The Pimpernel Plot tw-3

by Simon Hawke

  “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 He is polite and attentive, he sees to all my needs and comforts, but he has withdrawn his love from me, Armand.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?” sai
d 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.”

  11

  The two men stood upon the bluffs overlooking the Channel, the strong wind plucking at their cloaks. In the moonlight, Finn could see that Cobra was furious.

  “Better not get too close, Delaney,” said the agent. “I just might take it in my head to toss you off the goddamn cliff!”

  “Go ahead and try, if it’ll make you feel better,” Finn said lightly. “Personally, I wouldn’t recommend it.”

  “I can almost understand why Mongoose had it in for you,” said Cobra. “I’m real tempted to take you on myself. Whose idea was it to blow the plate?”

  “Mine, actually,” said Finn, “although to tell the truth, I had my doubts that Andre would get the chance. Did a damn good job for a rookie, didn’t she?”

  “Why, Finn? I broke regulations to be straight with you. Why turn around and stab me in the back?”

  “For one thing, don’t take it so damn personally,” said Finn. “It wasn’t personal, you know. We both have our orders and I told you before that my mission comes first. I’ve never liked the TIA and you know why. For some reason, I find that I actually like you. Maybe because you understand the craziness of it all and try to work around it. I respect that. I’m also grateful to you for working with me on this thing. I know you didn’t have to.”

  “Then why in the name of-”

  “Because, to use your own words, it was a calculated risk. In fact, there were several risk factors involved, but Lucas and I both felt we had to go ahead in spite of them. For Andre to attempt breaking into the safehouse was a risk. We could have lost her. Blowing the plate was another risk. It might have added yet another element of disruption to the scenario. Fortunately, it didn’t. No one was killed.”

  “What about Mongoose?” said the agent.

  “I was just getting to that. In a way, that was the biggest risk of all. If he clocked in before Andre had time to blow the plate, I might have lost a valuable member of our team. If he tried clocking in while the plate was being blown, we might have lost h
im. I didn’t want to do that, partly for your sake and partly because I want him brought in alive.”

  “The trouble is, we don’t know-”

  “That’s right, we don’t,” said Finn. “We might’ve lost him, but then, I’m not entirely unfamiliar with the way he thinks. I don’t believe we have lost him. You know Mongoose. Put yourself in his place. Your remote unit has just given you the alarm, telling you that someone’s broken in. It’s either some local burglar or it’s one of us. What are you going to do?”

  Cobra remained silent for a moment, then nodded. “I see,” he said. “If it’s a local, then chances are the defensive system’s taken him out. If it’s a member of the adjustment team, then they might’ve gotten by the system and if I try clocking back immediately, I may get caught in the failsafe detonation or wind up in the dead zone if the plate blows while I’m in transit. I’d wait about five minutes, then try the remote unit. If it didn’t work, I’d know the plate was gone.”

  “There, you see?” said Finn. “You can reason these things out if you really try.”

  Cobra took a deep breath. “All right. Don’t rub my nose in it. I should have thought of that, but I was just so furious with you that I couldn’t think straight. While I was waiting for you, I actually considered eliminating you, you know.”

  Finn nodded. “I figured you would. Consider it, I mean. The reason I was certain that you wouldn’t do it is that you’re a pro.”

  “Well, thanks for that, at least,” said Cobra. He stuck his hands in his pockets and hunched over slightly from the chill. “I’ll accept that the odds are very much in favor of Mongoose’s still being alive. Your having blown the plate eliminates a large degree of the threat to this adjustment and it’ll make Mongoose easier to track down. However, that still leaves me with a major problem. My people know about the plate having been blown. I can’t account for the whereabouts of two of them.”