rix_scaedu

I wrote this piece in response to lilfluff’s prompt “the one where both parties are in disguise …and neither of the love interests realizes that the other is also disguised. Setting: a country inn.” It came in at only 9,413 words after trying to be longer. Please pace yourself if necessary.

Note: Louis-Jérôme Gohier was a French politician and contemporary of Napoleon Bonaparte, and this story lies in an alternate timeline to ours.

Worthy Moor was a small village a little off the main road out of the capital and missed by most who travelled that road - unless there had been flooding rain when it was part of the long way around, via Worthy Bottom, Moor Green, and Ox Heath. It had a village green, a smithy, an inn named The Fat Fox, one shop, and a church dedicated to St Swithin. It was a small village but there was a vicarage attached to the church. Three houses and estates belonging to members of the gentry and a little-visited minor property of the Earl of Cheltern rounded out the hamlet. Through traffic was low, and few strangers came to stay the night, unless there was flooding on the main road.

Consequently, on this particular fine day in a fine week the innkeeper at The Fat Fox was surprised to have two parties of gentry arrive looking for rooms within half an hour of each other. Having few bedrooms good enough to offer such folk and only one private parlor, the innkeeper was pleased when the two young gentlemen travelling together agreed to share a room and eat in the inglenook, allowing the older gentleman travelling with his handsome sister to have separate rooms and the private parlor.

The journey by carriage from the capital had taken the best part of a day, and the Misses Dauntry and Moran, travelling as The Honourable Geoffrey Lester and Mr Edward Perkins, were planning to spend the evening in the taproom gathering information about recent visitors to the area. Lord Richard Dauntry and Mr George Moran, their father and brother respectively, had left the capital intending to come here a week ago and to return within three days - and they had not. If the two were to be found then rescued or admonished, it was up to their nearest relatives to do it. Their excuse for asking questions and poking around the locality was that they were looking for a little place that they and some friends could rent for some hunting and fishing in the autumn.

The pair of men travelling as Mr and Miss Benedict had a quick conversation before Mr Benedict, actually a man named Dawkins, went downstairs to make enquiries in the taproom about houses the two of them might rent in the locality. Two other agents of the Crown were missing, this rural backwater was the last link they had to them, and the two men had been tasked to search the area and find them. Reliable, experienced agents didn't just disappear - they either met with foul play or absconded. Frankly, they were expecting foul play. The questions were foul play by whom and were the agents still alive? The inn's taproom was the best place to pick up on the local gossip if you were a stranger, and thus was the best place to start. His partner, Lord Simon Beaumont, was pretending to be a woman because a woman's presence would give them a better excuse to call on the families that would be their potential neighbours and a better chance of getting a tour of the Earl's property from the housekeeper - thus giving them unexceptional access to places their colleagues might be concealed. The other advantage of Lord Simon's disguise was that if the opposition identified Dawkins as a problem, then they were less likely to think that Lord Simon was a problem too - most people underestimated women, and Lord Simon was very good at pretending to be a woman when he put his mind to it.

Dawkins was in his own thoughts but not oblivious when someone hurrying up the stairs ran into him. The first thing he noticed was that his possible assailant hadn't tried to pick his pockets. The second was that the younger, slighter, man was genuinely apologetic in a soft voiced, tenor. A young man of an age to be at university or starting in some profession appropriate to a younger son of the upper classes was his impression. Good tailoring. Firm torso musculature.

"I'm so sorry. Entirely my fault." The young man bowed his head as he moved past Dawkins up the stairs. "Please accept my apologies, Mr?"

"Benedict. Thomas Benedict. And you are, sir?" Dawkins found himself noting the younger man's cravat. It was neatly tied in an unfamiliar knot.

"Mr Edward Perkins, sir. At your service." The younger man bowed again. "If you will excuse me sir, I must fetch something from our room before dinner, and that is on its way as I speak." With that the younger man bowed again and continued up the stairs in a hurry.

Dawkins watched him go. There was something about young Mr Perkins that had caught his attention, but he couldn't put his finger on what it was. This wasn't the young man who had given up his room for Miss Benedict, so this must be the friend that young man was now sharing with. The two of them might bear watching.

Miss Elizabeth Moran hurried back up to the room she was sharing with Miss Isabel Dauntry, currently disguised as The Honourable Mr Geoffrey Lester, and sitting at the inglenook table in the taproom. She had been trying to get a look at both the Benedicts but running full tilt into the brother had not been what she intended. If she had been travelling as herself, she might have tried flirting with him - he was a type of man she found attractive, but she was too busy at the moment for romantic diversions. Of course, she was also pretending to be another man. Miss Benedict was not in sight as Miss Elizabeth made her way to the room she shared with her equally disguised friend, but after she'd spent a few moments in the room before emerging with a journal in hand to cover her excuse, Miss Benedict emerged from her own room as Miss Elizabeth started back towards the stairs.

The two did not speak, not having been introduced to each other and being, apparently, of opposite genders, but Miss Elizabeth bowed and allowed Miss Benedict to go first. That gave her the opportunity to observe the other woman from behind. The lady was taller than herself and her brief view of the other's face in the dimly light corridor left her with the impression of a strong featured and handsome, rather than pretty, woman. The taller woman's clothing was well made, and her posture was excellent, but her hips failed to sway as much as Miss Elizabeth would have expected. Given that the lady's clothing suggested membership of the gentry but was not this year's extremes of fashion, Miss Elizabeth wondered whether Miss Benedict might have had the necessity of working as a governess or companion in circumstances that had made it wise to downplay her attractiveness to men.

Down in the taproom the alleged Mr Benedict bought himself a pint of beer, to tide him over until dinner in the parlor with his sister he told the barman, and considered the room. Young Mr Lester, the man who had given up his room for the supposed Miss Benedict, was seated at a table in the inglenook and talking to the serving girl who was setting the table for dinner. The younger man passed the girl a small silver coin, probably a sixpence by its size, and she bobbed a curtsey and went off towards the kitchen with a smile on her face. Dawkins thought that in his role as Mr Benedict he should thank Mr Lester for giving up a room on his own for Miss Benedict, but that could be safely left for later in the evening or even until morning. Instead, he asked the barman who he should best talk to if he was looking to rent a house in the area.

Miss Isabel Dauntry paid the serving girl a consideration for passing on any information about the potential presence of Mr Lester's sanctimonious guardian in the area - a guardian who looked exactly like the missing Lord Richard Dauntry. Her companion in intended rescue was still upstairs, and she noticed that Mr Benedict, one of the other visitors of note in the inn tonight, was talking to the barman. His sister, Miss Benedict, was presumably upstairs in the room Miss Isabel had vacated for her, or in the private parlor which was also upstairs. Miss Isabel wouldn't have minded the private parlor herself, but the inn had only one and a believable gentleman would let the party with the lady in it occupy that room. Besides, if she were in the private parlor, she wouldn't know who was in the taproom. At the moment, the answer to that was no-one that she knew. The other advantage of the taproom was that you could hear what people were talking about and Miss Isabel had very good hearing, so she sat back to wait for her dinner, her travelling companion, and other people's conversations.

Miss Benedict, in fact Lord Simon Beaumont, adjusted his skirts as he sat in the inn's private parlor and reflected that it became harder to play a woman as he got older. What had been a relatively easy imposture at eighteen now required more powder, carefully applied, to cover his beard shadow and the area that was ostensibly Miss Benedict's bosom required shaving these days too. The other thing was that at eighteen he had still retained a certain amount of puppy fat that allowed the then fashionable corsetry to turn him into the correct shape. These days he was leaner and more of him was muscle than had been the case when he'd first put on skirts, but now he had to make use of bum pads, hip pads and several other little tricks of feminine dressing that weren't currently standard parts of a lady's wardrobe to achieve the illusion of a certain shape. It would be easier if he could dress and move like himself, and not have to shave his head in order to wear an appropriate wig.

Lord Simon was reasonably confident that the two missing agents were not in the establishment in which he currently sat. The cellars were too busy to be used for confining prisoners and the inn itself was too compact to prevent two determined men from being heard if they were confined within its walls. If they were dead, then the inn was not a good place to conceal them. Of course, their entire search was based on the assumption that the two missing agents had actually reached Worthy Moor. They could have been waylaid at a posting inn on the way here. It was possible that that they had never made it out of the capital. Much as Lord Simon would have liked to pace the floor while he reconsidered the possibilities he did not, because ladies did not pace. Besides other agents were looking into the other possibilities. Augustus Wood, for instance, was keeping an eye on the young female relatives of the two missing men back in the townhouse they all shared in the city. Wood had been disappointed that the two women hadn't clung to him seeking support when he revealed that Lord Richard and Mr Dauntry were missing. On consideration, Lord Simon wondered whether their superiors had erred in sending Wood to keep an eye on the young ladies because it seemed to him when he reconsidered Wood's complaints and comments on returning to the office that the man might have irritated those he had been sent to help.

Dawkins returned from his foray to the taproom just as dinner was being brought into the parlor by the innkeeper and his serving girls. After they laid the meal out on the table, because 'the Benedicts' had asked for everything to be brought in at once so that they could speak without fear of interruption, and the innkeeper checked whether there was anything else needed and then left the room. Dawkins checked that the door was firmly closed and then the two men took their places at the table, serving themselves. "I heard no mention of our two in the taproom tonight," reported Dawkins, "but a little bird mentioned that the young man who gave up his room for you is concerned that his guardian might turn up. The description I heard could fit Dauntry. Also, that young man and his friend are here to look for a hunting or shooting place to rent in the autumn. I thought this part of the country wasn't supposed to be good for hunting?"

"It isn't," replied Lord Simon with a grin, "but if I were a young man wanting to have a house party with some other male friends, a lot of wine and spirits, and a number of ladies of easy or negotiable virtue then a hunting box with not much hunting might be exactly the inexpensive place away from the eyes of my elders that I want." He helped himself to a slice of pie.

"Inexpensive depending on your point of view," pointed out Dawkins.

"Yes, exactly," agreed Lord Simon. "The young man could be being completely truthful. On the other hand, it makes a good cover story. Look at what we're doing."

"I had a couple of places suggested to me tonight," admitted Dawkins. "I'll have to go see the Earl's local steward to keep our story up - there's a Dower House attached to his place here that might be available for rent, and there was some mention of a house that's closer to Worthy Bottom if you go by road, but backs onto Squire Melchett's if you go across the fields. What do you want to do about the young gentlemen?"

Lord Simon thought. "I want to get a look at the contents of their card cases. Or at least at one of them. A little pick pocketing might be needed. Possibly while you visit with the Earl's steward but before we take a drive to look at this other vacant property."

"I'm sure we can make that work," said Dawkins as the two of them concentrated on their dinner.

Miss Benedict took the effort the next morning to make sure that she brushed against the young man who had given up his room for her the previous evening. Her efforts were noticed by Mary and Violet, the serving girls who were cleaning up the taproom after breakfast, but neither of them thought much of it. Mr Lester was a nice young man, respectful and not handsy, and although Miss Benedict wasn't as young as she used to be, there seemed to be nothing wrong with her eyesight and why shouldn't she hope that a young man might notice her a little?

What Mary and Violet hadn't seen was Miss Benedict skilfully remove Mr Lester's card case (nacre and tortoise shell with silver wire) from his pocket and carry it with her back up to the private parlor to await the return of Mr Benedict.

Neither did they see or hear Mr Lester meet his friend who had the gig they had arranged to hire from the inn's stable for their planned visits to enquire about hunting boxes. Mr Lester climbed up onto the seat beside Mr Perkins and softly but cheerfully said, "Would you believe that Miss Benedict has just picked my pocket like a professional?"

"Oh?" Mr Perkins started their horse into motion. "Did she get anything?"

"My card case. I mean, it's a nice card case but she didn't try for money and that would have been easier to get. She was definitely after the card case." They drove past the vicarage as the vicar came back through the garden gate from the church, and Miss Isabel/Mr Lester stopped still for a moment then said urgently in the same low voice she'd been using, "Don't stop here. I've just seen someone I recognise."

As they passed the last cottage in the village, Mr Perkins/Miss Elizabeth asked, "So, who did you see?"

"The Reverend Edmund Morle. He and my father have worked together in the past, but father felt that his allegiances were somewhat...malleable." Miss Isabel added, "His presence in the place where father was coming to investigate something and then disappeared from, is suggestive."

Miss Elizabeth agreed, "It is, isn't it? Is he likely to recognise you?"

"Quite possibly," answered Miss Isabel. "We were all at the mission in Kerkyra when father was posted there, and he was the chaplain. He prepared me for my confirmation and conducted it."

"So, he might well recognise you, despite the clothes and everything," noted Miss Elizabeth. "We'll do well to avoid him then. On the other hand, it does give us a topic of conversation for when we enquire about hunting boxes to rent."

"Blast," exclaimed Miss Isabel. "Do we go back and "search" for the card case now, or wait until I can't find it when we call at Blackfield Manor?"

"Once we've called, I think," replied Miss Elizabeth. "When you go to provide your card would be a good time to discover it's disappearance, wouldn't it?" She grinned and added, "The question is, do we want to make Miss Benedict, and by extension, Mr Benedict uncomfortable? If so, how uncomfortable?"

At this point, Mr Benedict had returned to the private parlor where his alleged sister was sitting in a chair that let her enjoy a view over the village green towards the duckpond while she read a book. Mr Benedict made sure to close the door behind him, and he beckoned Miss Benedict over to the table so that their conversation would be less likely to drift out the window. "I don't know what we might have stumbled into," he said quietly, "but on my way back here from making an appointment to speak with the Earl's steward, I saw a man I recognised."

"Who?" The supposed Miss Benedict had his own news, but this sounded more immediately important.

"One Paul Frossard. He's a Gohierist agent. Last time I ran into him, he was using smugglers to run letters and agents into and out of the country. Now, apparently, he's St Swithin's new verger - the one that arrived with the new vicar and his wife." He pulled out a chair from the table and sat down. "So, we may have a nest of spies here. Did you get hold of the young gentleman's card case?"

"Yes." His partner pulled out the case. "It's a nice piece, but I'm afraid my news is mixed as well."

"Oh? In what way?" Dawkins watched as Lord Simon flicked open the card case and extracted the contents.

"Well, the good news, I suppose, is that there's copies of only one card in here. Perfectly acceptable and just the thing for a young gentleman not quite out in the world on his own yet." Lord Simon pushed a card towards Dawkins.

Dawkins prodded, "But?"

"They're all in the name of The Honourable Geoffrey Lester. The problem is, I met The Honourable Geoffrey Lester three years ago in Kerkyra. Back then he was six foot tall and had flaming red hair." In their minds the two men reviewed the current Geoffrey Lester's much shorter frame and brown hair, and then quietly agreed that they might have two problems.

Miss Isabel suddenly said, "Blast!" as the gig turned in at the gates of Blackfield Manor.

Miss Elizabeth kept her eyes on what she was doing as she asked, "What's wrong?"

"Reverend Morle knows that The Honourable Geoffrey Lester is a name agents use when they need a handy identity," explained Miss Isabel. "There are a few of them. Father had everything set up to use it if something went wrong and we all had to relocate in a hurry, and I borrowed it when we needed it. The Reverend doesn't need to recognise me, he just needs to hear the name and he'll know something is up."

It was some time later, the missing card case successfully navigated and the explanation of not drawing the attention of Mr Lester's guardian apparently accepted, that the two young ladies pretending to be men turned back towards the inn. As they were debating whether to visit Squire Melchett's or Mr Edgley's steward next, a gig driven by a woman swept out of the village and headed towards Blackfield Manor. It was driven in business-like fashion by a respectably dressed woman whose hair was covered by her bonnet but whose face was clearly visible. The two drivers exchanged glances, as was inevitable when two vehicles passed in such circumstances and did not wish to collide, but the parties were unknown to each other. Miss Isabel thought the woman looked at them with passing curiosity, no doubt she recognised the horse and gig but did not recognise the driver and passenger. Miss Isabel, on the other hand, recognised the woman but said nothing until they passed Squire Melchett's gate on their way to Edgley Place. "I know that woman," she remarked. "To see but not to talk to, and I don't think she knows me - I wasn't out when my father knew her, and I certainly wasn't allowed in the public rooms of where we were staying when she was in the building."

"So, who is she?" Miss Elizabeth was watching the unfamiliar road and looking for Edgley Place's drive.

"Marianne du Bois. She's...an agent for hire. She's worked for us, the Gohierists, various Elector princes - who knows who she's working for at the moment." Something occurred to Miss Isabel, well several somethings, but she said, "If we ask back at the inn, they can probably tell us what name she's using here."

When the two of them returned to the inn, after visiting both Edgley Place and Squire Melchett's home, they took the gig and horse around to the stables and then strolled back into the taproom together. Miss Isabel, in her persona as The Honourable Geoffrey Lester, ordered warm water for them to clean up in in their room, lunch in the taproom, and the enquired loudly, "Oh, and I seem to have mislaid my card case. I know I had it on me when I left our room, but I didn't have it when we reached Blackfield Manor, so I must have dropped it here or just outside. Has anyone found it? It's tortoiseshell and nacre, with a bit of silver. My cards are inside it, of course."

"I've heard nothing of it," the innkeeper told his guests, "and certainly it's not been handed to me, but all ask if anyone's seen it."

"Thank you," replied The Honourable Geoffrey. "I'm sure I can fund a small reward for the finder." Then the two young people went upstairs, certain that news of the missing card case was going to spread to through the inn. They were not betting on whether Miss Benedict would return it herself or whether she would arrange for someone else to do so. As they did clatter up the stairs, men in the middle of the day having more license to make noise than women ever did, The Honourable Geoffrey made certain to be loudly wondering what he could have done with his card case as he went past the door of the Benedict's private parlor.

The two of them, much refreshed, were downstairs and polishing off a substantial lunch of bread, cheese, boiled corned beef, pickles, and apples washed down by beer, when Miss Benedict descended the stairs and made her way to their table in the inglenook. Both of the diners rose and bowed. Miss Benedict curtsied in return and said, "I am sorry to interrupt you, gentlemen, but I heard that one of you was unable to find his card case."

"Indeed," the person presenting themselves to the world as The Honourable Geoffrey Lester acknowledged, "I have." He looked hopeful. "Might you have found it, ma'am?"

"It seems likely." Miss Benedict smiled and there was a dimple at the corner of her mouth. She held out her hand and the missing card case was sitting on her palm. "I found it on the landing outside our parlor door, I can only think that you somehow dropped it there."

The Honourable Geoffrey kept a straight face and gravely agreed that it must be so. When Miss Benedict passed him the card case, he gravely opened it and offered her a card, "If I may be so bold, ma'am, although we have not been introduced. Thank you for returning my case to me - it has sentimental value, a gift from my father."

"My pleasure." Miss Benedict curtsied again and said, "Please resume your meal, gentlemen, and I shall go and await mine upstairs." She turned and left then.

The two diners watched her cross the room and it wasn't until she was out of sight that the one passing as Mr Perkins said quietly, "She brought it back herself. I didn't expect that."

"Neither did I," agreed the owner of the card case. "You know that feeling that you’re missing some detail right under your nose?"

The alleged Mr Perkins nodded.

"Well, I've got that feeling now. There's something about that woman that's not quite in tune with the rest of her and I can't pick what it is."

"Let your mind work at it while we eat and find out who our gig driving friend is," suggested Mr Perkins. "At the moment that appeared to be the most relevant piece of information that we need to trace."

As it turned out, it was an easy piece of information to obtain. Given a description of the lady and the horse, Violet identified the woman as Mrs Moore, the new vicar's wife. A few more questions and they knew that the village thought her a brusque woman but genuinely Christianly charitable, being a dab hand at nursing emergencies and seeing that people were fed.

The two alleged young gentlemen did not discuss the matter until they had returned to their room and locked the door. "So, Edmund Morle and Marianne du Bois are here as the Reverend and Mrs Moore," summarized Miss Isabel. "They may actually be married to each other, he really is a reverend, and she has at least convinced the locals that's she's doing good in the parish, so I have no quarrel with that."

"Except our two men are still missing," noted Miss Elizabeth, "and they are known agents with observed levels of dubiousness. If they've taken my brother and your father, though, I don't think they can be keeping them in the vicarage."

Miss Isabel gave her an enquiring look.

"Servants," replied Miss Elizabeth. "They've got a cook, a house maid, and a scullery maid inside, according to Violet downstairs. Plus a gardener outside and a groom. The inside servants, at least, are all local women so they're not likely to be involved in anything that involves tying men up and keeping them prisoner. Keeping prisoners inside the vicarage and keeping it quiet would be impossible - even if you kept them drugged to stop them talking to the servants, two unconscious men being nursed in the vicarage would be all over the village in under a day."

"You're right," admitted Miss Isabel. "The next most convenient place for them would be the church, wouldn't it?"

"And churches have crypts," noted Miss Elizabeth. "As the Reverend might recognise you, do you want me to take a look inside St Swithin's this afternoon?"

"So that you can take me and my lockpicks on a return visit tonight?" Miss Isabel gave her a grin. "It sounds like a splendid idea. So, should I nap this afternoon in preparation, or pretend to spend the afternoon drinking while sitting in the inglenook?"

Mr Benedict, while ostensibly waiting various gentlemen's stewards to answer his enquiries, spent the afternoon walking around Worthy Moor and getting to know where everything was. A few casual questions about the village had gotten him the location of the verger's cottage. It was three houses down from the church, past the vicarage, and fronted onto the green, so theoretically the verger could walk the back way from his home to both the vicarage and the church while being hidden from half the village. He also asked about the local magistrate, as well as the nearest physician, surgeon, and apothecary in the same set of casual questions. These seemed to him to be questions that a sensible man considering moving into a new neighbourhood would ask.

Miss Benedict spent her afternoon sitting at the window to the private parlor reading a book and writing several letters. She also kept an eye on movements around the church. The vicar went in and out several times, as did the verger. A woman Miss Benedict thought must be the vicar's wife went from the vicarage with fresh flowers and came out carrying old ones. Miss Benedict had a vague idea that such things were normally done in the morning, and she asked a question about it in the letter she was writing to her purely fictional Aunt Emily. She noted when the gardener went home for the day, and asked Aunt Emily whether the inside staff and the groom would sleep on the premises. She also wrote, "I wonder how much the living for St Swithin's is? I do not believe that most parishes this size would provide enough for their incumbent to have so many servants unless said incumbent had other means. Of course, it appears that the vicar and his wife do not have children so that would reduce their expenses and employing as many locals as possible does serve to support the population of the parish." Miss Benedict did not make written notes about Mr Benedict's wanderings about the village during the afternoon or the evening constitutional one of the two young men staying at the inn took before returning to the inn for his dinner.

The dinner hour at the inn passed unremarkably. The two young gentlemen admitted to wanting to make a good impression on the morrow if they were to have a positive answer to their enquiries and went to bed early for young men of fashion. It made several of those in the taproom who were used to the ways of young gentlemen suspect that they might be younger than they were presenting themselves to be.

In the private parlor after dinner had been cleared, the Benedicts debated the best time to pay an unannounced call on the verger.

In their shared bedroom where Miss Elizabeth and Miss Isabel were changing into dark clothes and boots and replacing their snowy white cravats with black stocks, Miss Isabel suddenly said, "I know what it is about Miss Benedict that seemed...unexpected."

Miss Elizabeth looked over at her curiously. "What is it?"

"She doesn't smell like a woman," replied Miss Isabel. "She smells like a man who's wearing a touch too much rose perfume."

"So, Miss Benedict is a man in disguise?" Miss Elizabeth paused to consider the matter.

"Maybe, maybe not." Miss Isabel stowed her sets of lock picks securely about her person. It didn't hurt to have spares. "Miss Benedict might be in disguise but I've met a few people who live in nonconformist ways for one reason or another. Miss Benedict might have chosen to live as Miss Benedict instead of as otherwise. Even so, it may mean that there's another substantial potential opponent in play - Miss Benedict is not a small woman."

"I'd tell you not to jump to conclusions, but Miss Benedict did pick your pocket," observed Miss Elizabeth.

Instead of waiting for the taproom to close and the inn to go quiet, the two young women in male dress slipped down the backstairs while the staff was busy elsewhere. Their exit and the dark lantern Miss Isabel carried could be explained away, but the brace of loaded pistols each carried was rather more problematic. Once out of the inn itself, they left the premises through the stable yard and walked quietly but briskly down the road towards the end of the village until they were out of sight of the front windows of the inn and then crossed the road to the shadow of the shade tree that grew at that end of the green. From there they walked to the lychgate through the half-moon cast shade of the newly planted row of yew trees along the stone wall of the churchyard. Once through the lychgate, they made their way to the side porch, one of the three visible entrances to St Swithin's.

In the sheltered space, and with Miss Elizabeth keeping watch, Miss Isabel plied her lockpicks to good effect and opened the door for them. They both slipped inside and while Miss Elizabeth double checked to make sure that they were the only people in the main body of the church, Miss Isabel relocked the door. The dark lantern remained covered to preserve their night vision and prevent the candlelight from giving them away to anyone in the vicarage, the inn, or any of the houses facing the church. Her walk through the church done, Miss Elizabeth returned to the door they'd gained entrance by and told her companion, "I think I've found the entrance to the crypt. It's over this way."

The door was set into the same wall that held the door to the vestry and looked like it was simply a second door into that room or into some adjacent functional room. Instead, once Miss Isabel had used her lockpicks on it, the door opened onto a broad set of stairs. A window in the outer wall of the church showed that during the day these stairs wouldn't be unlit, and that if they uncovered their lantern now, then their presence would be made obvious to anyone outside the church. They kept the dark lantern covered while Miss Isabel relocked the door behind them. "We might need to leave in a hurry," she commented to Miss Elizabeth, "but this way no-one checking the doors will find anything unusual."

"We have pistols, if we need to leave in a hurry," pointed out Miss Elizabeth. "I try to avoid it myself, but it's amazing how reasonable you can make someone be when you point a pistol at them."

Across the road in the private parlor of the inn, the two Benedicts were quietly discussing who the two people they'd seen go to the church's side porch might be. "We only think that they got in because they haven't come away yet," pointed out Dawkins.

"True," agreed Lord Simon, "but we've not seen any light inside the church yet either. If they are in, then they've thought about this. They may even have training. More to the point though, isn't that the verger crossing the road from the taproom?"

Dawkins peered out at the night. "Yes, that's Frossard. He was wearing those clothes down in the taproom tonight." They watched as the man went through the lynch gate, up to the front door of the church, pulled out his keys, and opened the door. "I think I should go and rescue whoever else is in the church."

"I'll get changed out of this," Lord Simon indicated his clothes, "and follow you. We can talk with Frossard in the church as well as we can in his home."

The crypt stairs were wide enough to allow a coffin to be carried down by six men. There was a landing, the ceiling of which was probably the floor of the vestry, and then the stair turned back under the church to another locked set of doors. Miss Isabel worked the lockpicks by touch while Miss Elizabeth listened - and heard footsteps above. Miss Isabel got the door unlocked and the two of them slipped inside the crypt, then closed the door behind them before Miss Isabel started locking it again. Miss Elizabeth uncovered the dark lantern because the space was pitch black and they needed to know what else was in there with them.

What they saw was a series of tombs topped with prone statues of knights and ladies, and two manacled and shackled men.

Both of the men held up their hands to protect their eyes from the light and the older one asked, "Who are you?"

"We're here to rescue you, Father," replied Miss Isabel as she walked over to them. "Someone's probably coming, so we need to be fast and ready. Elizabeth, where do you want to wait?"

"Over here." Miss Elizabeth moved to a point where she was out of the way of the doors. "Try and be attention grabbing," she told the other three, "but try not to get shot."

"It's probably the verger," volunteered the younger man. "He's one of our gaolers and we normally get a visit from him before he takes himself off to his own bed." He added, "Be careful of the bucket, Miss Dauntry."

"Oh, I will." She knelt with the dark lantern illuminating her work and started on the locks holding the shackles closed.

It didn't take as long as anyone in the crypt had hoped for the verger to make his way to the crypt door, and the only thing that kept Miss Isabel calmly working her way through the locks that confined her father and his teammate was the knowledge that panicking would only make the work harder. As it was, she had her father out of his shackles and one leg of Mr Moran's undone by the time the crypt door opened.

"What do we have here?" Frossard spoke English with an accent that spoke of the commercial Channel ports nearest the capital. Not a voice that you'd find behind a bar, but it wouldn't have been out of place for a clerk in a dockside warehouse busily recording the comings and goings of goods, men, and ships.

As there was no sound of a pistol being cocked, Miss Isabel kept on with her work.

It was her father who replied. "Instructive as our stay has been, we rather thought it was time to leave. Your proposed ocean voyage isn't to our taste at all. Besides, the roads running south from here are notoriously bad."

"I am afraid that I can't allow you to leave." Now the man cocked a pistol, but only one. "Your journey is not negotiable, and I imagine that you will be spending some considerable time in Brest."

Miss Isabel got Moran's second leg iron open and started on his manacles which were hanging in front of him in the shadow between them.

Frossard went on, "I don't know who you are over there on your knees with my friends, but I really must insist that you stand up and turn around so I can see who you are."

"And I must insist that you carefully drop that pistol before I blow your brains out," said another voice, one that Miss Isabel knew as Mr Benedict. "It's been some time, hasn't it, Frossard? Does your clergyman employer know what you're up to? Prisoners in the crypt and all that?"

Miss Isabel continued work on the manacles.

Her father said prosaically, "The vicar and his wife are in on it. That's how we wound up in this position." He gestured to Moran and himself with his manacled hands. "A soporific in the tea, I believe."

Mr Benedict remarked, "We'd better get on with it then, hadn't we? Your weapon, Frossard, thank you."

"I think not, sir. You are the one who shall be putting down his weapon." Behind Mr Benedict another weapon cocked. Miss Isabel recognised the voice from her confirmation classes and was relieved when the lock she was working on snicked open.

As she freed Mr Moran's hand and turned to the wrist her father had dropped down in front of her, out of sight of the men in the doorway, she heard Mr Benedict say, "It seems that you have me at a disadvantage, sir."

"One I intend to maintain," replied the vicar drily. "Your weapon, sir. Verger, please get our other visitor on their feet, will you? I fear that they may be diligently plying a set of lockpicks while they can. I would in their position."

"I am impressed," said a new, female voice that had a slight cross-Channel accent, "that your organisation has located your missing people so quickly. I approve of such professionalism, but as we are working against each other on this occasion, I am afraid that your rescue attempt will be unsuccessful. Our employers, however, will be appreciative to receive so many guests with interesting information." She apparently turned to the vicar and remarked, "I checked the rest of the church before I came down and there is no-one else here. No-one has flushed out le fils aîné Gates and la fille du milieu Smith from their little love nest, so I doubt anyone else is skulking around in the churchyard."

Miss Isabel freed her father's left hand and shoved her lockpicks into an inner pocket before she turned and stood. She wasn't too dramatic because she didn't want a flaring coat to reveal the pistols she was carrying. Finding the verger's pistol pointing at her, she nodded and acknowledged him in her own voice with, "Sir."

The verger raised an eyebrow. "A young lady?"

The vicar gave her a hard look. "If that's her own hair, then I believe it's Dauntry's second youngest girl, Isabel. I taught her confirmation classes." He added flatly, "She's probably armed as well. After you've tied up your friend who's so free with names, you'll need to search her and tie her up too. She will be useful for keeping Dauntry in check on the journey we have planned for him."

"It's nice to see you again too, Reverend Morle," she snapped back. "Or is it Reverend Moore now? I hope that you at least have your real name on your marriage lines with Madame."

"Oh, I like this one!" exclaimed the vicar's wife. "She assumes that you married me."

Miss Isabel looked surprised, "Well, why wouldn't he want to marry you?"

"Oh, cherie," the older woman gave her an almost friendly smile.

"And he could be a lot worse," pointed out Miss Isabel. "Aside from the part where he seems to be a turncoat traitor, of course."

The older woman laughed. "When they are done extracting information from you, we should find you a good husband. The Grande Armée has had many fine officers retire because of their injuries, and many of them could do with a good wife."

The vicar said, "I believe, sir, that I told you to put down your weapon."

Another male voice said calmly out of the shadows on the stairs behind the vicar and his wife, "I think that's my line. Vicar. Madam. Lay your weapons down. I have two pistols and I shoot just as well with both hands."

"That assumes that we don't have time to shoot your friends," pointed out the verger. "Are you prepared to take a chance on which of the targets before me I might shoot at, gentlemen?"

There was the sound of two more pistols cocking as Miss Elizabeth rose from her hiding place behind a medieval knight and then said, "Are you prepared to take the chance that two of us can't kill you before you can fire?"

While the verger glanced briefly at Miss Elizabeth and uttered one, sharp swear word, Miss Isabel produced one of her own pistols from under her coat and remarked, "I really do not care for being threatened."

Her father went on, "Can we all agreed that our side has the upper hand?" He gazed at the assembled faces and assumed at least acquiescence from what he saw. He gestured with his hand, "Moran, collect their weapons."

The collection of weapons from the enemy agents went relatively well. Frossard the verger wanted to try something, that was clear, but the threat of three guns aimed at him, because Miss Isabel had produced her second weapon, was sufficient to change his mind. Once all three of them had been disarmed and were being guarded by the shaven headed man who had been passing as Miss Benedict and the man who had been Mr Benedict, Miss Isabel set about completely removing the restraints from the former prisoners. Miss Elizabeth searched the crypt for rope or cord that could be used as restraints on the basis that there might be something stored here if this was where prisoners were kept but found nothing.

It was at this point that more people arrived. It seemed that a pistol carrying, semi-dressed, shaven-headed man that no-one knew was in the inn, running down the stairs, across the taproom, and out the main door had elicited some surprise and alarm in said taproom. The constable had been summoned, by the local magistrate who'd been in the taproom, and these gentlemen had now arrived. The magistrate, who was Squire Melchett, also had several of his footmen with him, and they had the look of men who'd been unexpectedly called back to work from a convivial evening. Squire Melchett, a tall olive-skinned man with a hooked nose, looked around the scene in the crypt and then said, "Heavens, Richard Dauntry, is that you? Why are you pointing pistols at our vicar and his wife? And the verger too? What on earth is going on?" As an afterthought he added, "Mrs Moore, young ladies, good evening. Dauntry, why are these young ladies dressed as men?"

Lord Richard Dauntry bowed to the newcomers, then said, "Good to see you too, Edward. I was actually coming to see you before I was waylaid by the vicar here and his wife with a soporific in my tea. When I was in Kerkyra, he was going by the name of Morle and he was our chaplain. Mrs Moore is a professional agent, loyal to whoever is paying her. I am prepared to accept that the two of them are married to each other. The young ladies in breeches are my daughter, Isabel, and Miss Elizabeth Moran, who is the sister of my associate, Mr George Moran. As Mr Moran and I have been unexpectedly incommunicado, the young ladies came to look for us. Quite separately from Lord Simon Beaumont and Mr David Dawkins," he gestured with his hands, "who were sent by my superiors to find us for the same reason."

"So, why did the Moores drug you and then lock you up down here?" Squire Melchett looked puzzled.

"Because they are enemy agents. with the vicar being a turncoat traitor," replied Lord Richard.

"Still working for those chaps who sent you overseas, are you?" The squire was looking at the scene shrewdly. "I've suitable cells for miscreants at my house - and all of you had better join us there because I suspect that the landlord at the Fox may have changed his mind about letting some of you stay under his roof."

Mr Moran asked, "Will there be baths available? I'm afraid that the accommodations down here have been...lacking."

Pointedly ignoring the slops bucket, Miss Elizabeth remarked acidly, "I noticed."

Miss Isabel followed that with, "Your luggage isn't down here, and I know that you left with several changes of clean clothes. Should we search the vicarage tonight?"

"Yes," said the squire, both lords, and the two other government agents.

"I trust the local staff not to be involved in treason," said the squire, "but they might also carry out instructions that they were previously given if they aren't prevented."

There followed a flurry of organisation that involved all the prisoners being searched by two people of their own gender before being sent off to the squire's house under the escort of the constable and the footmen. The vestry was locked so that its contents could be searched at a more convenient time in the morning, and the rest of the party repaired to the vicarage.

The vicarage staff who lived in were surprised to be turned out of the beds that some of them had only just climbed into by the squire himself. They were also surprised to be questioned by that gentleman while all around them the vicarage was efficiently searched. Miss Elizabeth found the secret compartment in the dressing table in Mrs Moore's bedroom. Lord Richard found the loose brick in the hearth in the vicar's study, something he put down to a long acquaintance with that gentleman. Mr Dawkins found the unexpected stash of century old brandy behind a false wall in the cellar that pointed to the dubious behaviour of previous occupants of the vicarage. Mr Dawkins and Mr Moran found the former prisoners' luggage stashed among empty trunks in a storage area in the attics.

Then they moved on to the verger's cottage. It was unusual that he had so many weapons, but certainly that was not illegal. The little stash of coins under the hearth was certainly not unusual. The larger stash of coins in the flour in the kitchen was unusual - that the coins were gold and silver francs was more so. While the gentlemen were congratulating each other on finding the money, it was Miss Isabel who found notebooks stashed under the fourth step in the staircase that led up to the upstairs room under the roof. It was at this point that Squire Melchett organised with the constable to secure the buildings for the night and invited everyone to stay at his house in the name of efficient organisation.

The innkeeper was paid and then Squire Melchett's wife and housekeeper were roused in the middle of the night to organise rooms for unexpected guests. Arrangements were made for baths to occur first thing in the morning and lady's clothing was lent Miss Isabel and Miss Elizabeth.

Breakfast found everyone being themselves and, in the case of Lord Richard and Mr Moran, gloriously clean. Lord Simon's hair was beginning to grow back as he declined to shave it when he had no reason to wear a wig. He was also wearing his own clothes because he'd been able to pack them in Mr Dawkin's luggage. Miss Isabel and Miss Elizabeth were wearing dresses that were three years out of date, having been left behind when the Melchett's daughter had married and set up her own home, but they fit and both young ladies looked well in them. Mr Dawkins and Lord Simon certainly paid attention to that. Mr Moran and Lord Richard paid attention to their paying attention - Mr Moran bristled while Lord Richard smiled benevolently and sipped his tea. Mrs Melchett looked like the woman who had successfully married off four daughters and had just found a new interesting project.

Squire Melchett entered the room and helped himself to beef, mushrooms, a little bacon, and a cup of tea. Once he had himself seated at the head of the table, he announced to the assembled company, "I've sent off a message about this business to Berkley in London. It won't surprise me if Parkinson or another of those chaps comes up here by post chaise almost as soon as they get the message." He turned to his wife and added, "You should get the housekeeper to make up a few more guest rooms, my dear." He turned back to the room at large. "Now, being the local magistrate, I can keep holding the three miscreants in the cells as long as necessary, but we will need to take steps to identify these associates who were going to carry Dauntry and Moran off to the coast for transportation across the Channel. Ideally we can do so before they find out that we have those three under lock and key."

Mr Moran commented, "I would imagine that it depends on whether they're local or not. If they live in the village, then it's probably already too late. If they are from somewhere else, it's possible. They'd have to be someone with a cart or a carriage - it's not like they could have packed us into the boot of a mail coach as luggage and by anything other than a mail coach it's several days to the coast from here."

"The mail coach from here doesn't head to the coast from here in either direction," pointed out Mrs Melchett as she poured Lord Richard some more tea. "I can't imagine that there's anything local that spies would be interested in anyway. The nearest military camp is twenty miles away. Oh, unless Percy Somerville's experiments with explosives are actually important?" The men at the table stopped and looked at her, and she went on defensively, "His mother and I exchange visits, they are only five miles away, and she's always complaining about the explosions getting on her nerves and how's she's worried that he might blow himself up."

Lord Richard asked carefully, his hand poised to pick up his teacup again, "Does everyone of Lady Somerville's acquaintance know about her son's experiments?"

"I would think so," replied Mrs Melchett. "Possibly not the gentlemen, because they generally don't attend ladies' At Home afternoons. It's a topic of discussion whenever I've been to one with her ever since he started them. Why, are they supposed to be a secret?" She looked around the assembled company and asked, "How could anything so noisy be a secret? The Lovelaces and the Ponsonbys can hear the things from their houses, so can their servants and their tenants and of course they talk. I can't imagine that anyone within ten miles of their estate doesn't know about the experiments."

Mr Moran commented drily, "Perhaps various senior gentlemen should have consulted their wives about whether it is possible to keep a secret like that in the country."

"It also occurs to me that I should send an urgent message to the bishop about this matter," added Squire Melchett apparently out of the blue. "When the previous vicar was promoted to Dean of the cathedral, I went to the bishop for a recommendation to replace him. It was he who suggested Reverend Moore. We need to know whether he recommended the man who arrived here, or someone else who has been replaced."

"It's possible that there is a body or a pair of bodies somewhere," agreed Lord Richard, "but my experience of Morle suggests that he's more likely to have paid the original Reverend Moore off."

Miss Isabel asked practically, "What about Madame? "From my recollection of the reverend, she and the verger are more likely to have been dynamic in taking action."

"Frossard is a killer," added Dawkins darkly.

"Mrs Moore, as we've known her, will be a great loss to the parish," added Mrs Melchett. "She's what we need in a vicar's wife."

"The Crown is hardly likely to forgive espionage on that basis," pointed out her husband. "For now, we need to work out an interim plan to discover and capture whoever was going to carry you two to the coast," he looked towards Lord Richard and Mr Moran.

Lord Stephen cleared his throat, "Well, it occurred to me that Dawkins and I could fill in for vicar and the verger. Perhaps one of the ladies could fill in for Madame."

"Your French is better than mine," pointed out Miss Elisabeth to Miss Isabel, "and you're the better mimic."

Lord Richard finished sipping his tea and then remarked, "This is a point where I believe that I should express parental concerns, if only for appearances sake."

"But it won't be us sharing the vicarage as Mr and Mrs Moore with the servants," pointed out his daughter. "It will be Reverend Morle and Madame."

"Up until the point where it becomes known that it wasn't," pointed out Lord Richard. "The number of allegedly sound men working in Berkley’s office who cannot keep their mouths shut in their club astounds me."

"I could visit as a friend of Mrs Moore's," offered Miss Elizabeth. "Would that be sufficient to silence the loose lipped gossips?"

"It has possibilities," allowed Lord Richard. "Definite possibilities."