Beckwith Castle

Well of course. Blanchard grinned and shuffled aside to give Clouet more space to sit. "Blanchard," he said, taking the offered hand. "I'd be most happy to fill whichever role you are most in need of!"

"Well in that case," another man piped up, leaning back in his chair to speak at Blanchard's shoulder, "Perhaps you could play Lady Isabelle Allerton. You'd make a fine Lady Isabelle, I'm certain."

Daubigny's mouth twitched. "Or a shepherdess."

"Splendid, splendid!" Blanchard declared, delighted at being thought suitable. "I shall perform any role with absolute pleasure, sir."

Clouet looked down at his bowl. "Are you finished? Then you should come downstairs and we'll get you fitted right up! A script of your speeches, and a costume for my lady. And you, sir? Will you be acting with us?" He looked questioningly at Daubigny.

"Oh, no, not I - but I shall be glad to assist Lieutenant Blanchard with his dress," he replied with a sober nod. He smiled apologetically to Dégreville as he rose and said, "Thank you, sir, for an enjoyable supper. Good evening to you."

Dégreville nodded in return, the sarcastic smile returning to his lips.

"Good evening. And I wish your friend luck with his panniers."

"With his...? Oh, I see!" Daubigny shook his head and hoped fervently that they would have forgotten about pressing him for a shepherdess. He watched as the man Clouet began leading Blanchard to the door. "Have you seen these theatricals before? Do people from the village come to watch? They all seem very, well, enthusiastic about the prospect."

"My dear sir," Dégreville's smile stretched and he raised an eyebrow. "There is very little to be enthusiastic hereabouts at the best of times, and the villagers are our stock audience, who inform me that the plays are always of great interest."

He waved his hand airily.

"Now run along and make sure your friend is kept away from the rouge pot."

Daubigny grinned with genuine amusement and gave a mock salute. "Aye, sir. Good evening." And he hurried down the stairs following after the sound of a pair of men singing.

"Splendid," Blanchard repeated, allowing himself to be led away. A few minutes later, he found himself being fussed over by the play's costumer and being given papers containing the play's script.

His naval friend was more interested in talking about logistics. "When you have these... performances, the public comes to watch? Where do you perform? How do they get in and out? Are the performances done at night or during the day?"

Dégreville smiled as the two new members to his flock disappeared with the thespians. A stupid folly, he reflected coldly, spooning the last of his porridge into his mouth and then delicately wiping his lips with his handkerchief, but as long as it kept them amused...

"Gentlemen," he said, rising from the table. "I thank you for your excellent company at table - your conversation, as ever, sparkled. And I hope also that you will treat my new friends with as much warmth and affection you display to my humble self."

He smiled again at the sullen-looking faces.

"Good evening."

He left the dining room by a separate door to the one which the others came in, and walked his way down a dimly-lit corridor. On a side table there was a candle and a tinderbox waited where he had arranged for them to be left, and he struck a light.

Continuing his way down the corridor, he look a left turn and came to a pair of ornate door. He extracted a key from his waistcoat pocket, fitted it to the lock and the mechanism moved with a satisying click. The handles were turned and one door pened.

And Dégreville smiled.

Because before him was the castle's library; a fire glowing cheerily in the grate, and a decanter of brandy on the low table next a very comfortable-looking armchair.