The Pimpernel Plot

4

The Blakeney estate in Richmond was an elegant testimony to the fortune amassed by Sir Algernon Blakeney before his wife was struck down with her unfortunate malady. Having exhausted all hope of curing her in England, the elder Blakeney had sought the advice of countless physicians abroad, all to no avail. She died, hopelessly insane. Algernon Blakeney could not bear to return to his estate, where everything reminded him of the life he shared with his beloved wife, but he could not bear to sell it, either. Leaving the estate and the management of his fortune in capable and trusted hands, he lived out what life was left to him traveling abroad. His solicitors looked after his interests back in England, knowing that young Percy would one day return to claim his rightful place and title.

Percy, or Finn, was now returning to discover that his wealth had increased tenfold due to shrewd management and that, as a result, there was now a great deal of interest in him. What little was known of him filtered back to England from Zurich, Genoa and Brussels, news of him brought back by travelers and friends such as Ffoulkes and Dewhurst, wealthy scions both, who had spent time with him abroad.

The coach turned into the drive leading up to the entrance of the palatial red-brick mansion, which dated back to the Tudor days. The grounds covered some 2500 acres and encompassed a wooded area that teemed with deer; a number of ponds ranging in size from small tree-shaded pools to little lakes, all stocked with fish, several immaculately maintained parks with graceful gardens; white gravel paths and ivy-covered gazebos and guest houses; and smaller cottages reserved for the serving staff who did not reside in the mansion itself, these being the gamekeeper, the stableboys and master, the houndkeepers, and the gardeners and woodsmen.

All were supported by the Blakeney fortune and the patronage of less well-heeled gentry, who were allowed the use of the grounds occasionally for the purposes of shoots and riding to hounds. This practice, initiated in Blakeney’s absence by his solicitors, helped to support the estate and keep the serving staff in trim, as well as the hounds from growing fat and lazy. Now, with the return of Blakeney, the tenure of such usage was in doubt and many among the local bluebloods were on tenterhooks, anxious to curry favor with young Blakeney so that he would not, by his resumption of the tenancy, put an end to their recreations. Finn found a large number of calling cards awaiting him and no small amount of invitations to parties, balls and dinners. Among these were invitations from personages no less illustrious than Lord Grenville, the Foreign Secretary, and His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales.

Marguerite was quite obviously taken aback by the splendor of the estate. She had known, of course, that she had married an extremely wealthy man, but it was not the palatial representation of that wealth that so impressed her so much as the sheer beauty of the grounds. Finn, on the other hand, affected boredom and leaned back in his seat with his eyes half closed.

The coach pulled up in front of the Elizabethan entrance hall, stopping between the steps leading up into the house and a huge sundial on the beautifully trimmed lawn. Andre had ridden on ahead, as directed, and now a small platoon of grooms stood by to receive them and the coach. As Finn and Marguerite disembarked, the coach was taken to the stables some distance away and servants busied themselves carrying their things into the house. Dewhurst had remained behind in Dover, to await the arrival of Andrew Ffoulkes and his charges and to deliver a message to the Duc de Chalis from Sir Percy Blakeney.

Both Lucas and Andre stood by inside the hall to greet them, Lucas having obviously established himself as chief whipcracker with the staff. He was attired elegantly in a dark green jacket with a high collar and wide lapels, black breeches, clean stockings and shiny buckle shoes. Andre had changed into a simple dress and, though Finn knew well that she despised it, she had put on a wig to create an air of subdued femininity. She looked well enough, but she was obviously uncomfortable and it showed in her manner.

Finn noted that Lucas had already arranged things so that Sir Percy Blakeney and his wife would occupy two separate suites of apartments above the reception rooms, each separated from the other by the width of the entire house. Marguerite made no comment concerning this arrangement and allowed herself to be shown to her suite by Andre. Lucas directed the other servants to take Finn’s portmanteau and chests up to his rooms and then waited until they had all departed and he was alone with Finn.

“She’s a hell of a fine-looking woman,” Lucas said, nodding in the direction Marguerite had taken. “Considering the way things stand, I hope you’ve kept your hands off her.”

“I have, but it hasn’t been easy,” Finn said.

“She could cause some trouble.”

“I know. But forget about Marguerite for now. What’s this about Mongoose? Are you telling me he’s here?”

Lucas nodded. “Yeah. Surprise.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” said Lucas, taking his arm. “Come on, let’s take a walk. I don’t feel especially safe discussing this inside. Everyone here is mighty curious about you and I wouldn’t want us to be overheard.”

They went outside into the growing darkness and followed a gravel path that led to a garden at the side of the sprawling mansion. Here, after they passed through a gate of hedges, there was privacy for them where they could either stroll through the maze of immaculate hedgerows taller than a man or sit and talk in one of several green enclosures in which marble benches had been placed, as well as marble urns for the knocking out of pipe dottles.

“A guy could get lost in here,” said Finn.

“He could, if he didn’t know the trick,” said Lucas. “You can see into the maze from the upstairs terrace. It looks deceptively simple until you get down here. Algernon Blakeney had a prankster’s sense of humor. From upstairs, you can see people muddling about down here, trying to find their way out. You can see which way they have to go, but they can’t. I memorized the sequence of the turns you have to take, but it wasn’t until I actually got down here that I discovered that there’s a key to the maze that’ll guide you out in case you forgot the way. Notice how the benches are placed? There’s a bench near every key branching off point. The placement of the marble urns, whether on the right or left hand side of the benches, tells you which way you have to go.”

They came to a bench and sat down, hidden from any prying eyes except those which might be watching from the upstairs terrace. However, in the growing darkness, they were almost invisible.

Lucas took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “The other day, one of the grooms came up to me and handed me a note, addressed to Sir Percy Blakeney. Thinking it might be yet another invitation or some such thing, I didn’t open it right away. I should have. It was from Mongoose. It seems that he’s our contact. Oh, and by the way, the groom was a tall, dark-haired fellow with a beard. I’ve since discovered that none of Blakeney’s grooms wear beards. Mongoose still likes playing games with cute disguises.”

Finn shook his head. “I don’t believe it. How in hell did he manage to pull field duty after screwing up so badly on the Timekeeper case? I thought Forrester said he’d been demoted to the TIA’s evaluations section? How did he wind up in the

Observers?”

“He does have the necessary qualifications,” Lucas said.

Simon Hawke

The Pimpernel Plot

“I know that. I just can’t believe that the Observers would accept him after he almost blew an adjustment. Besides, doesn’t it strike you as one hell of a coincidence that our paths just happened to cross again?”

“No more of a coincidence than our meeting up with Andre in 17th Century Paris,” said Lucas.

“Maybe,” said Finn. “Back when I was in RCS, we did a whole year on coincidence as it relates to the Fate Factor. We used to call it ‘zen physics.’ But I somehow doubt that temporal inertia had anything to do with Mongoose’s showing up here at the same time as we did.”

“You’re thinking that it’s too much of a coincidence.”

“That’s exactly what I’m thinking. In fact, I’ve thought of little else since Andre gave me your message back in Dover. I just can’t see him being given an assignment in the field after what happened. I can’t believe it’s on the level. It occurs to me that if he had spent some time in evaluating TIA data, then he had access to the records. He might have indulged in some kind of creative programming.”

“That occurred to me as well,” said Lucas, “but I wanted to hear you say it, just to convince myself that I wasn’t getting too paranoid. Still, what we’re talking about is computer crime. Unauthorized access and alteration of classified information would carry a sentence of life imprisonment. No reeducation, no parole, just hard time in confined social service. Would Mongoose chance something like that?”

“We’ve already established that he’s several cards short of a full deck,” said Finn. “He’s a megalomaniac who thinks that he can get away with anything. But that’s not what worries me. We’re the ones who caused his fall from grace as the TIA’s number-one field operative. We’re also the ones who blocked the agency’s attempt to muscle in on the army’s jurisdiction in adjustment missions.”

“Mongoose brought what happened on himself,” said Lucas.

“You don’t really expect him to see it that way, do you?” Finn asked. “Not our boy Mongoose. His ego couldn’t handle that. You been in touch with Fitzroy about this?”

Lucas shook his head. “I didn’t want to do anything until I talked to you first. According to the note I got from Mongoose, Fitzroy’s set up a safehouse in Paris so he can be close to where the action is. Mongoose is our contact in England, which means that if I push the panic button, he’s going to respond and not Fitzroy. At least, that’s the way it should work in practice. You think he’ll answer if we signal?”

“I’m not sure what to think,” said Finn. “It doesn’t look good.”

“The first year of RCS includes some heavy courses in advanced computer science, doesn’t it?” said Lucas. “You take that and add it to the fact that Mongoose had to have top clearance to work in the evaluations section and you’ve got all the necessary ingredients for his figuring out a way to program an unauthorized transfer. Still, I don’t see how he could possibly hope to get away with it. He might be smart enough to have figured out a way to beat the safeguards in the TIA data banks and to have interfaced with the Temporal Corps personnel files, but the records could still be cross-checked against the Referee Corps’ databanks.”

“But there would be no reason for anyone to run a crosscheck on him unless someone specifically brought the matter up,” said Finn. “The refs have too much to do to bother running routine checks on personnel records. Hell, maybe we’re way off base and someone just screwed up and approved his transfer.”

“You think maybe Darrow might’ve covered for him?” Lucas said. “Mongoose was his top agent, after all. He had a good record until he got in over his head. The fact that Darrow didn’t bust him out of the agency proves that he was protective of his people.”

“But Darrow resigned as director after that whole Timekeeper flap,” said Finn.

“So?” said Lucas. “He resigned because his position gave him the luxury to do so. Mongoose would’ve been stuck in an administrative job. Forrester might have considered it a slap on the wrist, but Mongoose loved field work. We both know he got high off taking chances. For him, a desk job would’ve been slow death and with a new director coming in, a black mark like endangering an adjustment mission might have cost him even that job in a periodic review. Darrow might have done him one last favor before he left.”

“It’s possible,” said Finn. “In any case, there’s no way I’m going to work with him again. I’m going to have to lay the law down to Fitzroy. Either Mongoose gets pulled off this mission or the Scarlet Pimpernel goes on strike for the duration.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Lucas. “You know you can’t do that.”

“Yeah, you’re right. That’s wishful thinking. Still, we can do our damnedest to convince Fitzroy that Mongoose represents a threat to this operation. We’re not exactly his favorite people. He’s got it in for us, I’m sure of it. This is all just a bit too serendipitous.”

“You don’t suppose he’d purposely jeopardize an adjustment just for his own personal…” Lucas’s voice trailed off.

“Yeah, funny thing about that,” Finn said. “That’s exactly what he did the last time. He almost blew the mission just so he could fight his own private war against the Timekeepers. It wouldn’t be out of character for him. I’ve got this feeling of deja vu and I don’t care for it one bit.”

“Well, all this guesswork isn’t going to get us anywhere,” said Lucas. “We’re going to have to find out for sure what the situation is. I think I’d better send Andre back to Paris to see Fitzroy.”

Finn shook his head. “No, you go. Besides, I need her here to keep an eye on Marguerite. You could do a better job of convincing Fitzroy to check him out than Andre could. The fact that Mongoose is here and apparently acting like nothing ever happened has me extremely nervous. If we’re wrong about him and everything is on the level, you’re going to have to make Fitzroy understand that Mongoose is a bad risk. If we’re not wrong, then we’ve got trouble and we’re going to need some help.”

“I’ll leave right away,” said Lucas. “I’ll get back as quickly as I can, but meanwhile, watch yourself, okay?”

“Count on it,” said Finn.

The social pecking order had to be observed, which meant that the invitation of the Prince of Wales had to be accepted first. However, when the prince’s invitation was replied to, he responded by saying that he would be most pleased to welcome Sir Percy Blakeney back to his native England officially and that he could think of no finer way to mark the occasion than a shoot at Richmond with a group of boon companions, followed by a housewarming dinner. In this manner, the future King George IV of England invited himself and most of London society to Richmond, which made it incumbent upon Finn to crack the whip in Lucas’s absence and personally see to it that the Blakeney estate would be prepared for the invasion.

In a way, it was advantageous for him in that it took up a great deal of his time and Marguerite, as hostess, also had a great many preparations to make. As a result, she and Finn did not see very much of each other during the next several days. Finn did not complain. She made him feel very ill at ease. They hardly spoke to each other beyond the necessary polite exchanges and the strain of it, as well as her obviously growing disenchantment and resentment, was wearing on him. Entertaining the Prince of Wales would naturally mean that anyone who mattered in the proper social circles would be in attendance, which would give Finn an excellent opportunity to establish the character of Sir Percy Blakeney in precisely the manner he intended. It would also provide an excellent opportunity to introduce the Scarlet Pimpernel to England.

Sir Andrew Ffoulkes had returned from France, along with the old Duc de Chalis and his sons. On a trip to London to see Blakeney’s solicitors, Finn had a chance to look up Ffoulkes, who had already been briefed by Dewhurst concerning their forthcoming plans. Delaney found Andrew Ffoulkes to be an amiable, easygoing young man in his late twenties, tall and slim with dark hair, a clever look about his angular features, and a charming, deferential manner. Ffoulkes, like Dewhurst, was a wealthy young man, although his personal fortune paled into insignificance when compared to Blakeney’s. Ffoulkes kept an elegantly understated suite of apartments in London and it was there that they all met to begin planning out the activities of their creation, the crusader who would shortly become known throughout all of England as the Scarlet Pimpernel.

They began to form their league. Ffoulkes and Dewhurst would, naturally, be the first and senior members, taking their direction from Blakeney. Lucas and Andre would act as their links to Blakeney when he could not contact them himself. Together, the three of them discussed the possibility of recruiting fellow adventurers to their cause.

Dewhurst proposed five members, whose personal qualities and qualifications were discussed at length; Ffoulkes brought up four names. They talked about it late into the night and it was decided that all would make good candidates, providing that they could take direction without question and never be informed of the Pimpernel’s true identity.

“All right, then,” Finn said, when they had finished for the night, “I suggest that the two of you begin approaching those whom we’ve agreed upon discreetly and sound them out as to their feelings on this matter. Be very circumspect initially and if you have any doubt as to the degree of their commitment, let the matter go no further. Are we agreed?”

“Agreed, “ said Ffoulkes.

“Agreed,” said Dewhurst.

“Good,” said Finn. “In that case, we shall meet again at Richmond. Confer with de Chalis once again and make certain that he knows what to do. We’ve made a good beginning, gentlemen. Now let’s start gathering momentum.”

Andre felt sorry for Marguerite Blakeney. She couldn’t help it. Since Lady Blakeney had arrived at Richmond, Andre had been spending a great deal of time with her, both to help keep a distance between her and Finn and to keep track of her so that she would not inadvertently cause any element of the adjustment to go awry.

Although she knew that Marguerite St. Just had been instrumental in sending the Marquis de St. Cyr and all his family to the guillotine, it was difficult to believe that Lady Marguerite Blakeney could have been involved in such a thing. Andre wanted very much to question her about it, but she could not bring herself to do so. For one thing, as a servant, it was not her place. For another, it was not a topic of conversation that could be easily brought up. She had no idea how Lady Blakeney would react if she asked her about St. Cyr and she didn’t want to risk doing anything that would interfere with Finn’s work in the slightest. She had to keep reminding herself that she was a soldier and that she could not allow her personal feelings to enter into the situation. There was far more at stake than the welfare of one woman.

However, on the other hand, she wished that there was something she could do to ease Lady Blakeney’s burden. She herself was far from being unblooded. Andre had killed many men. Sometimes, the cause had been just, but other times, it had not been. Marguerite Blakeney had the blood of a family of French aristocrats upon her hands. When compared to the amount of lives that Andre had taken, it was a small thing, indeed. Andre could not bring herself to feel guilt or to bear blame for anything that she had done, although she had a few regrets. Given that, it was difficult to take the attitude that Marguerite Blakeney deserved no pity for having sent St. Cyr to the block. She did not know the circumstances attending the St. Cyr affair. Perhaps there was a reason, some explanation for why Marguerite had done what she had done. Certainly, it was hard to believe that she could have acted coldly in the matter, without remorse, having condemned an entire family simply because her society had determined that aristocrats were enemies of France. After all, Marguerite St. Just had married an aristocrat, albeit an English one, and now possessed a title herself.

As the wife of a baronet, Marguerite Blakeney was more than entitled to act the part, to treat people of a lesser social class as inferiors, to act as though the servants were nothing but possessions or menial employees, part of the woodwork. But Marguerite was kind and considerate to all the members of the household. Within days after her arrival at the Blakeney estate, she had won the love and unswerving loyalty of all the staff, who went out of their way to see to her comfort and to make her feel welcome. The stablemaster saw to it that she had the gentlest horse and he was thrilled beyond all measure when Marguerite, though vastly inexperienced in such things, came to assist him when one of the mares was throwing a colt. The gamekeeper shyly brought her a baby thrush that had fallen from its nest and helped her nurse it back to health. Within the week, she had learned the Christian names of all the servants and she had made it known to them that if there was anything they needed regarding their own personal matters, they were free to come to her for help. The servants, so far as Andre knew, were ignorant of the part that Marguerite had played in St. Cyr’s execution and she was convinced that if they were told of it, they would not believe it. She had a hard time believing it herself.

Andre, perhaps much more than Finn or Lucas, was in a position to understand the fervor of the French revolutionaries. Finn and Lucas had traveled throughout all of time and they had seen the cruelty of the “haves” to the “have-nots,” but Andre had lived it. She had been born a peasant, she had been a knight, and she had served a king, or a prince who would have been a king. John of Anjou had been a tyrannical, ruthless ruler and his brother Richard had not been much better. When Richard died and John became the king, his own barons had rebelled against him, forcing him to sign the Magna Carta. From what she had learned of the history of France, the treatment of the French peasantry by the aristocrats was not much different from the way that the invading Normans had treated the Saxons in the time from which she came. Leaving aside the right or wrong of it, Andre could understand why the crowds in Paris cheered each descent of Dr. Guillotin’s deadly blade.

In spite of her effort to maintain a personal detachment, Andre’s heart went out to Marguerite Blakeney. She was a stranger in a strange land who did not yet know anyone but the servants in her own household, with the sole exception of Lord Antony Dewhurst, whom she had met only once. She had no friends, this woman who had commanded the respect and admiration of the finest minds of Paris, and she believed that she had married a man who no longer loved her. Perhaps, with Percy Blakeney, that had been the case. His love for her might well have died when he found out about St. Cyr, but Blakeney was dead now and Finn Delaney had taken his place.

Andre had little doubt about Finn’s feelings. They had fought side by side together and they knew each other very well. Perhaps Andre even knew Finn better than he knew himself, despite the fact that he was several lifetimes older than she was.

She knew that Finn Delaney was strongly attracted to Marguerite Blakeney. She had seen the way he looked at her when Marguerite’s face was turned away. At first, she had thought that it was merely lust and perhaps at first it was. Marguerite Blakeney was extraordinarily beautiful and Finn Delaney was a rampant specimen of manhood. Andre had often thought of bedding him herself. However, lust was a thing that was easily satisfied and when lust was unrequited, a convenient substitute would often do. Finn displayed none of the distemper of a rutting male. Moreover, he displayed no inclination to redirect his urge. They were close friends as well as comrades in arms and Finn knew well that Andre would be more than willing to give him an outlet for his tension, but that was not the problem

Perhaps Finn did not love Marguerite, at least, not yet. However, he obviously liked her a great deal. He admired and respected her, and Andre knew that he was having the same difficulty reconciling Marguerite with the St. Cyr affair that Andre was having. She knew that playing the part of an uncaring, alienated husband was having its effect on him. He was finding the role increasingly more difficult to play and they had only been together for a brief length of time. To complicate matters even further, Marguerite perceived a change in her husband, a change beyond the distance that had grown between her and Percy Blakeney before Finn stepped in to take his place. She knew that her husband had become a different man, though she would never know just how literally true that was.

No amount of research or preparation, even in a case that was exhaustively detailed, which this one was not, could ever account for every slightest detail. Even though Marguerite had not been married to Percy Blakeney for very long, she was still his wife, prior to becoming his wife, she had been courted by him for some length of time. It was only inevitable that she would notice some inconsistencies in the behavior of her husband and Marguerite was at a loss to account for them.

At dinner on the second night of their stay in Richmond, she had watched with puzzlement as Finn enjoyed three helpings of roasted chicken and it was not until Finn had finished the last portion that she remarked upon the fact that he had always hated chicken, avoiding it because it gave him hives. Finn had mentioned the matter to Andre afterwards when he instructed her to stay close to Marguerite and gain her confidence, so that he would be kept informed if he suddenly exhibited any other uncharacteristic behavior. To which end, Andre was soon able to tell him that Marguerite was mystified as to why he had taken to wearing a gold eyeglass, when he had always ridiculed the affectation previously, and that Marguerite was astonished at his sudden capacity for wine when he had always partaken of it in moderation before, claiming that it “gave him quite a head” whenever he had more than three glasses.

Andre was able to settle her bewilderment in some degree after discussing it with Finn and arriving upon a suitable rationalization. As one who had “served Sir Percy since her childhood,” she was the logical person for Marguerite to turn to with her questions. Andre had explained to Lady Blakeney that “Sir Percy could be mysteriously changeable.” She said that he had always been given to caprice and that he sometimes devised elaborate justifications for his fancies or dislikes. At one time, she said, he grew bored with eating chicken and so elected to tell everyone it gave him hives, undoubtedly because it seemed a better reason to abstain from it than a simple change of taste. The same thing with the wine, she said. Sir Percy had always been a fine judge of good wine and, as such, extremely hard to please. In order to avoid giving offense, she said, he often partook sparingly of an inferior vintage, claiming that he had no head for it as an excuse for avoiding further irritation of his educated palate. As for the eyeglass, she merely shrugged and advanced the theory that perhaps Sir Percy, anxious to make a good impression in London society, thought it made him look “a bit more baronial.”

“Sir Percy has always been most concerned about appearances,” she told Lady Blakeney. “But then, of course, you would know that very well, my lady.”

“Oh, Andre, surely when we speak in confidence like this you can call me Marguerite,” said Lady Blakeney. “After all you are the only real friend I’ve made thus far in England.”

Andre felt a twinge of conscience at her remark and hesitated briefly before continuing. “Well, Marguerite,” she said, “I do not think that there is any reason to concern yourself about Sir Percy’s sometimes unpredictable behavior. He is not ill or anything at all like that. Rather, much like his father, he likes to indulge his whims and passing fancies.”

“Ah, well,” said Marguerite, sitting on her bed and gazing down upon the floor, “I fear that I was such a passing fancy.”

“Oh, surely not,” said Andre. “Anyone can see that Sir Percy’s most devoted to you and that-”

“As you said yourself, Andre,” said Marguerite, glancing up at her and smiling a bit sadly, “Percy seems most concerned about appearances. Oh, it’s true, he was always so, a scrupulous follower of fashion, always attempting to decry affectation while he himself was so vulnerable to whatever was in style, always striving to be the bon vivant and the witty conversationalist when his attempts at repartee were so pathetic and amusing. You should have seen him at my salon in Paris with the likes of Beaumarchais and Saint-Pierre, valiantly trying to hold his own and floundering in water leagues over his head! None of my friends could understand what I saw in such a fool, but he seemed to worship me with a curious intensity of concentrated passion which went straight to my heart. He waited on me hand and foot and followed me about like an adoring puppy. But all that is over now. I suppose that I was just another of his whims, a passing fancy, a victim of his changeability. He wanted a pretty, clever wife, someone he could show off to his friends and, having attained his goal, now he has lost interest in all save those appearances of which we speak. I am like that chicken. He has grown bored of the taste and all that I can do is wait and hope that one day he will crave it once again. He seems so different now in so many little ways…” Her voice trailed off as she stared out the window at the setting sun.

“Sir Percy is a very busy man,” said Andre, feebly. “If it appears that he has little time for you these days-”

“He has no time for me these days,” said Marguerite. “You are right to defend him, Andre, it is loyal and admirable of you, but the truth is that Percy no longer loves me. How else can I explain the distance which has grown between us, a distance even greater than that which separates his bed from mine? I can think of nothing I have done to deserve such treatment except, perhaps…”

“Except?” said Andre in an attempt to prompt her, knowing that she was on the verge of bringing up St. Cyr.

Marguerite shook her head. “I’m tired, Andre, and I weary you with my self-pity. Go now and let me sleep. I must be at my best tomorrow so that I may charm the Prince of Wales and make my husband the envy of his peers for having such a wife. Be off to bed, now. It will be a busy day for all of us tomorrow.”

Andre said good night to her and left the room. She did not completely close the door, but left it open just a crack to listen for a moment. She heard what she expected, the soft sounds of Marguerite Blakeney weeping.