advent calendar fic: day 07
an ocean and a river between
Pink Carnation Series | Jane Wooliston, Miss Gwen, Jane Wooliston/Jack Reid | 1,502 words
Happy Holidays, empressearwig!
After Gaston Delaroche fell into the hands of the British, the French government wasted no time in appointing a new Assistant Minister of Police. His name was Antoine Gérard, and although he was an unknown quantity at first, word quickly traveled through the underground that he had been a spy in the British Army in India and that he had been brought to Paris for some greater purpose.
This news worried Jane Wooliston. Gaston Delaroche may have been an enemy, but at least he was a known quantity. Better the enemy that you know, after all.
Then there was the matter of this greater purpose and what that could possibly mean. Another attempt to invade through Ireland? Another plot to overthrow the British Royal Family? No, after giving all of the other options due consideration, Jane concluded that the most likely answer was that this plan somehow involved India. There must have been a reason the French hand-selected Gérard for the job when there were several in-house options who would have suited.
In light of this, Jane found herself turning to a new ally, a new agent who called himself Moonflower.
---
Several months passed, and Jane monitored the situation with Gérard closely. Miss Gwen was getting impatient, finally threatening to “march straight down there and take care of him myself, if I have to” and tapping her umbrella emphatically against the ground as she spoke.
“We can’t just march down there,” Jane said definitively. “We have to have a plan first.”
“Then let’s make a plan!” Miss Gwen insisted. “Let’s get ourselves some disguises and go search his office.”
Jane smiled knowingly. “I already have,” she said. “I went over yesterday afternoon while you were working on that passage for your novel. Gérard is a lot smarter than his predecessor, but I still managed to find his hiding place.”
Miss Gwen was so excited that she forgot to tsk and glare disapprovingly at Jane for going in alone.
“What did you find!?”
Jane sighed, her expression serious and solemn. “It is as we feared. There will be several plots in India to weaken the Army and leave us more vulnerable to invasion.”
“We cannot be in two places at once.” Miss Gwen frowned. “How can we stop whatever is happening in India from here?”
“We can’t do it ourselves,” Jane agreed. “I have enlisted the services of an agent there. He is in Paris at present on other business, but I am meeting him to discuss our future plans.”
“Is that wise?” Miss Gwen asked.
“I won’t know until I meet with him,” Jane said directly. “But I don’t think I have a choice.”
---
There was a party put on in Gérard’s honor a few nights later, and Jane and Miss Gwen accepted their invitations with the idea of observing the man in action. They had mastered disguises of all sorts in the almost two years working as the Pink Carnation, but when it came to French social events, they always attended in their most useful disguise to date -- themselves.
“These events always provide me with excellent material for my novel!” Miss Gwen whispered discretely as they arrived.
“Let’s hope that is not the only thing we get out of tonight,” Jane said cautiously, scanning the main ballroom with a careful eye. She spotted Antoine Gérard in the center of the room, surrounded by a large group of government officials.
“Hmph!” Miss Gwen cried indignantly, clearly still thinking of her novel. “While we’re here, we may as well make the best of it.”
However, Jane was not listening. She was preoccupied in observing the party guests, searching out new faces or anyone who appeared out of place. She was, at this point, well versed in the regular guest list at such events, and she intended to put that knowledge to good use.
“Over there,” Jane nodded to the refreshments, where she spotted two men she did not recognize in hushed conversation with one of Edouard’s neighbors. “Let’s go get some champagne.”
---
“Miss Wooliston! Miss Meadows!” Edouard’s neighbor, a slightly older man with graying hair named Monsieur Thierry, had spotted them as they retrieved their drinks, which was exactly the outcome for which Jane had been hoping. He bowed politely at them as they approached the group. “Allow me to introduce you to an old friend and his guest! This is Monsieur Claude Dupont,” Thierry indicated the elder of the two. “And this is his guest, Monsieur Jacques Renier, who will be with us for a few weeks on business.”
The name caught Jane’s attention, and from the slight cough Miss Gwen muffled with one hand, it did not go unnoticed by her either. Renier was the name given to Jane by her contact at the War Office -- the alias of the operative known as Moonflower.
Fortunately, both women were well-trained in the practice of maintaining a neutral expression. They easily exchanged pleasantries and hid their surprise.
“We were just discussing those pesky English flowers,” Thierry exclaimed. Bless him, he quite frequently forgot that his neighbor’s cousin and her companion were in fact British. “Since Gérard took over as Assistant Minister of Police, no one has heard anything of that Pink Carnation.”
“It is certainly a relief to all of us,” Dupont agreed. “Good riddance!”
The man called Renier contorted his face with some effort. “He may be biding his time,” he remarked dryly with one eyebrow raised. “‘Those pesky English flowers’ seem to have a habit of coming back when you least expect it.”
Jane remained silent, but Miss Gwen couldn’t help but add a quick cluck of agreement.
“I suppose you’re right,” Thierry relented. “But it is only a matter of time. We’ve caught all the others.”
A quick, knowing look passed between Jane and Miss Gwen. Men did always seem to underestimate them.
It was a rather useful fact of life.
---
“Monsieur Renier!”
Jane noticed him the moment she stepped into the bookshop the next day for their prearranged meeting. She had reviewed the information sent to her by the War Office, and she now knew that Jacques Renier, code name Moonflower, was none other than Jack Reid, son of Colonel William Reid. Because his mother was not English, he had not been permitted to enlist in the Army himself. Suspected of treason on more than one occasion, Reid was actually working as a double agent.
“Miss Wooliston,” he nodded politely in greeting.
He appeared more natural here than he had at the party the evening before. Jane suspected he was not a man who was used to formal social events, and might be more comfortable roaming the countryside than here in Paris.
“What brings you here this afternoon?” Jane asked pleasantly. To any casual observer, there would be nothing suspicious about their conversation.
In fact, even Reid himself did not seem to realize what she was asking him.
“Looking for a gift for my sister,” he explained casually, sticking to the prearranged story that worked as both code and cover.
“You wouldn’t happen to be looking for a book of poetry?” Jane asked, and this time, her tone was more pointed.
“Poetry?” Reid repeated slowly. “I don’t think...”
“Yes,” she interrupted. “You do. Poetry.”
He frowned.
“I believe the very book you want is at the end of the third shelf on the right.”
When her words sunk in, he could not hide the surprise that was evident on his face, and Jane smiled triumphantly. Jack Reid was not someone who could be easily fooled; carelessness and inattention to detail were not luxuries he could afford. Obediently, he retrieved the book in question from the shelf and purchased it from the shopkeeper. When he returned to where she was standing, he had recovered his composure well enough.
He glanced around quickly and determined no one else was close enough to hear him if he whispered.
“The Pink Carnation?” he asked quietly. Then, just to be sure, “It’s you?”
“Of course,” she answered succinctly. She held out the small bauble that she usually wore around her neck.
“Well then,” he said, fingering the bauble quickly before returning it to her. Unlike the handful of other men who happened to know the truth about her, he seemed to have no trouble accepting it as fact. A wry smile played on his lips, and Jane saw that he could be quite charming when he put his mind to it. “That puts a few things in perspective.”
“Yes, I suppose it does.”
He offered his arm to her. “Shall we get on with it?”
“Yes,” she agreed. “I think we shall. Would you be so kind as to escort me home, Monsieur?”
“Of course.”
And arm in arm, they walked out the door and into the cool Paris afternoon. They took the scenic route back to the house.
---
If the French had only known then what had been right within their grasp.
This was only the beginning.
Pink Carnation Series | Jane Wooliston, Miss Gwen, Jane Wooliston/Jack Reid | 1,502 words
Happy Holidays, empressearwig!
After Gaston Delaroche fell into the hands of the British, the French government wasted no time in appointing a new Assistant Minister of Police. His name was Antoine Gérard, and although he was an unknown quantity at first, word quickly traveled through the underground that he had been a spy in the British Army in India and that he had been brought to Paris for some greater purpose.
This news worried Jane Wooliston. Gaston Delaroche may have been an enemy, but at least he was a known quantity. Better the enemy that you know, after all.
Then there was the matter of this greater purpose and what that could possibly mean. Another attempt to invade through Ireland? Another plot to overthrow the British Royal Family? No, after giving all of the other options due consideration, Jane concluded that the most likely answer was that this plan somehow involved India. There must have been a reason the French hand-selected Gérard for the job when there were several in-house options who would have suited.
In light of this, Jane found herself turning to a new ally, a new agent who called himself Moonflower.
---
Several months passed, and Jane monitored the situation with Gérard closely. Miss Gwen was getting impatient, finally threatening to “march straight down there and take care of him myself, if I have to” and tapping her umbrella emphatically against the ground as she spoke.
“We can’t just march down there,” Jane said definitively. “We have to have a plan first.”
“Then let’s make a plan!” Miss Gwen insisted. “Let’s get ourselves some disguises and go search his office.”
Jane smiled knowingly. “I already have,” she said. “I went over yesterday afternoon while you were working on that passage for your novel. Gérard is a lot smarter than his predecessor, but I still managed to find his hiding place.”
Miss Gwen was so excited that she forgot to tsk and glare disapprovingly at Jane for going in alone.
“What did you find!?”
Jane sighed, her expression serious and solemn. “It is as we feared. There will be several plots in India to weaken the Army and leave us more vulnerable to invasion.”
“We cannot be in two places at once.” Miss Gwen frowned. “How can we stop whatever is happening in India from here?”
“We can’t do it ourselves,” Jane agreed. “I have enlisted the services of an agent there. He is in Paris at present on other business, but I am meeting him to discuss our future plans.”
“Is that wise?” Miss Gwen asked.
“I won’t know until I meet with him,” Jane said directly. “But I don’t think I have a choice.”
---
There was a party put on in Gérard’s honor a few nights later, and Jane and Miss Gwen accepted their invitations with the idea of observing the man in action. They had mastered disguises of all sorts in the almost two years working as the Pink Carnation, but when it came to French social events, they always attended in their most useful disguise to date -- themselves.
“These events always provide me with excellent material for my novel!” Miss Gwen whispered discretely as they arrived.
“Let’s hope that is not the only thing we get out of tonight,” Jane said cautiously, scanning the main ballroom with a careful eye. She spotted Antoine Gérard in the center of the room, surrounded by a large group of government officials.
“Hmph!” Miss Gwen cried indignantly, clearly still thinking of her novel. “While we’re here, we may as well make the best of it.”
However, Jane was not listening. She was preoccupied in observing the party guests, searching out new faces or anyone who appeared out of place. She was, at this point, well versed in the regular guest list at such events, and she intended to put that knowledge to good use.
“Over there,” Jane nodded to the refreshments, where she spotted two men she did not recognize in hushed conversation with one of Edouard’s neighbors. “Let’s go get some champagne.”
---
“Miss Wooliston! Miss Meadows!” Edouard’s neighbor, a slightly older man with graying hair named Monsieur Thierry, had spotted them as they retrieved their drinks, which was exactly the outcome for which Jane had been hoping. He bowed politely at them as they approached the group. “Allow me to introduce you to an old friend and his guest! This is Monsieur Claude Dupont,” Thierry indicated the elder of the two. “And this is his guest, Monsieur Jacques Renier, who will be with us for a few weeks on business.”
The name caught Jane’s attention, and from the slight cough Miss Gwen muffled with one hand, it did not go unnoticed by her either. Renier was the name given to Jane by her contact at the War Office -- the alias of the operative known as Moonflower.
Fortunately, both women were well-trained in the practice of maintaining a neutral expression. They easily exchanged pleasantries and hid their surprise.
“We were just discussing those pesky English flowers,” Thierry exclaimed. Bless him, he quite frequently forgot that his neighbor’s cousin and her companion were in fact British. “Since Gérard took over as Assistant Minister of Police, no one has heard anything of that Pink Carnation.”
“It is certainly a relief to all of us,” Dupont agreed. “Good riddance!”
The man called Renier contorted his face with some effort. “He may be biding his time,” he remarked dryly with one eyebrow raised. “‘Those pesky English flowers’ seem to have a habit of coming back when you least expect it.”
Jane remained silent, but Miss Gwen couldn’t help but add a quick cluck of agreement.
“I suppose you’re right,” Thierry relented. “But it is only a matter of time. We’ve caught all the others.”
A quick, knowing look passed between Jane and Miss Gwen. Men did always seem to underestimate them.
It was a rather useful fact of life.
---
“Monsieur Renier!”
Jane noticed him the moment she stepped into the bookshop the next day for their prearranged meeting. She had reviewed the information sent to her by the War Office, and she now knew that Jacques Renier, code name Moonflower, was none other than Jack Reid, son of Colonel William Reid. Because his mother was not English, he had not been permitted to enlist in the Army himself. Suspected of treason on more than one occasion, Reid was actually working as a double agent.
“Miss Wooliston,” he nodded politely in greeting.
He appeared more natural here than he had at the party the evening before. Jane suspected he was not a man who was used to formal social events, and might be more comfortable roaming the countryside than here in Paris.
“What brings you here this afternoon?” Jane asked pleasantly. To any casual observer, there would be nothing suspicious about their conversation.
In fact, even Reid himself did not seem to realize what she was asking him.
“Looking for a gift for my sister,” he explained casually, sticking to the prearranged story that worked as both code and cover.
“You wouldn’t happen to be looking for a book of poetry?” Jane asked, and this time, her tone was more pointed.
“Poetry?” Reid repeated slowly. “I don’t think...”
“Yes,” she interrupted. “You do. Poetry.”
He frowned.
“I believe the very book you want is at the end of the third shelf on the right.”
When her words sunk in, he could not hide the surprise that was evident on his face, and Jane smiled triumphantly. Jack Reid was not someone who could be easily fooled; carelessness and inattention to detail were not luxuries he could afford. Obediently, he retrieved the book in question from the shelf and purchased it from the shopkeeper. When he returned to where she was standing, he had recovered his composure well enough.
He glanced around quickly and determined no one else was close enough to hear him if he whispered.
“The Pink Carnation?” he asked quietly. Then, just to be sure, “It’s you?”
“Of course,” she answered succinctly. She held out the small bauble that she usually wore around her neck.
“Well then,” he said, fingering the bauble quickly before returning it to her. Unlike the handful of other men who happened to know the truth about her, he seemed to have no trouble accepting it as fact. A wry smile played on his lips, and Jane saw that he could be quite charming when he put his mind to it. “That puts a few things in perspective.”
“Yes, I suppose it does.”
He offered his arm to her. “Shall we get on with it?”
“Yes,” she agreed. “I think we shall. Would you be so kind as to escort me home, Monsieur?”
“Of course.”
And arm in arm, they walked out the door and into the cool Paris afternoon. They took the scenic route back to the house.
---
If the French had only known then what had been right within their grasp.
This was only the beginning.