Chapter 9

It was well into the afternoon before anyone knew David Fogg had gone missing. Phileas and Rebecca had sent Passepartout to the country with the joyful news that Irene had awakened and was asking for him. Arriving, Passepartout had found no Fogg at the Gideon estate and no sign of him on the Aurora. There was no sign that he had ever arrived. Passepartout returned to the clinic to inform the Foggs.

On the route back, master and valet heard the story of an abduction on the road. The coachman involved in the altercation had been spared by the kidnappers and sent on his way, allowing him freedom to report the kidnapping of his fare to a village constable. The constable had been in the process of preparing a detailed report to the British Embassy when Fogg and Passepartout had come upon him. They received the description of the Englishman taken from the coach and identified him as their missing man.

"What had happened was now known. Who, why and to where we can consider obvious," Phileas said as he and Passepartout talked away from the constable's office. "What we can do about it is the real question. It is too late to catch up with the kidnapers on French soil. Even on a slow wagon, David will be halfway to the coast by now. The chance of finding them on the roads from the air is miniscule. Let's go back to Paris. Rebecca needs to send a cable to Chatsworth."

Chatsworth was given Rebecca Fogg's message at home by a courier late in the evening. He had taken it without premonition of bad news. The David Fogg affair was being handled by various people under his close supervision and should be settled to his satisfaction within another month. Rebecca's news had not been welcome. It had brought his early worst scenario fears to reality.

Sir Jonathan considered his options. He could not send word to Ireland to keep watch for the missing agent, as his identity couldn't be known. He was not fool enough to think sending explanatory information to authorities in Ireland would help, either. Many of Fogg's vanquished foes had been local constables and magistrates. Chatsworth made a Hail Mary of a decision and wrote out a message to be telegraphed back to Rebecca. A courier was ordered to the coast with information to be given to her upon reaching Dover.

The Aurora could get to the coast of Ireland a full day ahead of the kidnapers if they left this night. If they were lucky, maybe two days ahead, if the perpetrators were cautious and traveled slowly. He finished writing out his orders and let out the messenger.

He settled down in his study for the rest of the evening, trying to drink himself to sleep. What Rebecca would do to fulfill his orders; Sir Jonathan had no idea.


Rebecca received Chatsworth's orders to make for Dover that night with consternation. She would have to leave one of her charges unattended to comply. The Gideons had agreed to take over Irene's care in their home, with a private nurse and careful security set up to keep her safe. That had not been good enough for Rebecca's comfort. The enemy she was dealing with had attacked her charge under her very nose and might yet do so again. That had been an insult she still stung from. Yet, leave Irene she must or lose her other charge completely.

As the agent in charge, it had been Rebecca's responsibility to see to it the two assigned to her protection were kept safe. A responsibility I have failed at miserably. Over the last two days, Rebecca had become very intimate with the way Phileas must have felt when he had lost the old code breaker here in Paris to a poisoned book Phileas had given him himself.

Guilt-ridden, Rebecca had spent her last watch over Irene's bed, calling herself nine kinds of fool over and over for not seeing the attack coming. And now David has gone missing. Rebecca choked down a double dose of shame. Staring out the window of the Aurora, looking out over the dark channel, Rebecca was still lost in self-recriminations. She felt truly horrid from lack of sleep and guilt.

A presence at her back broke into Rebecca's internal tirade. Phileas stood behind her, offering quiet comfort as Verne took his place at the steering ball. Rebecca did not acknowledge him for a time. She did not want to be comforted. Then, against her unspoken wishes, Phileas laid his fingers lightly on her arms, standing so close she could feel his warmth. Despite herself, Rebecca relaxed enough to drink in his offer.


Jules had not been the agent in charge, but he felt the same shame he saw in Rebecca's eyes since Miss Irene was attacked. Now they were off on an attempt to save the other person she had been protecting from being dragged back to Ireland and certain death.

Quietly, Jules locked the Aurora's controls on its westerly course. Giving the Foggs their privacy, he left the main cabin making for the upper deck to keep an eye out for the English coast. Up in the wind looking out over the channel, Verne reflected on these last few weeks. The second heaven of basking in Rebecca's presence after being her chosen escort had been wonderful. But times like this reminded him just how recently their friendship had come about.

Jules loved Rebecca, as a friend and as a comrade-in-arms, occasionally. She had saved his life several times, and he had returned the favor once or twice.

Watching the stars, he wondered again why he had been asked to come with them. Jules had accepted out of friendship and shared a concern. He had learned much over his association with the Foggs and was not as useless as the fledgling he had once been.

Perhaps… Perhaps I could be of use to them as a fact finder. We will reach Ireland ahead of the kidnappers. Acting as a French tourist hunting information about the infamous and much-loved outlaw might speed up finding David's enemies.

Irene had fascinated him with story after story of David Fogg's exploits over the past weeks. She had made him sound like an Irish Robin Hood. In the evenings after heading to the Aurora for bed, Jules had written many of her stories down, toying with the idea of a hero bandit theme. It was as old a story plot as they came, but he thought he could dress it up in new clothes. Ideas continued to form in Verne's head. The exercise kept the writer's mind busy until the lights of Dover called him back to the main cabin.


Angry tension flowed out of Rebecca, leaving only the shame of failure, and that too soon went away as she continued to lean into her cousin's warmth. She could only look forward to making things right from here.

Pale lights soon showed in the distance along the pale glow of the Dover cliffs in the moonlight. Rebecca straightened herself, standing without her cousin's support to face whatever Chatsworth would offer in the way of instructions.

An agent courier waited for them on the coast, sending flair signals for them to land. He walked aboard the Aurora and handed Rebecca an envelope with a file bundle and a small smile. Another agent brought aboard two crates. The two then left, saying only, "Good hunting."

Rebecca turned to the parlor table and laid out the papers. Parts of it were names, addresses, and a map with marked locations. "This is David's service record and files."

It included summaries of David's past work, his contact list, mission reports, a list of his many enemies, his arrests. Everything was labeled for secrecy. The file bundle she was handed was marked with the name Kingston. It held many letters and records. Most were signed by Francis O'Donnell. A small map showed where the O'Donnell estate had once been and where the Kingston estate was located. The amassed information would take another two days to get through.

Chatsworth's orders for Rebecca said to use this information to find and rescue David. No other guidance was included. She looked at that and the piles she had to go through and requested coffee.


A few hours before sunrise, Rebecca, Verne, and Phileas left the Aurora. Jules shared his idea of openly snooping for information on David Drummond's capture in the city closest to the Kingston estate. "I could pose as a writer interested in his growing legend, but also a student of the law interested in witnessing Irish court procedures," Jules said. "The ruse should give me leave to spend time around the courthouse."

The idea had been so unexpected and brilliant, Rebecca openly praised it as they made their way across the width of England to the Irish Sea. That had lifted Verne's spirits back to their normal exuberant levels in her presence. Even the wary Fogg thought it an inspired idea.

Rebecca pointed out a spot on the map. "An innkeeper on the outskirts of the city is marked as one of David's helpers. We can meet you there tomorrow evening. You will need to arrange for our rooms before we arrive."

Verne was given funds and information to make contact. Rebecca suggested Phileas make their friend into something a few steps higher on the social scale than his actual Burgess status warranted. Jules Verne would have doors opened to him more readily if he were believed to be a flush student from the continent come to see and learn.

Jules knew the type she was asking him to emulate. He did not associate with them regularly, but Jules had been on speaking terms with several on the grounds of the Sorbonne. These fellow students allowed his presence in their midst because of his idealism, and his utter lack of class-consciousness, which many of them as the grandsons of revolutionaries had touted as perfection of thought. They themselves were mostly the sons of nobleman or rich men of power in France. In other words, the ruling social elite, thus rendering their lofty debates hollow in Jules's estimation.

Verne had never had the money to run in those lofty circles, but he had watched the way the truly rich ones made their way.

Others of equal rank with shallow pockets had been observed going into outrageous debt, hoping to catch a coattail at graduation to propel them out of their sham existence. Some of his own set had shared his interest and had conferred on the gossip surrounding them, if for no other reason than to revel when the party ended. More often than not, creditors dragged the losers off to prison. It had been a cheap entertainment for poor students, and an object lesson lost on no one.

"I know the type," Jules said.