The Terror Time Spies (5 page)

“Well, it’s true there are many sadnesses, Countess, but what did Mr Robespierre says about people’s duty now? 
To hate despotism, defend the oppressed, do all good to one's neighbour, and behave with justice to all men. 
So it’s not
all
bad.”

Hal thought it sounded rather fine and brave.

“Then you will NOT listen, Madame?” snorted the Countess, “Come then, Juliette, it’s time for your daily walk with Armande, although I shall not come today.  I shall retire to bed, with smelling salts.  For a week.”

Constance swept back around the carriage, her daughter following meekly, completely unaware that from the shadow of the trees those two sinister French strangers had begun to follow them, in their long black clothes. 

“Oh I wish we could just get going,” said Henry bitterly.

With that Charlotte Bonespair saw a horse galloping down the long drive.  It was Simon’s Bonespair speckled stallion, Clive. 

“Here you are,” she cried, as he reached them and jumped down, “You must be setting out, husband.  The Itinerary.”

“At last,” cried Henry, “We’re off.”

Simon Bonespair had a gentle, rather troubled face and his voice was high and breathless as he spoke.

“It doesn’t matter now, my love,” he panted, “It’s all off.”

“Off? But why, pa?” cried Henry desperately, feeling a strange ache inside, yet oddly relieved too.  Sometimes France frightened Hal a great deal.

“The post came from London, Hal, about a Court case of Mr Wickham’s, and I’ll have to go and tend to it myself.  I’ll stay with your Godfather, Eleanor.”

Henry felt rather jealous suddenly, because he did not have a Godfather, but Simon pulled out that morning’s edition of the
London Times
. 

“Besides,” said his father, “look at
this.”

“Oh not more bad news,” sighed Charlotte, “It’s always bad nowadays.”

“Yes, my love.  The Commune have revolted again and Mr Robespierre has ordered the house arrest of every Girondin.  People are being denounced everywhere.”

The children’s’ eyes opened, and Nellie wondered what
denounced
meant.   It sounded very bad.   

“Now the Jacobin Clubs are taking control in France,” added Simon.

Henry looked up.  He had often wondered what Mr Wickham’s London Club was like.  It was called The Travellers Club, in a place called Pall Mall.  The sort of Club he should really join.

“They’ve used the mob to stir everyone up against the Girondins,” Simon went on, “and even surrounded the French Convention in support.  Dr Marat leads the new Committee of Public Security now, and they say Marat’s a monster.”

Charlotte Bonespair had just gone as white as a sheet.

“The whole country’s mobilising for war, Charlotte, but on the verge of civil war too.  There are trials all over France. 
Special
Tribunals
.  Our newspapers say with no chance of real justice, either.  It’s murder there now.”

“And your mother?  Madame Geraldine.”

Spike suddenly thought of the famous
Madame Guilteen
. 

“Oh, that’ll all have to wait until it’s safe again.  I can go alone, perhaps, one day soon.”

Charlotte suddenly wanted to kiss her husband. 

“Now I’ll try and catch up with Mr Wickham in London,” cried Simon, mounting Clive again, “I should be back in a few days.  Henry and Nellie, promise me to look after your mother, now. 
Bonespair’s against the world, eh
.”

 “
Bonespair’s against the world
,” they both cried, taking up the family motto, as Simon rode away, while Arthur Holmwood was already unloading the bags again, grumbling furiously to himself. 

“Well, I dunno.  All this bother, and my boy so looking forward to a first sight of the sea, an’ all.”

William Wickham’s second best carriage was soon turning again too, leaving the poor Rat Catchers shipwrecked outside their little Peckham lodge.  The great trip was cancelled.

“I’ll make us all some lunch,” cried Charlotte, as she ruffled Spike’s spikey hair and turned back inside.  “And we’ll have some trifle, as a special treat.”     

The two Rat Catchers stood helplessly in the bright English sunlight, overcome by the enormous anti-climax, the prospect of the boring summer suddenly yawning in front of them.   

“Rats,” said Spike, as she flicked her new catapult.  “No Revolution then.  How ever can we cause some trouble now?”

“I know, Nell,” sighed Hal miserably, wondering when he would ever get to do anything really adventurous in life, “It’s just not fair.”

“Jirondins?” said Spike though, “are they the goodies, H?”

“What?  Oh, they were there before the Jacobins came along, I think,” answered Henry, frowning, “Francis would know.  He knows everything.  Still Frenchie Revolutionaries though.”

Henry felt a little guilty, because of course he was of French origin too.

“But it’s all right, Hal,” cried Spike suddenly, her sharp little green eyes lighting up again, “Now Skip can take the oath instead, can’t he, Hal?”

Henry Bonespair could not have cared less and even the great estate suddenly felt like a prison to the gorwing boy. 

“Maybe, Spike.  But if we’re letting Holmwood in, perhaps we should ask
them
to join too.  Juliette, and her brother Armande.”

“No fear,” said Spike, with a scowl.  “Not those snooty Aristos.”

---

That strange night a huge full moon hung over William Wickham’s great house in Peckham and the little lodge, its chimney smoking even more peacefully than before.  It shone down into a large barn too, near the big pond, where three dark shapes stood in the half light now, among the roughly strewn straw. 

The two Rat Catchers stood side by side and Nellie had changed back into her scruffiest tomboy clothes.  Skipper Holmwood was there too, clasping the Sacred Rat’s Tail now, as the burly lad waited in front of them both, blinking stupidly.    

“Right then, Holmwood,” whispered Henry Bonespair half heartedly. 

Spike had run up to the stables that same afternoon, to tell Skip the wonderful news that Hal had agreed he could join their gang, if he passed the ‘nitiation. 

Henry had gone in search of the St Honorés too, but strangely he hadn’t been able to find them anywhere. 

Skipper lifted his chin and Hal noticed one of his teeth was missing. 

“Well, Holmwood, we know you can slice off chickens’ heads, whittle catapults and know a new invisible ink, but what else?”

Skipper’s not overly intelligent face looked suspicious, as he shifted awkwardly on his big feet.  He wasn’t entirely sure that he did want to be a stupid Rat Catcher anyway.   Skipper was really doing it for his new friend Spike.

“Fight,” the large boy grunted, glaring at Henry’s nose, who remembered just how hard Skipper’s fists had hit last summer.  “All spring I’ve ‘ad to fend off them local villages boys.  Stop em filching things, or raiding this barn.”

“Well, I’ll vouch for that,” conceded Henry resentfully, glancing sharply at his little sister, “and…?”

“Er, tickle trout, throw me voice and steal magpie’s eggs.”

Spike nodded admiringly at her new hero and Henry looked at her again.  They were country skills, but not unimpressive.  Skipper Holmwood was a big lad too and could be handy in a fight.

“Ise a good eye ‘n all,” added Skipper though, “Spotted those strangers this mornin, though they seen me watchin’ and walked on to a carriage, near the old graveyard.”

“Strangers?” said Henry, as Spike thought of the graveyard by the old church, that she would only ever pass at a frantic run.

“Two strange gents, in fine black coats.  Didn’t like the look of ‘em much.”

“Can you speak Avagum though?” asked Henry, with a frown, wondering about these strangers and feeling a little nervous.

“Eh?”

“Our secret language, Holmwood.  It takes knowledge of Latin.”

Skipper Holmwood looked back in horror.

“I’ll teach him, H,” said Spike quickly,  “
Avageas-avagee.”

“And what about The Call?” asked Henry, “I suppose you’d better try the Catcher’s Call.”

Hal cupped his hands now, to make a kind of bowl, blowing into his fingers and the air was suddenly filled with a loud hooting.   Henry looked very proud indeed, as he made a sound just like an owl. 

“Oh THAT,” grunted Skipper. 

The burly country boy imitated Henry easily, in fact the sound was much more impressive, and far eerier too.

“Good enough,” shrugged Hal, feeling even more deflated.  “You’re in then, Holmwood.  For the summer, anyway.”

“But that’s not fair!” cried Spike furiously and Henry Bonespair blinked at her. 

“But Spike, you said you wanted him to…”

 “I know, but you’re not taking it seriously enough.  You can’t just let him in
like that. 
You asked me far more questions, made me stand on one leg too.”

Henry Bonespair was hardly about to ask big Skipper Holmwood to do
that
, while they had had to creep out of the house in the dark to get here and the now whole thing seemed stupid.   

Hal was suddenly very glad that hadn’t been able to ask the St Honorés to join.  It was far too babyish for his fourteen years, and with a real war coming too.

“It’s just I think we should start a much better gang, Spike,” he said,  “I was going to talk to you about it.  Something where we can do really important things, with England at
War
.  Really useful things, like the Scarlet Pimpernel himself.”

“Scarley wot?” grunted Skipper, lowering the blasted rat’s tail again.   

“Pimpernel, Holmwood, like the flower,” explained the fourteen year old proudly, “It’s only his Code Name though.  They say he’s a rich and powerful aristocrat, and a master of disguise too, who goes to France to rescue innocent aristos all the time.”

Skipper Holmwood was suddenly scowling.

 “An why’d d’ya wanna do a stupid thing like that? Pa says them Frenchie aristos are ‘orrid, n deserve wots coming.”

The London boy looked very shocked at the ignorant country bumpkin.

“Skip’s right,” cried Spike though, “why’s anyone better than anyone else, ninnee?  Except a Rat Catcher, of course.  Frilly Armande’s just stupid.”

Henry raised an eyebrow, although he suddenly wasn’t sure himself.  He thought he was much better than half the boys at school in London, although Henry didn’t like Armande’s grand airs much either. 

“That’s not the point, Spike,” he said though, “the point’s the Pimpernel’s a true hero.  Braver than anyone alive, and
his
League are loyal to the death, so he’s…”

“No he aint, silly,” said Spike, “He’s just made up.  Old Lavender breath said so.”

Henry Bonespair was suddenly exasperated, but he thought of Juliette again and it made him very unhappy indeed.  A coward, she had called him, to his face. The truth was that Henry wished he was as brave as this famous Pimpernel, real or not, but he rather knew that he wasn’t. 

“Oh let’s get on with it,” he said.  “The oath, Holmwood.  If you really want in.”

Skipper raised the mouldy rat’s tail again, wondering if he could remember the special words that Spike had tried to teach him on the way up to the barn. 

       “
I swears to catch Mischeeef, to gets out of Trouble, to…”

       “No, Holmwood, to get
into
…”

       “HUSH,” cried Spike suddenly though, “Someone’s coming.”

In the thin yellow moonlight the children could suddenly see a dark shadow stretching below the barn door, coming straight towards them, getting longer and longer.

“Them village thieves,” hissed Skipper, “We can catch ‘em red ‘anded.”

“Hide then,” ordered Henry, thinking of Skipper’s words of strangers, and in an instant the barn seemed empty again. 

Henry was crouching behind a broken water barrel and Skipper had swung himself up onto a rickety wooden platform, used to keep the hay dry, as Spike dived under a broken old crate.

With a sinister creaking, the hung barn door swung slowly open, then gave an awful whine.  Their hearts were in their mouths, as the stranger entered and an owl hooted eerily.   
“Awooh, Awooh.”  
It was Hal’s call to action. 

The smallest Catcher sprang into battle first.  Reckless little Spike shot from her hiding place with a terrible cry - “Agggggh” - and hurled her brave arm’s around the thief’s leg, as if playing that stupid new ball game at Rugby school. 

Skipper came leaping from above too and buffeted him straight in the back.  The intruder went crashing to the earth floor and soon they had the intruder pinned down in the dirt.

“Keep still, you, or I’ll wallops you one,” grunted Skipper, raising a huge fist, as the boys turned the intruder over.  He was still lashing out and as Henry leant in to help, he felt a horrible smack in his right eye.