The Pimpernel Plot

10

“St. Just can’t help us much this time,” said Fitzroy.

Finn and Lucas sat at the small table in his tiny apartment making a short meal of wine, bread, and cheese. Somewhere in that very apartment, most likely, Fitzroy kept his chronoplate. It was a tremendous temptation to overpower him then and there, ransack the apartment, find the plate, and take him prisoner. The only thing that prevented them from doing just that was the fact that Fitzroy could well be exactly what he represented himself to be. If that was the case, given the way he already felt about them, their court-martial would be a foregone conclusion. The chronoplate could also be hidden elsewhere.

“Le Comte de Tournay de Basserive has been condemned to death, along with his entire family,” said Fitzroy. “The comtesse and her two children are still relatively safe. They’re in Valmy, where they’re being hidden by trusted friends. De Tournay, however, is still somewhere in Paris. St. Just has no idea where he is. He was sentenced in absentia and St. Just did what he could to defend him, but he’s already in disfavor with the rest of the tribunal.”

“How did he know where the family was?” said Lucas.

“The Tournays and the St. Justs knew each other before the Revolution,” said Fitzroy. “They were hardly in the same social class, but the St. Justs were not exactly paupers. Armand St. Just sent word that the Tournays had close friends in Valmy, a merchant and his wife whose children used to go to school together with Suzanne de Tournay and the young vicomte.” Fitzroy smiled. “Citizen St. Just has been a great help to us, keeping me informed as a member of the league. However, now that de Tournay has been sentenced, it’s only a matter of time before the soldiers of the Republic trace his family. You must get them out first. We’ll get the old man out as soon as we locate him.”

“Well, at least getting them out of Valmy should be easier than getting someone out of Paris,” Lucas said. “They’ll still have checkpoints manned by soldiers of the Republic, but their security won’t be as tight, especially since the Pimpernel hasn’t been active in that area.”

“That’s true,” Fitzroy said, “but don’t allow that to make you overconfident. I don’t want any mistakes this time. I’ve devised a plan for you to follow. I want you to pass it on to the members of the league exactly as I give it to you. If Mongoose attempts to interfere again, I’ll make certain that agent Cobra will be ready for him.”

“That would make a nice change of pace,” said Finn.

“Your sarcasm is not appreciated, Delaney,” said Fitzroy. “I’ll remind you that it wasn’t agent Cobra who allowed Mongoose to outfox you every time. I’ve made matters nice and simple for you. All you have to do is follow instructions. Leave Mongoose to those more qualified to deal with him.”

“What do you think?” said Andre.

“I think it’s very possible,” Lucas said. “Mongoose always was a slippery customer and Fitzroy has been in the ideal position to know everything that’s going on. His voice didn’t tell me anything, even though I was paying very close attention to its sound, but then if Mongoose couldn’t learn to disguise his voice, he never would’ve made head of field operations.”

“It felt a little tense in there,” said Finn. “I hope we didn’t give anything away.”

Lucas shook his head. “I think it’s all right, for now. If Fitzroy and Mongoose are the same, we should have proof of that very soon.”

“I was thinking that he might give me the slip by using the chronoplate to clock directly out of that apartment,” Andre said.

“It’s possible, but unlikely,” Lucas said. “If he really was an Observer, he’d do that to go from here to, say, Calais. On the other hand, we know that Mongoose isn’t working alone. He’s found himself a very unusual field man and he’s going to have to get in touch with him.”

“Suppose he doesn’t?” Andre said. “What if he decides to act alone this time?”

“He very well might,” said Finn, “but that kid gives Mongoose an advantage and I think he’ll use it. His plan gives him plenty of time to allow us to get in touch with Ffoulkes and then set out for Valmy. Once we’ve done that, he’ll probably start putting his own little plan into motion. He can use the kid to get to the comtesse and her children ahead of us while he sets things up in Cap Gris Nez. In order to do that, he’ll have to give instructions to the kid. I don’t think he’ll risk clocking around inside Paris. It’s too congested. Besides, there’s no need for him to do that. He has plenty of time. He’ll either go to the kid or the kid will come to him.”

“Unless he has already given Jean his instructions,” Andre said.

“That’s one thing he wouldn’t have done,” said Lucas. “He’d wait to make certain we didn’t demand any changes in his plan before he told Jean what to do. That’s why he allowed us enough time to get back to Cap Gris Nez and get in touch with Ffoulkes. Only we’re not going to do that. We’re going straight to Valmy. We’re also going to Cap Gris Nez by a different route than the one we agreed upon.”

“The important thing for you to do is to wait here,” said Finn, “and watch that house. Use your own judgment. If he hasn’t done anything after several hours or if Jean hasn’t come to see him, get over there and see if he’s still inside.”

“And if he’s not, I will break in,” said Andre.

Lucas nodded. “But be very careful. If he’s clocked out from inside that apartment, it’ll mean one of two things. He’s either clocked out with the plate, or else he’s programmed it to remain behind and clock him back the moment he activates the remote control unit. If that’s the case, you can be sure he’ll have taken steps to protect that room.”

“There are several systems he might have used,” said Finn.

“I’m familiar with them,” Andre said.

“I didn’t finish. You’re familiar with standard equipment. The TIA uses a different system,” Finn said. “Cobra gave us a brief description of it. It’s a more extreme defensive system than those used by the Corps and the Observers. Now pay attention…”

A little over half an hour had passed since Finn and Lucas had departed for Valmy, leaving Andre to watch the safehouse, when she saw Fitzroy leave by the front door. Despite the fact that there was no reason for him to suspect that he might be followed, Andre still took great precautions to trail him discreetly. She gave him lots of room, keeping back as far as she could, only closing the distance quickly when he turned a corner or was momentarily lost to her sight. Mongoose, if he was really Mongoose, seemed oblivious to her presence as he walked purposefully through the city street, heading toward the center of the city.

Abruptly, he turned into a side street that led into a small cul-de-sac, through an alley strewn with garbage. She quickly moved in when she saw him pass through a doorway into what turned out to be a small tobacco shop marked only with a crude wooden sign. A name had been carved into the sign and then the grooved carvings had been filled in with black paint. The sign had grown so dark that it was difficult to read the name painted there, but once she came close, she could see that it said, simply, “Lafitte’s.”

Cautiously, Andre peered through the grimy window. She saw a small room, crudely furnished with several tables and benches, where customers could sit and drink wine while they sampled tobacco from the jars upon the shelves on the left side of the room. On the other side of the room was a large workbench upon which some carving tools were scattered around. She could see some clay pipes stacked and ready for the kiln at the back of the shop, as well as several meerschaums in various stages of completion. Some wooden pipes, a novelty in Paris, had been carved from apple and cherry wood and hung by the bowls on nails driven at angles into the wall. The door was wedged open and Andre could smell the pleasant aroma of strong tobacco wafting out from the interior of the shop.

Fitzroy stood at a shelf like partition at the back of the shop behind which was a heavy curtain that separated the shop from some back room.

“Lafitte!” he called out.

An old man with a leathery face and shaggy, unkempt gray hair pulled back the curtain and came into the shop, wiping his hands upon his dirty leather apron. A large, egg-shaped meerschaum, colored so deeply that it was almost black, was clamped between his teeth. He seemed to recognize Fitzroy.

“Where is that worthless nephew of yours?” Fitzroy said.

The old man shrugged, turned around and pulled back the curtain. “Jean!” he yelled, his voice sounding like a death rattle.

The boy came out after several minutes, holding a broom. Upon seeing Fitzroy, he propped the broom up against the wall and joined him at one of the tables. The old man went back behind the curtain, but Mongoose, for it was obviously he, spoke with the boy in low tones and Andre could not make out what they were saying. After a short while, Mongoose rose from the table and Andre quickly got out of sight before he came back out of the shop. She followed him back to the apartment.

She waited another half an hour to forty-five minutes, watching the house from across the street, then she went up to the door and went inside. Moving slowly and quietly, she made her way up the stairs. She paused just outside the door, her back pressed against the wall, her head cocked as she listened intently for any sound coming from within. There was none. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a length of wire. Pulling on a pair of leather gloves, she shaped it carefully, then slipped it through the crack in the door, maneuvering it so that it bent itself around the wooden bar on the other side and then poked out through on her side again. Very carefully, she grabbed both ends and slowly, using gentle, steady pressure, worked the bar back bit by bit. When she was done, she replaced the wire back into her pocket and took a deep breath. Crouching on her knees, away from the front of the door, she reached out and quickly pulled it open, then jerked back.

A beam shot out the door at about the level her chest would have been had she been standing. It began to burn its way through the thick wall opposite the door. She had perhaps a few seconds in which to act. Staying very low, she dove through the door beneath the beam, spotted the assembled chronoplate in the center of the room and quickly moved toward it. She didn’t know the failsafe code for this particular unit, but it didn’t matter. She didn’t need it. She kicked at the control panel, then ran out the door as the defense system shut itself off. She knew she had only seconds left before the failsafe was triggered. She was at the top of the stairs when the force of the explosion picked her up and threw her into the wall just above the landing. Stunned, she managed to pick herself up and get down to the first floor, then out the door.

A crowd was beginning to gather, attracted by the noise of the explosion and the smoke pouring through the hole in the wall on the second floor. Andre pushed her way through, grateful for the fact that none of her bones seemed to have broken. Her face was bleeding from her having struck the wall and her chest and head hurt. Perhaps she had sustained a slight concussion. Mongoose, however, had more serious problems.

If he was lucky, he had not been able to react to his alarm quickly enough to activate his remote clockback unit. Otherwise, he had either been caught in the explosion when he materialized or else he would never materialize anywhere, being trapped forever in the limbo soldiers called “the dead zone.” For the sake of agent Cobra, Andre hoped that Mongoose was still alive. Personally, she did not much care one way or the other.

The Comtesse de Tournay was an elegant old woman who conveyed no impression that she had narrowly escaped France with her life. To look at her, one would not think that her husband still remained behind in Paris, a hunted enemy of the state. She arrived in Dover attired in the height of fashion, carrying her elaborately coiffed white head high and sniffing with disdain at the fishy smell of the seacoast town. Her son, the young vicomte, was barely eighteen years old and, like his mother, he carried himself in a grand manner, back ramrod-straight and shoulders thrown back. He walked with a cocky swagger and kept his left hand casually resting on the pommel of his sword. Suzanne de Tournay, on the other hand, seemed markedly unaffected, by comparison. She spoke English better than either her mother or her brother. While they had been content to remain in their cabins on the Day Dream during the crossing, she had kept company on deck with Andrew Ffoulkes. With her hat held in her hand, she had allowed the wind to play havoc with her hair as she breathed in the salty air and gloried in their newfound freedom while, at the same time, she shared her concern for her father with Ffoulkes, her rescuer, who had become totally captivated by her.

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 comfort 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.”

Marguerite shook her head. “I wish I could believe that.”

“You must believe it, Marguerite. Percy loves you. It is the strongest of emotions and it soon defeats all others.”

“I wonder,” she said. “I know he loves me, Armand, I can see it in his eyes. Yet, though we live together, we remain apart. We almost never speak, except when necessary, and the only true friend that I had at Richmond, one of the servants, a girl named Andre, was sent away by Percy and now I have no one left to talk to.”

“Then you must talk to Percy,” said Armand. “You must resolve matters between you.”

“Believe me, Armand, there is nothing I want more, but I am frightened. Percy frightens me. I do not know him anymore. I think sometimes that I must be going mad. You have seen him, you have spoken with him. Have you not found him changed?”

Armand frowned. “I’m not certain what you mean. He has, perhaps, put on a few more airs since last I saw him; other than that, he seems the same.”

“I tell you, he is a different man,” said Marguerite. “I cannot explain it, but I half believe that he is not Percy Blakeney, but some impostor who looks and speaks just like him. I am living with some stranger and what frightens me even more is that I seem to find this stranger even more compelling than my husband.”

Armand smiled. “From what you tell me, it seems that Percy is at odds with his ideals. He loves you, yet he hates what you have done, what he thinks you believe. Such a state of affairs might well affect a man so deeply that he would seem a stranger, not only to you, but to himself, as well.”

“Perhaps that is what it is,” said Marguerite. “Still, I cannot help but think that-”

“I’m certain that is all it is,” Armand said, taking his sister’s hand. “These are trying times for all of us, Marguerite. We shall simply have to persevere.”

She smiled halfheartedly. “Look at me,” she said, “crying on your shoulder when you have troubles ever so much greater than my own.”

“They, too, shall pass,” Armand said, patting her hand.

“Must you leave so soon?” she said. “I’ve missed you so!”

Armand nodded. “Yes, I’m afraid I must. I sail in the morning. Captain Briggs has been good enough to promise to take me back across. I should not have come, but I missed you, too. Still, there is much needing to be done in Paris.”

“Then I shall come to visit you in Paris soon!”

“That would not be wise,” Armand said. “Things are unstable in the government right now. I would feel far happier knowing you were safe in England, where a threat to you could not be used against me.”

“Is it as bad as that?” she said, her face grave with concern.

“Yes, and I fear it will grow worse before it’s over,” Armand said. “You mark my words, those doing the chopping now may one day soon find their own necks on the block.”

“Then don’t go back, Armand,” said Marguerite. “Why place yourself in danger needlessly?”

“Because it is not needless, my dear. I said that there must be a voice for reason and there is precious little reason in France these days. If those who feel as I do were to abdicate their responsibility, there would be no reason at all.”

It was late when Marguerite returned to the Fisherman’s Rest. Finn had left the coach with her, but because the inn was not far away, she had sent the coachman back to eat his supper earlier, saying she preferred to walk in the cool night air. As she was about to pass through the door of the inn, she heard a soft voice behind her say, “I always find a walk before bedtime relaxing, too, Citoyenne St. Just.”

Startled, she quickly turned around to see a little, foxlike man dressed all in black approaching her. He was about forty years old and slender. He held a tiny pewter snuffbox in his left hand and beneath his wide-brimmed black hat his sharp features were set in a look of friendly affection.

“Chauvelin?” said Marguerite.

“It’s so nice to be remembered, Citoyenne St. Just,” he said, with a slight bow.

“Not Citoyenne St. Just, but Lady Blakeney now,” said Marguerite.

“Ah, yes, of course. I stand corrected. How fares the leading light of the Comedie Francaise?”

“The former leading light of the Comedie Francais is frightfully bored these days, my dear Chauvelin. And what brings you to England?”

“Matters of state,” said Chauvelin, taking a pinch of snuff. “I am to present my credentials to Mr. Pitt in London tomorrow as the official representative of the Republican government to England.”

“You may find your reception a trifle cool, my dear Chauvelin,” said Marguerite. “The English are not very sympathetic to the government in France these days.”

Chauvelin smiled. “I am quite aware of that,” he said. “If anything, you understate the case. Still, I must do my duty. Besides, I also have other responsibilities. You mentioned that you were bored, Citoyenne. I may have just the remedy for that. It is called work.”

Marguerite raised her eyebrows. “Work? Are you saying that you would employ me, Chauvelin?”

The Frenchman shrugged. “In a manner of speaking, perhaps. Tell me, have you ever heard of the Scarlet Pimpernel?”

“Heard of the Scarlet Pimpernel?” said Marguerite, with a chuckle. “My dear Chauvelin, all of England has heard of the Scarlet Pimpernel! We talk of nothing else. We have hats a la Scarlet Pimpernel; our horses are called Scarlet Pimpernel; at the Prince of Wales’s party the other night, we had a souffle a la Scarlet Pimpernel.”

“Yes, well, he has become rather well known in France, as well,” said Chauvelin. “In fact, as I have said, I have several responsibilities on my mission here. One of my duties is to learn about this League of the Scarlet Pimpernel. Aristocratic French emigres have been arousing feeling abroad against the Republic. I need to find this Scarlet Pimpernel and bring to an end his criminal activities. I am certain that he is a young buck in English society. I would like you to help me find him.”

“Me?” said Marguerite. “Why, what could I do?”

“You could watch, Citoyenne, and you could listen. You move in the same circles as he does.”

“Understand me, Chauvelin,” she said, “even if I could do anything to aid your cause, I would not do so. I could never betray so brave a man, whoever he may be.”

“You would prefer to be insulted by every French aristocrat that comes to this country?” Chauvelin said. “Yes, I observed that little drama earlier this evening. If this Scarlet Pimpernel is not brought to justice, I can assure you that it will be replayed time and time again, with each new arrival who recalls your part in the trial of the ci-devant Marquis de St. Cyr.”

Marguerite stiffened. “Be that as it may, Chauvelin,” she said, “I will not help you.”

“I see,” said Chauvelin. “Well, I am not a man to be easily dissuaded, Citoyenne.” He pointedly ignored her correction of him as to her proper title. “I think that we shall meet again in London.”

Irritated, Marguerite gave him a curt nod of dismissal and entered the Fisherman’s Rest without saying anything further to the little Frenchman. Since they had last seen each other in Paris, he had developed an oily officiousness she did not care for at all.

There were still several patrons sitting at the tables, despite the lateness of the hour, among them Ffoulkes and Dewhurst Marguerite said a brief good night to them and went upstairs, only to find that her husband was not in. For a moment, she wondered if she had really expected him to be. She also wondered about the pretty blonde girl in Jellyband’s employ. If Percy was not coming to her bed, perhaps he was going to someone else’s.

As she prepared to go to bed, alone as usual, Marguerite contemplated all her recent disappointments. The fact that Armand was only able to spend so brief a period of time with her was only one more disappointment added to the list. She understood why he had to go back to Paris and why it would be unseemly for him to mingle in the Blakeneys’ social circle. Still, she felt that she had not really been able to tell him half the things she meant to say to him. Some things, she thought one cannot speak of, even with a brother. She had only been able to hint at what was really bothering her. She missed her confidant.

As Chauvelin quietly entered the small firelight room, he saw Ffoulkes and Dewhurst lying unconscious on the floor, his two agents going through their pockets. He closed the door behind him softly.

“Did either of them see you?” he whispered.

One of the men shook his head. “No, Citizen. We took them from behind.”

Chauvelin nodded. “Excellent. Quickly now, let me see what you have found.”

They passed over the two men’s purses and several papers they had found on Andrew Ffoulkes. Chauvelin quickly glanced over them.

“Anything?” said one of the men.

Chauvelin made a wry face. “Several drafts of what appears to be a love poem,” he said. “It seems that we have wasted our…one moment.” He unfolded a letter and read silently to himself, then looked up at his accomplices with a broad smile. “Correction, we have not wasted our efforts. Quite the contrary.”

“Have you discovered a clue to the Pimpernel’s identity?” one of the men said, anxiously.

“No, but something just as interesting. A letter to the Pimpernel, from a member of the Committee of Public Safety, no less, clearly implicating himself.”

Chauvelin carefully folded the letter and put it in his pocket. “Tear the rest of these papers up and throw them in the fire, but take care to leave some scraps lying on the floor, as if they missed the hearth. Let them think the robbers went through all their pockets, destroying anything of no value to them and making off with what they wanted. Remove their watches and their rings and take these two purses. The fools will never be the wiser.” He smiled. “I think, my friends, that we may now count on Citoyenne St. Just’s complete cooperation.”