Part III - Considering the Web
On the day they were expected at the Fontes home, Napoleon slipped into his chauffeur's uniform as well as the character of the role he was taking on. He held the rear door as Millicent Waverly, Illya and Mark settled in, then opened the front passenger door for April, who had the map as well as a set of directions to their destination.
Sliding into the driver's seat, Napoleon took a moment to adjust his mirrors. He found himself using the mirror to glance at his passengers and noted an expression on Millicent's face that gave him an odd feeling. Before starting the car, he turned slightly.
"Is there something wrong, Mrs. Waverly?"
There was a pause before she responded.
"For a moment, I was about to say it was nothing, but I forgot my present company. I daresay that all of you have been in situations where everything seems to be as you expect with nothing obviously out of line, yet you still get an uneasy feeling?"
Illya met her eyes.
"You have that feeling?"
"I do. Perhaps I have been away from the field too long and my instincts are not as reliable as they once were, but disregarding them out of hand seems foolish."
"Remember when you accepted my invitation and we went horseback riding together for the first time?"
A smile formed on Millicent's face and her eyes grew warmer.
"Oh yes. That was delightful."
"You had not lost your feel for riding. I doubt you have lost your feel for field work."
April gave a vigorous nod as she turned to speak as well.
"Illya is quite right. No second guessing yourself."
Mark spoke up then.
"Would you mind telling us your impressions?"
"Vague disquiet. The man we're after took the bait - me, but not for the reasons that I was chosen. Shall we reconsider what our THRUSH agent is after?"
A slow nod came from Illya.
"I believe that my thoughts have been going along paths similar to your own, so please allow me see if I am following you correctly. You now believe that he has been with the prior ladies because of their age and their looks, not because of their money."
Mark frowned a bit, thinking that over.
"So the pair of you are thinking that him getting rich from the women was a side effect. But - does that mean you think his real motives are that he's actually been trying to find the real Anastasia?"
Millicent paused for only a moment before giving a firm nod.
"Yes. There weren't questions from him that I would have expected - ones that would have been geared toward sniffing around about what money I might have. A woman of my age wandering from pillar to post could just as easily be subsisting on a diminishing bank account due to more substantial things such as land being sold off to maintain her lifestyle to some degree. If he were after wealth, that wouldn't be the sort of woman he would be inclined to waste his energies on."
Mark's frown deepened, then he sat up straighter.
"Good Lord. So if that is the case, then him getting rid of the others wouldn't have been because he wanted their money. He might have gotten rid of them after he decided that they actually weren't the Grand Duchess he's searching for?"
Listening to the exchanges while starting the car, Napoleon turned back around.
"Which leads to the question of how he determines that the other women weren't the one he was looking for. It's not too late to back out of this, Mrs. Waverly."
"There will never be another opportunity like this one, dear boy. This is the best chance to get more than one agent inside. We all already knew there was risk involved."
The ride to the estate was a quiet trip after that, but the silence wasn't a easy one. As the car approached the immense wrought iron gates that marked the entrance, April turned her head toward the back again. April was not normally the type to fidget, but she was starting to.
"I just wish there was a way to know the sort of risk. I mean, will it be worse if he decides you are or aren't Anastasia?"
"I suppose we shall have to play this one by ear, my dears."
As if those words were a cue, the gates began to swing slowly open.
"'Will you walk into my parlor?' said the Spider to the Fly."*
"Creepy poetry isn't helping, Illya."
"Sorry, April."
"No more of those names once we pass these gates, Miss Reynolds."
"Yes, Madam Fouquet."
Feeling a sense of foreboding himself, Illya took a glance back as Napoleon drove the car through the opening and the gates started to close slowly behind him. His eyes met Mark's briefly and they exchanged a nod. They would all need to be alert and wary in the parlor of this particular spider.
*From the poem 'The Spider and the Fly' by Mary Howitt