The Pimpernel Plot tw-3

by Simon Hawke

  “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 an
ything 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.