=Chapter 5==

Une Femme Ravissante

M. Pierrot

Hotel du Louvre

Place André Malraux

Dear sir,

With regard to our transaction, you will no doubt have discovered by now that one essential detail is missing. I have a tracing which will make it complete. This has involved me in extra trouble, however, and I must ask you for a further advance of five hundred pounds. I will not trust it to the post, nor will I take anything but gold or notes. I am in Paris at present, and shall expect to meet you at the Café de Flore at your earliest convenience.

Hugo Oberstein glanced casually around him as he entered the Café de Flore – there was apparently no sign of his contact as yet, but he didn't hesitate. He was impeccably dressed for dining in such a high-end establishment, and in any case, he had no intention of leaving without enjoying the café's splendid fare. Choosing with some care a corner table which commanded an excellent view of the rest of the dining room, he sat down and ordered a coffee from a passing waiter, allowing his gaze to travel leisurely over his fellow patrons. Just a little longer, and he'd be able to dine in style like this whenever he wished...

Lingering at the Hotel du Louvre had given Beth her first glimpse of Hugo Oberstein, and she recognised him as he came in through the door. All right, how to handle this? She watched him closely, praying for a good opportunity for first contact.

She was dressed appropriately for such a fine establishment—certainly expensively, thanks to a ruby from Mycroft's cache. The sleeves of her burgundy dress even possessed enough volume to conceal a derringer strapped above her right wrist. Flicking her wrist the right way would send the derringer into her hand if the situation became dangerous. She had been hopelessly—even laughably—out of her element on the journey to Paris, and she was not going to screw things up this time.

When Oberstein's gaze swept the room a second time, she caught his eye and tilted her head slightly, heart pounding as she did. No backing out now.

Well, well. Oberstein's eyebrow lifted a fraction. Could it be...? Whoever had penned that letter had certainly been female, although he'd presumed at the time that his contact had simply taken measures to preserve his anonymity, should anyone intercept it.

Smiling genially at the lovely young stranger, he rose and crossed the room, stopping in front of her and executing a graceful bow. "Chère mam'zelle," he exclaimed in French for the benefit of anyone listening, "how delightful to see you again! What an age it seems since last we met."

Zed, no wonder he was one of the bigger fish in the spy community—his easy manner was already beginning to dissipate the tension between her shoulders. Beth inclined her head again with what she hoped was a winning smile. "Quite, my dear monsieur." She'd already seen the TARDIS's translational matrix at work when she spoke here in France, and she couldn't begin to describe her gratitude. It was a comforting ray of sunshine in a very dark world. "Would you care to take a seat? Dining by oneself is so tedious."

Perfect French, spoken like a born Parisian – who was this woman, and what was her connection to his contact? "You are not expecting anyone else, mam'zelle?" Oberstein tutted sadly. "A tragedy, indeed. I should be honoured to join you." He drew out the chair opposite and seated himself, signalling the waiter again.

Beth smiled enigmatically in response. "And I should be glad of your company." Maybe this won't be so bad after all.

Her waiter returned, and she turned to him, still smiling. "Two glasses of Merlot, please."

The waiter bowed. "Certainly, madame. Would you care to see the menu?"

"Oui, s'il vous plaît."

The waiter handed her and Oberstein each a menu.

"If I may presume, mam'zelle?" Oberstein ventured. "The Quiche Lorraine is excellent here."

Beth nodded her gratitude—the TARDIS's translations worked wonders but even she apparently couldn't translate everything in French menus. "I defer to your good judgement then, monsieur." She turned to the waiter. "We will both have the Quiche Lorraine, and for dessert…" She cast a quick eye over the menu and spotted something she did recognise. "Ah yes, the mille-feuilles." A custard dessert sounded lovely.

As the waiter took back the menus and departed, Oberstein looked his dining partner over thoughtfully. He could see now that she was even younger than he had first supposed, and despite her projected air of assurance, more than a little out of her depth. "Pardon my curiosity, mam'zelle, but might I inquire as to the occasion?"

Oh no. The tension was returning to Beth's shoulders, and now she had a slowly somersaulting stomach to torture her as well. She sighed, wishing she could have at least had the Merlot first, to relax her a little. "Business, I'm afraid. Important business." Oh, zed, did that sound weird? That definitely sounded weird—what was she doing here? Why was she trying to buy the stupid plans rather than simply steal them back? I wish Sherlock was here...

"And what business might that be?"

Don't screw up, don't screw up, don't screw up... "I believe, monsieur," she said softly, "that your presence here means that you received my letter."

The agent's lips twitched, suspicions confirmed. "Indeed – and would I be correct in assuming that you are not, in fact, acting on behalf of a certain mutual acquaintance?"

The waiter returned before Beth could reply, and presented the wine. When he'd finally left again, she continued. "You must forgive the deception, monsieur; I wanted to be sure you would come."

Oberstein waved his hand lazily. "No apologies necessary, mam'zelle, I have not been so intrigued in some time – although, in future, may I suggest that you not attempt correspondence of that sort in such a clearly feminine hand?" He lifted his glass. "Santé."

Beth blushed as she raised her glass to his. "Santé." She took a sip, grateful for the relaxing warmth spreading through her. She would have to be careful—she wasn't used to drinking yet. And how was her cursive 'feminine' anyway? "I shall keep that in mind. May I come straight to the point?"

Oberstein nodded politely, concealing his mild disappointment. "By all means." He had to admit, he'd been enjoying this exchange; after half a lifetime spent playing the game of espionage, this brash new player was like a breath of fresh air.

Beth attempted a surreptitious deep breath and let it out slowly. "The… papers… that you possess." What if she failed? Oh zed, she wished she were anywhere else but here! "I wish to buy them from you, and I am prepared to do so entirely in precious stones."

The agent nodded slowly, eyes gleaming speculatively. Intriguing... whoever her client might be, they were shrewd enough not to use a specific currency. "I assume you are also prepared to verify your intent?"

"But of course." She reached into her handbag and withdrew a sapphire, holding it towards him for his inspection. "It is one of many." Thank goodness, Mycroft had actually given her more than enough, she figured, to make the trip both ways and buy the plans and still have stones left over—in case of emergencies, she imagined.

Oberstein's eyebrows lifted, impressed – to an old hand like himself, the stone's quality was obvious at first glance. "Which amounts to?"

Only then did Beth realise one crucial preparation she'd overlooked. Zed, zed, zed... She calculated quickly in her head based on how far she'd gotten with the gems already, including selling one for actual French money. She did have a set number she'd planned on using for this—she only hoped she could give an accurate estimate. "At least… five hundred thousand gold napoleons, I believe."

"You believe?" Oberstein shook his head, regretfully but firmly. "My dear, I deal only in set figures, not vague estimates. 'A king's ransom' might sound impressive in a fairy tale, but it won't carry much weight on the open market. Find a dealer who can discreetly assess them, and we may yet do business."

Gritting her teeth, Beth put the stone away. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. How much more naive and arrogant could you possibly have been, thinking that you could actually pull this off? "Then I will." She rose from her chair and nodded to him. "Good day."

The agent's eyes widened, genuinely taken aback. "You will not wait even to dine, mam'zelle?" Anxious to avoid a scene in such a public setting, he rose as well without haste, voice composed but sincere. "Please, my dear, sit, I beg you. I should be mortified if our first encounter were to end so on my account."

She wasn't sure whether his courtesy made her feel better or worse, but she was far too embarrassed even to be tempted to stay. "I must beg your pardon, monsieur, for I do have urgent matters to attend to." God only knew what Moriarty was doing to Sherlock and Watson while she was here in Paris, still far from setting Time back on track. Time might be frozen, but it was still of the essence, and she had wasted enough of it already, thanks to her own stupidity. "Please do not blame yourself; the fault is mine."

Oberstein nodded regretfully. "Then I shall not keep you, mam'zelle. Allow me to settle the bill, at least." He bowed slightly. "Au revoir." He hoped he would see her again, and not merely for the sake of the promised payment. This was clearly her first assignment, and he did have something of a soft spot for the novices of his profession. It would be a pity, although no fault of his, if they could not come to a mutually beneficial arrangement.

Beth inclined her head in return, grateful and a little soothed. The man was a spy—a liar by profession, and one who was responsible for the death of an innocent man—but she hoped his... kindness... was sincere. "Thank you," she said quietly. "Au revoir."

The Lord Chamberlain is commanded

by His Imperial Majesty to invite

Monsieur Pierrot

to a Garden Party

at the Palais Royal.

The magnificent gardens of the Royal Palace were thronged with Parisians from all walks of life. Attending one of the Emperor's lavish parties might not confer the same distinction as when the aristocracy had ruled the roost, but when free food and the finest champagne from his Majesty's wine cellar was to be had, who was complaining?

Oberstein quietly threaded his way through the assembly of the great unwashed, champagne flute in hand, eyes and ears open for any interesting information he might just happen to overhear. The ornate invitation card that had awaited him at the Hotel du Louvre was safe in his coat pocket, with one corner on discreet display, should whomever had sent it approach him. He would be willing to wager that very few of the other guests had received a written invite, if any...

All at once, the agent felt the hairs on the back of his neck begin to rise – someone was watching him. Resisting his first impulse to turn with the ease of long practice, Oberstein continued slowly on through the crowd, but he had almost reached the far end of the gardens before his instincts were proved correct. A dark, classic beauty, resplendent in a scarlet gown and her hair dressed in simple but perfect taste, glided gracefully up to him with a pleasant smile. "Bonjour, monsieur. I do not believe I have had the pleasure."

Oberstein turned to her, his own smile equally amiable. "And I am certain I would remember you, madame, had we met before." He bowed over her ungloved hand and kissed it. Interesting... no rings or tell-tale marks of such – in fact, she was entirely without jewellery of any kind. "Henri Poirier, at your service."

The woman's smile broadened. "And Madame Faucheux at yours, monsieur. I do not think I have seen you in the Emperor's court before, are you recently come to Paris?"

"Indeed, I have been abroad for some while – but I return, as you see, to the arms of my beloved city. Paris is la femme ravissante, and I have missed her greatly."

"As, I'm certain, she has missed you." Madame Faucheux glided just a little nearer, her voice growing deeper. "What have you been doing abroad?"

Oberstein's smile turned enigmatic. "Combining business with pleasure."

Madame arched a charmingly suggestive eyebrow. "And what may your... pleasure be?"

Just a touch overdone, my lady... "Goosefeather beds and expensive clarets." Oberstein chuckled sympathetically at the flicker of disappointment in his companion's eyes. "I am a researcher for Groupe Flammarion, they intend to publish a new travel guide."

"How fascinating." Madame laid her hand on his arm, still smiling. "Where has your research taken you?"

"Almost anywhere you can imagine –" Oberstein was suddenly feeling oddly wistful, a pleasant warmth spreading through him; "the things I have seen... ah, chère madame, I could tell you such stories…" Then just as swiftly, the dreaminess faded away again, leaving the agent blinking in the glaring light of the torches. What the devil had just happened? A little too much champagne, perhaps – foolish of him to have indulged while still on the job. And whatever this woman wanted, something about her was making him decidedly uneasy, he'd best be taking his leave. "But people who are forever talking about themselves are the greatest bores imaginable, and I must not monopolise you." He bowed, doing his best to sound regretful. "It has been an honour to make your acquaintance."

Madame did not bow back, merely removing her hand from his arm with a thoughtful frown, an odd gleam in her eyes. "And my pleasure, monsieur. Au revoir."

Oberstein felt the woman's gaze on the back of his neck as he strolled away. Taking a roundabout route back to the main entrance, he chose one of the waiting carriages in the palace square at random, giving the driver an address a street away from his lodgings. He climbed in and relaxed back against the seat, trying to rid himself of the bizarre but chilling impression he'd had: for a moment, he could have sworn that Madame Faucheux had looked at him the way a starving man would look at a loaf of bread...

(Scene rating: V)

Oberstein entered his lodgings cautiously, locking the door behind him. He was fairly sure he hadn't been followed, but he didn't dare ignore the growing certainty that the plans were no longer safe here. Deciding to move to another of his bolt holes without delay, he lit a candle and started packing a few belongings from a trunk into a smaller bag – the packet could remain where it was until the last minute.

Then the lock mysteriously clicked back, and the door swung open to reveal a young redheaded woman aiming a revolver at him. "Please don't move, Herr Oberstein. I would prefer not to shoot you."

The agent's eyes widened. "A happy coincidence," he responded slowly, keeping up the French accent for the moment; "I would prefer not to be shot. But I am afraid you are mistaken, mam'zelle. My name is Henri Poirier, there is no one called... Oberstein living here. If there is some way I can help you..."

The woman stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. "The plans, mein Herr. The plans to the British submarine. I am authorised to obtain those papers by any means necessary."

Oberstein shook his head, letting his genuine bewilderment show on his face. "Mam'zelle, I would assist you if I could, but I have not the slightest idea of what you are talking about! Who are you?" Himmelherrgott, had every female agent in Europe been given his description?

The strange female sighed, and to Oberstein's horrified disbelief, her appearance began to change, features and figure seeming to melt like wax then quickly reforming until... a different, more familiar woman stood before him in the redhead's clothes: Madame Faucheux.

The agent could only stare, face white. "What...?!" he managed to croak.

"Now, enough games, mein Herr," Madame stated flatly. "The Bruce-Partington plans. Now."

"I..." Oberstein cleared his throat, making a valiant effort to pull himself together. "I am afraid you are too late, madame. The plans have already changed hands." He gave the woman his best apologetic look. "If you had only approached me earlier..."

Madame smiled coldly. "I can tell a lie from a truth, mein Herr, even from such an experienced liar as yourself." She advanced on Oberstein, her expression one of deadly intent. "Where. Are. They?"

Oberstein's eyes flickered involuntarily towards his open trunk in the far corner of the room.

Madame's face lit up, rushing over to the trunk, only to hiss in fury on finding it empty. Oberstein, meanwhile, reached unseen into his coat pocket for the life-preserver he always carried and rushed forward, bent on burying the heavy ball of lead in the back of the woman's skull – chivalry be damned, this... creature clearly wasn't even human!

Madame must have heard him coming, for her head snapped up, turning to aim the gun at him once more, fine features contorted in a snarl. A shot rang out, and Oberstein's right leg buckled under him, bringing him to the ground, the blackjack flying from his hand.

Dazed with pain and clutching his searing thigh, the agent looked up in time to see the creature's eyes ablaze with unholy fire, nostrils flaring... and then she was upon him.

Beth and Will had been shadowing Oberstein, and saw him pick up another shadow when he left the garden party. Beth didn't know who the mystery woman was, but it was a fair bet that Oberstein—and by extension, their chance of getting the plans—was in danger. The gunshot they heard as they made it to Oberstein's bedroom window confirmed it. Will drove his elbow into the window, shattering the glass, and clambered inside, Beth following.

They rushed into the common room and stopped dead in horror. Oberstein was bleeding on the floor from a leg wound, and the mystery woman was sucking on the wound like a vampire! Maybe she is, Beth thought dazedly. Will swore quietly but fervently, looking like he wanted to be sick.

The woman's head snapped up, teeth bared as she hissed warningly at them. Okay, definitely a vampire.

Even through the scarlet haze clouding his vision, Oberstein recognised the young woman from the café. "Run, child!" he croaked, reaching out towards his fallen blackjack with agonising slowness, weak with pain. At the very least, he might distract the creature long enough... then gasped as Madame turned and seized his wrist in a grip like a steel trap, fingers rapidly growing numb.

As soon as the woman's head began to turn, Beth ran forward and threw out her left leg in a kick aimed at the older woman's head. The woman turned back and ducked, Beth's boot glancing off her head, and lashed out with her free hand to grab Beth's leg. Beth fell with a cry, and the woman was suddenly atop her and pinning her down by the throat.

"Oi, Missus Ripper!" Will shouted tauntingly. He was standing by the lit candle, holding a small brown packet over the flame, the bottom edge dangerously close. He grinned wickedly. "Look what Oi found!"

"No!" Oberstein shouted in genuine alarm. Foolish boy, he had just made himself a target for nothing!

The woman gave an inhuman screech and flew at Will. Eyes round, his hand unconsciously lowered, and the packet's edge, which had already been smouldering, burst into flame. The woman snatched the packet from his hand, sending him flying into the wall, stunning him. The candle, too, was knocked over but went out instantly.

The woman slammed the packet down against the floor, spreading her hands across it to stop the fire, not seeming to care if she was burnt. She screamed in fury, but in so high a pitch that it must have been on the very edge of human hearing. Beth clutched her head in pain.

Oberstein winced at the ringing in his ears, then his eye was caught by a gleam of light reflecting off metal. Madame's revolver, lost in the scuffle, lay near the door, only a foot or two out of reach. The agent gathered himself for a mighty effort, doing his best to ignore the pain, lunged for the gun and snatched it up, swinging back around to aim it at the creature.

The woman whipped around and sprang forward, knocking Oberstein aside and fleeing the apartment. Beth groaned in frustration and not a little pain as she pushed herself up to go after the alien. She didn't know how exactly she was going to manage to get the plans away from a lady vampire, but she had to try—

Oberstein reached out to the girl, shaking his head urgently. "No, child, let her go!"

Beth turned to him, feeling distinctly dazed. "But… the papers…"

"...are safe," Oberstein answered firmly. "She has nothing... she should not..." He slumped wearily against the nearest wall, grimacing – his head, wrist and leg all throbbed like the devil and his bullet wound was still bleeding freely. "The candle, please, mam'zelle."

Beth hastily set it upright and relit it, mercifully no more damage done than spilled wax on the table. To her left, Will was slowly coming around, groaning faintly. She glanced between him and Oberstein, then decided that the spy's bleeding took priority. She knelt beside him and murmured, "Will?" Thank goodness she'd shopped for more than merely clothes in Paris; she drew a roll of bandages from her utility belt and began to put a temporary dressing on the wound, wincing at the sight of it.

Oberstein grunted when she tightened a tourniquet around his upper thigh, although managing not to let rip with the usual string of epithets. Lieber Gott, how he detested being shot, he could hardly even remember the last time!

Will lifted his head weakly, struggling to sit up. "…Beth…?"

Beth turned to him in concern. "Hold on…" She moved over to him and helped him up slowly, carefully to a sitting position. "Really hope you don't have a concussion…" She could barely remember what she'd learned in school about concussions and how to deal with them.

Wincing, Will put his head in his hands. "What 'appened?" His eyes widened with remembrance. "Oh gawd, she didn't…"

Beth rubbed his back comfortingly. "Apparently not…" She looked inquiringly up at Oberstein.

Oberstein gave her a pained smile, then remembered the flask in his inside pocket, taking it out and looking at it wryly. "Finest brandy… I was keeping this to celebrate completing the sale –" A huff of silent laughter escaped him; "ironic, yes?" Not wishing to prolong the suspense, he nodded towards the trunk as he uncorked the flask. "You found one compartment, young sir, but not all… Turn the trunk over." He braced himself, lifted the dressing, and poured a little of the brandy over his leg, hissing through clenched teeth as the liquor bit into the wound.

Will moved, but Beth beat him to it, turning the trunk over. One of the panels on the bottom came away to reveal a second small compartment, holding a packet identical to the one Will had found. Brown paper wrapping, tied in rough twine. The key to this whole mess, and, truly ironically, the plans to a submarine that, to Beth's knowledge, would never be used.

She carefully removed the packet. "This is it?" she breathed.

Oberstein nodded, gazing at her thoughtfully – the way she was looking at the plans didn't speak of patriotism or even personal gain, her eyes were filled with an aching sadness... "Do I even want to know what is really going on here?"

Beth shivered slightly. "No, probably not." She realised he was studying her, and she returned the thoughtful gaze. Furthermore, she realised that she should probably not like him, that she shouldn't care, that she should just take the papers and go… After all, if it hadn't been for him, this whole mess might not have happened; there would have been no case, no Fixed Point for Sherlock and Watson to break.

And yet she knew in her bones that it wasn't what the Doctor would have done, had he been here – nor was it what she ought to do. Even if, in what should have been the original timeline, Oberstein would have been arrested, and certainly, either way, he was responsible for the death of Arthur West.

Sighing, she drew a pouch out from her coat. "I had them appraised," she said softly.

Oberstein nodded again – he might have expected less from another agent, but not after seeing firsthand how this one operated. He wasn't even inclined to ask the total sum, it was certainly better than he would have had from 'Madame'. "Thank you."

Beth smiled slightly, then frowned in concern at his leg. That was a nasty wound, and he'd lost even more blood than he would normally have, thanks to the vampire. "Do you need help with that? We can help you get to a doctor."

Oberstein shook his head as the boy Will slowly got to his feet, tutting. "Chère mam'zelle, you both look almost in worse condition than I. Give my address to the physician in the next street, he makes house calls." He smiled in gratitude as the pair helped him up and over to the couch. "Now go –" his eyes twinkled as he regarded his two young saviours for what would hopefully be the last time; "and I will pray we do not meet again."

Will gave the agent a nod of respect. "Yer all roight fer a nose, guv'. Mind 'ow yew go."

The agent grinned wryly. "I intend to." In fact, he was seriously starting to think that this would be an opportune moment to retire from the game altogether – no one could say he hadn't earned it! He looked over at Beth, expression softening unconsciously. So earnest and impetuous... she reminded him very much of a certain young clerk, whose death he would have greatly regretted, had he not learned long ago the futility of such. "Adieu."

Beth's smile faded, almost as if she were sad at the thought of not seeing him again. Surely that couldn't be, though, right? It was time to run home and set things right—she should be excited... She handed him the pouch and murmured, "Adieu."

Once the pair had left, Will supported by... Hugo Oberstein chuckled as he raised his brandy flask – he still didn't even know the young woman's name. "Good luck, my friends," he toasted, "and here is to a long and comfortable retirement!"

Ria: Those who've read 'A Study in White', we hope you enjoyed the reappearance of the plasmavore – given everything that happened in that TARDISode, we simply couldn't leave her out of the finale!

If anyone's wondering how Will and Beth managed to track Oberstein down, let's just say that in the original case, his false name and mailing address at the hotel are revealed in due course, and we decided for the sake of convenience that Beth would have remembered those particular details. (Those who know the case well, did you spot the other thing she knew by heart?)

As for Oberstein himself, I very much enjoyed fleshing out his character – for someone who's so pivotal in the case itself, we don't get to see him at all in Watson's account, which seems a great shame. And yes, there's a reason we haven't revealed who his mysterious contact is yet!

Sky: Oberstein has to be one of my favorite minor characters! In the good-neutral-evil spectrum, he's probably either Chaotic Neutral or True Neutral, and that's one of the most interesting places for a character to be.

Also, poor Beth really just got tossed into the deep end, didn't she? At least she hasn't drowned yet—thank goodness Will is with her!

Please review!