Lois & Clark Forums Forums Fan Fiction Lois & Clark Fanfic The Masked Avenger (16/46)

[Previously: Lavinia and Cedric have had a moment together, but what a moment! So much can be said with just an expression in the eyes, or a gesture of the hand! And, our Lavinia has noticed something interesting about Cedric ...]

*

Waiting until he had climbed the stairs and turned the corner, Cedric broke into a broad grin. He could still feel her small fingers lying across his own, could still see her smile in his mind's eye. He had noticed she had been attempting to capture his attention during the evening, but he had known it would be safer to say what he wanted to say under the cover and distraction of the tea tray's arrival. It meant he would be late meeting Jacques, but the memory of Lavinia's shy smile was worth any inconvenience.


* * *

"If you fight like this as the Masked Avenger," Jacques scolded, "it is a wonder that you have not yet been killed!" He put up his sword to glare exasperatedly at his pupil. "We might as well stop because whatever your head is thinking about, it cannot be the duelling."

They were in the tunnel, conducting an evening fencing practice, but it was not going quite as well as usual.

"I'm sorry ... truly," Cedric said, panting a bit from the recent effort. "I will try to do better," he added, with more confidence than he felt. He wasn't quite sure what the trouble was, but he had a feeling it wasn't because of the long journey home yesterday, nor was it because he was tired from his Avenger duties of the night before. Rather, he suspected his abstraction stemmed from memories of an all too distracting clandestine dance with a charming young lady. A dance he was thankful his mentor knew nothing about.

"Non," Jacques replied, "it grows late. We should return." Suiting action to his words, Jacques began to wipe down his blade in preparation for returning it to its sheath. "What is wrong, mon ami? You are tired, n'est-ce pas? Or your shoulder, it pains you still. Or, perhaps ...," he glanced back at Cedric, "it is the pretty demoiselle who distracts you, eh?"

Cedric was stunned! He had not thought Jacques knew of his attraction to Mademoiselle Lavinia. For a brief moment, he wondered if the man had somehow learned about the way he had lingered after dinner to kiss Lavinia's hand. "She does not distract me, Jacques!" he exclaimed, hoping that his friend wasn't going to pursue this particular line of questioning. "Don't be so foolish," he added, as he gathered his belongings in preparation for the return journey to his room.

"It is not I who is foolish, mon pauvre," Jacques observed morosely. "I am not the one who allowed himself to be pinked four times."

"'Twas not four times, you old scoundrel!" Cedric protested, incensed. Then he muttered, "'Twas only three."

Jacques shrugged. "Quatre... trois... it makes no difference. You would be just as dead."

Cedric could think of nothing to say to that, and so walked several paces in silence but, when he reached the steps leading up to the house he stopped. Jacques noted the slumped shoulders and the air of sadness around his young friend and waited, suddenly apprehensive, for what might come next.

With a sigh Cedric faced the older man, all thought of concealment gone. "I know that what you say is true. I have been distracted this evening. But I ... I can't help what I'm feeling, Jacques. Mademoiselle Lavinia is the one woman I've waited for all my life. I'm sure of it!"

Jacques had not realised his friend's emotions were quite so deeply engaged. There had been hints that Cedric's heart was not untouched, but Jacques had believed it was merely that Cedric had never had an opportunity to "fall in love" before, and that it would pass with time. This fervour of true love, however, could lead to complications. But then, he reflected, when did love not?

Cedric was continuing. "I shall never forget her courage the night I first saw her. Did it matter that she was outnumbered, or that her situation seemed hopeless? Non! She was ...! She was magnifique!"

He sat on the steps, gesturing for Jacques to sit next to him. For a moment or two he looked down at his hands as they lightly grasped his epee in its scabbard, while various memories coursed through his mind, warring with his current jumbled emotions for his attention. When he finally spoke, it was more to himself than to his companion. "As soon as I held her in my arms, I knew. It was unlike anything else I have ever felt. I cannot get her out of my thoughts, because ... because she is too much in my heart."

Jacques was silent for a moment, trying to decide what to say. When he did speak, there was great sympathy in his voice, even while he was trying to be firm. "I am afraid that you must try to remove her from your thoughts, mon ami. Have you forgotten that she is here as a guest of your uncle?"

Cedric shook his head. "No, I have not forgotten that. But we--"

Jacques interrupted him. "Every time I see them together, she is attending to him most closely! Perhaps they have grown closer while we were away--this we cannot yet know. What if she were to say to him, 'Cedric, he is different than he was' ... would your uncle then ignore this? There are dangers all around us, Cedric! We cannot even perceive them all, nor can we tell from where they might come. T-to be falling in love now! When one slip might mean--!

"I know all this! Do you think I have not told myself these same things?" He got up and began pacing in front of the steps, impatient with the situation and with the way this conversation was going. "I know there are dangers! But thus far we have suspicions only--no proof! No proof that my uncle is behind these crimes, and therefore no proof that Lavinia, or her father, may be a danger to our plans."

Jacques regarded him steadily, and held his attention as he quietly said, "You believed there was proof enough regarding your uncle before she came, mon petit, did you not?"

Cedric tried to hold the other man's gaze, but could not. "Oui, I did," was his sad response. He knew, as surely as he knew the sun would rise tomorrow, that his uncle was a criminal. There could be no other explanation for the amount of money which had been flowing in and out of Lucius' well-manicured fingers. In fact, Lucius, with his valet, Simms, as his second-in-command, had to be the driving force behind most, if not all, of the criminal activity since his return to Kentham. The only reason Cedric had not yet proven it was that none of the thieves captured so far had been willing, or able, to name the man behind the scenes. As the Masked Avenger he had questioned them all, or at least the conscious ones, but so far none had admitted to knowing anything.

"And now," Jacques added, "I have been hearing about a new man working in the stables. A man who keeps too much to himself and who doesn't wish to talk about his past, and I wonder ...."

Cedric was looking at him intently. "Do you think my uncle has hired another criminal to work here?"

Jacques shrugged. "Who can say?"

The younger man thought for a few moments, his eyes staring ahead, down the tunnel. "When did he arrive?"

"Two days after we left for the outlying farms; he came by The Mail, and walked here from the village. The other lads do not like him much, so I am told, but they admit that he does seem to know his job."

"Perhaps it is nothing then."

"Perhaps. But perhaps he is another who will soon be robbing coaches or breaking into houses. Perhaps, mon ami, he is even here to keep an eye on you, have you thought of that?"

That question served to snap Cedric out of his regret-induced lethargy. "Non! My uncle thinks of nothing but of how successful he has been in gaining control of my life. I do not believe that he is suspicious of me."

"Let us hope he is not, mon cher ami. For, if he learns that you are the one who has been interfering with his activities these past months, he would kill you where you stand."

"Yes, I know. It was a risk I accepted when I took on my dual role. I know of my uncle's cruelty, his heartlessness and his base desires, for I have seen them all plainly, in his cold, soulless eyes. And," he continued, his shoulders straight again, his face calm, "I know that Mademoiselle Lavinia is not like him, for I have gazed into her eyes, too. There is no evil there, no cruelty ... only courage, and truth and honour. No, she is not like my uncle. Of this much I am certain--not just in my heart, but in my soul as well."