The Pimpernel Plot tw-3

by Simon Hawke

  “Hold on,” said Finn. “Maybe you can’t clock forward, but any one of the agency people here can.”

  “True, but with Mongoose still loose and Darrow’s people hunting him, I’m not in a position to spare anybody. I’m not even completely certain which of the agency people back here I can trust.”

  “That’s not my problem,” Finn said.

  “You’re wrong,” said Cobra. “It is your problem, because as long as Mongoose is still free, you’re staying right here.”

  “The hell you say! Suppose he decides to go underground? I don’t see what else he can do. You might never find him!”

  “My job is to stay here until I do,” said Cobra.

  “And what about us?”

  Cobra shrugged.

  Jellyband was slightly disapproving as he served them. He knew who they were and it appeared to him that Lady Marguerite Blakeney and Andrew Ffoulkes were running away together. The fact that they both traveled on horseback and had obviously ridden hard from London to Dover seemed to confirm his suspicions. It wasn’t his place to say or do anything, but he seemed somewhat scandalized.

  “I feel so damn helpless!” Marguerite said. “We rode hard all this way and now we can’t cross because of bad weather!”

  “Take heart,” said Ffoulkes. “If we can’t cross, then no one else can, either. If Chauvelin left London for Dover only this morning, then he could not have had time to sail yet. No boats have left for Calais since last night. He’s somewhere here, in Dover, waiting for a change in the weather, just as we are. Had I known about this, I would have taken the time to gather some of the others together and we could have taken him here and taught him a lesson. Unfortunately, I know for a fact that Chauvelin has other agents with him and I cannot risk going after him alone. If anything happened to me, you would be unprotected and Percy might not be warned in time.”

  “I’ve been an awful fool,” said Marguerite. “I’ve placed my own husband’s life in jeopardy.”

  “You could not have known,” said Andrew, kindly.

  She shook her head. “He had become so changed, so distant and secretive that I had actually convinced myself that something incredible had happened to Percy and that his place had been taken by some impostor who was his twin!” She laughed, feeling herself to be on the edge of hysteria. “Small wonder he seemed a different man to me! He was living a secret life, not daring to tell me he was the Pimpernel because he knew I had informed upon St. Cyr. Poor Percy! How it must have tortured him!”

  “What matters is that now he knows the truth of the St. Cyr affair,” said Ffoulkes. “He doesn’t blame you. No one would. I can’t understand why you didn’t tell him what really happened earlier.”

  “How could I? After what he must have heard, it would sound as though I were making feeble excuses. I was afraid that he might not believe me and…no, that isn’t true. I’m Lying to myself. It was pride, Andrew, foolish, stubborn, damnable pride! When I realized that he must have heard the stories, I was furious with him for not coming to me at once and asking to hear my side of it. I was too proud to go to him and offer an explanation; I thought that he should come to me. As a result, it has come to this. I have no one but myself to blame.”

  “That isn’t true,” said Ffoulkes. “You could not help the fact that Chauvelin’s agents attacked us and stole Armand’s letter to the Pimpernel. Nor could you help giving aid to Chauvelin when your brother’s life hung in the balance. Have faith, we shall reach Percy in time. Chauvelin will not be certain where to look for him, while we know where he can be found.”

  “That may be,” said Marguerite, “but there is still the matter of the Comte de Tournay and my brother.”

  “If I know Percy,” Andrew Ffoulkes said, “he will see the matter through and rescue both of them.”

  “That is exactly what I mean,” said Marguerite. “That will be dangerous enough, but now that Chauvelin is on his trail, how can he possibly hope to succeed?”

  Ffoulkes smiled. “Don’t forget one thing,” he said. “In Percy’s own words, that Pimpernel is ‘demmed elusive.’ “

  “You promised!” said the old man, angrily. “You promised that we would be safe, that there would be no reprisals!”

  “In this world, no one is ever safe, Lafitte,” said Mongoose.

  They were in a small house on the outskirts of Calais which Mongoose had purchased in his days as section chief of 18th-century France. Along with several other properties he owned spread out across the globe and throughout time, it was one of the places he used to get away from it all when he was given leave. It was one of several places where Lafitte knew he could find him or leave word for him in the unusual event that their regular procedure had to be abandoned and Lafitte had to get in touch with him, rather than the other way around. It was a simple house, with a slate roof and planked flooring that showed signs of age. It was sparsely yet comfortably furnished and, in the absence of its owner, it was kept up by an old woman whose husband had been lost at sea ten years ago. She was reliable and fiercely loyal, as were all of Mongoose’s indigenous employees, for he paid them very well and saw to it that their needs were taken care of in his absence. There was nothing about the house to set it apart from any other in Calais, save for the fact that it had one room in the cellar that was impregnable. It contained a number of items not native to that time; among them a chronoplate, which Mongoose kept for emergencies.

  “They have Pierre!” said the old man.

  “I know,” said Mongoose, whom the old man knew only as Monsieur l’Avenir. “I told you, there is no cause for concern. They will not harm him.”

  “How can you know?”

  “I give you my word that Pierre will not be harmed in any way. Have I ever let you down before, Lafitte?”

  “No, Monsieur l’Avenir, but-”

  “Then trust me. There is only one reason why they took Pierre and that is so they will have a hold on you. They do not want you or Jean helping me.”

  “Then there is nothing you can do?” the old man said, crestfallen.

  “For the moment, nothing. But only for the moment. However, rest assured that I will restore Pierre to you. I am certain that I know where he is. They will not harm him. They only mean to frighten you.”

  The old man shook his head, miserably. “It is all my fault. I should never have allowed you to bring Jean into this. He is just a child.”

  “But a remarkable child, you will admit,” said Mongoose.

  “He is most resourceful. Already, at twelve, he is an accomplished liar, a gifted thief, an excellent marksman, and he is utterly without scruples. He has a brilliant future ahead of him.”

  “You have perverted him,” Lafitte said, glumly.

  “No. I have only helped him to discover himself. You are an old man, Lafitte. Face it, my friend, you are not long for this earth. You should be grateful to me for having helped Jean discover the innate abilities that he possessed. When it is time for you to die, you can do so knowing that the boys will not go hungry or uncared for. They will be quite able to fend for themselves.”

  “I have served you faithfully, Monsieur l’Avenir,” said Lafitte. “Even though I do not understand these secret dealings of yours, I have done everything you asked me to do without question. If you can assure me of their safety, I shall do anything you ask, even give up my life, what little of it there is left to me.”

  Mongoose smiled. “I can assure you not only of their safety, but of their prosperity,” he said. “They will both become very famous men. Jean, especially, will make his mark upon the world.”

  “Where is Jean? I had hoped he was with you, but-”

  “Jean was with me,” said Mongoose. “He does not know about Pierre and it is very important that you do not tell him should you see him. He will not be able to think clearly if he is concerned about his brother. At this moment, he is performing a service for me. I also have work for you to do, as well.”

  “Say it and it shall
be done.”

  The weather cleared and Marguerite Blakeney and Andrew Ffoulkes were able to sail to Calais that afternoon. They knew that Chauvelin would be sailing at the same time, although they would probably beat him to Calais upon the Day Dream.

  “A lucky break for us,” said Ffoulkes. “Percy and the others must have sailed on another boat, leaving the Day Dream in Dover. Perhaps he suspects that someone is on his trail and is being extra cautious. I certainly hope so.”

  “Do you think that we shall reach them in time?” Marguerite said, anxiously.

  “I have no doubt of it,” said Ffoulkes, although privately he was not so certain. He knew that Percy was to meet with him at Brogard’s inn in Cap Gris Nez; however, he was arriving a day early. He had left word for Tony Dewhurst to gather the others together and proceed on to Calais as soon as possible, but he had no way of knowing when Dewhurst would get the message. He knew that Percy was very secretive about his plans and chances were that he and the others might have gone on to Paris. If that would be the case, then there was little he and Marguerite could do. other than to wait for their return and try to get to him before Chauvelin could. Unfortunately, that would give Chauvelin all the time he needed to gather his forces together and by the time Percy and the others returned to Cap Gris Nez, it could well be crawling with soldiers. The advantage that they had was that they knew that Percy would go to Cap Gris Nez, rather than Calais. Chauvelin would waste valuable time searching for him in Calais. Still, it would not take very long for him to conduct his investigation and ascertain that no one had seen a party of English citizens loitering about. Once he came to the conclusion that Blakeney wasn’t in Calais, Cap Gris Nez would be the next logical place in which to search for him.

  When they arrived at Calais, they quickly made their way to Cap Gris Nez and the Chat Gris. Brogard received them in his usual surly manner and, when questioned, replied that “the English aristo” had, indeed, been there, but that he had left. He did not say exactly when he would return, but he had kept the rooms that he had taken, as usual, so that it would seem that he would not be gone for long. Brogard then began to sound Ffoulkes out as to the possibility of selling him some wine. He did so with little enthusiasm, as though he felt guilty for being forced to do business with English aristocrats. Having established their cover as oenophiles, the members of the league now had to carry on with the deception, which meant that they were forced to buy wine every time they came to Cap Gris Nez. To curry favor with Brogard, they had bought some wine from him on several occasions. Evidently, he received some sort of a commission from whoever he got it from and he thus profited by playing the middleman. Undoubtedly, he cheated both parties involved. Ffoulkes didn’t mind that so much, but the wine he sold them was terrible. They usually dumped it off mid-Channel, because not even Briggs would drink it.

  Marguerite fidgeted throughout Ffoulkes’s conversation with Brogard, but she managed to keep silent until he left them.

  “How can you discuss buying wine at a time like this?” she said. “We should be looking for them, instead of-”

  “Please,” Ffoulkes kept her from going on. “Lower your voice. There may be spies about, one never knows. Brogard believes us to be wine merchants to our well-heeled friends and it is necessary to keep up appearances. As for looking for Percy, there may be little we can do now. I think it would be best if you remained here while I scouted around. Have something to eat, you must be starving. The food here actually isn’t so bad. It will fill you up, at least. Then go upstairs and stay in the room. Do not come out under any circumstances until I return. Please, for all our sakes, you must do as I ask.”

  She nodded.

  “Remember that there may be spies about,” said Ffoulkes. “Stay out of sight and speak to no one. Do not admit anyone into your room for any reason, not even Brogard. Trust no one. Percy’s life may depend upon it.”

  Ffoulkes gulped the rest of his wine, grimacing. Brogard insisted upon serving him the awful stuff and he could hardly claim that he didn’t like it, since they were buying so much of it. He then ordered some food for Marguerite and hurriedly departed to search the streets of Cap Gris Nez for Percy. There was also a chance that he could be at Pere Blanchard’s cottage and therefore Ffoulkes had to look there, as well. There was a great deal of ground to cover and not much time to do it in. Before he left, he once again reminded Marguerite to remain inside her room, no matter what.

  Marguerite made a somewhat halfhearted attempt to eat something, but she was unable to do much more than pick at her food. She purchased a bottle of wine from Brogard deciding that even the swill he served was better than nothing and went upstairs. She closed the door and bolted it, sat down on the bed and took a healthy swig from the bottle. The taste was horrible, but at least it was wet. Her mouth and throat felt very dry. She thought to herself, the waiting will be the worst part.

  The waiting was the worst part. Hours went by that seemed like days. There was no sign of Ffoulkes. It was beginning to grow dark. Where can he be? She thought that surely Ffoulkes would have returned by now. All sorts of possibilities occurred to her. Ffoulkes had been captured by Chauvelin. Ffoulkes had injured himself somehow and was lying outside somewhere in the growing darkness. Ffoulkes had found Percy and they had both been captured. She brought the bottle to her lips once more and was astonished to discover that she had emptied it. Yet, she did not feel drunk. She had always joked with Percy that her capacity for wine was much greater than his, but never before had she finished a whole bottle by herself. The room suddenly seemed oppressively hot. She started to get up to cross the room and open the window, but sat back down upon the bed, involuntarily. The floor seemed to be tilting of its own accord.

  Fool, you fool, she thought, you’re drunk!

  Of all the stupid things to do and at a time like this! Furiously, she threw the bottle at the wall and it shattered, sending shards of glass flying in all directions. The window, she thought, I must open the window. Some fresh air will help to clear my head. With deliberate effort, she rose to her feet unsteadily and took several tentative steps. All right, it was not too bad. She was inebriated, but at least she still had some semblance of control. She was not falling down drunk.

  Andrew will be furious with me, she thought. She staggered over to the night table, where stood a bowl of water for washing up. She emptied it over her head. Dripping wet, she walked over to the window, feeling her way along the wall and using it for support. The water combined with the chill air outside will do it, she told herself. She made it to the window and opened it, taking in deep gulps of air. Her room was on the far end of the inn, the window opening out onto the street. The entrance to the Chat Gris was just below and to her left. She heard the sounds of hoofbeats rapidly approaching and, remembering what Ffoulkes had said, she ducked back out of sight, pressing herself against the wall beside the open window. The horses stopped in front of the inn and she held her breath.

  “Percy!” she whispered. “It must be!”

  “You men start at the other end of town, I’ll interrogate the innkeeper here myself. Besides, you’ve had a chance to eat your supper and I haven’t. I’m told this inn has the only decent food in all of Cap Gris Nez.”

  Chauvelin!

  She heard the horses galloping away; then a moment later, she heard the door downstairs open and Chauvelin call out for the innkeeper. My God, she thought, he mustn’t come here now, he mustn’t! She managed to get to the door of her room and she opened it, ignoring Ffoulkes’s instructions. She was still feeling lightheaded, but the wine didn’t seem to be affecting her as much now. She closed her eyes and tried to fight off the dizziness. She could hear Chauvelin and Brogard talking downstairs, but she could not clearly make out what was being said. Opening the door all the way, she stepped outside into the hall and went to the top of the stairs. She looked down to the first floor and she could just see the table at which Chauvelin sat. His back was to her. Brogard was standing before him, she
could see the innkeeper from about the shoulders down.

  “He was here, you say?” said Chauvelin. “When?”

  She quickly backed away without waiting to hear Brogard’s reply. The window! It looked out onto the street. If either Ffoulkes or Percy came now, she could shout down to them and warn them of the trap. She went back to her room and stood by the open window, staring outside, up and down the street. She saw a number of other people enter the inn, but none of them was Ffoulkes or Percy. Could Percy be disguised? Ffoulkes had told her that he had become quite an actor, often resorting to elaborate disguises to effect his rescues. If he slipped into the inn in such a costume, perhaps he would not be recognized, but surely he would recognize Chauvelin and realize the danger. How long would it be before the soldiers returned to the Chat Gris?

  A hand covered her mouth and another pinned her arms behind her back. She was pulled away from the window.

  “Not a sound, Lady Blakeney, please.”

  Whoever it was spoke to her in English, but he did not sound English. Too late, she realized that she had left her door open. She could not see who was holding her. She began to fight against her unknown assailant.

  “Struggling is useless, Lady Blakeney. I’m much stronger than you are.”

  She was forced face-down onto the bed. She tried to fight, but her attacker’s claim was no idle boast. He was immensely powerful. She tried kicking at him, but it was to no avail.

  “Jean, hand me that rope, will you?”

  She felt her hands being bound moments later. The man holding her had uncovered her mouth to do the job and she opened it to scream, but instead found a cloth being jammed into it. She was astonished to see that the person who had gagged her so expertly and now stood there grinning at her was a mere boy. In seconds, she was immobilized, her mouth gagged, her hands tied, and her feet and knees bound together. Suddenly, she remembered Percy’s ring. Working her fingers madly, she managed to move the top of the signet ring so that the tiny needle was exposed. Now if she only had a chance to-