“If he does really think that there is no distinction between virtue and vice, why, sir, when he leaves our houses let us count our spoons.”
--- Samuel Johnson

Part Two

Chapter Seven

Two days on the road, hitching rides on hay wagons and foraging for food in the fields, found the Fairangels entering the moderately large town where Miss Singleton’s School for Young Ladies was located.

“Pru will open her doors to us,” Frances said with confidence. She would give much for a warm bath and a real bed. The days since their eviction had been a haze of confusion and sore feet, despair and little hope. Her voice faltered at the appearance of her father. “We will never get past the butler in this state,” she said ruefully.

Fairangel produced his elaborately engraved pocket watch, one of the few family heirlooms that had been given to him. “We will soon remedy that,” he said and turned toward the shopping district.

An hour later, and father and daughter, in much better repair, approached the girls’ school and knocked at the door.

“Remember, Frances, we will not burden your friend with the details of our situation. We shall merely state that we were passing through and wished to see her again.”

Fanny was correct. Miss Singleton gave them warm welcome and urged them to stay for a few days for she and Miss Fairangel had much news to exchange.

Both of the Fairangels welcomed the opportunity to rest and relax, for then they would be in a better frame of mind for sorting out what they would do next. It felt good to spend time with a friend, to walk about the town, and to establish some normalcy in their lives.

As they left the shop of the mantuamaker, Frances was taken aback by a gentleman across the street. He seemed to have been watching her but turned on his heel when he realised he had been observed. He had dark hair and was tall in stature...No, it cannot be. My eyes deceive me.

She noticed the same gentleman the next day when an odd feeling made her turn around and look behind her. This is silly! That poor man lives and works in this town - of course, I will see him out and about -- he simply has the misfortune to resemble Mr. Malforce.

On the third day, Fanny returned to the school accompanied only by a servant. Her father was still away on business of his own, and Prudence had been needed at the school. The young woman walked into the entryway and cheerfully removed her hat. She was feeling better every day, even the bruises were beginning to fade.

“Good afternoon, Miss Fairangel.”

Frances stopped in her tracks. Mr. Malforce was standing in the doorway of the withdrawing room.

“Miss Singleton suggested that I await you here,” he explained. He stepped forward to bow before his victim. All color had faded from her cheeks and her features seemed cast in marble. Exquisitely cast. He could not forget her, nor did he intend to.

“M...Mr. Malforce. You must leave at...at once, or I shall call for as..as...assistance.”

“I am prepared to leave as soon as you are ready to accompany me,” he said obligingly.

Fanny’s eyes widened in disbelief. “I cannot...I will not go with you, Mr. Malforce.”

“Ah, Frances....” He smiled at the way she cringed when she heard him address her so intimately. “This entire nightmare can disappear at the snap of my fingers. Say yes, Miss Fairangel, and you and your father will be able to return to the village, and live in even better style than before.”

“We cannot return!” Fanny said vehemently. “No!”

“Of course you may. It is divine to forgive and forget, little one. If I am able to forgive you, so will the rest of the town.”

Fanny continued to shake her head ‘no’ as she backed away.

“Have you not heard it said full oft, a woman’s nay doth stand for naught?” He laughed. “You did not truly wish to deny me, Miss Fairangel. You must but be tamed.”

Miss Fairangel’s hands touched the threshold and she bolted down the hallway, away from Malforce and into the room where Miss Singleton was teaching French verbs.

“I ap-apologise for my intrusion, but I have just returned from my errands and wished to sit in for a while. I hope you do not mind.”

Miss Singleton smiled and indicated an empty chair. “Please do.” She was then startled by another sudden visitor.

“Forgive me, Miss Singleton. I only wished to thank you for your hospitality and bid you ‘adieu.’” said Malforce with a perfect bow. He strode over to Fanny and bent low over her hand, “Until later...” he whispered. He saw the wild look in the girl’s eyes. “Do not think to run away,” he said lightly. “Wither thou goest, you know....”

Miss Fairangel kept her silence until the man left, but Miss Singleton was quite aware of her friend’s agitation and dismissed the girls from the room. “What is this about?” she demanded, moving to the chair nearest Fanny. At the girl’s silence, she said, “I knew something was amiss the moment I saw you. Dear Frances, please trust me enough to tell me for I wish to help you.” Still silence. “That gentleman...that man...is not what he seems...”

Fanny trembled uncontrollably. Mr. Fairangel knocked and entered the room. “When I arrived just now, the butler told me that there had been a visitor...” One look at his daughter’s face, and he knew. “It cannot be! How did he know? Did he harm you?”

Miss Fairangel shook her head and told her father and Miss Singleton everything that had transpired.

“Frances, why did you not call for assistance? We would have had him thrown out!” Miss Singleton said angrily.

“Oh Prudence, I would not wish for him to hurt you. We should not have come here...if he thinks you helped us...Father, we must leave at once!”

“He may be watching....” Fairangel reminded her. “We will have to wait until evening, and then chance an escape.”

“No, no,” Miss Singleton objected. “That is exactly what he will expect you to do.....” She sat thoughtfully for several moments. “I have another idea... Today, some of the girls will leave to visit their families for a summer break. You must leave when they do.”

“We cannot jeopardize the children,” Mr. Fairangel said sternly.

“No, we will not involve the children directly. Frances, do you not remember the confusion and distraction when the girls are trying to gather together their trunks and valises for the ride over to the coaching inn?”

“Yes...”

“You will not ride in the carriage with the girls, but will be smuggled into the wagon with their trunks. A few travel blankets and light bags should cover you sufficiently,” Miss Singleton nodded her head, “...Adam will be in our confidence. He will deliver the trunks to the coaching inn and then drive you wherever you wish to go. Yes, it will work!”

An hour later found Mr. Fairangel and Frances sweating under the weight of blankets and sundries in the back of a creaky old wagon. The ride was almost unbearably rough on their bodies and the anticipation of being found out made them almost as faint as the heat of the summer sun. They could mark their progress by external noises...the chatter of the girls as they clustered around to leave, the thump-bump of trunks being loaded, the street traffic and grave discomfort as the wagon rolled toward the coaching house, the busy sounds and burly voices as trunks were unloaded and gradually, a growing quiet as they left the boundaries of the city.

The wagon turned onto a rough road and finally came to a stop. “You may come out now,” said a voice above them. The blankets were pulled away by unseen hands and the face of a humble wagoneer appeared.

Fairangel gingerly sat up, every joint protesting loudly, and then helped his daughter out of the wagon. They slowly stretched to a standing position and looked about in wonder. They were in the middle of the country, miles from anywhere.

“Thank you, Mr......” the rector said, hesitating before his bow.

“Adam. I am plain Adam, Sir.”

Fairangel and Fanny both acknowledged their assistant by the nod of their heads. He was a fair-looking chap in threadbare but clean clothing and with an honest air about him. One could tell that he was a ‘good man.’

“Where are we, Adam?” Fairangel demanded to know.

“There is a cottage nearby. You may stay there tonight, and then tomorrow I will take you to Bristol.”

“To Bristol?” Fanny was confused.

“Miss Singleton informed me of your dilemma and we think it would be best for you to leave the country for a bit. This man seems to be able to follow you easily and on English soil, his name and money will make it difficult for you to evade him. You need a safe place to stay while you consider your future, and we have thought of one. Tomorrow, you will set sail for Livorno in Tuscany. From there, you will proceed inland to the village of Collodi which is the residence of the Garzoni family. Give this letter to the guard, and you will be allowed in. It is an introduction to Carlo Lorenzini, one of the many young men under the protection of Villa Garzoni. He will find you food and rooms to sleep in until you decide what to do.”

“We cannot thank you enough,” the rector said warmly. He tried to press a coin into Adam’s palm but the young man refused.

“You may need it more than I,” he said gently, “but, thank you for the gesture.”

The evening of the first day at sea, Fairangel decided that the time was right to reveal certain things to his daughter. He fumbled about in his pockets and pulled out a thick envelope.

“Frances, I must make you aware of a particular commission that was given me, one that must remain our secret.”

Fanny looked at her father curiously. He was weary but clear-headed. “Yes, Father?”

He set the packet in her hands. “This was entrusted to me by Sir Hugh G-Goodpenney a few weeks ago.” He could not say his friend’s name without faltering a bit. It was still difficult to grasp that Sir Hugh was dead or that any of this was real.

The girl turned it over and looked at the fine writing. She recognised the curiously old-fashioned lettering and the seal. “What is it?”

“Sir Hugh told me to keep it safe, and on the day that both he and Lady Alice are dead, to open it and follow the instructions.”

“What can it be?”

“I do not know, Daughter. But, in the event that I cannot fulfill my promise, I expect you to follow the wishes of our dearest friend.”

“Of course, Father.”

The following morning found Mr. Fairangel wracked with chills and suffering periods of delirium brought on by high fever. To Fanny, his mutterings sounded as though he was reliving his times with Sir Hugh...the close calls, the victories, their days spent at the royal court in honor of their bravery and fine deeds in the name of the Crown... She asked the advice of the ship’s doctor but he said that all she could do was wipe his brow, try to seep a little water down his throat, and pray. During his lucid times, Fanny fed him crumbs of food and read to him from books loaned by the other passengers.

That evening, her father’s condition grew more serious and she feared for his very life. He shook his head back and forth and mumbled constantly. The name ‘Mary’ cropped up many times, and by the time dawn touched the horizon, Fanny realized that her father had fallen in love while at court. Her cheeks flushed with the thought of his unfaithfulness until she considered that, by then, her mother had been dead for many years. She wondered what had happened to the woman and felt a twinge of sadness to think that he might have returned to his daughter instead of marrying her.

Finally, the fever broke. Mr. Fairangel slept for most of their remaining days on board and very gradually regained his strength. By the time they arrived in Livorno, he was able to walk down the plank with minimal assistance.

Livorno, after the fall of Napoleon, was in another of its many states of flux for it was returned to an independent principality, though heavily allied with Austria. Italy itself would not be born until the second half of the century, but the rumblings of nationality were beginning, and it was a good time to lose oneself in the population --- or so the Fairangels hoped.

They found a coach going to Firenze, a city of great and ancient beauty in which Frances would have wished to linger, and then solicited a farmer to carry them the rest of the way to Collodi. It was a sparkling summer’s day with grapes ripening on the vines and songs on the lips of the vineyard workers. Fanny grinned as she listened to the earthy voices singing, ‘Funiculi, Funicula.’ She had always longed to travel, and even though their situation was desperate, she could appreciate the loveliness all around her. She looked over at her father and was thankful to see color returning to his cheeks and animation on his face.

For his part, Fairangel could not fathom the resiliency of his daughter. He had years of military training and experiences to harden him to reality, but Frances had led a sheltered life. Yet there she was, as fresh and pretty as ever with just a hint of weariness.

Collodi was a long, narrow collection of houses that followed a ravine between rolling hills. Most of the streets and walkways were very steep and forced one to adapt an easier pace, especially someone in Mr. Fairangel’s delicate condition. Father and daughter wound their way very slowly toward the Villa Garzoni and finally presented themselves to one of the guards at the gate. They waited in the shade of a vine-covered wall while the man delivered the envelope to Signor Lorenzini, who surprised them by coming down to greet them in person. At his heels was a miniature version of himself, his son, Carlo, Jr.

“Buon giorno, Signor Fairangel,” he bowed elaborately. “Buon giorno, Signorina Fairangel.” He bowed again. “Io parlo inglese un poco.” And since they understood Italian ‘un poco,’ they conversed quite well.

Lorenzini led them through the gates and across a piazza that was bustling with life, everyone from courtiers to peasants, with everything from children to geese chasing each other over the ancient bricks. They all stopped to look curiously at Lorenzini’s guests, especially the exceedingly fair English woman.

Suddenly a lively young man bounded into view. “Signor Lorenzini!” he greeted cheerfully, then bent down to ruffle the hair on the head of the son, “El bambino, Carlo!” He avoided Carlo’s quick swipe with a few dancing steps to the right.

Lorenzini rolled his eyes as though there was nothing to be done but introduce the young man, which he did, grudgingly. “Permetta che le presenti il signor Giovinetto Bramoso*,” he said.

Bramoso made a sweeping bow before the Fairangels and kissed Fanny’s hand, making of it as much ceremony as possible. “Ah, Bella,” he said softly, his lively eyes darting over her blushing countenance.

Fanny laughed despite herself, and Bramoso responded with a wide grin and comments about her ‘voce’ resembling ‘la musica.’ He presented the startled young woman with his arm.

Lorenzini just shook his head, “He is...no pericoloso...harmless,” he admitted. Thus were the Fairangels introduced into Collodi society and shown to their quarters.

Later that evening, after they had rested, Lorenzini returned to show them about the grounds. The Garzoni gardens were know far and wide for their incredible design and beauty. Steep steps, tiered gardens, magnificent fountains...all lent an air of classical luxury that the Fairangels were not accustomed to. It also symbolized continuity, life going on, beauty surviving, and gave the guests some spiritual comfort which they sorely needed.

The following day, father and daughter were refreshed and prepared to explore their surroundings guided by their exceptionally benevolent host, Mr. Lorenzini. In the afternoon though, Fairangel joined most of the population in a long rest from the heat of the day while Frances, excited to be in such a strange place, found two very willing guides in Giovinetto Bramoso and little Carlo. Between them, they had her practically skipping down the steep lanes.

They have much in common, Fanny laughed to herself as she watched ‘Joe’ and Carlo cavort, but suddenly the boy was pulled up by his ears. An elderly woman had emerged from her small dwelling and was angrily shaking her finger into his face. The gist of the conversation concerned a loaf of bread that she had set to cool on her windowsill yesterday. She was certain that the boy had stolen it.

“No, no!” Carlo protested, twisting and turning, while trying to free himself from her arms. “I did not steal your bread, Old Woman!”

“If you keep telling lies, Carlo Lorenzini**, your nose will grow,” she said freeing one hand to give his small nose a sharp tweak.

The boy took the opportunity to push himself away with all his might and tumbled onto the dusty pavement. Bramoso helped the boy up, then marched over to the woman. “Ah, La Befana!” he chided, “When boys are hungry, they eat and that is the way of it.” He placed a resounding kiss on her forehead, and then joined Frances and Carlo to proceed merrily down the street.

The voice of the old hag followed them down the street, “Giovinetto Bramoso, you are a crazy man. Only your mother could love you! And I will not curse the young woman for she is already cursed enough!”

‘Joe’ and the boy made signs with their hands and spit upon the ground.

Fanny had been unsettled by the woman’s final statement. “Why are you doing that?” she asked.

“She is ‘La Befana***,’ a witch,” Carlo said.

“She steals bad children,” Bramoso elaborated, with a wink to Miss Fairangel. But then he became serious for a few moments, “Are you in trouble, Signorina?”

Frances shook her head. “No, my father and I are merely travelers.”

Bramoso watched her closely but did not challenge her statement. “Ah, that is too bad,” he said lightly, “for we should so like to protect you.” He clapped the boy on the back, “Wouldn’t we, Carlo?”

Carlo would, indeed, for he thought Miss Fairangel was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.

Fast as lightening, Bramoso reverted to his usual behavior and pushed the boy, saying, “I shall beat you to the end of the street!” and took off running, Carlo fast on his heels.

Fanny had never seen an adult act with such abandon and found it highly diverting. She had a broad smile on her face as she caught up to them.

“At least we are able to lighten your heart,” Bramoso said, gently caressing her cheek.

-----

Author’s notes: I am taking liberties with the Italian language, but I do so with English as well. I will also butcher French & Spanish.

* Giovinetto Bramoso - loosely translated, “Eager Boy”

** Carlo will grow up to write “Pinocchio”

*** La Befana is actually a white witch & comes flying around at Christmas time

Chapter 8

The balcony from Fanny’s room looked out over a small courtyard that was aromatic with flowering vines and potted plants. Its greatest advantage, though, was that it faced north and so, on the afternoons that she did not go exploring with young Carlo, Frances liked to sit there and take her ease.

It became her habit to fall into a light sleep but, on the third day, she was awakened by voices. She edged closer to the railing and looked down. Two men were conversing below. The one with fair colored hair was well-dressed; the darker man was obviously his servant. They spoke in very low tones and Fanny could only decipher a word or two. “Tomorrow night...” English? She also heard something that sounded like ‘carbonari’ but had no idea what that meant.

“Signorina Fairangel!” Carlo espied his special friend upon entering the courtyard and ran over to greet her. In his excitement, he decided to climb up the trellis, his nimble limbs making quick work of the feat.

As Fanny awaited the boy’s arrival, she noticed that the men below had immediately terminated their conversation and gone their separate ways. The master slowly walked across the brick courtyard toward the arched exit on the west wall and exchanged a few words with Carlo as they passed. Halfway to his destination, he glanced back at the balcony to see who might have overheard his words.

Adam blinked at the vision that met his eyes. This cannot be the same Miss Fairangel... When he first saw her in England, she was dirty, disheveled, tired, bruised, and dispirited, whereas this woman was lovely beyond words, lovely as only a rose of England may define the word: the delicate coloring of the cheek, the fine features, the shiny curls escaping from her chignon and nestling against the smooth marble of her neck, the figure so light and pleasing... The young man shook his head and continued on his way. She was not meant for him. But something compelled him to look back twice more before he disappeared into the shadows of the wall.

Miss Fairangel surreptitiously watched the progress of the fair Englishman. He was only of moderate height but strongly built and she had seen the flash of blue eyes as he looked back at her. Something about him seemed familiar. When Carlo was finally at her elbow, she asked about the man.

“That is Signor Eroe. He is a friend of mine. Would you like to meet him?”

“No, thank you, Carlo. I am simply curious,” Fanny replied, a response that set the boy at ease for he was jealous of anyone who might divert the signorina’s attention from himself. Miss Fairangel continued, “Did you say that his name is Mr. Arrow?”

Carlo laughed, “’Eroe,’ Signorina. In English, you say ‘hero.’”

“Mr. Hero?”

“Si. He is a hero to our people, for he has proven that he will come to the aid of anyone, no matter how poor, if he thinks an injustice has been done. He is quite unusual for a ‘straniero.’”

“Then, is the gentleman English?”

“Si, as yourself.” Carlo nodded.

“And who was the man with him?”

“That was his servant, Signor Trueheart. He is a good fellow as well. He gives me sweets.”

The two chatted amiably and shared some fruits that were on a tray. When the conversation reached a lull, Miss Fairangel casually asked, “Carlo, is there a word that sounds like ‘carbonari’?”

The boy sat up abruptly, his normally tanned cheeks pale with anxiety. He signed for the signorina to lower her voice and he came closer to whisper, “Where have you heard of the Carbonari?”

Fanny played with the ribbon on her dress, “I am not certain where I heard it. Why? What does it mean?”

Carlo narrowed his eyes, wise beyond his years. “I think that you heard it from the Signor Hero. Did you?”

“If I did, would it matter?”

“I must caution you to never mention that word to another soul. The Englishman’s life might depend upon your silence. The Carbonari are members of a secret society and they can be very violent*.”

“Do you think Mr. Hero belongs to this society?”

Carlo shook his head. “He might be trying to shield innocent people from their next attack. You must keep silent.” He looked at her sternly, then relented for he admired the signorina greatly. “Please...” he begged.

“I promise that I will never mention it again, Carlo.”

The boy sighed with relief. “I know that you are to be trusted, Signorina Fairangel. Now, I must go for Mama is probably already searching for me. Addio!”

“Addio, Carlo.”

“Do you think the young woman heard us?” Trueheart asked. He had been waiting for Adam on the other side of the wall.

“Assuredly,” his friend said soberly. “But, if she speaks of it to Carlo, he will know what to say to her. Hopefully, she will not use the information in casual conversation.”

“She is most passing fair, isn’t she?”

Adam had been contemplating what she might have heard and if she was now a danger to their mission. “Who?” he asked.

“La Signorina Fairangel, of course.”

Adam frowned, “I do not have time to think about ‘passing fair’ young women today.”

“Good,” Trueheart grinned. “For I do, and I can tell that this particular young lady will invade my thoughts frequently.” He stifled his laughter at the dark look he received from his friend. “Come along, Signor Hero, we have much to do.”

Frances thought she had probably seen the last of Mr. Hero but, in fact, the courtyard seemed to be a favorite sanctuary of his. Some days, he strode past with Trueheart following at a respectful distance, sometimes he was alone, but what most intrigued Fanny, were the days when he was accompanied by a particular young woman and a handful of friends.

Carlo had said that her name was Violenzia Borgia, a woman who was highly admired by any male with breath still in his body. Unfortunately, whenever Signor Hero was in Collodi, she had eyes only for him.

La Signorina Borgia was a woman with generous curves, long, flowing dark hair, and a natural feline quality to her movements. She obviously enjoyed the attentions of Mr. Hero and often caused him to linger in the courtyard. They had been conversing amiably when interrupted by the excited cries of a visitor for Fanny.

“Buon giorno, Signorina Fairangel!” Giovinetto Bramoso called out from below. The little man skirted the group of people surrounding Signor Hero, impulsively picked a rose from a clay pot on the terrace, and climbed up the trellis as Carlo often had. He offered the rose to the young woman, as he hung one leg over the railing for balance. “A beautiful flower for a beautiful lady,” he said, inclining his head.

A few of the people below tittered at his antics. ‘Joe’ was such a ‘buffone’....

Bramoso looked down at them and gave an eloquent shrug.

Fanny inclined her head. “Mille grazie, Sir Knight,” she smiled gently. Just then, her father came to the balcony door and looked at the man with obvious disapproval.

“Good day to you as well, Signor Fairangel.” Bramoso nodded respectfully and then added hastily, “I am just on the point of leaving,” and returned to the ground via the same means he had used to scale the wall. His descent was met with much laughter from below.

“Frances, I do not approve of that man,” Fairangel said sternly.

“Mr. Bramoso may have impetuous manners, Father, but he also possesses a good heart and is highly diverting. He has such youthful energy.”

“He is hardly a youth.”

“Oh Father, I agree with Signor Lorenzini; the dear man is harmless.”

“You know best, my dear, as you proved with Mr. Malforce.” He came to give his daughter a customary kiss on the forehead before retiring for his afternoon nap. “I will see you for dinner, Frances.”

The following day, Mr. Fairangel asked Signor Lorenzini for directions to a reputable pawn broker. Their funds were dwindling at an alarming rate and needed to be replenished. The gentleman was too discreet to ask many questions, but it would be helpful if he knew what kind of object Mr. Fairangel wished to sell. Ah! A jeweled chalice --- he should be able to negotiate a very good bargain with one of the Garzonis themselves for they were collectors of religious artifacts.

While her father was thus occupied, Frances received an unexpected visitor, Signor Bramoso. The energetic little man gave his customary greeting and then fell silent for some moments. But then, after many flowery speeches on love and life and her rare beauty, he came to the point. He wished for Miss Fairangel to be his bride.

Fanny would have been very angry with him if she had not realized that her acceptance of the flower must have been misconstrued as a sign of her willingness for him to court her. Bramoso did not seem to require much encouragement before he acted! She made him understand that she was flattered, but that her father should have been first applied to. In fact, Mr. Fairangel would be very angry that Signor Bramoso announced his feelings to Miss Fairangel without her father’s blessing.

Signor Bramoso was crestfallen --- for the moment --- and then decided that he could win over her father before their stay ended, and so win the daughter. He was able to take his leave of the young woman with many proclamations concerning his undiminished love and with the bounce in his step still in tact.

After his departure, Fanny occupied her time with thoughts of Mr. Hero She wondered who he really was and why he was in Collodi. Why would an Englishman be concerned with the welfare of a handful of peasants in a remote village in Tuscany?

That evening, a visitor came to Villa Garzoni, and he was a native of England as well. He proceeded to ask random villagers whether they had seen an old man and his daughter, a very beautiful daughter, pass through the area. At first, the people were not forthcoming, for they could be as secretive as an olive tree, but when he told them his reasons for trying to track down the two, they gathered together to decide what to do. Since it involved the Englishman and his daughter, they turned to Signor Hero for guidance.

The Fairangels were thieves --- they had stolen treasures from their church! And Mr. Malforce could describe with accuracy the very goblet that Fairangel had sold earlier that day. Adam and Trueheart stood watch in the piazza until Malforce came into view. It was an easy matter for them to make his acquaintance and hear the story for themselves.

“What do you think?” Trueheart asked after they had bid Malforce ‘buona notte.’

“’It is common for those that are farthest from God, to boast most of their being near to the church.’ Something is false in the good Mr. Malforce’s testimony.”

“So, do we aid the Fairangels or continue with our original plans?”

“We must help them, of course. They are like minnows against a shark if my guess is correct. We may not be able to resolve their conflict this evening, but we can gain time for them to escape.”

Adam gave Trueheart many errands to complete while he proceeded to the lodgings of the Fairangels. Fanny’s heart skipped a beat when she saw who their visitor was, but there was no time for idle dreams. Why has he come?

“Buona sera, Signor Fairangel,” Adam bowed. “Signorina Fairangel.”

“I am sorry, Sir, but do I know you?” Fairangel asked, looking over his spectacles.

A fleeting smile crossed the younger man’s face. “You know me as Adam.”

Frances gasped in surprise. Adam? The farmer who drove us to Bristol? She realized the deteriorated condition she must have been in to not notice such a gentleman sooner. “I have been told that your name is Signor Hero...”

Telltale fingers of pink crept up Adam’s neck. “It is a local name for me,” he said.

“What is your true name, Sir?” the rector demanded to know.

“With all respect, I have told you my name. But, that is not why I am here. There is a stranger in the village who is trying to find you...”

They had heard the rumors as well and were already gathering together their meager belongings. “So, it is true?” Adam asked, feeling a shadow of disappointment. His instincts had told him that the Fairangels were decent people.

The rector explained as briefly as possible the facts of their situation, and thanked the Signor for his benevolence in approaching them instead of immediately turning them over to Malforce. Adam’s blue eyes turned steel gray at hearing what they had suffered at the hands of such a villain. When Miss Singleton had approached him to assist the Fairangels out of England, there had been no time for questions nor explanations.

“We have no home and little to commend ourselves except the truth,” Frances added. “But, as ‘truth is the highest thing that man may keep’, we are not yet without hope.”

The brave voice threatened Adam’s reserve. He could not dare to look at her, and so he merely bowed and then turned to her father. “I have a carriage outside provided with food and water. It will take you to Paris with all speed, where you are to present yourselves at the door of 16 Rue de Bonte with this letter. I will follow you in a few days time, for I have important business to attend to before I am free to leave Collodi.”

There was a rap at the door and the Fairangels were surprised to see Signorina Borgia ushered into the room.

“I have a plan,” Adam explained. He outlined the preparation and sequence of events that would help the Fairangels get far away from Collodi before Malforce even became suspicious but, for the plan to work, they required Miss Borgia’s complete cooperation. He asked Miss Fairangel to give examples of the man’s sterling character which, he knew, would awaken the Italian woman’s vengeful side --- or perhaps la signorina agreed to help because Adam, himself, petitioned her to do it.

By the time the Fairangels were prepared to depart, Miss Borgia had undergone a metamorphosis. Her lovely hair was pulled up into a chignon, and her breasts had been bound so that she could squeeze into one of Miss Fairangel’s dresses. A delicate neck chain with a cross, tiny drop earrings, and a gauze scarf tucked around the neckline completed the look.

“It will be dark,” Adam explained. “and I have faith in the acting abilities of Miss Borgia.” He walked the rector and his daughter out to the carriage and handed them in, “God go with you,” he prayed and, before they could ask any further questions, he disappeared into the night.

The Fairangels had no choice but to follow Mr. Hero’s orders. But, just as they gave the sign for the driver to move on, the Lorenzinis appeared and young Carlo hopped up onto the step.

The rector stretched out his hand to their benefactor. "We shall never forget your kindness," he said. "You did not know us at all and yet you took us in without question."

Signor Lorenzini looked quizically from father to daughter. "As guests of the Garzonis, you would be turned away by no person in Collodi."

"Of course, the Garzonis. I wish there were time to thank them personally."

"There is no need, Signor. They would do anything for Signor Eroe."

"Mr. Hero is so highly regarded?"

"Si, Signor. Have you and the signorina not heard of the way in which he earned his name?" He looked at his pocket watch, "Ah! A story for another time perhaps. We are delaying your leave-taking. Addio, Signor Fairangel and Signorina Fairangel. Go with God. Come, Carlo!"

Carlo grabbed for Fanny's gloved hand, “Ah, Signorina, I am most happy that you refused the hand of Giovinetto Bramoso, for you must tell everyone ‘no’ until I am old enough to ask you myself!” He planted a wet kiss on the soft leather.

Fanny had to smile at the little imp’s declaration, despite the circumstances they once again found themselves in. “I will always remember you,” she said, holding the boy’s small hand for a moment. The carriage lurched and Carlo sprang back. “And, I shall pray that your nose does not grow!” she called out to him as the carriage got underway. “Addio, my little friend.”

Miles disappeared and hours swept past. Hours of fretting and fitful attempts to sleep were broken up by the regular change of horses at inns along the way. Only 20 miles outside of Paris, though, they were waylaid by highwaymen and relieved of most of their belongings, including the money from the sale of the chalice and the letter of introduction from Mr. Hero.

What to do now? They still did not know that gentleman’s true name. They would be considered mad if they showed up on the doorstep of 16 Rue de Bonte with no way to validate their story. But they had no money, no more treasures to bargain with. Paris no longer seemed to be a light of hope on their horizon, but at least it was in their favor that Malforce would not be looking for them among the street urchins and beggars.

The evening after the Fairangels left Collodi, Violenzia Borgia prepared for the village ‘festa.’ It was there that Colin Malforce would be permitted glimpses of ‘Frances Fairangel.’

Violenzia was proud to promenade around the piazza on the arm of Adam Hero and thoroughly enjoyed the first two dances with him as her partner, even though he kept reminding her not to move with such abandon. By then, Malforce had arrived and was actively watching out for Miss Fairangel or her father.

Adam allowed the man a moment to notice their ‘Frances’ before handing her over to Trueheart. Through-out the evening, the villagers aided and abetted their hero by helping Violenzia appear in one spot and then another, but never long enough for Malforce to reach her.

Finally, near midnight, Malforce seemed to have been pushed to the point of indiscretion. Violenzia slowly wandered away from the lights of the festival...and Mr. Malforce followed.

No one, except perhaps Adam, knew for certain what transpired but the entire village was highly entertained by the end results. Colin Malforce stumbled into the center of the piazza with Signorina Borgia in hot pursuit. One of his eyes had been blackened, and he found it difficult to run with a groin injury; his immaculate clothing was rumpled and soiled. A fiery Violenzia stood with one sleeve almost torn from her gown and her hair falling down about her shoulders. She boldly declared to all that Colin Malforce had tried to take liberties with her and now would not marry her.

Malforce was immediately set upon by four of Violenzia’s seven brothers and would have had to beg for his life if Signorina Borgia had not decided that he was not worth the bother. So, instead, he was chased out of the village, with Italian curses ringing in his ears and his back pelted with stones by several youths who had superior aim.

Chapter 9

The future looked bleak indeed to Filbert and Frances Fairangel. The alleys and backways of Paris were not for the uninitiated. Fortunately for them, they appeared so destitute that not even riffraff would bother with them. Fairangel’s past experiences in the military helped them find something for their stomachs to gnaw on but gave them no clues as to what they should do next. August was not the best time to wander the streets of Paris. Even the Parisiennes knew that, and much of the upper and middle classes had retired to the country, thereby taking any hopes of more respectable employment, with them.

“It is during our darkess moments that we must focus to see the light, Frances,” the rector admonished again and again.

The day finally came when they had found not even one scrap of bread to share between them. They could possibly have befriended the other lost souls in their neighborhood, for it looked as though the vagabonds of Paris found strength in unification, but realistically, the Fairangels had nothing to offer them in return. They had no sleight of hand, no superior strength or cunning wit to recommend themselves. Besides, the other vagrants avoided them like the plague for they were not only English, but had a wide-eyed innocence about them that set them apart from the crowd. They were an enigma, and the rascapalians and pickpockets and frauds did not like things they did not understand.

“Oh, Frances, what are we to do?” Fairangel moaned, holding his head in his hands. “I have not taken very good care of you. I have been such a fool! If only the robbers had not taken the pouch with the letter. It was of no use to them.”

“But the money in the bag was,” Fanny reminded him.

“And then, to think of the pocket watch I sold in England, to remember that we spent the money on clothing, on vanity. Now we must pay for our vice.... Oh, daughter, I am so sorry.”

“Father, you must not berate yourself so. When we left the village we were in a state of shock; we had no thought of Mr. Malforce pursuing us, no idea that we would have to flee the country. The money from the watch and the chalice would have been more than enough to live on for quite some time. Besides, if you still had the watch, it would have been stolen, too.” During the conversation, it had come to Miss Fairangel that their roles were reversing. She rose unsteadily to her feet and gave her father a small, weary smile. “You have always told me to have no regrets over what cannot be changed. Well, we have not lost the battle yet,” Miss Fairangel was exhibiting more determination than her father ever expected. She staggered over to a well, drew up some water, and washed her face and hands. “I shall return soon.”

“Frances, where are you going? You cannot go alone!” Fairangel cried out, but in his own weakened condition, he was not certain that he could stop her.

“Be strong and of good courage...”

“...God will not fail thee nor forsake thee,” the rector finished. “But, Frances, one may become easily confused and lose one’s way. Remember, daughter, that we may survive distress, but not disgrace.”

Fanny regarded the gentleman fondly and bent to give him the customary kiss on the head, “I know, Father.” With that, Frances Fairangel straightened her back, raised her chin, and went out to meet or make her destiny.

Hours later, with Fairangel anxiously wondering if he would ever see his daughter again, Fanny returned with a loaf of bread and very sour wine. The rector eyed the young woman suspiciously. She looked well enough; in fact she seemed rather chipper.

Frances would not answer Fairangel’s questions until he had eaten his fill and was somewhat revived. She helped him to his feet. “Come along, Father, I have found a place for us to stay.”

They walked for several blocks, Fanny stopping only once or twice to ascertain whether she remembered the way. Finally, they arrived at an old but respectable building with a faded theatrical marquee hanging awry near the door.

“I have found employment, Father. I am going to be a piano player for the musical performances and you are needed as a jack-of-all-trades. The theater company is small and struggling but they need us and are willing to give shelter and food in return for our services.”

Fairangel was speechless at this show of resourcefulness, but allowed Fanny to lead him within.

“The Season will begin next month with ‘Cosi fan tutte’,” Frances explained as she led their way around props, actors, and all of the other people required to put together a show. “Ah, Madame Filou! Ce monsieur est mon pere, Monsieur Filbert Fairangel,” she said addressing a plump older woman with frizzy hair and distinctive eyebrows.

Madame closely scrutinized Mr. Fairangel and determined that with a little fattening up, he could be quite a morsel. Until then, there was more than enough to keep the man busy. It was her duty to make certain that everyone contribute fully to the project. “You do not look very strong, Monsieur. You do not look as though you will earn your keep. We shall have to see what you can do. Start over there with Monsieur LeBrun -- help him to paint the scenery.”

“Oui, Madame Filou.” It was a far cry from being a village rector -- or was it? Fairangel looked around at the slice of humanity contained within those four walls. He spotted more than a few people walking about with a dejected air and lean faces, and a few more engaged in various sins in darkened corners. Perhaps, there are souls to save even here...

Miss Fairangel was quite well-acquainted with the music of Mozart and had no trouble learning her parts for the musical. Her real obstacle was in trying to accompany someone like Mlle.Vanite Bruyant, the local diva, whose voice could not reach the rafters even in her dreams. Of course, with Mademoiselle’s temperament, the blame was firmly placed on the head of the piano player.

Fanny did not wish to lose her employment and was actually beginning to make some friends among the company, and so she devised a clever way of concealing the woman’s limited range. A few ink markings, and she was able to seamlessly mesh sections that were played in different keys. The audience would not notice.

But the leading man did. Georges Amoureaux had been noticing many things from the moment he had seen Miss Fairangel come begging at the door. And Mlle. Bruyant noticed him noticing Fanny, for Amoureaux was Guglielmo to her Fiordiligi both on and off the stage, or so she wished. And somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew that she, too, was being observed...by Jacques Jaloux who played Ferrando, Guglielmo’s brother, but he was short and stocky, whereas Georges was tall and...

And so, Mlle. Bruyant could not like Miss Fairangel no matter how good she made her sound. And if she had known what was truly going on in the mind of Georges, her dislike would have turned to hatred.

Miss Fairangel was oblivious to the triangles swirling around her, even if Mme. Filou was not. La Madame hoped that she would not have to let the girl go, for then she would also lose the father. And so, she found many chores for the young woman to do, behind the stage and out of the view of Monsieur. Amoureaux.

But love finds a way, and so did Georges. When he discovered that the young woman was tucked away in the costume room, it was a simple matter for him to pull a thread and ‘voila!’ his sleeve came undone. He required that it be mended immediately and therefore went searching of a seamstress.

“Ah! Miss Fairangel, you are also an artist with the needle, no?” he asked as he came upon her. He pulled at his sleeve and gave her such an imploring look that she could only laugh.

Fanny took the torn garment from the gentleman and proceded to mend it while he paced the room. With a glance or two in the young woman’s direction, Amoureaux began one of his solos for the opera. His voice was rich and well modulated and should have been heard in more exalted circles. Perhaps it would one day... The man put all of the passion of his being into his work and became oblivious to his surroundings, and therefore was taken completely unawares when he turned and opened his eyes to see Frances Fairangel sitting in a halo of light from the window. His voice caught in his throat---

Fanny, without really thinking about it, finished the musical phrase in a singsongy voice.

Amoureax was dumbfounded. “What did you say, Mlle. Fairangel?”

Frances looked up from her work, a blush washing over her face. “I am terribly sorry,” she stammered. “I was trying to be helpful.”

“Have you memorized my musical numbers?”

Fanny nodded sheepishly, “I hear them often enough...” she countered, “and they are so beautiful. Monsieur Amoureaux, you have a wonderful voice.”

Georges looked at her speculatively. He bowed shortly at the compliment but his mind was leaping ahead. “Do you know all of the parts?”

“I...well...I... yes, I suppose so. It helps me when I am practicing at the piano.”

“Sing ‘Come scoglio’,” he ordered.

Miss Fairangel sat in silence as her fingers finished the task at hand.

Amoureaux came forward and knelt on one knee, “Sil vous plait,” he said softly.

“It would not be proper.”

The gentleman scoffed and stood up. “Of course, it is proper. We help each other all the time. You could help me practice when Mlle. Bruyant is indisposed. And what if something were to happen to her? We have also needed someone who could step in if necessary. So, you can see that it is not improper. It is necessary to the life of the company. It is your duty!”

Miss Fairangel gathered her thoughts and then rose to stand by the window. In her mind’s eye, she went through the sequence of the opera until she was prepared to begin. She started out softly, slowly, limiting her performance to the small room.

“No, no, no!” bellowed Amoureaux. “Sing it the way it was originally written, not with the changes you have made for ‘La Femme Criarde.’”

Fanny raised her eyebrows at his pet name for the diva, then began again. In ‘Come scoglio’ Fiodiligi violently declared her love for Guglielmo and Mozart had purposely written into it a most astounding range with huge skips. The young woman’s voice reflected all of the emotions of the moment, and as she sang, chills swept up and down Amoureaux’s spine.

This was the partner he had been waiting for. How could he?... Why should he?... sing with anyone else? “Ah, ma belle chanteuse,” he shuddered.

The building was small, the weather was hot, the windows and doors were all open. Mlle. Bruyant could hear the girl from the dressing room. Mr. Fairangel stopped painting at the sound of his daughter’s voice. Monsieur Patron, the owner of the company, and Mme. Filou halted in mid-sentence as they conferred in the office. All heads turned at the sound of the voice...a voice that could dance among the rafters...or come crashing down upon the floorboards...gentle, yet strong, soulful, heady...a voice that could manipulate its audience in and out of any and every emotion. More than one person of the company had tears in his eyes by the time the song was ended, although, in the case of Mlle. Bruyant, they were tears of anger.

“Who is singing?” Monsieur Patron did not even wait for an answer. He stomped down the halls until he found Fanny and Amoureuax in the costume room. “Who are you?” he demanded.

Fanny looked at the man in surprise. She had not realized the extent to which her voice had carried, and she had never seen this man before.

“Monsieur Patron,” Georges bowed respectfully, “This woman with the beautiful voice is Mlle. Frances Fairangel. Mademoiselle, this is Monsieur Patron, the owner of our respected company.”

“We have found our new Fiordiligi!” the man exclaimed.

Fanny shook her head, “Oh, no, Sir. Mlle. Bruyant already has the part of Fiordiligi.”

“Mademoiselle, YOU are our Fiordiligi.” Money symbols floated before his eyes. Yes! This will be a very profitable season. He turned back to the girl. “I will not waste my time begging, Mademoiselle. You are Fiordiligi or you are no longer in this company!”

Frances stood silent, not knowing what to do. She and her father could not leave!

“Congratulations,” Mlle. Bruyant said from the doorway; then she turned and ran out of the building.

“There. It is done. You are Fiordiligi,” Monsieur Patron said emphatically. “Now, for what to call you...what is your name?”

“Fairangel,” Georges supplied. “Belle Angelique.”

“Ah, bien!” Patron agreed. “Belle Angelique, c’est perfect!”

Adam paced before the mantle restlessly. Every once in a while he would suddenly halt and bark a question at his housekeeper, Mme. Bon. “You have seen nothing of the Fairangels?”

“No, Monsieur.”

“There are two, a father and a daughter.”

“No, Monsieur.”

“And Philippe has not been able to find them anywhere?”

“No, Monsieur. Your letter arrived. They did not. I sent Philippe to look for them. He returned with a story about a robbery that he heard at the coaching inn, but he has been unable to locate your friends.”

Why did they not use the letter of introduction that I gave them? Why did they not come here? Where could they have gone? Did they return to England? No, they had no money. Where are they?

Adam scrawled a letter to his friend, Trueheart, requesting his presence at once. They must find the Fairangels before Malforce did.

Colin Malforce carefully pulled the black patch over his bruised eye and studied his reflection in the mirror. He looked rather mysterious. There had been times in history when a patch was fashionable; perhaps he would rekindle the trend. He turned and sat down at the writing desk but not without wincing.

Where can they be? he muttered angrily. They had much to pay for, especially the woman. It was because of her that he suffered the humilation in Collodi. He had not thought the Fairangels would be on guard. He had not thought they would be devious enough to devise such a plan. Wait! They are NOT that devious! So, who aided them in their escape? Who really deserves my revenge? No one in the town had looked familiar to him, but there had been two Englishmen...

A lone figure pulled away from the wall and wrapped his cloak more closely around his shoulders. The light had been put out and there was nothing more to be seen from the room rented by Colin Malforce. The man whistled under his breath as he strolled down the walk and disappeared into the night. He failed to notice a second shadow detach from the wall and follow in his footsteps.

Come Scoglio"

Chapter 10

“I do not think that this is quite proper,” Fairangel averred, referring to his daughter’s participation in an opera of questionable virtues.

Fanny sighed at her father’s petulant face, “It will not be for long; we shall figure something out soon...”

“I do not see how we can,” the rector grumbled. “No other opportunities have presented themselves...that I would accept,” he added, remembering his latest interaction with Mme. Filou. “Perhaps we should call at Rue de Bonte tomorrow. That young man must surely be there by this time.”

Fanny looked up in alarm. “I...I would rather not rely on his benevolences, Father.” What would he think if he knew of my latest occupation? “And we have seen nothing of Mr. Malforce, so I do not feel the need to petition the gentleman for further assistance.”

“This is no kind of life for us, Frances. You must see that we do not truly belong here. Ah, England, with all thy faults, how I miss thee!” the rector cried feelingly.

Frances put a hand on her father’s arm, “We shall yet find a way home. I promise.”

“Monsieur Fairangel! Monsieur Fairangel!” called the strident voice of Mme. Filou. She bustled toward them, her arms full of handbills which she presented to the rector. “See that these are distributed, Monsieur. Pierre will assist you. I want to see them on every corner of Paris before the sun sets.”

By late afternoon, most of the handbills had been passed out and Fairangel’s feet were crying out for a good soaking. “Here, Pierre, give out these last five and we shall go home.”

The boy skipped up to passersby and pressed the notice into their hands. Most of them let the unwanted paper slip to the ground where it was soon trampled and unreadable. But one of them, a richly dressed dandy of a man, retrieved his from the street when certain words caught his attention. ‘Belle Angelique’....Fair Angel? I have found them at last! He swiftly did an about-face and returned to a nearby townhouse that he had just quitted.

After weeks of preparation, opening night was upon them. Monsieur Grognard, the ‘directeur’, was pulling out his hair and cursing at everyone in sight. A few of the less experienced crew members had to be consoled before they would stay. Mme. Filou was not much better for Mlle. Bruyant was giving her fits. Mademoiselle had been recast as Dorabella which deeply injured her pride but made Monsieur Jaloux exceedingly happy.

Miss Fairangel and Monsieur Amoureaux peeped out at the audience from behind the curtains. The house was only half-filled. Feathers bobbed, jewels twinkled, and gentlemen suffered in silence in their high cravats while other seats sat empty as sober testaments of the second-rate reputation of this particular theatre. The gallery was almost full, though, and noisy with the raucous sounds of hard-working citizens who were intent on having a good time.

Amoureaux nodded toward one of the private boxes, “Monsieurs Pensee and Fausse,” he whispered. “It is an honor to be graced by their presence for they do not usually wander into this part of the city. It bodes well for the company that they are in attendance, for it means that tomorrow all of Paris will be here.”

Fanny looked up with interest and was quite surprised to find an unlikely duo occupying the foremost box. She had heard of men such as these, but had never seen them. Both elderly gentlemen were attired in the most opulent of materials, and with nests of curls atop their heads. They were conversing in an affected manner and did not seem to care whether the performance commenced or not for they were quite entertained by each other. They might have been rather handsome in their youth, but years of rich food had somewhat padded their middles and stiffened their joints. Miss Fairangel looked over at her companion, one eyebrow arched questioningly.

Amoureaux laughed and, at the first warm-up notes before the Overture, reminded her that they must get into their positions for Act 1.

Adam unconsciously leaned forward as the curtain rose and waited anxiously for the appearance of Miss Fairangel. When she finally entered the scene, though, he was somewhat shocked and disappointed, for this woman’s face was almost obscured by an exaggerated use of colored paints. Certain mannerisms and her way of walking proved that she was indeed the long-lost Miss Fairangel and Adam sat back in his chair. He glanced over at Trueheart who seemed quite delighted by the whole thing.

How did she come to be here? he wondered for the hundredth time. He studied her face, looking for that purity, that innocence that had caught his attention before. It is a sacrilege to cover a face such as hers. But, then her voice intruded upon his consciousness. Adam’s ears perked up and he leaned forward once again. My G*d! he whispered in disbelief. Fanny was singing her opening duet with Mlle. Bruyant, in which they proclaimed the exceptional looks of their fiancées. Sometimes Miss Fairangel’s pure tones were obscured by those of ‘Dorabella’ and Adam began to feel as though he were being tortured. More than once he fervently wished that the other woman would be quiet.

A nudge in the side brought him back to his senses and he leaned back in his chair. The last thing he would want is to draw the wrong kind of attention to himself and he was thankful that Trueheart had reminded him. Maintaining obscurity gave them their best chance of assisting the Fairangels, if need-be.

Adam had to admit that the young woman’s acting abilities marked her as a novice, but whenever she sang, the audience forgave her every mistake. Each subsequent evening showed improvement though, and by the time the week was out, Frances was performing admirably before packed houses.

As Fiordiligi, Miss Fairangel’s show of sorrow, her comic timing, her attempts at flirtation, her love, despair and final happiness at the end, all of her many faces were burned into Adam’s memory, but most of all, it was her voice. A voice of angels. La Belle Angelique, a perfect name, the name that roused the audience to chant their approval many times during the performance.

The idea of her life shall sweetly creep into his study of imagination: the quotation flitted across Adam’s consciousness. More like a gallop than a creep! he protested to himself. Try as he might to prevent it, Miss Fairangel was becoming too dear to him. He did not need such an impediment, not at this time. It would jeopardize everything that he stood for.

Trueheart stifled a yawn, “Well, what do you think? Malforce has not yet shown his face, and I, despite Miss Fairangel’s many charms, am beginning to find this particular opera quite tiresome.”

“Agreed,” Adam said. “It should be enough that one of us attend. I was in at the beginning of all of this, and so shall volunteer to see it out.”

“How benevolent of you,” his friend responded with a wry grin. “But I shall take you up on it anyway.”

Adam attended the following performances alone. He scanned the filled chairs and the standing crowds for any sign of Malforce. Where is he? he wondered with growing impatience. If he is in Paris, he must have seen a handbill by now.

Adam turned his attention to the stage. The actor playing Guglielmo was pouring out his heart to Miss Fairangel. His brows knitted into a frown as he noted the realism of the man’s acting. Damned, if he isn’t in love with the girl! A quick glance at Frances did not appease him. Was she acting? Perhaps Trueheart is correct. Perhaps this plan has run its course and we shall have to resort to other tactics if we intend to meet our objective...

After the performance, Amoureaux chatted amiably with Miss Fairangel as she removed her face paints. To watch her natural beauty emerge was like opening a present. “I see that Monsieur Fausse has abandoned us,” he said, referring to the seat that was empty in the private box of Monsieur Pensee.

Fanny laughed, “I would, too, after sitting through so many evenings of it!” She cast a sidelong glance at Amoureaux. “Perhaps, the gentleman did not like the attentions you have been receiving from his friend,” she suggested.

Amoureaux made as though to throw a paint-smudged towel at her laughing face. “Then I must find a way to deflect such attentions from myself,” he declared. The young man drew up a chair to sit close to Miss Fairangel. “We have sang to a full house for over one week,” he observed.

“Yes, we have, as can be seen by Monsieur Patron’s countenance.”

“That, too, and it is evident that the crowd approves of us.”

“It would seem so. I am inexperienced in the theatre and opera, but I can feel their excitement, their passion for the music.”

“We sing very well together, Mlle. Fairangel. We are a perfect duet.” Fanny grew silent as she realized the intent of his words. Amoureaux looked at her reflection in the mirror, no longer hiding his feelings from her. “I think we would reach even greater acclaim if we were husband and wife. Say that you agree, Miss Fairangel.” Georges grasped her hand and kissed it. “Frances?” he questioned softly. Their noses were only inches apart.

If the sounds of their heartbeats had not been so loud, they would have heard the creak of the door and the swift footsteps as Mlle. Bruyant ran down the hallway.

“Oh, Monsieur Amoureaux,” Fanny gasped in surprise. “I ...I am honored, but I cannot marry you.”

Amoureaux’s eyes searched her own, looking for the slightest sign of weakness in Miss Fairangel, or hope for him. “Why not, Miss Fairangel? I love you. I love you to distraction. Can you deny your love for me?”

Fanny unflinchingly returned his look. “You are dear to my heart, Monsieur Amoureaux, but as a friend only. I am not insensible to the ways in which you have guided me, and I love your beautiful voice, but that is not the kind of love that marriages are made of. We are too different.”

A frown deepened on the young man’s face. “What are you saying to me? Am I not of your social class? Is it because I am French?” Anger began to sweep over his face.

“No, no, Monsieur. But, I cannot marry a man who does not consider the feelings of my father.”

“Your father? But I do not wish to marry your father. This is between us, a man and a woman.”

Fanny shook her head somberly. “My father is very important to me, Monsieur.” She knew that her sentiments would be difficult for Amoureaux to understand, for he had been abandoned by his mother and did not know his father. “I cannot be happy without his approval.”

“Bah!” Amoureaux rose from his chair and stomped out of the room, for he knew what the rector thought of him already. “I shall change her mind,” he promised to himself. But he did not know that tomorrow night would be their last performance together.

Malforce meandered through the crowds at yet another Assembly. He had been to almost every social event for the past two weeks and had seen no sign of Miss Fairangel or her father.

“La Belle Angelique...”

The words stopped him in his tracks. Who said that? He craned his neck in every direction, trying to find the source of the utterance. He finally identified the owner of the voice and edged closer. She was telling a friend about her recent evening at the opera. She had heard the most remarkable singer at a performance of ‘Cosi fan tutte.’ Malforce listened more closely for Miss Fairangel had always been an exceptionally talented singer. Once he learned the whereabouts of the theater, he left the Assembly and found transportation there. The performance was already over and the crowd, dispersed. The lower rooms were dimly lit and Malforce impatiently realised that it was too late to call upon his elusive butterfly. He would have to return the next day.

The door burst open and was slammed closed, the sound echoing along the deserted streets. Malforce glanced at the young woman who had emerged and who proceded to march angrily down the street. “Excusez-moi, Mademoiselle!” he called after her. “Is this the residence of Miss Fairangel?”

Mlle. Bruyant stopped only long enough to spit on his shoes. “Yes, the illustrious Miss Fairangel lives there!” The gentleman’s good looks only made her angrier.

“Mademoiselle? Are you feeling well? Do you need assistance?”

“The only assistance of use to me is to be rid of Miss Fairangel.”

“Then I may be able to help you.”

The following evening, Adam spied Malforce as he entered the theatre. He hastened to follow the man more closely.

Colin Malforce waited in the middle of the crush of people to enter the theatre. Obviously, the opera was quite popular and the crowds would prevent him from taking any action this evening. He would have to confront Miss Fairangel tomorrow. With Mlle. Bruyant’s assistance, though, he should not have any trouble finding the rector’s daughter alone.

“I say, your eyepatch is quite striking,” someone said at his elbow.

Malforce turned to face Monsieur Pensee, “Thank you, Sir.” He nodded briefly. He noticed the stylish cut of the jacket...and the effeminate hairstyle.

“Have you been to ‘Cosi fan tutte’ before?”

“No, I have not.”

“I have been to each performance. Monsieur Amoureaux is quite remarkable.”

“I am pleased to hear it. Excuse me, Sir,” Malforce demurred and walked away to find his seat.

Adam hastily found his own chair and did not remove his eyes from his quarry for most of the performance. Colin Malforce was restless, bored, and seemed more preoccupied with his thoughts than with the performance. Even Miss Fairangel’s vocal acrobats held no interest for him. Adam wondered what he had planned, for he was certainly there to do no good. “’The man that is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, is dit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils; the motions of his spirit are dull as night and his affections dark as Erebus. Let no such man be trusted.’”

At one point, Malforce looked up and saw the private box belonging to Monsieur Pensee. The gentlemen exchanged nods and returned their attentions to the stage. After the performance, they met again at the entrance to the theatre and Pensee offered to take Malforce ‘round to his club for a game of cards.

It was very difficult for Malforce to turn down a cardgame, and so he agreed to Monsieur Pensee’s suggestion. They found more like-minded gentlemen at the club and so the game continued on into the wee hours of the morning, with Malforce leaving the building with murderous thoughts etched upon his face.

The man by the gate watched as Malforce entered the door to his rooms. It was only a matter of moments before he reemerged and began to walk quickly in the other direction. He could guess the Englishman’s intents. When one followed a person for as long as he had, the quarry held few surprises.

The buildings steadily grew shabbier, the street lights farther apart, and the passersby seedier. Finally, Malforce turned at a set of stairs leading down to a cellar door and knocked sharply. With a few whispered words, he gained admittance and disappeared from view. His follower laid down on a bench to wait, and tented an old newspaper over his face. To others, he would pass for just another vagabond.

But the person lingering in the shadows by a small grove of trees knew otherwise, and also knew that Malforce would be worthless when he reappeared, oblivious to everything around him. If he reappeared...for it was just as possible that the man might stay the night. That would be the sensible thing to do, for the true criminals of the night preyed upon men in his condition. Malforce would be lucky to find his way back to his rooms in one piece.

“Good morning, Frances,” said Mr. Fairangel from the door of the costume room.

Fanny looked up from her work and greeted her father with a smile. She was surrounded by yards and yards of fabric as she resewed a few of the ties on the dress for her opening scene. “Come in,” she motioned. “Do you have time to converse?”

The rector sat down on a nearby chair. “Madame Filou has several errands for me, of course.”

“I would think she could send Philippe to do those and leave you to more important tasks.”

Fairangel chuckled, “I do not mind in the least. Running errands is far better than staying here and bearing Madame’s personal scrutiny. Today, I also have a list from Mlle. Bruyant. Do you require anything, daughter?”

“No, thank you. Nothing but a moment of your time.” At the rector’s raised eyebrows, Fanny revealed that Amoureaux had proposed to her. His eyebrows drew together into a scowl before she had the opportunity to relate her response.

“Uncouth man! What right has he to petition my daughter behind my back?”

“I told him ‘no’, Father. I said that I would not consider it without your blessing.”

Fairangel relaxed and stretched out to pat Fanny’s arm. “You are such a good child. I sometimes wonder what I have done to deserve you. I know that someday we will be parted, and it will rent my heart in two.”

“You need not worry yet!” Fanny smiled. “We shall have many more days together before I am carried away by Sir Gallahad.” She stitched for a few moments and then said, “You know, I feel almost at ease here. There has been no sign of Mr. Malforce, and I must admit that I rather enjoy singing in the opera.”

“I would wish more for you, Frances.”

“I know, but after all we have been through, I think I simply enjoy feeling safe.”

“Good morning, Mademoiselle.”

Fanny froze at the sound of that voice. Malforce!

The man entered the costume room and closed the door behind him. “At last, I have found you. I have been terribly worried about you, my dear. Eversince I heard of the robbery, I have been distraught, afraid that you may have come to some harm.” He edged closer. Fanny rose and looked about for a way to escape his advance.

There was a rap at the door and it began to open. “If you value your father’s life, you will tell this person to go away,” Malforce commanded, the black patch making his countenace seem even more menacing.

“Miss Fairangel---” Amoureaux stopped at the sight of the tall stranger. He glanced from one to the other, immediately looking for a romantic connection between them.

“Good morning, Monsieur Amoureaux. I am sorry, but I have a visitor, Monsieur Malforce, from England. Something has happened to one of our friends and we must...we must discuss what to do.”

Malforce bowed to the actor. Amoureaux reluctantly returned the gesture. “I apologise for my intrusion. Perhaps we may speak later...?”

“Yes, of course,” Fanny agreed. Her heart was in her throat as Amoureux closed the door behind him. “Where is my father?” she said, whirling on her visitor.

Malforce chuckled. “This is hardly the time for you to make demands, my dear lady.” He stepped closer and cupped her head with both hands.

“I am not your dear lady,” Fanny protested, trying to wriggle from his grasp.

Malforce exerted more pressure with his fingers. He watched a look of alarm cross Miss Fairangel’s features. “Ah, Frances,” he sighed. “why do you struggle against the inevitable? Do you think I have followed you this far to give up now? You are indeed ‘my lady’ and it would do you well to remember that.” The fingers of one hand caressed an earlobe, “I have waited so long...” They slid around to touch the hollow of her neck where her pulse quivered erratically. “And now you are mine...”

“Where is my father?” Frances persisted, her body rigid with fear.

Those long fingers traced an invisible line up and down Fanny’s arm. “He is quite well,” Malforce said, distracted by the physical nearness of his conquest. “Mademoiselle Bruyant will take very good care of him.”

Fanny recoiled in surprise. “Mademoiselle Bruyant?” she asked, as her voice faltered.

“But of course. You know, it was not very nice of you to take away from her the attentions of Monsieur Love.” He laughed hollowly, “It seems that you leave a trail of broken hearts wherever you go.” Suddenly Malforce grabbed her by the shoulders and said, “But it stops now!” He gave her a hard shake and then released her. “Alas, we do not have time for this dalliance, Miss Fairangel. You will come with me at once.”

Fanny shakily took a few breaths and recoiled as Malforce offered his arm to escort her from the room, fear and loathing in her eyes.

“We are going to leave this room and this building to go to your father. You will take my arm and you will act as though I am your dearest friend. If you cause any of these fine people to become alarmed on your behalf, you will never see your father again.”

Numbly, Frances placed her hand on his arm and allowed him to lead her away.

Amoureaux was pacing at the end of the hall, obviously waiting impatiently to see Miss Fairangel. As they passed by, Malforce accosted the young man in a most threatening voice, “If you do not desist from bothering my fiancée with your romantic blather, I will see you drawn and quartered.”

Amoureaux paled considerably but was not about to back down. He looked to Miss Fairangel for guidance. “It is true,” Frances said, barely able to form the words.

“Miss Fairangel, are you certain that everything is okay?”

Fanny nodded. “It is just that I am worried about our mutual friend,” she said. “Please allow us to pass.”

Amoureaux bowed and stepped aside, hurt and anger evident in his fine face. “As you wish.”

The next day, Adam and Trueheart hastened to the theatre to watch for Malforce. They could not be certain when he would strike, but if they required assistance, there was an official of the law standing a few yards away from them. To Adam’s chagrin, a half-hour wait saw Malforce emerge from the building with Miss Fairangel already in tow and looking quite frightened.

Just as Malforce and Frances reached the walkway, they were accosted by an irate Monsieur Pansee and the official that Adam had seen earlier. “This is the man!” Pensee declared, pointing at Malforce.

Malforce shoved the girl behind him and turned to face Pensee, “What are you saying, Old Man?” People brushed past on their way to and from the building and jostled against the couple on the walkway.

“This man stole my gold toothpick receptacle!”

Malforce gave a short bark of laughter. “You are insane!” he sneered.

“If I am insane, then you will not mind being searched by this gentleman of the law.”

“I need not subject myself to this!”

“Then you must come with me and answer questions,” the official spoke up.

“Are you willing to take the word of this...this...” Malforce stammered angrily.

“Beware of what you say,” the official warned. “Monsieur Pensee is a highly respected subject of France, and you, Sir, are not!”

“I do not have his toothpick receptacle! You may look for yourself!” Malforce spread his coat open wide and the official patted down the sleeves and pockets. There was a small object in the right-hand pocket --- a toothpick holder. The lawman held it up for all to see, for by this time, many onlookers had gathered around.

“Tsk-tsk!” sighed Monsieur Pensee, shaking his head. “After our most pleasurable evening, Monsieur Malforce, I would have given it to you for the asking.” The richly dressed aristocrat left Malforce at the mercy of the law and walked to where his carriage waited.

A titter of laughter followed Malforce and the official, for the crowd could imagine the kind of evening the man had shared with Monsieur Pensee. A blood vessel stood out on the criminal’s forehead. I have had enough of this nonsense! He looked around for Miss Fairangel but she was nowhere to be seen and so, at the corner, he broke away from the official and ran for his life. Some of the crowd attempted to chase him down, but soon lost interest. Only two figures, strangers to each other, persisted.

Frances and Filbert Fairangel sat facing the man they knew as Trueheart as they rocked back and forth in the coach. They were being taken to Spain and this time, Adam had not left their arrival to chance. Mr. Trueheart would be their escort for the entire journey. There were many hours ahead of them and they spent the time exchanging questions and answers.

Trueheart learned the entire story of their downfall and continuing flight from Colin Malforce and was glad that he and Adam had helped them to escape such a madman. The news of Sir Hugh’s death was a blow, but he could not allow the Fairangels to see how it affected him. “If this were played upon a stage now, I could condemn it as an improbably fiction,” he remarked dryly.

For their part, the Fairangels wished to know more about the mysterious man named Adam.

“Signor Hero is as true as steel. One could not ask for a better friend nor companion.”

“What is his livelihood? Why do one of you appear in every place that we are?” the rector asked. He was beginning to feel that the two men were their guardian angels.

“Ah! Signor Hero has a special calling, Sir. ‘Some must be great,” Trueheart quoted. “Great offices have great talents. And God gives to every man the virtue, temper, understanding, taste, that lifts him into life, and lets him fall just in the niche he was ordain’d to fill.’”

“What is his niche?” Fanny asked.

Trueheart considered for a moment, “You shall have to ask him.”

“And what of yourself, Sir?” Fairangel asked.

“Oh, I am just a common man, like anyone you know. I am yearning to return to England just as you are but, just as in your case, Life sometimes intervenes.”

The Fairangels decided that the one fact they knew for certain was that Mr. Trueheart, despite his name, was a master of double-talk.

“Where was Signor Hero today?” Fanny persisted. “I only saw you, when you pulled me away from Mr. Malforce and into the theatre building.”

“He was there.”

Adam stepped into his dressing room and carefully closed the door before he began to disrobe. Thankfully, the bath was already filled. The extra padding had been infernally hot. He swept the wig off his head, wondering what Miss Fairangel thought of his ‘curls’ and sat down in front of the mirror to remove the age lines from his face. Within moments, due to the minstrations of his experienced fingers, the healthy glow of his natural skin was beginning to show.

Chapter 11

Frances Fairangel scrutinized the young man closely. A vague thought teased her mind but she could not bring it to fruition. They were nearing the border into Spain, and she wondered what the next few days would bring.

“I must thank you, myself,” said the rector, with a nod of his head to Trueheart. “But I still do not know how you found me.”

“Miss Fairangel’s friend, Monsieur Amoureaux, gave us a few suggestions, and one of them was correct,” Trueheart explained.

“I wish I could see an end to all of this,” Fairangel lamented bitterly.

“There will be,” Trueheart said with much conviction. “One must keep faith.”

The elder man smiled at the irony of a younger man reminding him to have faith. “You are correct, of course,” he said, humbled.

Soon, they stopped at an inn where they refreshed themselves and the horses were changed. Trueheart was very slow at returning to the coach and his altered appearance stunned his fellow travelers.

“Buenos dias,” he bowed. “Me llamo Senor Cuidar.”

Fanny was greatly tempted to touch the new long sideburns or the heavily braided sleeve of Trueheart’s fine coat. “I am all amazement!” she exclaimed but then sudden realization dawned, “You were Monsieur Fausse!” A heartbeat later, her eyes grew even wider at the thought of who must have been Monsieur Pensee. “This is more than I am able to take in,” she muttered, shaking her head. Her father looked at her as though she were mad and Trueheart said nothing as he seated himself in the coach. “Was the watchman an actor as well?”

“No, Miss Fairangel.”

Fanny’s eyes searched for the truth upon the young man’s countenance. She sensed that he was an honorable man and that this conversation did not sit well with him. “Why do you pose as another? Have you committed some crime for which you must hide your identity?”

“Not at all. I am simply attempting to confuse Mr. Malforce.”

The rector looked on in alarm. “Are you saying that my daughter’s supposition is correct?”

“Signor Hero and I were, I must admit, in disguise but it was for your protection. This also accounts for my present appearance and now, there is something else that I must discuss with you...”

Fanny’s thoughts darted here and there as she remembered events and circumstances that continued to plague her. Monsieur Amoureaux spoke of them as though their identities were well-known. How can this be? How long have they participated in this masquerade? Certainly before they came to our assistance... Her head throbbed with confusion.

“Certainly not!” the rector bellowed.

Frances looked up in surprise. “What is the matter, Father?”

“We will not disguise ourselves in such a manner!”

“It is for your own safety,” Trueheart implored, appealing to the Fairangels’ good sense.

“Do you wish for us to conceal our identities as well?” Frances asked.

Trueheart nodded, “If you are members of my household, your presence will not be so easily discovered.”

“This is not possible,” the rector grumbled.

The small town of Asilo overlooked the Golfo de Cadiz just southwest of Seville. Presiding over the countryside was the castle fortress of Don Eduardo Montoya, an aristocrat whom Trueheart had met at frequent hunting parties. It was of no matter for Senor Cuidar and his party to join the Montoya household.

Fairangel led his ‘master’s’ horse into the stable and arranged for its care. The horse had been added to their company just outside of Madrid. The rector shook his head in disgust, for he had still not resigned himself to the role of a servant. At least Frances, as Senor Cuidar’s ‘sister’ would not suffer such humility. Fairangel was also disturbed to be separated from his daughter for the most part of the day, and he could not understand how their situation would be improved. If only they could return to England!

He reviewed the facts once again. If they returned, Malforce would press charges against them for ‘stealing’ the chalice and implicate them in the death of Sir Hugh. On their side, there was very little to condemn Mr. Malforce. He had made what would be seen as an honorable offer of marriage; he had no known motive for murdering his uncle; and he had followed them from place to place but had not hurt them in such a way as to leave evidence. His threats to Frances would be a case of his word against hers. They could not even accuse him of kidnapping the rector, for Mlle. Bruyant had only detained Mr. Fairangel when he arrived with the supplies that she had asked him to buy for her. How could they possibly extricate themselves from this impossible situation? And more, why were Mr. Trueheart and Mr. Hero so intent upon saving them?

Fanny studied her reflection in the mirror and wondered why she did not look very different from the person she had been in England. The rich colors of her new clothing suited well her complexion and the smooth surface of her skin belied the internal anxiety caused by the events of the past several weeks.

They had been in Asilo for three days, and Miss Fairangel was becoming restless. The not-knowing, the unclear future were taking their toll. The family of Montoya was gracious, and it would have been simple to drift back into the ease she had felt in Italy. Her only conflict was in deflecting the attentions of the youngest son, Juez.

Juez Montoya was a slender young man with curly black hair, flashing dark eyes, and surprising dimples on each side of his clipped black moustache. His nature was passionate and generous toward any object of his interest and Miss Fairangel had been feeling the full force of it from the time of their first meeting.

Her reverie was interrupted by a knock on the door and the cheerful voice of Mr. Trueheart. “There is to be a celebration this evening in our honor,” he informed her, knowing that this enforced inaction was causing her much unhappiness. “There will be special foods and singing and dancing.”

Fanny’s spirits did not revive as he might have wished. In fact, he was surprised to see the threat of tears in her eyes. This alarmed him greatly because, up to this moment, Miss Fairangel had shown a stalwart constitution and resilience that had not ceased to amaze him. He stepped forward and asked very tenderly, “What is the matter, Miss Fairangel?”

Frances could not stop her lower lip from quivering. “I...I just want to go home.” A sob caught in her throat. “But I no longer have a home.”

Trueheart looked away and batted his own eyelashes furiously. Damn Adam! We must make an end to this. “I am so very sorry,” he whispered huskily.

Trueheart was happy to see that Miss Fairangel had again found her well of strength and not only attended the celebration, but performed with such charm that her dinner companions were enslaved, especially Juez Montoya who was seated on her right.

Afterwards, all were invited out onto the terrace for fine music and wine under a glorious moonlight. Fanny’s first dance was claimed by the young Montoya, and if he would have been able to get away with it, he would have occupied the rest of her evening. The music was not totally unfamiliar and the steps to the dances were only variations of what Fanny had already experienced. After so many days of fear and anxiety, it felt good to relax and participate in a normal social function. She could only protest when it ended too soon.

The night was fair and refreshing after a warm day, and Miss Fairangel was reluctant to go inside. Juez suggested a leisurely walk, and Fanny and her ‘brother’ were quick to accept. Trueheart would not deny her this small pleasure.

Montoya offered his arm and so, he and Fanny were in the lead, with Senor Cuidar following behind. They had not gone far when they heard music of a much livelier variety than had entertained them earlier. The villagers were engaged in a celebration of their own. As the three strollers came forward, a most engaging spectacle presented itself. Women with long, flowing hair to match their flowing skirts were twirling around in the arms of their men. The steps were intricate, almost frantic, in an attempt to keep up with the demanding music.

Fanny gasped at the earthiness of the scene but at the same time, was intrigued. Fortunately, her father was not nearby to pull her away. She sat down on a bench to watch, despite Mr. Trueheart’s suggestion that the hour was late.

The following dance was slower, more fluid, and the young woman was mesmerized by the way the partners movements so closely mirrored each other’s.

“Would you like to dance, Miss Fairangel?” Juez asked as he watched her unconsciously sway to the music.

Fanny’s eyes widened in shock, “Oh no! I would not know how to...to dance in such a manner.”

“One must only feel the music here, de corazon.”

Miss Fairangel could feel the music from the bottom of her heart, but her upbringing was too much of an obstacle.

In a few minutes, the music changed yet again, to a simple peasant dance, and this time, Juez would not take no for an answer. He clasped Fanny’s hand and pulled her into the crowd. The quick skipping steps to the left, then to the right, circling ‘round, and changing partners was all she could think about, and she was soon caught up in the experience.

Trueheart watched the young woman from the sidelines, thankful that she had found some form of relaxation. G*d knows, she deserves it.

“You have been the very devil to find,” said a voice at his elbow. Trueheart looked up to see a tall, dark sea captain eyeing him petulently.

“La senorita required a diversion,” Trueheart explained. “She has been very low in spirits.”

“All will be made right soon.”

“I would rather it be now.”

“Do I sense that you feel protective of your ‘sister’?”

Trueheart’s scowl showed the captain the extent to which his friend was troubled. Adam leaned closer, “He has arrived and I have discovered at least two others who are following his movements.”

“It was to be expected.”

“One of them followed the trail of you and the Fairangels to this place and now divides his time between you and Malforce. The other one is a woman.”

“Truly?” Trueheart raised his eyebrows at this information. What kind of woman would seek out such a man? The two men discussed their plans for the rest of the evening and the following day.

“Capitan Valeroso!”

Adam could only blame himself for being seen. He had lingered too long. He turned to acknowledge the young woman who had accosted him. “Good evening, Senorita Encorvado.”

“Have you just arrived? Come, you must dance with me.” She pulled him into the midst of the dancers.

On other occasions, Capitan Valeroso had shown the senorita friendship and to deny her now would be out of character. He joined hands and followed the crowd around the circle. This dance required some handing off to other participants, and it was not long before Adam and Fanny touched hands as they passed each other.

Miss Fairangel noticed the introduction of the newcomer into the mix of dancers but did not really have time nor inclination to think much about him until they came face-to-face. The gentleman was dressed in the manner of a sea captain with dark hair, a thin moustache and a fringe of beard along his chinline. The first time they passed by, his face had been averted, but when they actually became partners, Frances was surprised to discover familiar blue eyes.

“You do not know me,” Adam whispered, and then she was returned to Juez Montoya.

At her first opportunity, Fanny scanned the crowd. Trueheart was still waiting for her at the bench but his friend was nowhere to be seen. Later, during the final dance of the evening, she had the strong feeling of being watched. As she turned her head, her eyes fleetingly met those of a man who seemed oddly familiar but then he, too, disappeared from view.

Adam skulked along the cool walls of the courtyard, silent as the night, just another of many shadows. He paused, his breath barely stirring the air, and waited. His patience was rewarded when a slim figure made its way around some bushes and slipped into a doorway. Earlier reconnaisance had revealed those rooms to belong to Senor Malforce. A second shadow drew nearer to the portal and then hunched down to guard the entrance.

Chapter 12

The sky was a bright azure blue overhead, the air yet morning fresh, the flowers cleansed with dew, and in Senor Montoya’s mind, it was a perfect day for a proposal. He lingered under the window of Francesca Cuidar until he saw signs of movement. With the impatience of a lover, he threw pebbles above to draw her attention.

Fanny peered down at the young man, surprise evident upon her face. “Buenos dias, Senor Montoya.”

“Ah! Senorita Cuidar! Now the sun is truly shining upon me. Would it be possible for you to join me in the courtyard?”

Fanny looked around for signs of other people. Dare she? It is late morning, she decided. and Senor Montoya is a gentleman. “I will be down presently,” she replied.

Miss Fairangel’s gentle beauty fed the soul of the youngest Montoya, and he led her to one of the ornately carved benches. He sat down beside her. “I have heard from my father that you and your brother will be leaving very soon,” he began.

“Yes, we must return home,” Fanny agreed, remembering the plans they had discussed.

Montoya reached for her hand. “But, you cannot abandon me,” he pleaded. “You have become everything to me: la luna, las estrellas, el sol. If you leave, my life will be in sombra.”

Frances looked down in despair. It seemed as though no one could offer her friendship without wishing to own her. She looked upon the young man’s face, her eyes pleading for him not to continue.

“I...I know that this is sudden, but I am alarmed that you will leave me. Please, Senorita Cuidar, give me hope. I wish to marry you.”

“Oh, Senor...” she faltered. “Is it not the custom of this country as well that one must petition the father of one’s intended?”

Montoya gave voice to his confusion, “I thought that your father was dead?”

“Yes, of course. I mean, in his place, should you not have an audience with my brother?”

“I have found you!” boomed across the courtyard and interrupted the conversation of the couple seated at the bench.

Frances almost fainted at the familiar voice. She turned to face her tormentor. There was Malforce. The eyepatch was gone, but a small moustache graced his upper lip. His clothing was that of a courtier and he looked to be a man of great importance. Fanny trembled at the thought of what he might say.

Montoya had risen at the challenge in the stranger’s voice. “Pardon me, Senor, but you intrude.”

“Excuse me as well, but I have been searching for this woman for many weeks,” Malforce said smoothly, advancing with long strides.

Montoya looked from Fanny to Malforce in confusion. Miss Fairangel seemed to be melting under the man’s perusal.

“She is a thief and a harlot and shall be brought to justice!” Malforce persisted.

Color rose in the young man’s cheeks as anger took possession of his senses. “You have insulted la Senorita Cuidar, the woman whom I intend to marry. For this, you shall die! Draw your sword, Sir!”

Malforce put up one hand, “When you have heard what I have to say, you will agree that she is not worth fighting for.”

Montoya cried out in anger and lunged at the older man. Malforce stepped back and retrieved his own sword. “You are making a grave mistake,” he said. “This woman is not what she claims to be. She is Frances Fairangel, an Englishwoman of no virtue.”

Fanny was stepping backward and shaking her head. That was enough provocation for the young man to continue his attack.

Blades flashed in the sunlight, and to the onlookers, it was obvious who was the better swordsman. ‘Flick-flick’ and the moustache had been trimmed. Malforce felt his upper lip for drops of blood. Every subsequent flick was accompanied by the sound of a button dropping onto the hard brick surface of their arena.

“She is a harlot, Senor.”

Clink.

“She has broken more hearts than can be counted and by the looks of it, she was in the process of breaking yours.”

Clink.

“Ask her the identity of Giovinetto Bramoso.”

Clink.

“Ask her about Monsieur Amoreaux.”

Clink.

“Even I have given her an honorable offer of marriage.”

Clink.

The sweat on Malforce’s brow stood out. The buttons of his jacket had been removed and the lightning-swift blade of Senor Montoya was swirling too close to more important details of his person.

Clink-clink. Two of the buttons on the waistband of his pants fell to the ground.

“We must do something before Malforce is cut to ribbons,” Adam observed.

“I will go,” Trueheart volunteered, stepping forward.

“No, I am the better swordsman.”

“Exactly. You, too, might be provoked into making mincemeat of him, whereas, he and I meet on more equal ground and I will be able to divert his attention while you tend to Miss Fairangel. Look!” He pointed to a frightened Fanny who was forcibly being led away by an unknown woman.

“That is the woman who entered the chambers of Malforce last night. We must act fast. I will do as you suggest, and then we shall all meet on board ship.”

“Done.” Trueheart stepped out into the courtyard. “Thank you, Senor Montoya, but this is my fight as I am Senorita Cuidar’s brother and only kin.”

Montoya hesitated. One swipe and the act would be finished, but he could understand a brother’s need for revenge. He backed down and allowed Trueheart to take his place.

Miss Fairangel felt the sharp point of a knife prod her side and let out a small shriek of surprise. She twisted her head around to see her attacker. “Miss Ivy?” she gasped in amazement.

“Do not struggle or you will taste more of this,” she said indicating her knife. “Come with me...now! If you cry out, I will not hesitate to kill you.”

“Miss Ivy?” Frances was dumbfounded. She felt another prick of knife point and came to her senses. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“You stole Colin Malforce away from me. You made him love you.”

“W-what?” Fanny shook her head. “How can you accuse me? You barely know Mr. Malforce.”

Envee laughed mirthlessly, “Oh, no, Malforce and I are very old friends... lovers, in fact, until you came along.” She pulled at the young woman’s arm. “Come along!”

Fanny stumbled next to Envee Ivy, still confused by the woman’s appearance, and amazed that Envee would actually do her harm.

“Eh!” Envee gulped as a blade grazed her own throat.

“Release her!” ordered a male voice that would brook no opposition.

“She is a thief, a harlot. She is my prisoner.”

Adam shoved her aside, breaking her grip on Miss Fairangel, and pulled Fanny to himself. “That is the way I like my women,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “Now, away with you, unless you, too, would like to come with me.” He leered at the woman who was sitting on the ground, speechless.

Fanny struggled to free herself from his grasp, shocked at being in contact with the entire length of his body.

“Be still,” he whispered, “until this woman is out of sight.”

His breath on her ear tickled and Fanny’s senses were beginning to feel overwhelmed.

Adam threatened to prod Miss Ivy with his sword which finally brought her to her feet and persuaded her to leave Miss Fairangel to the mercy of the insane sea captain. She must find Malforce quickly!

Finally, Adam released Miss Fairangel and she almost toppled over. He scooped her up into his arms, hesitating for just a moment before he set her back on her feet. “I apologise, Miss Fairangel,” he bowed. “I trust that you are unharmed.”

Fanny was dazed. Too many things were happening too fast. She could not meet the man’s eyes without a wave of extreme self-consciousness.

“We have not much time, Miss Fairangel. It is important for you to find your father immediately and go with him down to my ship.” He slipped a heavy ring from his finger and cupped it in her hands. “Show this to any member of my crew, and you will be taken aboard. Tell them to wait no longer than ten minutes, and then shove off. They will take you wherever you wish to go.”

“But, what of Mr. Trueheart and...”

“We shall join you soon. Now, hurry! There is not one moment to lose!”

Trueheart checked the sweep of Malforce’s blade and then fell back. He watched his opponent’s eyes carefully. They were cold, evil, and reflected a soul without mercy. The young man pushed forward with a series of executions of his own. It was Malforce’s turn to seek another position. Whoosh-clink-clink-clink, whoosh-whoosh-clink-clink. A scurry of footsteps. Clink-clink-clink-ugh-lunge.

Juez Montoya had returned with the guard to assist Senor Cuidar if needed. A patter of footsteps brought Envee back into the courtyard, “Quick!” she cried out to Malforce. “The Fairangels are getting away!”

Malforce glowered at his opponent. We shall finish this now! he decided and brutally attacked the senor. Ahhh! He felt the blade of his sword bury into soft flesh and be deflected by something hard.

Trueheart fell to his knees as the sword entered his chest. The guard immediately sprang forward as Malforce and Miss Ivy attempted their escape. Montoya gave chase but was foiled by the young woman throwing herself in his path. “Ooph!” he groaned.

Envee scurried to her feet and ran down the walk after the receding form of her beloved. “Malforce! Malforce!” she cried out in vain but he did not look back.

Meanwhile, Adam had returned to the courtyard and found his fallen friend.

“It is not serious,” Trueheart said bravely. “You must spirit Miss Fairangel away from here.”

“Stay here and mend. I will be in touch with you as soon as possible,” Adam promised gravely. He watched his friend be carried into the castle, and then ran with all haste to his ship, desperately hoping that Fanny and her father would be on board. As he ran, another plan formed quickly in his mind.

A rowboat with four of his men waited at shore to take their master out to where the crew of El Bueno Centavo was beginning to weigh anchor. He could hear footsteps clamoring down the bank as he jumped into the boat. The oarsmen pulled away from the shore with all due speed. Adam pulled a wrapped object out of his coat and launched it toward the shoreline. It bobbed for a moment on the water and began to be pulled out to sea by the tide.

“A present for you!” Adam called out to Malforce.

Malforce hastened to retrieve the object and tore away the paper. The chalice! He snickered and saluted at the receding rowboat. You are a fool if you think this ends my quest, he laughed evilly.

Capitan Valoroso pulled himself up to stand on the deck of his ship and gave the final orders to sail. He could perceive Malforce still standing on the shoreline, and Adam’s gut told him that he had not seen the last of that evil man. Unfortunately, beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold.