intensity of his gaze, as well as the implications of his words... And the knowledge that she was similarly anti-imperialist, if not so apt to take direct action as Bartholomew claimed. His gaze hardened slightly as she remained silent, as if insulted by her question, so she added, "What specifically, Bartholomew, beyond expansion via conquest?"
"I have seen what the imperialist autocracies have done in Africa, my dear." Bartholomew's voice had an edge of heat to it as he continued, deepening from the normal, harsh tenor to a cultured, yet bleak baritone, "I led men in German South-West Africa. It was not so onerous at first, but as I took missions, I saw what was happening in the countryside, away from the so-called civilized enclaves of colonists... I saw the aftermath of massacres. The wreckage made of men, women, even children, butchered in their homes, or worse, as they fled in terror!
"I watched strong men break following their orders," his voice was, however briefly, distant, as he looked into his own past, "and others become monsters who enjoyed such wanton slaughter. I strove to keep men under my own command honorable in the face of atrocity, and turned in my own commission in disgust when my own high command tried to undermine the very mission they had given me for a victory that would have resulted in a war of eradication!"
Miriam was taken aback, and she opened her mouth to speak, but Bartholomew plowed on, an ironic twist to his lips that resembled anything but a smile. "As an example closer to home for you," his voice was now calm, his baritone chilling despite the warmth the redhead felt it could so easily contain, "I suggest you look to your own American military's actions during the Philippine Insurrection, all on the orders of their government controllers… The atrocities, the hundreds, sometimes thousands, of civilians killed each day because of some vague suspicion that they supported General Aguinaldo or tha-…"
"I see your point," Miriam groused in distaste, cutting the man off with a curt wave of her hand. She knew of the actions taken there all too well. She had been asked by the Middleton Daily, since she had been in the area of the world, to cover the situation for the paper. And, unfortunately for her, she had, and quite truthfully. Her editor, on the orders of several stockholders, had pulled her after the fifth report and had, temporarily at least, relegated her to reporting on happenings in and around Middleton, or on fashion.
The distasteful actions the military had taken in quelling the insurrection, actions she had witnessed, still made her stomach churn. Especially when she considered that her late husband may have been ordered to take part of the military actions had he not already been in China. She noted, "I was stationed in Manila from July to December back in 1900 by the Middleton Daily, right after I was forced to leave China…"
"You were in China during the Siege on the Legations?" Bartholomew asked in a logical jump that startled Miriam into a brief silence.
"Yes," she said simply, not wanting to reveal to her nemesis the pain she had suffered upon receiving word that her husband had been killed in action. Shrugging, she set her tea down to partake of the cheese and bread. She nibbled on a hard bread she'd smeared with an herby, sharp smelling cheese, before glancing away from her tablemate, "I see your point, Bartholomew… But surely it would be better to pursue more peaceful, political mean-…"
"My apologies for interrupting you," Bartholomew said softly, but firmly. "I have already tried that. Both my position as a man among that aristocracy and my standing as a man of science should have given me headway, but alas, my pleas and declarations fell upon deaf ears in government, and all too open ears in academia. And as you can guess, the academics tend to be ignored until the problem has reared its head in a manner unavoidable to the governments of the world."
Miriam felt slightly put out by his interruption, and was about to ask a further question when Bartholomew held up his hand and favored her with an honestly apologetic glance, before looking towards the entrance of the café, "Good afternoon, Eduardo! You have a message for me, I presume?"
"Indeed, Mr. Lipsky!" the young man, perhaps seventeen years of age, said in English with a light, rather fetching Spanish accent, "From a Miss Go?"
"Thank you, and hold here for a moment, if you please?" Eduardo smiled gratefully and nodded, taking what was apparently a much needed breather. The youth sighed as he unbuttoned his greatcoat in the heat of the café, revealing a well tailored, tan and grey suit underneath.
Miriam looked the young man over, wondering if he was somehow part of Lipsky's scheming. It was quite possible, considering the young man's age and his stylish fashion of dress, despite being what seemed to be a courier. He was rather attractive, tall and lanky, with sharp, steel grey eyes, a hooked, but attractively proportioned nose and thin lips. His hair was short and of a no-nonsense cut, adding an air of sophistication to the young man's visage.
Eduardo seemed to have caught her sizing him up and gave a jaunty bow, holding his hand out, "My name, mademoiselle, is Eduardo Manuel Mauricio Senior, of Senior and Partners Courier Service."
"Miriam," Miriam answered shortly, a mildly charmed smile taking any sting from her brevity as she held her hand out to shake his.
"A beautiful name for a beautiful woman, indeed," Eduardo murmured as he drew her hand to his lips and placed a gentle kiss to her knuckles.
"Thank you…" She paused a moment and cocked her head slightly, "Considering how much a mouthful your name is, I hope you do not mind me calling you Eduardo?"
"Not at all, mademoiselle!" Eduardo enthused, "As for my name, yes, it is a mouthful, but I'd have it no other way. My first name I share with my father, and my middle names are from my grandfathers!"
Miriam smiled at the bright grin that was on the young man's face. She drew her hand back, grabbing up her cup of tea and managing a sip before her curiosity got the better of her, "If you do not mind me saying, you are quite fluent in English, Eduardo, though you seem to be a Spaniard? And being the apparent senior partner in a courier business in Paris at such a young age?"
"Ah, therein lies my secret!" he boasted grandiosely, "I may be young, but have traveled extensively, and picked up some small of fluency in several languages, as well as rather more fluency in English, Spanish – which is my home language, as you so noticed – as well as French, German and Russian. As for the business, my sisters, my younger brother, and two friends of mine, are all equal partners in our enterprise, all of them have similarly broad language skills to myself, with a variety of different languages, having French, English and Spanish as mutual languages."
"Interesting…" Miriam pondered for a moment, concluding that he seemed to be on the up and up. Considering his apparent language skills, if he and his partners were able to hold their tongues they would be useful for carrying diplomatic communiqués when discretion required someone not easily identified as connected to a given consulate. Not to mention international business transactions.
"Quite," Bartholomew agreed as he finished scribbling a note, the paper folded such that Miriam could not see what was being written, "And he is very efficient. Perhaps you would like to use Eduardo's services to send a message to your partner?"
"I might," Miriam agreed with surprising ease, "Depending, of course, on the price?"
"It is based on distance, and we take the shortest route practical." Eduardo answered with a rather more professional smile, "We also guarantee the privacy of anything sent via our service. As to price, it is four centimes per kilometer for letters and small packages or packages under half a kilo. For packages from over one half to six kilos, it is eight centimes per kilometer, and for packages six to ten kilos, it is twelve centimes per kilometer. Larger packages are determined by a combination of size, weight and the form of transportation required… And we guarantee reception of the package."
"That…" Miriam did a few figures in her head, blinking a few times, "Sounds very reasonable."
"Indeed!" Bartholomew said with firm agreement, "And he has yet to fail any courier task I have given him."
"Then, yes, I do wish to make use of your service, Eduardo." She glanced at Bart, who was holding a pencil and a piece of paper out to her, "Thank you, Bartholomew." She quickly scribbled a note to Jon to meet her at the café, and handed the paper to Eduardo, "I may have to pay a little extra, but he was supposed to be at…" She reached into her coat's inner pocket and pulled out the paper with the address one of her contacts had given her, then grabbed a small pocket watch and opened it to reveal the small photo of herself, Albert, and Jonathon she kept in it. She handed the paper to the young man, and then held the open face of the pocket watch towards him, pointing at Jonathon with her free hand, "My friend, Jonathon, should be at or in the area of that address. My friend is the one on the right, mid-sneeze."
"I shall make sure he gets your message." Eduardo handed the note with the address back to her, "That will be about fourteen centimes. I will return to you with your message and eighty percent of your costs if I am unable to find him, with the remaining twenty percent as payment for time used."
"That is reasonable," Miriam murmured, removing her coin purse from her bodice, counting out the sixteen centimes and handing it to him. "Thank you very much. What would be the best way to contact you if I have need of your services in the future?"
"I have cards made up for just such an occasion!" Eduardo said happily, reaching into his coat and pulling one out, "You may sometimes find me here, but will always find my youngest sister at our offices. I do hope to do business with you again, my lady!" He bowed at Miriam, then turned and bowed at Bartholomew, "Adieu, and thank you both for your business!"
"A surprisingly pleasant fellow." Miriam noted as she watched the man leave.
"Yes, and thank you for trusting him despite the fact that I use his services." Miriam glanced at Bartholomew, quirking an eyebrow at his considering gaze. The man chuckled lightly, "My dear, it is reasonable to presume you were suspicious of him because I employ his services, even though he is a respectable entrepreneur. And I thank you for trusting him, as he is, as they say, above board."
"I trust my instincts," Miriam said, ignoring a niggling in the back of her brain that said she sometimes ignored them, "And besides, I plan on staying here to finish my tea and meal."
"And I must take my leave shortly," Bartholomew mused, again smoothing his moustache, "I am compelled to thank you again, by the by…"
"For?" Miriam asked casually, leaning back in her chair to nibble on another piece of bread and a slice of harder cheese.
"I am thanking you for trusting my honor as a gentleman not to act in an untoward manner." Bart declared, then started as if just remembering something, "Especially considering the day it is? I know it is only Christmas Eve, but I felt that my favorite foe deserves a present equal to the esteem in which I hold her."
"I keep forgetting we are ahead of the Americas, timewise," Miriam sighed, before quirking an eyebrow when the rest of his statement struck her, "And what present could you possibly offer that I could accept, Bartholomew?"
"Why, only this…" Bartholomew allowed an honest smile to grace his features, and reached down underneath the table, grabbing a familiar satchel from the floor and setting it in the chair to his left. "As well as my promise that I did nothing to the originals that were in Britain. That would be Mr. Giordano's doing."
"I see…" Miriam barely contained herself from laughing. So you never realized that 'Mr. Giuseppe Giordano' was actually a Frenchman named Jean-Paul Sauvage? Instead of laughing, she reached over to carefully grab the satchel and look inside. Her mouth dropped open slightly as she realized that all of the plans seemed to be within the satchel, and she glanced sharply across the table at him. "Why would you give me this?" she asked suspiciously, then narrowed her eyes and snarled lightly, "Unless you've already gotten your use of it?"
"Guilty, as charged…" Bartholomew admitted with seemingly honest contrition, "And, as you will note, I have put a few additional papers in there that I am sure the inventor of such a brilliant form of steel might find useful."
"Why?" Miriam boggled at him, and was surprised as he leaned back and spoke contemplatively.
"Because, Miriam…" he did not seem to realize he had dropped the 'my dear' he had been using throughout the conversation, "I am a man of science. If I can help a fellow scientist in any way, I will do so… Even at the risk of improving the weaponry of war, as this material has so many practical uses it boggles even a scientist's mind!" He shook himself, then glanced back at her, "And… Considering your dogged pursuit, I felt it only honorable to assist you in recovering something of such importance."
"You are a strange man, Mr. Lipsky," Miriam intoned, but silently admitted that, if her close friendship with Jonathon was any yardstick, she was rather fond of people with strange outlooks. If he was not on the wrong side of things, she could easily see him being a good friend, but alas… She shook herself and smiled, the first truly honest expression of such she had graced him with, and held out her hand, "Thank you, then, Bartholomew. And I think a Christmas truce between you and Miss Go in respect to myself and Jon is… A very agreeable situation?"
"Yes, and…" Bart took a deep breath, as if steeling himself for something, "Upon my honor, I shall do no villainy between now and the second day of the new year, from this year and into perpetuity."
Miriam's eyes widened, and she found herself smiling in agreement, "Very well! Perhaps…" She paused, realizing what she was about to say, and felt a tremor of shock run through her system.
"Perhaps?" Bart asked leadingly, and Miriam shook herself, taking a long sip of her tea before answering.
"Perhaps, if our seconds are busy with other duties, and we are in Paris together, we should share tea again." Miriam felt her cheeks color slightly, but forced it aside and pushed on stubbornly, "You are a fascinating man, and I would like to know more of you. And, as a gentleman, if you agree to this, we shall not bear ill will between us during the entirety of such… Meetings. Agreeable?"
Bart considered this. He had hoped to learn something of Miriam, and had, instead, told her more of himself than he had gleaned of her. However, he had also enjoyed the back and forth, and the less hostile exposure to her sharp wit and tongue. He could find himself enjoying such meetings, and, perhaps over time, he could bring her around to his point of view. A very enticing proposition indeed, but it would be untoward to be blatant about it.
"My dear Miriam, I find this agreeable to the utmost degree. To sit across the table from a witty and intelligent wo-… Rather, gentlewoman, and share philosophy and general discussion over tea and breakfast? I would be a fool to do otherwise!"
"Charming," Miriam declared in a droll tone at his somewhat grandiose declaration. But, she admitted, he at least seemed sincere. "When are you expecting to leave to meet up with Miss Go?"
He took his pocket watch out and glanced at it. "In about fifteen minutes I must take my leave. I had allowed time for any possible escape as I was unsure of how you would react to my proposition."
"Very well," Miriam nodded, smirking at his odd preparations. He is such an odd fellow! she thought, And yet... There is so much that I should like to learn about the mystery that is Bartholomew Lipsky... Giving him a small smile, holding her up tea in salute, "I think, then, that I shall enjoy the time before we go our separate ways…"
"As shall I," Bart agreed, holding his teacup up to gently clink it with her teacup, "As shall I…"
Authors' Notes
As mentioned, we're back. A couple-few days late, but hopefully, y'all have enjoyed the chapter, short and sweet though it may have been!
Anyway, it seems that we've witnessed a rather... Intriguing meeting for breakfast, non? Why would Mim think she could get information out of a crafty malcontent like Bartholomew Lipsky so easily? Well, it seems she got plenty enough to whet her appetite for more... Oh, those reporter's instincts, it seems they'll get Mim in trouble! Or will they...? Only time will tell...
As always, readers, there are a lot of fics out there, and a lot that deserve your attention... So keep on reading, enjoying, and if you feel like it, reviewing!
Thanks from Neo and kgs-wy!