Returning to the inn with a cart in tow full of fabric and bottles of wine, she rushed inside to summon the men. “Gentlemen. Let us make haste, empty my cart, and take everything up to our room, shall we?”

As quickly as they could, they changed clothing in their room and reassembled again on the street. Each person dressed in black, with a red-, white-, and blue-striped band tied to their upper arm, the tricolor cockade stitched in the center. Many of them carried bottles of the cheap wine.

All were prepared for whatever may come. They knew the league did not leave its own. They would remain in France doing all they could until Andrew was once again among their number.

As they neared the home, their voices became louder and more rowdy; they punched each other and swayed back and forth. By the time they had approached the door of the house, flickering light illuminated the front window. A man came to the door and cracked it open. His voice demanded, “Who goes there? What do you want?”

Scarlet held her breath, watching from the shadows.

The largest of their number, Morgan, grumbled, “Here with reinforcements. Now open the door.”

The man inside hesitated and then said, “What reinforcements? I was not informed.”

Morgan said, “Well now, whose problem is that? We’re all here and with wine to share. Are you going to let us in, or should we march all the way back to Robespierre himself only to be told to come back to you again?”

A few of the other men took to grumbling. “Come on now! Let us in.”

The door opened wider. “You can stay right where you are, but I’ll take the wine, first thing.” He waved to the men behind him and they stepped out into the night, assuming wine bottles from the closest men.

Morgan said in a half whisper, “There’s talk of the Pimpernel attempting a rescue. The man inside is his particular friend.”

The guard’s eyes opened wide.

“I would think you’d be grateful for extra numbers guarding your prisoner tonight.” Morgan looked up and down the street into the dark.

The guard also looked out into the street, scanned his eyes quickly over the men, and then shrugged and held the door open wider. “You have more wine, you say?”

Morgan said, “That’s the spirit! Wine we have, gentlemen. It’s going to be a fine night after all.”

The men laughed and pounded each other on the back as they entered.

Scarlet breathed a sigh as she watched each of her league members. If all went well, the rescue would be swift and quiet. She crept away, work yet to be finished. The gentlemen would soon be guests in the Paris home of Lady Scarlet Cavendish, emissary to France, at the soiree planned for the next evening.

Chapter Eleven