Page 53 of My Gentleman Spy
“Come now, let your brother get settled in and then you can tease him all you wish. He is not going anywhere,” saidCharles.
Will noted the happy pitch in his father's voice. It was good to be home and among family oncemore.
In his room, just down the hall from his old room, Will emptied the contents of his satchel and placed them on his dresser. As he closed the dresser drawer, his gaze settled on thewall.
The same familiar wallpaper covered the walls of the room. Red, white, and blue stripes covered most of the pattern. In between there was a stripe with a red rose and goldfleur de lisintertwined. It signified the union of the Scottish house of Strathmore and that of the FrenchAlexandre.
Charles Alexandre, had changed his family name to Saunders not long after the bloodletting ofthe terrorhad started in his home region of the Vendee. His father, Francois, had been an early and vigorous supporter of the French Revolution. Then seeing the madness which eventually gripped his beloved nation at the hands of Robespierre during his murderous rule Francois returned to being a royalist. Following the Battle of Savenay which saw the uprising in the Vendee brutally crushed, Francois Alexandre had met his end under the blade of theguillotine.
After the violent death of his father, Charles turned his back on his country and became as English as he could. It was the English born and raised Will who eventually succumbed to the pull of Mother France and vowed to help rid her of yet another tyrant inNapoleon.
Outside in the street Will could hear the cry of the street sellers. It was odd to hear the sound of an east London accent outside the window. He was home, but forever a part of his heart would remain inParis.
Earlier that morning he taken a stroll down Duke Street, and stopped at the nearest pie shop. The shopkeeper had given him a disapproving look when Will replied to his morning greeting with a politebonjour. So, ingrained in the ways of French life, Will still often found himself thinking in his father’s mothertongue.
Crossing to the window he looked down into the street. Wide and with well-maintained stone flagging, Dover Street was most unlike the tiny, narrow Parisian streets he knew so well. The houses had been so tightly packed together, a sure-footed man, or woman in Yvette’s case, could pass undetected over the roof tops. Many a time they had done just that to avoid the regular street patrols of the Frencharmy.
He was eager to see the rest of his family, sure in the knowledge that a few days at home would help to settle his mind. Bat had assured him that during that time he would make subtle enquiries as to the whereabouts of HattieWright.
“She let enough provable facts slip into her story, that we just need to follow the trail of breadcrumbs to find her,” his cousin reassuredhim.
