TW03 The Pimpernel Plot NEW (23 page)

As they entered the Fisherman’s Rest together with Ffoulkes and Dewhurst, Jellyband seemed to be everywhere at once bowing, wringing his hands anxiously, looking to their com fort and barking orders at his serving staff.

“Well,” said the comtesse, speaking English with a thick French accent, “I must admit, this is not quite the hovel I imagined it to be when I saw it from the outside. Still, I trust that we will not be remaining long?”

“Only long enough to have a bite to eat and arrange for a coach to London, Madame la Comtesse,” said Dewhurst.

“In that case, the sooner we can dine and be on our way, the better,” she said, haughtily. “We have been subjected to quite enough indignities. Please do not misunderstand, Lord Dewhurst; I am most grateful to you and this gallant Scarlet Pimpernel for delivering us from persecution. However, if I had to spend one more night in that frightful, smelly little shack, I think I would have gone quite mad.”

“It was not so bad, Mama,” Suzanne said, a bit embarrassed by her mother’s remark. “Anyway, all that is behind us now. We are in England! Soon we shall be meeting many others like ourselves, who have found new homes here.”

“Indeed,” the old woman said, adding another contemptuous sniff. “I am quite sure that it will not all be entirely uncivilized. Still, there is one recent emigre I hope that I shall never meet. Have you gentlemen ever heard of a woman named Marguerite St. Just?”

Dewhurst and Ffoulkes glanced at each other uneasily.

“Everyone in London knows Lady Blakeney,” said Andrew Ffoulkes. “She and Sir Percy are the leaders of London society. Everyone admires and respects her.”

“Well, I, for one, do not admire and respect her,” said the comtesse, stiffly. “What is more, if she is the type of person you enshrine in your society, I fear that I cannot say much good about it. We knew each other, once. She and my Suzanne attended school together. However, it seems that she preferred to learn her lessons at the hands of the Revolutionary tribunal. While our world was collapsing all around us, she helped to pull it down.”

“Really, I’m sure that Lady Blakeney—” Ffoulkes began but the comtesse interrupted him.

“Your Lady Blakeney was responsible for the death of the Marquis de St. Cyr. If you prefer to forget such things here in England, I can assure you that I recall them quite vividly. We are in England now and we are grateful for your English hospitality. We shall try not to abuse it. However, should I encounter Marguerite St. Just, I shall refuse to acknowledge her existence.”

Ffoulkes leaned close to Dewhurst and whispered in his ear. “This is a most unfortunate turn of events, Tony,” he said. “Lady Blakeney is due to arrive here at any moment. Percy’s ridden out to meet her coach.”

Dewhurst nodded. “With any luck, we can get them upstairs to refresh themselves and then try to head Percy off. It wouldn’t do to have—”

At that moment, a coach was heard pulling up outside. Seconds later, the door to the Fisherman’s Rest opened and Marguerite Blakeney entered.

“Lord, I’m famished!” she said. “The air in here smells quite delicious.” She saw the others and her eyes widened in surprise.

“Andrew! Tony! What a delightful surprise! And is that…? It is you, Suzanne! Whatever are you doing here in England?”

“Suzanne, I forbid you to speak to that woman,” said the comtesse, pointedly looking away from Marguerite.

For a moment, Marguerite looked both stunned and hurt by this rejection; but understanding quickly dawned and she recovered, albeit a bit shakily.

“Well! What bug bit you, I wonder?” she said, attempting to sound casual.

The young vicomte stood up, drawing himself up to appear as tall as he possibly could. “My mother clearly does not wish to speak with you, madame,” he said. “We have no desire to socialize with traitors!”

“See here, now,” Ffoulkes began, but at that moment, the door opened once again and Finn walked in, shaking the dust off of his coat.

“Begad, what have we here? “ he said, taking in the momentarily frozen tableau.

Marguerite smiled a bit crookedly. “Oh, nothing very serious, Percy,” she said, lightly, “only an insult to your wife’s honor.”

“Odd’s life, you don’t say!” said Finn. “Who would be so reckless as to take you on, my dear?”

The young vicomte approached him, taking a jaunty stance with his hand upon the pommel of his sword. “The lady is referring to my mother and myself, monsieur,” he said. “As any apology would be quite out of the question, I am prepared to offer you the usual reparation between men of honor.”

Finn stared down at the boy, putting a look of astonishment upon his face. “Good Lord! Where on earth did you learn to speak English? It’s really quite remarkable. I wish I could speak your language as well, but I’m afraid that the proper accent is quite beyond me!”

The lad looked at him with irritation. “I am still waiting for your reply, monsieur.”

Finn glanced at Ffoulkes and Dewhurst in a puzzled fashion. “My reply? What the devil is this young fellow talking about?”

“My sword, monsieur!” the vicomte said in exasperation. “I offer you my sword!”

“Begad,” said Finn, “what good is your sword to me? I never wear the damned things, they’re forever getting in the way and poking people. Damned nuisance, if you ask me.”

“I believe the young man means a duel, my husband,” Marguerite said.

“A duel! You don’t say! Really?”

“Yes, a duel, monsieur,” said the vicomte. “I am offering you satisfaction.”

“Well, I’d be quite satisfied if you went back to your table and sat down,” said Finn. “A duel, indeed! This is England, my dear chap, and we don’t spill blood quite so freely here as you Frenchies do across the water. Odd’s life, Ffoulkes, if this is an example of the type of goods you and that Pimpernel import, you’d be better to dump ‘em off mid-Channel. A duel, indeed! How perfectly ridiculous!”

Marguerite chuckled. “Look at them, Tony. The French bantam and the English turkey. It would appear that the English turkey has won the day.”

“You are wasting your time, young sir,” she said to the vicomte. “My husband, as you can see, is far too sensible a man to allow an insult to his wife to make him do anything so foolish as to risk life and limb in its defense.”

“Please let the matter drop, like a good fellow,” Dewhurst said to the vicomte, placatingly. “After all, fighting a duel on your first day in England would hardly be the proper way to make a start in your new homeland.”

Looking a bit taken aback, the vicomte looked from Finn to Dewhurst and then shrugged his shoulders. “Well, since monsieur seems disinclined to accept my offer, I will take it that honor has been satisfied.”

“You may take it any way you wish,” said Finn, with a wave of his handkerchief, “but take it over there somewhere. This whole incident has been frightfully annoying. It would be best for all if the entire matter were forgotten. Indeed, it’s already passed from my memory.”

“Come, children,” said the comtesse. “We have yet to reach our final destination and we would do well to take some rest.

We shall dine up in our rooms,” she said to Dewhurst, “where the atmosphere might be more congenial, although I daresay that it won’t be a great improvement.”

Suzanne was about to speak to Marguerite, but her mother spoke a sharp command and, with an embarrassed, apologetic look, Suzanne left the room to go upstairs.

“Well, I can’t say that I care much for her manner,” Marguerite said. “That was quite a narrow escape for you, Percy. For a moment, I actually believed that young man would attack you.”

“I daresay I would have given a good accounting of myself,” said Finn. “I’ve raised the fists in the ring with some success on a number of occasions, although brawling in a tavern would not be my idea of sport, you know.”

As they spoke, there were a number of other patrons in the Fisherman’s Rest, some of whose idea of sport was precisely that, they had been watching with some interest when it appeared that there might be an altercation between the young French aristocrat and the older English dandy. When the two would-be combatants disappointed them, they went back to their meat pies and ale, all except three men who sat on the far side of the room in a dark corner. These three all wore long cloaks and huddled together, as though in private conversation, although they did not speak. Instead, they listened very closely. One of them, his black hat with its wide brim pulled low over his eyes, nodded to himself with satisfaction. When the young vicomte came back downstairs briefly to tell Ffoulkes and Dewhurst that his mother was quite tired and had elected to stay the night and travel to London the next morning, he smiled to himself.

“Excellent,” he said softly, in French, to his two companions.

“It would seem that several opportunities are beginning to present themselves.”

One of his companions nodded. “If we strike tonight and strike quickly, we can seize the aristos and bring them back to Paris for their just desserts!”

“No, no, mon ami,” said the first man. “Put the de Tournays out of your mind. They no longer matter. We are after bigger game. Those two have proved my theory. I am convinced that this Scarlet Pimpernel is an English nobleman and they will lead us to him. Now listen closely, this is what I want the two of you to do tonight….”

Captain Briggs, skipper of the Day Dream, owned a small house overlooking the harbor in Dover. On this night, rather than sleeping in his own bed, he was staying aboard the Day Dream at Percy Blakeney’s request, so that Armand St. Just and his sister could have some hours of privacy together. Finn had conducted Marguerite to the tiny, whitewashed house with its neat little garden and then returned to his room in the Fisherman’s Rest. After an affectionate greeting, brother and sister sat down to the table for a few cups of tea.

“I feel as though I have snuck into England like a thief,” Armand said, smiling. “I hid in Captain Briggs’s cabin during the crossing, fearing to venture out. I can well imagine how the Comtesse de Tournay would have reacted upon seeing not only a St. Just, but a member of the Committee of Public Safety aboard the boat that was taking her to freedom!” Marguerite looked at her brother and felt an overwhelming sadness. At first glance, he was still the same youthful-looking charmer, but on closer inspection, she could see that his hair was now lightly streaked with gray. There were bags under his blue eyes and his face had a tired and haggard look.

“I think Percy is being totally unreasonable, insisting upon our meeting this way,” she said. “You should come and stay with us, Armand, in Richmond. This is—”

“No, no, do not blame Percy,” said Armand. “He invited me to Richmond. This was at my insistence. I cannot be gone from France for long and, given the climate of opinion on these shores, it would scarce serve you and Percy well to be entertaining a member of Fouquier-Tinville’s committee in your home. It would be a bit awkward for me, as well. This way, at least we have some time to spend alone together. Tell me, then, my sister, are you happy here? How is England treating you?”

“England treats me well enough,” said Marguerite, “but as to being happy, I cannot recall when I have been so miserable.”

“What, is Percy not treating you well? He doesn’t beat you, surely!”

“Oh, no, nothing like that,” said Marguerite. “Sometimes I almost wish he would. It might even be preferable to the way he treats me now. He is polite and attentive, he sees to all my needs and comforts, but he has withdrawn his love from me, Armand. He has heard the gossip, the stories about the Marquis de St. Cyr—”

“Haven’t you told him the truth?” Armand said. “Haven’t you explained that you struck out at St. Cyr on my account?”

“What good would that do?” said Marguerite. “It would not change what I have done. What am I to tell him, that I spoke carelessly in a group of what I believed to be trusted friends, accusing a man of treason because he had my brother caned for having the effrontery to express his plebeian love for St. Cyr’s aristocratic daughter? Would that excuse my actions?”

“You oversimplify the situation, Marguerite. St. Cyr was a traitor. We both knew he had written letters to Austria, seeking help to put down the Revolution. He did not merely have me caned when he learned of my seeing Juliette. I was nearly beaten to death. Surely Percy would understand what you did under the circumstances. You also do not mention the lengths to which you went to try to save him after his arrest. St. Cyr was a monster who represented the worst in the old system, a decadent aristocrat who flogged his servants regularly, who ran down people with his coach when they were not quick enough to get out of his way, who—”

“What difference does all that make?” said Marguerite. “It does not change the fact that I informed upon the man and sent him to his death, along with his whole family. It does not change the fact that in doing so, I became a part of what Percy so abhors about the Revolution. I can well imagine how he must feel now, having had you brought here so that we could see each other once again. He has a wife who was an informer and a brother-in-law who sits upon a committee of ruthless murderers whose thirst for blood is infamous. Why, Armand? Why continue with it? Stay here, with me. At least give me the peace of mind in knowing that you are no longer a part of all that savagery!”

Armand shook his head. “No, my dear sister, I cannot. That we have acted savagely, I cannot dispute. Yet, there must be a voice speaking out for reason in the tribunal. I’ll grant that my lonely voice has, for the most part, been lost upon the wind, but it is a wind that must soon blow itself out. The Revolution is a force for good. It has brought about a rebirth in our country and it gives the people hope. But the abuses of the aristocracy will not be easily or quickly forgotten. The beaten dogs have turned upon their former brutal masters and they must growl and rend and tear until they’ve had their fill. This is the way of things, for better or for worse. Until the hate of the people for the aristos burns itself out, these executions will continue. I find it loathsome, but it is a fact of life. Hard to believe though it may seem, good will come of it all in the end and the Revolution will stand in history as a terrible monument to what can happen when people are pushed too far. Meanwhile, I must remain in France and do what I can, what little that may be, to bring an end to all of it so that we may get on about the business of rebuilding and leave behind the tearing down. And just as the people’s hate will burn itself out one day, so will Percy come to understand why you did what you have done and he will forgive you for it.”