The 'Avignon' Affair - Parts I - III

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I have been reminded that some folks don't go over to FF to read, so thought I would post this pre-Napoleon/Illya story here.  Really pre as in before they were even born *l*.  This one concerns young Alexander Waverly in the year 1912 - a year when a special assignment altered the course of his life & his world forever.

Part I - In the Beginning

As he entered the doors of the Foreign Office in Whitehall for the first time as a newly employed clerk, Alexander Waverly took a long look around at the bustle and hum of activity all around him. A faint smile formed. For a young man trying to get his start in the civil service, this was about as ideal of a beginning post as he could have hoped for. Kismet - just like the name of that new play he'd been treated to a showing of at the Garrick Theatre for his nineteenth birthday last year.

Kismet was a more appropriate word for that day in 1912 than Waverly knew at the time. Even as he entered the building, three highly placed men were trying to decide the fate of the twelve year old - a politically inconvenient twelve year old. One of the trio paced and glanced out of an office window and his eyes just happened to land on the newly arrived Waverly. Possibly not the perfect solution, but likely as perfect as a reasonable man could hope for.

Just as Waverly's superior walked over to take charge of his newest man, they were intercepted.

"Apologies from the front office, Mister Wescott. They've put in a request for Mister Waverly for an assignment."

The man offered his hand which Waverly took briefly.

"Andrew Harrison. Come along please. Front office hates to be kept waiting."

Wescott was clearly at a loss for words, so Waverly knew this was far outside of normal protocol, but he followed along behind the man. Up the stairs and into offices that Waverly hadn't imagined that he might have been able to get a look inside for another ten years or so. Three men were seated behind a thick oak table. None of them rose or even spoke. They just quietly studied the young clerk for several long moments.

Whatever it was - Waverly's appearance, the steady way that he stood waiting or something else entirely - the men obviously approved and the one in the center simply spoke two words.

"He'll do."

With no further explanation, Mister Harrison escorted him back out of the office and then down into the bowels of the building. As they walked, he began to be briefed on what was expected.

"You speak French passably, I trust?"

"Yes, sir. However, I have been told my accent speaks more of the countryside than the urban settings."

"That may be just as well. You are going to be entrusted with a special package that you are to deliver to the Abbaye de Notre-Dame de L'Annonciation near Avignon."

"Pardon me, sir, but that is a cloistered order, is it not?"

A side glance seemed to indicate that Harrison was impressed that Waverly knew that without being told, but didn't comment otherwise.

"Yes, but the nuns still communicate with the outside world through a grill. They remain in those closed doors until death. Very devote order."

"And the nature of this delivery, sir."

Harrison just gestured for Waverly to keep following. The hallway they turned down was devoid of others wandering through it and they came to a stop at a door that was featureless except for the lock which Harrison pulled out the key for. As the door swung open, two things immediately caught his attention. First, the room behind the door was a cell - a well-appointed cell that looked more like a better quality hotel room, but a cell nonetheless.

Second, the cell was occupied by the reed-thin figure of a girl dressed in pastel pink tones. What skin was visible was porcelain as if rarely out in even the limited London sunshine. Very pale blonde hair was done in thick sausage curls that hung along the back and sides of her heart-shaped face. The bangs were a bit overlong and hid her eyes for a moment until she swept the hair to the side and revealed the frostiest blue eyes he could ever remember seeing - all parts of the young lady that he guessed was likely to be around the age of twelve.

Those blue eyes were focused on Waverly now and he felt as if he were under even more intense scrutiny than the men in the offices above had fixed him with. He'd almost forgotten that Harrison was still there with them until the man spoke again.

"This is the package that you will be taking to Avignon."

Part II - Brothers and Sisters

As Harrison's words sank in, Waverly noted that, while the young lady looked at him in a studying fashion, she viewed Harrison with undisguised distain. Verbally, she had not made a single sound and he began to wonder if she was, perhaps, mute.

"Paperwork is being prepared as we speak. Your age is right, so you will be traveling as brother and sister. For the duration of your assignment, you will be answering to the name Alexander Kildare."

A smile quirked on the face of the young lady as he found her studying him again. It was almost as if he could read the thought behind that smile. He could hardly imagine a less likely looking pair of siblings himself. He was of the English type that his mother referred to as 'horsey', though in a fond fashion. Solid features. The young lady was more swan than horse.

"Mister Waverly, we'll need you to go pack a bag for yourself and be back within two hours. Of course, make sure not to pack anything with your name on it. We will have Millie ready to travel and you will be starting off by train this evening. If anyone needs to be aware of your absence, you may inform them that you will be gone for a week, but give no details. Not even the fact that you are leaving the country. Are we clear?"

"Yes, sir. Quite clear."

The young lady very deliberately turned her back on Harrison and paid no further attention to either of them as they departed and Harrison relocked the room. It seemed an extreme precaution, but Waverly didn't allow that thought to come through in either his words or his actions as he followed Harrison back up the stairs and then headed out to pack as ordered.

He neatly packed his case, then hesitated before opening another case. There were some pieces of jewelry in there – cuff links, rings and such. But one item was distinctly feminine. A delicate dragonfly curved to appear in flight - in silver with stones of such a pale blue that they were nearly clear. It was one of the mementos he had remaining from his mother and he recalled that the last time he had seen her wear it was on a trip to France. He slid it back into its silken protective pouch and then slipped it into his case along with his cufflinks.

He hadn't even used one of his two hours, so Waverly sat down to think. This assignment was peculiar in many ways. Obviously a delicate matter, so why would they entrust it to an unproven clerk? There was far more here than he had been told and the thought crossed his mind that they might be thinking of him as dispensable. Not a pleasant thought, but if he was dispensable, what of the young lady? Perhaps once they were away from the eyes and ears at the Foreign Office, she would open up and fill in some of the gaps of this story. There was a high degree of intelligence behind those icy blue eyes – of that much, he was certain. He was also fairly certain that the cloistered convent was not a choice that she had made for herself.

Getting back to his feet, Alexander opened another drawer and removed a small box his father had gifted to him. His father had done his share of time on the continent with the civil service and believed in the value of having a small blade or two. 'Handy for everything from cutting the string on a box to discouraging a thief.'

He didn't put them in his case though. Those he hid on his person before giving one last look around before leaving to inform his landlady that family business was calling him away suddenly and that he would be gone about a week. That done, he headed back to Whitehall.

As promised, Millie was ready to travel – or at least, she was dressed for travel and had her own case with her. Her blue eyes were no longer either icy or sharp though. If anything, they reminded him more of drooped violets. When Harrison came over to pass him their paperwork, he also handed Waverly a bottle that explained a great deal.

"Laudanum. Make use of it with her as needed. It should make traveling much easier for you. The packet contains your tickets and some cash for meals and other light needs. Use it sparingly. Good luck. The station is near enough that you should arrive in plenty of time if you walk there."

"Thank you, sir."

Taking the packet and tucking it away in his coat, Waverly then shook hands with Harrison before taking hold of Millie's arm to guide her along. He hid his disgust that she had been drugged until the two of them were far enough away that they wouldn't be overheard.

"Whether you can understand me or not, I do want to apologize for the treatment you've been put through, Millie."

"I am not an imbecile, Alex. I can understand you quite well, thank you."

His head swiveled at that and he found himself staring at the slightly bemused face. The eyes were brighter again. He decided not to question that at first and instead broached a safer topic.

"If we are to be spending a good bit of time together, 'sister dear', I am afraid I must inform you that I never have cared for being called Alex."

"How convenient. I despise the name Millie, so I believe we can come to an understanding. Shall we begin with proper introductions? Well, as proper as we can manage without benefit of a mutual acquaintance."

"Certainly. Alexander Reginald Waverly - at your service."

"A pleasure. And I am Millicent Victoria Kildare."

"Delighted to meet you. I apologize in advance for not calling you Miss Kildare, but I daresay that might seem a bit odd between a brother and sister. So, Millicent, then?"

"Millicent is perfect, Alexander. Thank you."

"Might I inquire - uhm ?"

"Oh. The laudanum? They tricked me with that at my mother's funeral. I should hope I have enough sense not to fall for the same trick twice."

"I am sorry to hear of you loss, Millicent. Was it - recent?"

"Just last week. The funeral was yesterday. Rather inconsiderate of them not to allow at least a minimal period of mourning. I wasn't even able to accompany the coffin to the graveside."

"Does seem thoughtlessly cruel. Just a minute."

Waverly ran over recent newspapers in his mind. He had long ago made it his habit to read the daily paper front to back. Then he took another longer look at the figure beside him.

"Good heavens. Are you Aglaya's daughter?"

The smile was a touch bittersweet, but she seemed pleased that he knew the name.

"That was mother's stage name, yes. And hence, the crux of the 'problem' I present."

"Because your mother was a Russian dancer?"

"No. Because that particular Russian dancer had a prince for an admirer. One with a reputation for a taste in beautiful women."

"I see. And he was your father?"

"I neither know nor care to know. Even if he were, I could hardly lay claim to anything, could I? Those Whitehall imbeciles won't believe that however. So? France it is."

Part III - Pacts

They boarded the train with plenty of time to spare and, for a few moments at least, they were the only ones in their section. With a glance around first to verify to her own satisfaction that no-one was near, Millicent leaned in just a bit closer to Waverly, speaking softly.

"Do feel free to consider me paranoid, Alexander, but please check our ticket packet, would you?"

Tugging the packet back out from his coat pocket, he opened in and looked. Funds - some in pounds, but most in francs. Identification for them both - his in the assumed name. Tickets for passage across the channel, tickets for a train to the Avignon region. Nothing else. Frowning, he searched through the packet again.

"They only gave you one-way passage, didn't they?"

He didn't answer her question. Instead, he gave her a long look.

"How old are you, Millicent?"

She gave him a look that could almost be called teasing.

"My own brother and you can't keep track of dates? For shame. And myself with the world's easiest birth date to keep track of. New Years Day, 1900."

"So you are twelve then?"

"For pity's sake, Alexander, don't say it like you would if I had the pox. I've traveled on the continent with my mother, have had tutors since I was three and I can speak in three languages quite well. I shan't be twelve forever, you know."

He held up a hand in mock surrender.

"I didn't mean it in that way. I meant it as a compliment. I haven't had a great deal of experience with twelve-year olds since I was one myself. And I don't recall my conversational skills and knowledge base as being on par with yours."

She sat back, seeming to consider that with a frown.

"I couldn't tell you how another twelve year old might act. I've never associated with other children. Mother raised me to be able to take care of myself. Perhaps she had an inkling of what would happen after her protector died."

"The one-way passage. You knew or guessed?"

"Educated guess, Alexander. My mother was not without her other admirers and she did not keep my existence a secret. If I were to disappear on British soil, there might be too many questions that might lead to too many embarrassing answers. However should I disappear in route to Avignon?"

"I see."

And, oddly enough, Waverly found that he actually did see. It was as if a section of his brain that had never been stimulated before had awoke to view the world through a whole new set of filters. He found the iced blue eyes studying him again.

"And if I were to disappear with you, even less chances of an embarrassing answer in the future."

"You don't seem to be cut from the same cloth as those others, Alexander. If you don't mind my saying, you seem to have both backbone and imagination. Which leads me to the question if you are going to cast your lot with them - or me? I may still end up a nameless corpse, but I plan to make a fight of it."

Waverly found himself smiling slightly at the sheer spunk of the girl.

"I daresay you will. And for now, I cast my lot with both."

That was plainly an answer she hadn't expected. MIllicent clasped her hands at her chest and rested her chin on them as she turned that thought over in her mind in silence.

"I do hate to admit defeat, Alexander, but I must. What do you have in mind?"

"We continue onward to Avignon as expected. Instead of trying to evade those that may be after you, we meet them head-on. But do remember that the advantage will be ours, Millicent."

"You mean because we will be expecting them?"

"More than that. They will be expecting to encounter an unaware young clerk escorting a drugged twelve-year old."

"I see. You mean that the odds are that they won't be expecting any resistance at all."

"Precisely. Between now and then, we need to pool our resources. Pact?"

Waverly offered her his hand and was pleased that she took it immediately. Then the weight of the responsibility settled onto his shoulders and he took a deep breath - only to find the blue eyes had warmed as if she seen what just happened. Perhaps she had - she was as fey a being as he had ever encountered. Far too old for her years. And, for the first time, what seemed to be a genuine smile formed on her face.

"I knew you were not like them, Alexander."

In the not so recent past, he might have viewed those words as an insult. Now he felt as if he had just received a benediction.