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Tales of the Meridian Society! (TheCorsair, Madame Mim)

Anne Marie pursed her lips in annoyance. "I was attempting to be discreet and significant," she clarified. "Not his own room. His room. The room in the East Wing. Gustav's room, you silly man." She rolled her eyes as she had to clarify it for him in no uncertain terms. "I caught him in Gustav's room, and he should have known better." She sighed and waved the matter away. Upset as she had been, that wasn't what was important right now. "They wish to accompany me as back up when I go to confront her. Shall we let them?"

Professor Swift puzzled it out aloud. It would, indeed, make sense for Erik and Samantha to be seen together. At the idea that he had no close connection to her, Madame LaMonte raised her eyebrow. Of all the preposterous notions...!

"My dear Professor," she said, looping her arm with his and leaning against him a little. "You and I have known each other--and lived together--for more than twenty years. And you think you've got no close connection with me?" She laughed and tugged his arm gently before rearranging her face to look somber again in case a policeman should come by. "But you are right that it would make more sense to bring my presumed protege and her husband. Though I think perhaps we part company at the gate; it would not do to...spook her, as Samantha might say." She shrugged and looked sideways at him.

"So," she said after a pause, then looked sideways at him. "What disguise shall you take on? Hm? Monsieur LeCoq is a master of disguise after all, and he is about to ensnare the notorious Madame la Fleuriste. You shall have to choose your wardrobe carefully."
 
“I have certain strong opinions about my wardrobe as ‘Monsieur LeCoq’,” Algernon laughed, kissing her lightly. “And rarely do they remain suitable for such a public location.” Smiling, he kissed her again. “Although perhaps we should...”

“Ah ain’t never gonna get used ta seen’ y’all do that,” Sam laughed.

Glowering at the Ranger over his love’s shoulder, Algernon stepped slightly away from Anne Marie. “I hardly see why. Madame LaMonte informs me you have known of our relationship for some time now.”

“Sure have,” Sam replied, settling into a chair with only the briefest of hesitations. It was, Algernon recognized, evidence of her increasing comfort in dresses. “Colin asked us ta tell you he’d be late, on account o’ takin’ Greta back ta her hotel. Good thing, Ah think. That gal’s nice enough, but she’s nosy as hell.” Taking Erik’s hand, she looked at the team’s leaders expectantly. “So. What’s th’ plan get goin’ after th’ assassin?”
 
"Oh I think your wardrobe as Monseiur LeCoq is perfectly suitable," Anne Marie smirked.

Smiling, Algernon kissed her again. "Although perhaps we sould..."

"Ah ain't never gonna get used ta seein' y'all do that," Sam laughed.

Captain Drake was taking his fiancee back to her hotel, and Captain Shane joined them in an empty room on the second floor. Most of the guests who had wandered out of the ballroom had confined themselves to the ground floor, or were otherwise engaged in the bedrooms above. The team looked to them expectantly and Anne Marie shrugged.

"Still working on it," she said frankly. "For tonight, we wait out the party; as it is, it appears as though it will go into the wee hours. But I am famous for nothing if not my hospitality. Although I shall retire in a few hours, guests are always welcome to stay the night and usually do." She pursed her lips briefly. "Well, this arises not so much from my hospitality as it does as my hesitation as a young hostess to give my guests, as you say, the old heave-ho." She pronounced the words very crisply and deliberately. "Monsieur LaMonte was exceedingly fond of large parties, after all. After his death, in my grief they became less frequent; scarcity makes a thing more valuable. Now anybody who is anybody will stay as long as they possibly can, just to say that they did. We can probably expect the last of the stragglers to stagger out around nine or ten tomorrow morning. The note said nothing about a time or a date, so I shall drop in for tea I think."

"And we do what?" Kieran asked. "Hide out in the bushes?"

"This is the part that we are still working on," Anne Marie admitted. "Though Professor Swift and I agree that it would not be alarming for Samantha to accompany me so long as we part company at the gate."

Erik frowned. "A young woman in the gardens alone?"

"Not alone, Herr Heinz-Schmidt. Accompanied by her husband." She smiled. "You didn't think your invitation had gotten lost, had you? As for you, Professor Swift, and Captain Drake," she added to the pirate. "Any suggestions would be most helpful."
 
“Kin we have Colin jes’ take Greta ta th’ garden?” Sam suggested, sounding doubtful. “It’d give him a reason ta be there, but it’d involve a civilian.”

“That,” Professor Swift murmured, “would be unacceptable.”

“Ah know,” Sam replied. “Wouldn’t want her gettin’ killed in th’ crossfire, if somethin’ goes wrong.”

“Madame LaMonte had, half in jest, suggested I wear a disguise,” the Professor said, stroking his chin. “Perhaps that would be the key.” He looked at Kieran. “We send you and Captain Drake in early, dressed as gardeners. Or groundskeepers.” He nodded at that. “Yes, groundskeepers. That way, nobody would consider it unusual for you to be carrying s bag full of tools.”
 
"It'd also look a bit odd," Kieran added, "that three of Madame's acquaintances showed up at the garden at the same time she did. She was at the party, remember; she's seen our faces. Think I even talked to her a bit. We wouldn't be much of a secret task force if she figured it out, would we?"

"Madame LaMonte had, half in jest, suggested I wear a disguise," the Professor said, stroking his chin. "Perhaps that would be the key."

Anne Marie looked at him critically. "If that has you thinking about growing out that silly beard again, I won't allow it."

He ignored her and instead looked at Kieran. "We send you and Captain Drake in early, dressed as gardeners. Or groundskeepers." He nodded at that. "Yes, groundskeepers. That way, nobody would consider it unusual for you to be carrying a bag full of tools."

"So if things get hairy," Kieran mused, "we've got weapons for ourselves and a few to spare." He nodded. "Alright. Drake might have a bit of trouble dressing down like the rest of us working sods, but otherwise it shouldn't be a problem."

"And what of you, Professor?" Erik asked. "It wouldn't be out of place for you to visit the gardens, but you're Madame LaMonte's known associate and friend; hardly chance that you should be there at the same time. Perhaps it would be best for you to stick to the shadows? Spy on the meeting itself while the rest of us wander about nearby?"
 
“Professor Swift? Oh, no,” he laughed, “that would hardly do. But a little lampblack in my hair, and a pair of spectacles...”. He put on the spectacles as he spoke, accent changing slowly, “and nobody, my friend, would have any reason to suspect Henry Thorndyke of Albany, New York of knowing Countess LaMonte.”

Sam chuckled. “But why would Mr. Thorndyke be there?”

“Gosh, ma’am,” the Professor replied, “why wouldn’t I be there? I’m an artist, after all - but of a poet too, but my paintings pay the bills - and I’m doing a series of neoclassical paintings of post-war France. I was here during the war, in the trenches you understand - and my intent was to juxtapose the scars of the war with the natural beauty of the countryside. But when I saw these gardens, ma’am, I just felt moved to capture them in...”

“Ah reckon y’all made yer point,” Sam laughed. “An’ y’kin surely smuggle a coupla guns in your bag.”

“Yes ma’am,” Algernon replied in his American accent, before settling back into his usual posture. “Kieran, you and Colin are to be there at the opening of the grounds. I will arrive sharply at nine am.” He glanced at Anne Marie. “The note did not specify a time. When would you like to make an appearance?”
 
Anne Marie allowed herself a chuckle. "Why mon chere, you are positively a master of disguise," she teased.

"Just never do that accent again," Kieran added, eliciting another chuckle from Madame LaMonte. "Well, after tomorrow anyway."

"The note did not specify a time. When would you like to make an appearance?" Algernon asked.

Madame Fleuriste pondered for a moment. "I was thinking of dropping in for tea," she mused, "but I wouldn't want you there waiting on me all day. Particularly since I expect it wouldn't take more than a few hours to paint a scene." She glanced sideways at him, through the ghost of his wife's memory which stood between them. Maggie had been a painter, an exceedingly skilled one at that. Certainly she would have taught him. Why else would he have picked that disguise over all the others for which he was well-equipped? "A bit of an early lunch, then. Say 11:30?"

Erik inclined his head. "Works well for us."

"What, and we've got to be there for four bloody hours?" Captain Shane complained. "What for? It'd only take half an hour or so to scout the place out, wouldn't it?"
 
“Indeed,” Professor Swift agreed. “But this is much more than, as you say, scouting the place out. You need to be on site and unobtrusive, and a gardener who has been there since the start of the day will be unobtrusive.”

“Aw, it ain’t that bad,” Sam said, laughing at Kieran’s expression. “A coupla hours diggin’ a garden’ll be like old times back home.”

“I left home for a reason,” Kieran muttered.

“So did Ah,” she sympathized, before standing up and taking Erik’s hand. “C’mon. Let’s get. Got some planning ta do.” She winked at Kieran. “An you done got an early mornin’.” She was still laughing at Kieran’s obscene response as they left.

Algernon watched the door close, stroking his fingers in thought. “Do you think all of the faux Fleuristes will be in attendance? It would make things so much neater, if they were.”
 
Anne Marie watched them leave, standing in quiet thought with Algernon. When finally he spoke, she shrugged. "It would be quite a bit tidier," if she admitted, miming several gunshots in a row. "But I doubt it. We are aware of them, and they are aware of us; I imagine this shall be us feeling one another out. They will want to reveal that they are more than one, but at the same time conceal their true numbers. I should think no more than four of them will appear if indeed there are more than four."

She sighed heavily and brushed a loose strand of hair out of her face. "But for now, I'm afraid," she said with a reproachful look at the door, "that we must get back to the party and be seen for at least a few more hours. I will go out first, you follow in a bit, non?" She kissed his cheek before standing and making her way back downstairs.

The remainder of the party was dull, for Anne Marie at least. They had achieved their goal in throwing the party, now the only purpose it served was to exhaust her further. It was nearly one in the morning by the time she found it acceptable to pay the band and excuse herself. That didn't mean that the guests went home; as predicted, many continued the revelries into the early hours and found one of the Hotel's many rooms to pass out in for the night. But for Anne Marie herself, she found herself asleep nearly as soon as she had collapsed into bed next to Algernon.

The next morning found the Meridian Society taking breakfast in the quiet refuge of the library while a larger continental breakfast was served in the dining room proper. Kieran was still sulking while he spread butter over his toast and poured himself coffee.

"Guess I'll have to wolf this down," he muttered darkly, "go skulk about doing nothing for three hours."

"Honestly, Captain Shane," Erik said with some exhasperation, having heard numerous iterations of his complaint already that morning. "It isn't like you haven't done it before."

"Says his majesty walking in as a proper guest." The pirate gestured at him with the butter knife. "You in your place, me in mine. Got it." While the tireson work of a stakeout was irritating, what irked him far more was that he was going to have to do it with Drake. After last night's tryst he'd probably want to talk about his feelings or something. Goddammit.

Erik only sighed and rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, we're all classist swine. Liberte, Egalite, Fraternite," he snarked under his breath. In a louder voice he added to Madame LaMonte, "Is there anything else you would like us to do while we wait to leave for the gardens?"

She shrugged. "We do not yet know who she is--who they are--so I don't imagine there is much that we can do in the way of research or preparation beyond standard gear-up," she admitted. "Just do not lose track of time, hm?" There was a hint of a sly smile at the corner of her lips, but it was gone like summer lightning.
 
“Standard gear up?” Sam grumbled, buttering a scone. “Not bloody likely in this here get-up.” She was dressed in an ankle-length floral skirt and cream blouse, which she’d be accessorizing with a cardigan. “Wish Ah could wear some damn pants, y’know.”

“That,” Algernon pointed out, “would attract too much attention. Trousers are generally not...”

“Ah know, Ah know,” Sam replied, waving a hand. “Jes’ bitchin’.” She took a deliberate bite of her scone and chewed grimly. “Still, Ah reckon mah purse’ll hold both mah guns. An’ ammo.”

“As will these tool bags,” Colin declared, hefting one as he entered. He hesitated, then took the lone open chair - next to Kieran, of course. “I’ve taken the liberty of adding a collection of gardening implements to them, to better disguise the tools of our trade. All the better to appear as common laborers.” He poured himself a cup of tea. “Do we have any last minute preparations to make? Or changes to our strategy?”

“None,” Algernon answered.

“Well then.” Colin added sugar to his tea. “Captain Drake and I should depart, then. And have no fear - we shall be in position at a quarter after eleven.”
 
There was some muttering about "common laborers" and pants and brunch, but finally everyone was in place and the limousine was pulling up to the gardens. Algernon had been there for several hours, the captains, obviously, had been there since very early. Madame LaMonte stepped out of the limousine and waited for Erik and Sam to disembark.

"We shall take a bout around the gardens," she instructed, taking Sam's arm in that familiar way that woman friends did while the latter held onto her husband, "so we ought to have a decent idea of where this cabal might be hiding themselves. And then you two shall become very interested in some exotic sort of flower or some such, mais oui?"

"Ja vol," Erik agreed. "Though I suppose this flower won't be too far away from this surreptitious meeting?"

She nodded. "Of course." She looked to the Ranger. "Samantha? Any questions or concerns?"
 
“Lotsa concerns,” Sam replied with a sort of cheerful air. “But ain’t none of them new, or nothin’ y’all ain’t heard before. Ah jes’ wish we could be a bit more direct wit’ all this. Undercover work weren’t never mah for-tay.”

She was dressed in a scandalously Bohemian fashion, one that catered to her preferred tastes in clothes while allowing her to appear fashionable. Black clacks and a black suit coat, and a silk cream blouse with the top two buttons left unbuttoned. Her long blonde hair was done in an elaborate French braid, topped with a wide-brimmed picture hat with a spray of lavender in the band.

There was a handgun and a knife under the coat, and another of each in her shoulder bag. They, too, catered to her preferred tastes.

Squeezing Erik’s hand with hers, she drew a deep breath and altered her posture slightly. “Mah husband and Ah are most grateful that you could show us the Jardin Vaux-le-Vicomte, Madame,” she said, her voice only slightly stilted with the effort of speaking like a lady. “Ah believed Ah understood how lovely the gardens would be from your vivid descriptions, but the reality is breathtaking. Wherever should we go first?”

-*-

Algernon has arrived shortly before dawn, setting up his easel to give him a delightful view of the rond d’eau and the chalet beyond. He then proceeded to make a number of studies, quick charcoal sketches at different angles, seeking the best angle to capture with the watercolors he had brought. The gardeners quickly became accustomed to him, paying him no attention as he rambled about and drew. His actions were utterly expected from an artist.

He knew this, because it was what his wife had done. When she was still capable of it, of course. And had she been here, she would have teased him for his efforts - his efforts looked like architectural designs, not art.

But then, if she had been here, it was unlikely he would have been here at all. Gustave LaMonte had been the reason he came to France, after all.

Scowling, he pushed the thought aside and watched Anne Marie stroll one of the paths, followed by Samantha and Erik. It looked... natural. Like nothing more than a pleasant stroll. Perfect.

He smiled thinly, and returned to his sketches.
 
Anne Marie had dispatched with her grumbling about Sam's attire before they had left the house. It made her conspicuous, despite being fashionable...but perhaps that was the image she wanted to construct for Society. The War was over, after all, and times were changing. She herself had worn a pair of high-waisted slacks paired with a silk blouse a few months ago--in New York, of course--so who was to say what would be conspicuous in a year or two? Perhaps they would hail her as avante-gard. Still, for a mission like this it irritated her.

She spotted Algie near a fountain, sketching. She let her eyes slide over him as she would a stranger and merely inclined her head slightly as she had with any other strollers they had made eye contact with as they took a few laps around the garden. She had spotted the woman from last night lingering near a little alcove blocked from view by hedges. Madame LaMonte had given her a nod slightly more significant than she had given other strangers, but continued on.

"You ought to see the crocuses this time of year," she mentioned airily to her colleagues. "They're quite beautiful you know." A few yards later she slowed to a stop in front of some lilies. "Please, my friends, excuse me for a few moments." She smiled and kissed their cheeks before stepping away and slipping into the alcove. She didn't like being blocked from plain view, but the presence of the hedges also meant that the others could get close without being spotted, if they came from the right angle.

"Mademoiselle Lily, I presume?" she asked the young woman conversationally with a polite smile and a nod, careful to give the honorific of Madame La Fleuriste a very wide berth. She was Madame La Fleuriste; the only one. To address her as she had signed the invitation would be to legitimize her claim to the name. "I received your letter."
 
“I fear I am not Mademoiselle Lily,” replied the other woman, offering a small curtesy. “After last night’s excitement, the Garden felt it best that she vacation abroad. You may call me Rose, and may I say what an honor it is to meet you in person?”

-*-

Sam counted silently to ten, allowing Anne Marie time to get into position. Then she smiled and took Eric’s arm. “She’s right,” she declared, leading him to the bed of crocuses. “They are lovely. Perhaps we could put something similar in our own garden?”

To be honest, she wasn’t all that interested. But the bed was positioned well to allow then to eavesdrop - not to hear the conversation, precisely, but certainly to overhear if things turned messy.

-*-

Rose smiled at Anne Marie's controlled expression. “It really is an honor,” she said. “The Jardin Vaux-le-Vicomte exists because of you.” A small gesture with her hand took in the grounds. “Not this, of course. Our Society. You showed us the way, taught us what we must do. And now that we have found you? Well...”

She removed a small flower pin from her lapel, and offered it demurely. “We wish you to take your place at our head. To direct us in your great work, as our leader.”
 
Anne Marie looked stonily at the pin. She remembered it well; the Marquis de Carabas. London. 1910. One of her earlier works. It made her wonder whether there was some dark corner of the black market in which her calling cards were circulated, bought and sold by morbid hobbyists and would-be acolytes like this one. No two pins were ever the same, so they would make quite the collector's item. She tried not to feel rather proud of this and, if she were honest, a little smug. But surely a little pride wouldn't hurt. It was in fact pride which brought her back to the present situation, which was that these little girls were playing at greatness and taking her name for their own. Never mind the fact that if any of the team overheard the important parts of this conversation, the entire game would be given up! They would never look at her the same, and Kieran might actually kill her. She would have to resign. Instead of taking the pin, she took Rose's arm and led her deeper into the alcove, where the others would have a more difficult time overhearing.

"And pray, what exactly did I teach you?" she asked tersely. There had been no warmth in her gesture, and safely deep in the hedges she let go of the girl's arm and folded her own across her chest. "What is it that I have taught you to do? What great work is this that you think you are carrying on? Hm?"

It wasn't wise to display the fury that she felt, but allowing a small amount of anger to creep through might fluster the girl enough to give up plans as to who they were to target next, and when. It would also mean having something to bring back to the team other than the confirmation that they were simply attempting to copy the first, true Madame La Fleuriste. She set her mouth in a line and raised her eyebrows slightly, a disappointed mother demanding answers from a wayward child.
 
Rose gave Anne Marie a curious look. “Why, your great work,” she said, as if it were obvious. “We studied the me you eliminated, trying to understand the pattern we saw. They were all wealthy men, men of power and influence.”

She fingered the flower pin absently, as if there was hidden meaning in the shape of it. “Some of us believed, at first, that you struck down capitalists. Others that you struck communists, or fascists. There was evidence to argue that you supported or opposed any number of political ideologies, but I believed we were all mistaken. So I set myself to the task of learning who you were.”

She twirled the pin absently. “It was difficult, and I learned much about the craft of hiding my identity as I searched you out. But much became clear, when I finally pieced together your identity.” She met Anne Marie’s gaze. “And that of your late, unlamented husband.”

Hesitating, she returned the pin to her lapel. “There are many such men in the world, are there not? Men who make use of their wealth and position to abuse our sex?” Her attention returned to Anne Marie. “Only by teaching them fear, may we be free of fear ourselves.”
 
Anne Marie snorted briefly as Rose listed off all of the ideologies she supposedly supported, as she pretended to know the true motivation to her crimes. A less disciplined woman might have even rolled her eyes. All the time a smirk played at the corner of her lip as Rose drew all the wrong conclusions. Even so, the meeting was enlightening; she had been sloppy, enough that someone with more dedication and resources than the police had been able to put it together in a few scant years. She would have to be more careful in the future, lest she be forced to retire altogether.

"Well, I hate to disappoint you, Mademoiselle," she said with a heavy sigh, "but I am afraid you've put two and two together and come up with five. I loved my husband, and he was tragically taken from me by heart attack." Anne Marie shrugged. "I know the rumors swirl, but those are the facts.

Hesitating, Rose returned the pin to her lapel. "There are many such men in the world, are there not? Men who make use of their wealth and position to abuse our sex?" Her attention returned to Anne Marie. "Only by teaching them fear, may we be free of fear ourselves."

She shook her head. "My dear girl." Her voice was heavy with sympathy. "The victims of this Fleuriste, you cannot know what they were like in person. If she appears to support and oppose so many ideologies, have you considered perhaps the simplest answer? She is not an idealist but a pragmatist; it seems to me that such unconnected deaths would mean that Madame La Fleuriste is simply an assassin, paid to take the lives of those found to be politically inconvenient." Madame LaMonte shrugged. "I promise you I shall not tell the police of this meeting, but I am not your messiah."
 
Rose’s expression fell, twisted, hardened. “We... misjudged you,” she murmured. “Terribly. And... it would be unjust to resent you for failing to be something you never were.”

After a moment, she straining ghtened her back and met Anne Marie’s gaze. “I am an idealist, Madame. But I am also a pragmatist. We - the Jardin Vaux-le-Vicomte - shall continue our mission. Madame Fleurista may once have been a common murderer, but she will go down in history as something more.”

She tried a smile. It died. “I appreciate your promise that you will not inform the police if this action. Neither shall we, Madame. But I implore you, if you will not join us then do not make yourself our enemy. Stay in retirement.”
 
“We... misjudged you,” Rose murmured. “Terribly. And... it would be unjust to resent you for failing to be something you never were.”

"I should dare say so," Anne Marie agreed tacitly, chin held high. Then the girl straightened her back and had the gall to call her a common murderer. "My dear, Madame la Fleuriste is anything but a common murderer. You cheapen her kills with your own, amateurish style and gratuitous numbers; just because she does not support your ideals--the ideals you assigned to her without knowledge or thought, little more than self-centered projection--does not make her common."

Rose tried a smile. It died. "I appreciate your promise that you will not inform the police of this action. Neither shall we, Madame. But I implore you, if you will not join us then do not make yourself our enemy. Stay in retirement."

At this she actually barked a laugh. "My dear child," she purred, "who ever said I was retired? There is a finesse to these things, and I am not frightened of a gaggle of school girls playing in a flower garden. Stick to your suffrage marches and your flagrant screwing of other women's husbands for your empowerment, Mademoiselle. Murder does not suit you. Any of you."
 
“I do not ask you to be afraid,” Rose answered, fire flashing in her eyes. “But make no mistake, Madame - the Jardin Vaux-le-Vicomte is not a band of dilettante suffragettes. We are an army of liberation, for all that we operate from the shadows, and we will remake this world.”

Stepping back, she withdrew the enamel pin from her lapel and twirled it in her fingers. Then, looking Anne Marie in the eyes, she threw it to the ground. “What a pity,” she sighed. “To learn one’s hero is nothing but a common murderer. But I suppose one must lose one’s illusions in order to grow up.”

Turning on her heel, she stride away. “Unless you repent, do not seek us out,” she said, not looking back. “You will not find us.”
 
Anne Marie picked up the pin carefully, holding it where Rose had and not daring to unglove her hands. If the original poison didn't linger, it was possible that the impostors had re-impregnated it at some strategic point as a trap. Nevertheless, poison or no, it had been kept incredibly sharp.

"Mademoiselle!" Madame la Fleuriste's stomach churned as she jogged in the thick gravel to catch up with Rose, who hadn't quite disappeared around the corner yet. It was undignified, but she had to humble herself somehow. She took her arm and strolled with her around the pond, looking for all the world as though they were the closest of companions. "I have been too quick to judge you. Too harsh. Please accept my apologies. You and your soeurs d'arms, you are fighting for a noble cause and though we might disagree upon practice, in principle we are allies non?" She smiled and stopped to face Rose. "Let us be allies if not friends. I...really I am not getting any younger, and your generation is coming into their own. Please do feel free to call upon me whenever you feel the need." She leaned in to kiss the girls cheek, then glanced over her shoulder. "But I am afraid my companions will begin to miss me. Bon soir for now." She kissed the other cheek and was gone.

"Walk. Now. Quickly." Anne Marie looped her arm with Samantha's as she passed, pulling the Ranger and her husband along. "No, not that quickly. I will debrief you all when the others return this afternoon."

Nevertheless, poison or no, the pin had been kept incredibly sharp. Sharp enough that a victim might not know that they had been struck until it was too late. Without knowing whether the pin was poisoned Madame LaMonte had had no choice but to get in close, and although Mademoiselle Rose might feel the decorative enamel head of a pin under her arm as she lowered it, it was too late. It had been slipped between her ribs as they walked and punctured her lung. Madame la Fleuriste had claimed a rare female victim.
 
From his place at his easel, Professor Swift watched the interaction between the two women. He was too far away to hear the spoken words, but he could see the anger in Anne Marie’s posture. She was sufficiently skilled to conceal it from any ordinary observer - from most extraordinary observers, for that matter - but he could see it. And it boded I’ll.

“Remain calm, Anne Marie,” he breathed, continuing to sketch. “Remain calm, and...”

And Anne Marie caught up with the faux Madame Fleurista. Caught up with her, and kissed her on the cheek. Then she hustled away, collecting Erik and Samantha as she went.

A moment later, the faux Madame Fleurista sagged onto a bench. As he watched, her head dropped. She could easily be asleep.

“Fuck me dead,” he breathed, stuffing his pencil into his artists bag. “She’s started a war.”

-*-

Samantha climbed into the car, letting Erik take the wheel. “Ah know y’gonna brief us all when we all get back,” she said, surreptitiously checking the sawed-off shotgun she’d stashed under the seat. “But Ah also know you jes’ well enough to know somethin’ went wrong.”

The shotgun was loaded. So she opened her coat as Erik pulled the car into traffic. “So gimme somethin’ ta go on, Anne Marie. Am Ah gonna hafta kill someone in th’ middle o’ Paris? Or several someones?”
 
"Schatze we've talked about gunshot-related hearing loss," Erik reminded her from the driver's seat, glancing over at his wife as he navigated carefully through the Parisian streets. "Mein gott especially from that!" After being married to a woman like Sam, a man tended to get to know the profile of various weapons from his peripheral vision.

Anne Marie shook her head and waved off both of their concerns as she sagged somewhat in the back seat. "No one is pursuing us. Yet," she reassured them. "But we needed to leave before someone called the gendarmerie or recognized any of us." Mostly her. "Now please do put that down before somebody sees you." Or worse, her.

~*~

"Mademoiselle Rose, as she called herself," Madame LaMonte said as they took tea in the library, "threatened to expose our rouse. Clever as our bait was, it was apparently still obvious that it was bait." She winced as her spoon scraped against the porcelain of the bottom of her cup; it was something she had never done in all of Professor Swift's years of knowing her, unless she was sufficiently distracted. Similarly the spoon moved both clockwise and widdershins in a distracted sort of pattern, when all her life she only ever stirred anything clockwise. She was sufficiently distracted by concentration on her own lies to have not paid much attention to either. "We all would have been brought up on charges of assassinating monsieur le presidente. I would have been charged with treason; the rest of you, sedition, perhaps terrorism for all of us. I had no choice but to neutralize her."

"Yeah but in public though?" Kieran had been the last to arrive, along with Colin, and they still sat in their disguises, smelling of a morning of yardwork. Captain Drake was polite enough to sit on the edge of one of the sofas, but the pirate held no such manners. "What if someone had seen?"

"My dear Captain Shane you cut me to the quick." There was a touch of the sardonic in her voice. "When have you ever known me to be caught in the act of assassination?"

"Er..."

"Precisely. Any other concerns?" It was part genuine question, part challenge as she sipped her tea, then winced. She peered at it, frowned, and set it aside. "Trahi par ma propre palais..." she muttered sadly.

Erik raised his hand briefly. "Shall we turn your home into a fortress then, Madame?" he asked with a sarcastic note of his own. "We do not know their true numbers, nor who they are. They, on the other hand, know precisely who you are, where you live, and how best to get into your home."
 
“Ah reckon makin’ a fortress outta this house wouldn’t work nohow,” Sam remarked.

Algernon, who had been silent until this point, raised an eyebrow. “Explain.”

Sam settled back into the couch, crossing one leg over the other. “Well, Ah don’t know much ‘bout assassination, but Ah do know a bit ‘bout tactics. An’ Ah reckon we ain’t lookin’ at no siege. Don’t rightly seem like the thing assassins do.” She gestured at Anne Marie. “Secrecy an’ subtlety, right? An’ this here group likes to sneak in by seducin’ their target an’ catchin’ wit’ their pants down.”

Colin snorted with amusement, and Sam smiled at that. “So. Our first line o’ defense would be not bringing anyone into th’ house that ain’t been vetted.” She gave Algernon a long look. “An’ Ah reckon you an’ Anne got ways o’ vettin’ people, ain’t you?”

“Indeed,” Algernon replied. “But what if they enter by stealth, seeking to take one of us unawares? Or if they suborn the staff?”

“Ain’t no different from any other risk a wealthy woman takes,” Sam said with a shrug. “Y’all got any worries ‘bout th’ loyalty o’ yer staff?”
 
"Mais non," Anne Marie replied firmly. "You do have a point about the amount of risk I take in my staff, but I have spent many years carefully curating a staff I can absolutely trust."

"Low turnover then?" Erik asked curiously. He has always had live-in help, of course, but with the exception of one or two devoted, lifelong servants most didn't last more than five years. It was, he had to admit, largely because of his mother, but he had a sneaking suspicion that Madame LaMonte's standards were just as high if not higher.

"Of course," she answered smoothly. "I pay them generous compensation, allow two days off per week, and try to keep my personal demands within reason. Then of course they also largely have the run of the place--within reason of course--while I am not in town. Recommendations of employment for spouses and children, lodgings in the servants quarters for them and their family if they've none of their own though I certainly do not require it..."

He raised his eyebrows at her shockingly liberal terms of employment. "Goodness..."

She smiled. "When a servant leaves my employ, Herr Heinz-Schmidt, it is never by their own choice. And I do occasionally test their loyalty to me, without their realizing. I trust my staff absolument. I cannot afford not to."
 
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