The Terror Time Spies (16 page)

“Arlene Merimonde,” answered the Lady, with a graceful curtsey and again those three figures at the table looked up and seemed very interested now.

“By Jesu, Almighty,” bellowed the American though, “the famous Frenchie actress, no less?”

The beautiful lady dipped her head and fluttered her fan, as the man writing furiously looked up too and cocked his head.

“Yes, and you are too kind, Monsieur,” said the woman delightedly, “Mais oui, and you must attend the theatres yourself.  Indeed Arlene Merimonde invites you all,” she cried, waving her fan theatrically.  “For politics is the answer to nothing.  There is only art, Monsieur, beauty and the eternal play.”

Spike wanted to see a theatre immediately, especially with this beautiful lady inside it, but time ticked on now and Francis and Armande sat down in a window seat, with the dressing up bag between them, both looking strangely worried. 

Henry had slipped out the Chronometer, to see that it was almost nine, when he saw Obediah Tuck approaching him.

“But that’s a mighty fine watch that, ladee,” said the American, “My own pa had something just like it.  Always used it when we went a huntin’ and a trappin’.  You boys can’t be coming to France on your own though?”

“Yes Sir,” answered Hal, “Father’s taking us, Sir,” “ he added quickly, “He should be here soon.”

“And are ye frightened, lad, of their Frenchie Revolushon over the waves?”

There was something about this bluff, open-faced American that Hal trusted immediately but what he had just seen, or imagined, in the fire place came back to him:  That poor woman, in the white hat and black ribbon, losing her head on the Guilteen.

“Yes, Sir,” he found himself whispering truthfully.  “A little frightened.”

“An’ very well said, lad,” cried the American, with a smile, “There’s no shame in honestee, and you’ve an honest face.  The kind of face that a Man can trust.  In these exceptional times, a person must be rather exceptional, too, I find.  But remember me motto, boy, ‘
time waits for no man.
’”

Henry Bonespair suddenly thought of Robert Penhaligon talking of limitations.

 “And watch yerselves, ladee,” said the American, “But if I can ever be of service,
over there
, feel free to call on me in Paris.  Perhaps I could show you all my business too.  Hot Air.”

Tuck laughed, twisting his great moustache and reached out to squeeze Henry’s shoulder, then marched off again, while Hal saw the proprietress staring doubtfully at them all.   She was beginning to grow suspicious.

Hal was starting to grow very uncomfortable himself, wondering what to do, when the door to the Eagle burst open.

“And here’s father now,” cried Henry, with relief, as Skipper ducked through the door and looked around. 

Skipper’s large face was still shawled in his mother’s big scarf and the proprietress looked rather taken aback by his rough appearance, as poor Skip sneezed.  He looked very little like an
S Bonespair, Gentleman
.

“Pa,” cried Henry though, marching towards him, “we’ve got the rooms, just like you asked,
Father
.”

Skipper blinked at him in surprise but he caught on and nodded and the Club were soon shown up a low attic room first, then into a nice enough chamber below, with an open fireplace too, although the embers were low in the fireplace.

“Shall I pokes it?” asked the fat landlady, as the Club looked around.

“No,” snapped Henry nervously, recalling his vision downstairs, “no thank you very much.”

The proprietress managed an awkward curtsey and closed the door behind her.

“Wot was that all about, ‘aitch?” grunted Skipper, “SON?”

The others grinned, as Henry explained, then, trying once more to dismiss what he had seen downstairs, Hal reached into his pocket and pulled out one of the special letters of transit.

“Here, Skip.  Take father’s papers now,” he whispered, handing Simon’s to Skipper, “That’s your disguise now, Skip… as Pa, and your promise of safe passage tomorrow into France.”

Count Armande seemed preoccupied and had drifted away across the room, as Skipper took the document rather proudly, and the Count began opening the bag of dressing up clothes they had brought, and was suddenly rummaging around deeply inside.

“Downstairs, Hal” said Nellie though, “Frenchie spies, I’m sure of it.  Shouldn’t we post a look-out?  They can give the Owl call, if someone….”

“Hush now, Nellie,” said Henry though, “In England all we need to worry about is getting you back home safely, with Francis.  We’ll all meet back in London very soon.”

Spike glared at him and was about to argue when Francis butted in.

“No, Henry,” he suddenly and Hal swung round.

“No, F?  What do you mean no?”

Francis Simpkins was quivering furiously now, his owlish face and his hundreds of freckles flushed like a freshly dug beetroot. 

 “I…I’ve been thinking, Hal,” he whispered, “About what Captain Nelson said, and about poor Juliette too.  I…I want to come to France with you.”

Francis Simpkins’s eyebrows had knotted and he was biting his lip so hard that his friend wondered if it would bleed and make him faint.  He was fighting with himself, just as Henry had done on the quay side.

“You mean you’ve changed your mind?” asked Hal, in astonishment, “But you never change your mind.”

         “ I….yes, I have,” said Francis, as firmly as he could,  “Just this time, Henry.  I can’t let you go alone, H.  I’m under oath now too.  Besides, I’m code expert and the Club Historian too, and I want to see a theatre, and a balloon.  In France.”

Little Spike was glaring at him jealously.

“Are you sure, F?” asked Henry softly.

Francis almost stopped shaking now.

“Sure, H.  Or I think so.  I was a coward when Jack Skanks asked me for the coin.  I’m sorry.  If you promise to get us all back again soon.”

“Of course, I promise,” cried Henry, delighted he had picked exactly the right gang, and not thinking Francis Simpkins a coward at all, but Hal suddenly frowned too. 

“But you can’t,” he cried.  “We’ve only got
three
letters and what about Spike, here?”

“I don’t think I could drive the coach anyhow,” shrugged Francis, a little mournfully, although puzzled about the papers.  “I don’t really like horses much.  Sorry Spike.”

“Unless we send Skipper back with Spike,” suggested Hal, half-heartedly.  Skipper was the last person he wanted to lose now.

“Henri,” said a voice suddenly though, ‘There is another way.”

They turned to see Armande, Ninth Count St Honoré, or what had suddenly become Armande the common French ragamuffin,  because the Count was suddenly transformed. 

Count Armande’s fine clothes had vanished and now he was dressed in a rough tunic, like sacking, a kind of long artisan smock, which he had found in the dressing up bag, although the young Aristocrat was still holding the lace handkerchief that Skanks had given him.

“Armande?” said Henry crossly, “This is no time for messing…”

“I’m not,” cried Armande, “But you ‘erd Snareswood, ‘enri.  They’re listening for French accents in Calais, for Double agents, so it’ll be safer going a different way.   By the anchor rope.  I’ll get on board tonight and stowaway.”

“Stowaway,” gasped Nellie, suddenly looking deeply impressed with the Count.

“I’ll ‘ide, and if they catch me, I will say…” Armande paused and looked down at his humble clothes, rather distastefully, but was suddenly keen to prove himself just as capable a leader as Henry Bonespair, “say that I’m a Calais fisher boy, on board all along.  We can meet again on the other side.  The Club.”

Hal seemed lost in thought.

“Well, it’s
possible
,” he whispered, “Then the three letters will cover me, Francis, and Skipper.  But that still leaves the carriage and…”

“The farrier was talking, ‘aitch,” interrupted Skipper Holmwood now, looking even more guiltily at Spike, and speaking very slowly indeed, as if trying to work it all out, “N’ there’s a Post Coach back to Lundun, at 9 tomorra.  An express with
Fecter and Co
.  Children travel on it regular, n’ alone too, coz it carries an armed guard.”

Henry Bonespair’s dark eyes lit up, although Spike was glaring at Skipper, feeling utterly betrayed by her new friend, and by the whole stupid Pimple Club too.

“And your father’s carriage?” asked Hal doubtfully.

“With the war they’s offering virtually free stablin’, if they gets to use the ‘orses.  I’ll go n arrange it now.  Show Spike the way too.”

“That’s it then!” cried Henry Bonespair delightedly, “Nellie must go back to Peckham all on her own, under armed guard though.”

“I wont,” cried Spike, in horror .  “I’m one of….”

Henry didn’t cut her off with a glare this time, but instead he knelt down and took Spike gently by her little shoulders.

“Now listen to me, Nellie, please,” he whispered kindly, “You’ve just got to see reason now.  They’re cutting people’s heads off in France, and if they ever thought we were going to rescue Juliette from Mrs Guillotine, it would be the Bastille prison for us all.”

The other Pimpernels were suddenly looking at Hal in astonishment.  Henry Bonespair, having talked only of going to Madame Geraldine’s, afer their failed enterprise of resuing Juliette in England, was suddenly talking about rescuing Juliette from a Guillotine.  They wondered if he thought he was playing the Scarlet Pimpernel again. 

Henry was starting to wonder about seeing reason himself though, after what he knew he had just seen in the fireplace downstairs.

“Bones to spare,” whispered Spike sourly, although she gulped.  “And reason’s horrid, H.  I like magic better.”

Francis Simpkins raised a scholarly eyebrow.

“But we need you to do the most important thing now, Spike,” said Henry, “To tell mother that we’re all right.  She must be worried sick, with the baby coming too.”

Spike sighed.

“But what do I…”

“I’ll write a letter, explaining everything, without mentioning the Club, of course.  And you must deliver it as the Club’s
Special Envoy
.  Our whole mission depends on
you
now.  ”

Henry patted his sister fondly, who looked very doubtful, got up and walked over to a simple writing desk, where pen and paper waited.  Spike followed reluctantly, as Henry sat down to scribe his message to their mother. 

“Hand me one of the sheets, Spike.”

Nellie did so and the paper felt strange to the touch.   Spike found herself examining another page, thinking how good it would be to make paper butterflies, as Charlotte had taught her to at home.  She folded it up for later, and slipped it into her little pocket.

“
Dear Mother
,” whispered Henry though, as he dipped a quill in the ink pot provided and started to write, “
There’s been some trouble, but we’re all right, and you mustn’t worry.  We’re in Paris with Grandmama, and we’ll be back as soon as we possibly can
. 
Francis Simpkins has come too.  He wants to see a balloon.  Please tell the Comtesse that Armande and Juliette are in France as well, but that they’ll be coming home with us soon.  Don’t worry, we’ll follow the Itinerary.  H Bonespair.
”

Henry thought it rather fine, as he read it back.   But the others were looking desperately nervous about what they were planning to do, almost despite any intention to
actually do it
.  That phrase, among several strange names, popped into Henry’s head again: -
The Terror Spies. 
The terrified spies was more the truth of it now.

“That should do it,” cried Henry though, blotting the paper purposefully, as he’d often seen his father do, and folding it carefully.  His own practicality had driven out all thought of those strange visions and Hal felt much better again.

“We sail with the dawn tide,” he said, “so we’re going to have to trust you to be very adult, Spike, and to get on that Post Coach all alone.  Can you do that, Nellie?   I can’t be worrying about you the whole journey.  Juliette’s
life
may depend on it now.  Otherwise we all come back straight, and then Juliette will be….”

Spike bit her lip and drew her finger across her throat, silently.

“Exactly, Spike.  Will you promise me?”

Eleanor Bonespair nodded slowly but Henry noticed the cunning glint in her bold little green eyes.

“Show me your hands,” he ordered, raising an eyebrow. 

The little girl straightened and drew them from behind her back, to show that none of her fingers were crossed.  But now Hal took the sacred Chronometer from inside his shirt.

“On the Patent Revolutionary Time Piece, Nell. 
Swear it
.”

“Swears,” Spike whispered reluctantly. 

Henry beamed, leant forwards and gave her a big kiss on her cheek.

“Yuch,” said Spike, wiping her face with the back of a grubby hand.

“But now we’ve another problem,” said Henry, turning to the other boys, “What to do on the other side.  The Itinerary has been spot on so far, but it says nothing about how to get to Paris from Calais.”