by Simon Hawke
Marguerite was in bed, with the covers drawn up over her. She had left a candle burning for him and the single light bathed the room in a soft and cozy glow. He saw that Marguerite had laid his sleeping gown out for him, along with his night-cap, both of which he appraised with slight annoyance. He did not like to be encumbered while he slept. Still, the character seemed to call for it and he resigned himself to nightclothes. He only hoped that there would be no bedbugs to keep him company.
Moving very quietly, so as not to waken Marguerite, Finn slowly undressed. When he had taken off his last item of clothing, he heard a rustling in the bed behind him and, thinking that he might have made some sound that had disturbed his “wife,” he froze for a moment.
“Are you then well fed and rested, Percy?” Marguerite said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Finn turned and saw that she had pulled aside the covers and was lying naked in the bed, in a deliberately and blatantly seductive pose. Her hair was fanned out on the pillow and it glinted like red gold in the candlelight. Her soft skin was without a blemish and her perfectly shaped breasts rose and fell slightly as she breathed through parted lips.
Moving quickly, Delaney blew out the candle so that she would not see what he was unable to conceal, then he made a quick grab for the nightgown. He barely stifled a moan of frustration.
“Forgive me, my dear, I did not mean to wake you,” he said, adding an audible yawn. “Lord, it’s a wonder you’re not sleeping like the dead after today’s exertions. Myself, I am quite done in. It was all that I could do to make it up the stairs.”
He heard a heavy sigh in the darkness. “Come to bed and sleep, then,” Marguerite said, flatly. “You wanted to leave early in the morning and you need your rest.”
Finn bit his lower lip and felt his way to the bed, then got in beside her and turned on his left side, so that he faced away from her. He yawned once more, for effect.
“Gad, what a day!” he said. “I feel like I could sleep for a hundred years.”
There was no good night, from her side of the bed.
“Well, good night, then,” Finn said. He waited a few minutes, then faked the sounds of snoring. Several minutes later, he heard Marguerite get out of bed and slip into her night-gown, then gently get back into bed. Soon, she was asleep. Finn, on the other hand, knew that he would be lucky if he got any sleep at all. And he knew that in the morning, he would hate himself.
Since Delaney would be the only one impersonating a figure of historical significance, there had been no need for the others to submit to cosmetic surgery. Consequently, after they had gone through mission programming and while Finn was being transformed into the image of Sir Percy Blakeney, Lucas and Andre went down to supply, drew their gear, then took the tubes down to the ground-level Departure Station.
Chapter 3
They arrived at Calais the following evening, having stopped several times to change horses en route. It had been a long, hard drive. Finn was sore and covered with road dust. Marguerite had been shaken up inside the coach, but she issued not one word of complaint. They drove directly to the port and as he looked out into the bay, Finn could see a graceful fifty-foot schooner with a long and slender bowsprit riding at anchor, its twin masts barely visible in the dusk. They left the coach at an inn and hired a small boat to take them out to the Day Dream.
It was brisk out on the water and Marguerite shivered in her inadequate cloak as she clutched it around her, but she didn’t say a word. Finn had to admire her. She had been shot in the head, had some minor field surgery performed on her, though she didn’t know it, been drugged, bounced around inside a coach on bumpy, rut-filled country roads for some one hundred and fifty miles, which they had covered in an astonishing two days, exhausting several teams of horses in the process, and now she was being violently rocked up and down as the small boat pulled out toward the Day Dream in the choppy waters of the Channel. The cold wind sliced through her fashionably light hooded cloak as though it wasn’t even there and, with the exception of a slight shaking of the shoulders and a barely noticeable tremor of the lower lip, Marguerite remained calm and poised, as though she were out for a row upon a placid country lake.
The boat pulled up to the yacht and one of the crewmen dropped a rope ladder over the side. As the boatman hung onto the bottom of the ladder, trying to keep the rowboat steady in the swells, Finn helped Marguerite up the ladder, staying close behind her and holding on tight in case she should lose her grip and fall. She climbed a bit uncertainly, unaccustomed to having the world rolling all round her, but she hung on tenaciously and in moments, a crewman was giving her a hand on board. She thanked the young man, who smiled awkwardly in her presence, and turned back to look at Finn with a slightly shaky smile.
“Which way to my room, Percy? Oh, yes, it’s called a cabin on a boat, is it not?”
“Allow me, my lady,” said a tall, sandy-haired young man of about twenty-six or seven, who came up to them and offered her his arm. He flashed a dazzling smile at her. “Lord Antony Dewhurst, at your service, ma’am. You must be terribly fatigued after your journey. I’ve taken the liberty of having your cabin prepared and your bunk turned down. There’s fresh water for washing and Stevens here will bring you supper and a rum toddy momentarily. I think that you will find the bracing sea air quite conducive to deep and restful sleep. We shall be sailing on the morning tide.”
“You’re most kind, Lord Dewhurst.”
“Antony, ma’am,” he said with a grin, “or Tony, if you prefer. That’s what all my friends call me.”
“Thank you, Tony. I think I will retire, if you gentlemen will excuse me.”
Dewhurst led her away belowdeck, with a quick glance back at Finn to tell him that he would come right back at once. Finn leaned against the mainmast amidships and pulled out one of his clays. He filled it with tobacco and tamped it down; then, hunching over it and cupping his hand against the wind, he got it lit after several tries and settled down against the teak railing to wait for Dewhurst to return. With the exception of the captain, a weatherbeaten old salt named Briggs, who only bid him welcome aboard and asked if there was anything that he could do for him, the rest of the crew left him to his privacy. Briggs brought him a pewter flask filled with rum and then departed once again to his own cabin. After several moments, Dewhurst returned.
“I say, Percy, she’s absolutely marvelous! Beautiful, charming and intelligent; you’ll be the envy of every man in London.”
“I daresay,” said Finn, “excepting those who cannot abide the barbarity currently practiced on these shores.”
Dewhurst looked suddenly glum. “It’s true, then, about St. Cyr?”
“You’ve heard, then?” Finn said cautiously, to draw him out.
“Aye, news travels fast when it’s bad news,” said Dewhurst. “What are you going to do?”
“Faith, what can I do? She is my wife, Tony. I am married to her past, as well as to her future.”
“What about Ffoulkes? Is he well away? Have you seen him?”
“Aye, he’s well away. He got out the gate a bit ahead of us, but we did not pass him on the road. No doubt he pulled off the main road until he was certain it was safe to go on. There was trouble, though. Soldiers pursued him, but they pulled over the wrong wagon. I passed them as they were tearing it apart in search of human contraband.”
“He’ll make it, won’t he, Percy?” Dewhurst said, concern showing on his face.
Finn nodded. “He’ll make it. Andrew is no fool. But we must sail to Dover without him. I cannot risk having de Chalis and Marguerite come face to face. It will ruin everything. We shall have to send the Day Dream back for them.”
“Poor St. Just,” said Dewhurst.
“What’s that?” said Finn
“Oh, I said, ‘Poor St. Just.’ The only one of the Feuillants with any influence left and they appoint him to the Committee of Public Safety, where he’s outnumbered by Robespierre’s Jacobins. If only it were the
other way around. Yet there he sits, teetering on the edge of the abyss, while Fouquier-Tinville pursues his butchery. Without his help, we would never have got de Chalis out alive, yet I fear that it will be a poor atonement for his sister’s crime.” Realizing, suddenly, what he had said, Dewhurst looked aghast at Finn. “God, Percy, forgive me! I didn’t think. That was a frightfully cruel thing to say.”
“Yet, nevertheless, it’s true,” said Finn. So Armand St. Just, along with Lafayette, was one of the moderate monarchists who had separated from the Jacobins. He was sympathetic to Blakeney’s cause, enough so that he had taken an active part in it. That was something Delaney had not known. It was a very worthwhile piece of information. If the bloody excesses of the Revolution, combined with his sister’s part in the fall of the Marquis de St. Cyr, were an affront to his humanistic sensibilities, Armand could be used. Indeed, it appeared that Blakeney had used him already.
“Still, I’m very sorry, Percy. She is your wife, after all. I hope you can forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive, Tony. The times have given all of us strange bedfellows.”
“I say, that’s a little crude,” said Dewhurst, a bit taken aback.
“These days, l have little patience for the delicacies of polite behavior,” Finn said. “It smacks of hypocrisy, what with people being slaughtered left and right in the name of liberty, fraternity and equality. A poet once said, ‘If you can keep your head while all about you are losing theirs….’” He broke off, realizing that the poet in question, Rudyard Kipling, would not be born until 1865. “Well, I intend to keep my head,” he said. “And to do everything in my power to keep as many as possible from losing theirs. The guillotine is an abomination and I have set myself the task of denying it as many victims as I can. This is the very least that I can do. It won’t bring back St. Cyr or make the knowledge of Marguerite’s part in his execution any easier to bear, but if I can spare others from his fate, any risk would be worthwhile. It’s not enough to simply spirit one aristocrat out of the country. I must try to save as many as I can and then rub Fouquier Tinville’s nose in it!”
“In principle, I’m all for it,” Dewhurst said, “but in practice, it would be quite dangerous. Then, too, there is the matter of Lady Blakeney’s views, although I hesitate to dwell upon the matter.”
“She must never know, of course,” said Finn. “I will have to work in secret.”
“Then each of those you help will have to be sworn to secrecy, as well,” said Dewhurst. “The only thing is, despite all good intentions, secrets do not remain secrets for long when those who share them grow great in number.”
Finn nodded. “I’m certain that the Duc de Chalis can be trusted not to speak of his benefactors. As for any others, I’ll have to take great pains to conceal my identity from them.”
“Any subterfuge along those lines would come to nought the moment anyone inquired as to the identity of the owner of this boat,” said Dewhurst. “You cannot hope to use the Day Dream in your plans and still remain unknown. She is far from being inconspicuous and she won’t be lost among more common craft.”
Finn smiled. “Then I shall sell her.”
Dewhurst frowned. “But then, how—”
“After all,” continued Finn, “I’ve grown tired of traveling and I’m on my way back to England to take charge of my affairs. I no longer have need of such an extravagant yacht since I will be staying in London most of the time. As a matter of fact, I’ve already sold her.”
“What? To whom?”
“Why, to you, Tony.”
“To me?”
“Yes, to you. You’ve wanted her for years, haven’t you? You’ve been after me to sell the Day Dream to you for as long as we’ve known each other.”
“What? Percy, what on earth are you talking about? I’ve never—”
“Yes, I know you’ve never done any such thing. You know it and I know it, but no one else knows it and that’s all that really matters.”
“I don’t understand this at all, Percy. What the devil are you getting at?”
“Look, Tony, you don’t spend all of your time sailing about in the English Channel, do you? Being the new owner of such a fine boat, is there any reason why you shouldn’t realize some profit from her? Allow Briggs to take on some small commissions to help pay for the Day Dream’s upkeep and keep the crew from being idle? As a matter of fact, the moment we return to England, you’ll be offered just such a commission, by an agent whose name you will conveniently forget. You will be very much surprised when you discover that it was for the purpose of helping the Duc de Chalis escape from France. When you discover this extraordinary fact, you’ll be so astonished and delighted that, as a gesture of noble idealism, you will instruct Briggs to keep the boat available to this unknown adventurer, whose face no one will ever see. You and Ffoulkes will make a grand show of helping the new arrivals find a place for themselves in England. You’ll speak a great deal about this man of mystery whose cause you have elected to support, even though you don’t know anything about him.” Finn grinned. “Before too long, I’m certain that you’ll be receiving contributions from everyone in London to pass on to Briggs, so that he can give it to the agents of this adventurer. If it’s managed right, we can make him a folk hero.”
“Don’t you mean ‘make yourself a folk hero’?” Dewhurst said with a smirk. “Why this sudden modesty, Percy?”
“Because it isn’t really me,” said Finn. “I don’t matter, not as Percy Blakeney, individual. It’s the principle involved, the idea of the thing. Suppose for a moment that I acted as myself, as Percy Blakeney, smuggling people out of France at great risk to myself. What would the resulting public opinion be? Some would support me, to be sure, others would think I was a fool. As that faction in Parliament who oppose our intervention in the Revolution say, ‘Let ’em murder!’ I would attract some attention for a while as a man with the courage to act on his convictions, but in due course, the novelty would wear off and people would grow bored with the whole thing. On the other hand, people love a mystery. If we have some romantic, unknown adventurer cheating the guillotine of victims, that would capture the public’s fancy. Who is he? Where did he come from? What is he like, this anonymous crusader against injustice? It’s not the man that counts, Tony, it’s the image. You see what I mean, don’t you?”
“Aye, I do. It strikes me that you’ve missed your calling, Percy. You should have been a politician or a dramatist. You seem to have an uncanny knack for understanding public opinion and emotions. As you say, the imagination of the people would indeed be captured by an adventurer such as you describe, a crusader who cloaks himself in mystery. Such a figure would appear to be larger than life and would become a cause célèbre.”
“Precisely. We can all help to create him together,” said Finn. “We can recruit others into our cause, though we must do so with great care. We will form a league together, with this unknown crusader as our leader. The role that you and Ffoulkes must play in public must be that of men who are only involved indirectly with this man. It must be necessary for you to be able to account for your activities at the times when this crusader is at work; this is for your safety.”
“Why must we be known to be involved at all?” said Dewhurst.
“Because I shall need my Boswells,” said Delaney. “It will be necessary for the public to know something of the activities of this crusader if we are to curry their favor. Publicly, you will attest to his existence, though you will claim to know nothing of him whatsoever. You will be contacted by his league, his agents, by surreptitious means and told when to prepare for receiving escapees from France. Publicly, you will never set foot on French soil. Rather, you will instruct Briggs when to have the Day Dream ready, when and where to have her waiting to accept aristocrats saved by our crusader. When they arrive in England, they will then be in your charge and you and Ffoulkes will help them find a place in our society. This will leave you free to speak of this crusader and h
is league as the two of you, perhaps more than any others, will then be in a position to wonder at his true identity. You can help to fan the flame of public curiosity and in this manner elicit their support.”
“What about yourself?” said Dewhurst. “You will join us in this charade?”
“No, I will not,” said Finn. “I must create about myself an aura such that will insure that I can never be suspect in this matter. Only then will I be free to act. I shall have to be an even greater actor than my wife, for I will have to fool her, along with everybody else. None but you and Ffoulkes, as well as Briggs, for I must take him into my confidence, must know the part that I will play in all of this.”
“What of the Duc de Chalis?” Dewhurst said.
“I shall have to speak with him and prepare him for the part he is to play,” said Finn. “As for the rest of it, you are quite right. We must limit the number of those who share our secret.”
Dewhurst smiled. “I must say, it all sounds like a great deal of fun.”
“It will be very dangerous,” said Finn.
Dewhurst shrugged. “It will be fine sport. And what is sport without some element of risk?” He laughed. “By God, I’m really going to enjoy this! I can’t wait to get started!”
Finn smiled. “We have already started, Tony. Let’s have a drink on it. To the speedy and safe arrival of Andrew Ffoulkes and to the creation of our mysterious crusader!”
Finn took a sip of rum and then passed it to Dewhurst.
“What shall we call him, then?” said Dewhurst. “He will have to have a name, this flower of English manhood pitted against the fleur-de-lis of France.”