by Simon Hawke
Burke, meanwhile, was gaining steam in his diatribe against the leaders of the Republic.
“It is right that these men should hide their heads,” he said, vehemently. “It is right that they should bear their part in the ruin which their counsel has brought on their sovereign and their country. They have seen the medicine of the state corrupted into its poison! They have seen the French rebel against a mild and lawful monarch! Their resistance was made to concession; their revolt from protection; their blow aimed at a hand holding out graces, favors, and immunities!”
Sheridan belched loudly and Burke shot him a venomous look.
“I say, Burke,” said Finn, “that was a most torrential outburst. I am truly awed by the fervor of your oratory. Would that I could speak with such a passion. Is there, then, no hope for France at all?”
“None, if they continue on their present course,” said Burke, grasping his lapels and puffing himself up. “People will not look forward to posterity who never look backward to their ancestors.”
“True, true,” said Finn, putting on a thoughtful look. “If we English look backward to our ancestors, we will find them running about with their arses hanging out and painted blue. Faith and we’ve come a long way since then, eh, what? What with such humble beginnings, think what posterity lies ahead for us!”
For a moment, there was total silence as everyone stared at him uncertainly. Burke looked totally bewildered, but a smile began to twitch at the corner of Sheridan’s mouth and the playwright hid it with his hand.
“France, my dear Blakeney,” Burke said, in an effort to get things back on track, “has bought poverty by crime. You’ve just returned from Paris, surely you must agree that France has not sacrificed her virtue to her interest, but rather she has abandoned her interest that she might prostitute her virtue.”
“Odd’s life, that may well be,” said Finn. “I’ve had my estate in Rouen seized for the purposes of securing needed revenue for the new French government. A bad business for me, I’m afraid, though an advantageous one for them. It might well be in France’s interest to prostitute her virtue if she makes such gains by it. I’ve known not a few demimondaines who have rebuilt their crumbling virtue in a like manner.”
Sheridan started coughing, but Burke seemed totally at sea. He gazed at Finn in complete astonishment.
“As for this Pimpernel fellow whom everyone seems so concerned about,” Finn continued blithely, “I cannot flaw him for his boldness or idealism, but given all the bloodletting being done across the water, rescuing one or two aristocrats would seem like pissing in the wind, no? Still, I do wish the fellow well and I only hope that the French navy does not learn of Dewhurst’s part in all of this, else they might well try to sink his newly purchased boat. Though, in truth, I doubt that they have any craft that would be capable of catching her.”
“As for that,” said Dewhurst, with a grin, “if the French did sink the Day Dream, it would relieve me of the expense of maintaining her! However, you’re quite right, Percy, there is a certain amount of risk in lending aid to this Scarlet Pimpernel. Yet, any risk I may incur is nothing compared to the risks that he must take. I admit that there might be some risk for me, but what is life without an element of risk? Nothing but mere existence. If you ask me, gentlemen, this Pimpernel fellow is a true sportsman! I can think of nothing quite so game as playing leapfrog with the French and thumbing your nose at Danton, Robespierre, and the entire bunch of them!”
“There is much more than sport involved in this affair, young Dewhurst,” Burke said, stiffly. “We cannot afford to merely thumb our noses at the French. This Revolution of theirs is a plague and the precautions of the most severe quarantine ought to be established against it!”
“Begad, that was well said,” said Finn. “You know, Burke, someone told me tonight that when you rise to speak in Parliament, your fellow members are moved to go out to dinner. I can well see why, since such passionate invective must do a great deal to stimulate the juices! It is fortunate for us, gentlemen, that we’ve already eaten. As it is, such fine speech ought to do great wonders for our digestion.”
There were chuckles at Finn’s remarks, though they were quickly stifled. Burke had gone red in the face, but Finn had a look of such guileless stupidity upon his face that the politician could think of no way to reply. Out of the corner of his eye, Finn could see that Sheridan was biting on his finger in an effort to keep from laughing. Later on, the playwright drew him to one side, in a corner somewhat removed from all the general discussion.
“See here, Blakeney,” Sheridan said, speaking thickly and swaying from side to side, “I have not yet quite decided what to make of you. You seem to be a male Mrs. Malaprop at times, and yet I see a bit of Swift in you, I think. You seem to be laughing up your sleeve.”
Finn affected a look of puzzlement. “I’m not at all sure what you mean, old fellow. Truthfully, I’d never laugh at any guests of mine, though I must admit that your rendition of the dying swan at dinner was a bit amusing. I’m afraid that I don’t get your meaning.”
Sheridan stared at him for a moment. “I think you do Blakeney. Yes, I think you do. I don’t know if you pricked Burke on purpose or if it was just a happy circumstance of all your rambling babble, but you’ve roused my curiosity. Tell me, what is your real feeling concerning the revolt in France and this Scarlet Pimple or whatever his name is?”
“My real feeling?” Finn said, raising his eyebrows. “Begad, my real feeling is that I’m glad to be out of it! The climate in Paris is decidedly unhealthy at this time of year. I’m happy that de Chalis has seen fit to seek a change of weather. Doubtless he will live longer. As for any others who choose to follow his example, I can only wish them bon voyage and hope that they encounter no difficulties in making their travel plans.”
“Indeed,” said Sheridan. “And what of this Pimpernel chap?”
“Well, I’m sure I don’t know what to think of him,” said Finn. “He seems like quite a bold and dashing fellow, destined to be all the rage of London. He’s already won the hearts of Ffoulkes and Dewhurst and, I’ll wager, of most of the women here tonight. What do you think of him, Sheridan?”
“I think he’s a monumental fool who’ll get his head chopped off,” said Sheridan, adding a belch for punctuation. “But I must admit that I admire his pluck.”
“Perhaps you’ll write a play about him,” Finn said.
“Not I,” said Sheridan. “His tale is the stuff of romantic fiction for women to sigh over in their drawing rooms. Besides, he has only just begun his mad career and chances are it will be cut short by the public prosecutor’s blade.”
“That would be a pity,” Finn said.
“Aye, it would. I wouldn’t even have enough material for my first act.”
By midnight, the guests had all departed. Marguerite went up to bed, exhausted. Ffoulkes and Dewhurst were the last to leave, along with old de Chalis, who quietly told Finn that if there was ever anything that he could do for him, he had but to ask. When they had gone, one of the servants came up to Finn and handed him an envelope.
“What’s this?” said Finn.
“One of the guests told me to give this to you after everyone had gone, milord,” the servant said.
Finn tensed. “Who was it?”
“I don’t know, milord. A gentleman.”
“What did he look like?”
The young man shrugged. “He looked like a gentleman, milord.”
Finn frowned. “Never mind. That will do. Go on about your duties.”
He opened up the note. It was short and to the point. It said, “The maze, at one o’clock.” It was unsigned, but Finn knew who it was from.
The house seemed strangely empty now that all the guests had left. As Finn walked back into the reception hall, the heels of his shoes made sharp echoing sounds that filled the spacious room, which only a short while ago resounded with laughter, boisterous conversation, and violin music. It was a lovely way to live,
Finn thought. It might be very pleasant to spend the next several years as Sir Percy Blakeney, if it wasn’t for the fact that his lifespan could be drastically curtailed by some error he had yet to make.
There was still some time before one o’clock. Finn quickly went up to his rooms and changed out of his elegant, cream-colored suit, dressing in black riding clothes and boots, the better to blend in with the darkness. Just to be on the safe side he tucked a short dagger into his belt and took along a polished ebony sword cane with a heavy, solid silver head.
It was chilly and a mist had settled on the grounds. His boots made slight crunching sounds upon the gravel path as he walked around to the side of the house, his crackling steps a percussive counterpoint to the chirping of the crickets. He stepped off the path and onto the grass, heading for the elaborately arranged rows of perfectly trimmed hedges, eight feet high and four feet thick. There was no evidence of any other human presence about save for himself.
It occurred to him that the setting was perfectly suited for a trap. In the darkness, with the tall hedges all around him, it would be virtually impossible to see anything. Finn had good night vision, but the visibility was limited as a result of the darkness and the mist. The thought that somewhere nearby would-be a man trained at least as well as he was made him move slowly and cautiously as he entered the maze. Lucas had shown him how the placement of the urns indicated which turn to take. The benches were positioned so that the urns could only be seen from the correct paths, the view of them being otherwise blocked by the benches. Obviously, Mongoose knew this trick as well, else why choose the maze for a meeting place?
Moving with stealth, Finn made his way to the grassy square at the center of the maze. He could make out the ghostly white benches placed around the perimeter of the square, but not much else. He wished he had been issued night glasses, but the fact that he lacked such equipment did not mean that Mongoose would be equally at a disadvantage. Still, there was nothing else to do but sit down upon a bench and wait until Mongoose made his move. Finn waited nervously in the darkness, listening to the chirping of the crickets. At a little after one o’clock, he heard a faint sound of movement close by and then a familiar voice called out, softly, “Delaney?”
“I’m right here,” he said. “What’s the matter, can’t you see me?”
There was a chuckle that seemed to come from only a few yards away, but Finn could not accurately gauge the direction or the distance.
“Nice try, Delaney, but I happen to know that you weren’t issued night glasses. The only thing they gave you was a hypo ring, which just goes to show you how paranoid they’re getting.”
“Where are you?”
“Nearby,” Mongoose replied. He chuckled once more. “Where’s Priest? I didn’t see him at the party.”
“He’s around,” Finn lied. “I didn’t see you, either. But then, the way you keep changing your appearance, I wouldn’t have recognized you anyway. What’s your face look like these days? The last time I saw you, it had been rearranged a bit.”
The brief silence told Finn that he had scored a hit with his reference to the torture that had disfigured Mongoose.
“Well, we both look a bit different these days, don’t we?” Mongoose said. Finn realized that he was moving as he spoke. He seemed to be just outside the center of the maze now, in one of the paths between the hedgerows. Walking softly, Finn moved in the direction of his voice. “I see you’ve got de la Croix with you,” Mongoose continued. “Oh, yes, that’s right it’s Private Cross now, isn’t it? Well, it appears to be quite a reunion, all of us back together once again.”
“It must be kismet,” Finn said. “After the way you bungled your last mission, I thought they’d never let you near a field assignment again. Yet here you are. What a surprise.” Finn turned down another pathway, his eyes straining to penetrate the mist and darkness. “I heard you were busted down to desk jockey. Seems to me you were pretty lucky to get even that.”
“I wasn’t meant to be a glorified clerk, Delaney,” Mongoose said, with an edge to his voice. “Having me sitting behind a console was a sinful waste of talent and ability.”
“Your talent and ability almost got you killed last time,” said Finn, moving closer. “If it hadn’t been for us, Adrian Taylor would have vivisected you.”
“Perhaps,” said Mongoose. “Who’s to say how it might have turned out without your interference? You may have saved my life, in which case I suppose I should be grateful, but you also ruined my career. I realize that the one shouldn’t cancel out the other, but somehow it seems to. You’ll pardon me if I don’t seem properly appreciative.”
“Why don’t we cut out this kids’ game, Mongoose?” Finn said. “Come out and show yourself.”
“I’m afraid I’m not quite ready to do that just yet,” Mongoose said. “You see, we really have no basis for trust in this relationship. I know you’ve sent Priest to see Fitzroy. I just came from there. They didn’t see me, of course, but I saw them. The funny thing is, I really was your contact. We could have worked together, had you chosen to, but Fitzroy will obviously have me checked out. To tell the truth, I expected it. He’s served his purpose, however. It really doesn’t matter. The only thing you have accomplished is adding more spice to the game.”
Slowly, noiselessly, Finn slid the sword blade out of the cane. Mongoose sounded very close now, just on the opposite side of the hedge, separated from him by about four feet of bush.
“It was really very boring in evaluations,” Mongoose said. “It was a dead end for me. There was no challenge. This way-”
Finn plunged the sword deeply through the hedge, following it with the length of his entire arm. He heard Mongoose gasp.
“Very good, Delaney! But not good enough.”
Finn heard the sound of running footsteps. Cursing, he pulled the sword back out of the hedge and took off at a sprint, brushing his hand against the hedge as he ran to feel for the next gap in the bushes. He reached it, plunged through, made a quick right turn and ran down the path after Mongoose, his sword held out before him. Mongoose was running for the exit and there was only one way to get out of the maze beyond which the grounds were open for several hundred yards.
Finn came to a bench, noticed the placement of the urn, and turned down the path to the left. A right turn, another left…and he came to a dead end, running right into a leafy wall blocking off the pathway. Startled, he was confused for a moment until he realized that Mongoose must have moved the urns as he entered the maze behind him. He ran back the way he came, this time taking the “wrong” turns. He came to a dead end again.
“Son of a bitch!” he swore. Mongoose had only moved some of the urns. But which ones had he moved? It took him almost a half an hour to find the exit. By that time, Mongoose was long gone. Finn stood at the entrance to the maze, breathing hard. Except for the sounds of the crickets and his own labored breathing, he couldn’t hear a thing.
Thick fog obscured the grounds. He felt the tip of the blade. It was wet with blood.
6
At breakfast the following morning, one of the servants came in with a message from the head gardener, warning Sir Percy and Lady Marguerite against going walking in the maze that morning. It seemed that one of the guests had decided to play a prank the previous night and had moved a number of the urns. The gardener promised that he would have it all set straight by the afternoon.
“Wouldn’t surprise me if it was that Sheridan chap,” said Finn. “He seemed quite exuberant last night. Well, then, my dear,” he said in a casual manner, “what did you think of the cream of London society?”
“I am more concerned as to what they thought of me,” Marguerite replied, evasively. “I hope, for your sake, that I made a favorable impression last night.”
“To be sure, you simply bowled them over,” Finn said. “No doubt, you’ll be receiving a great many invitations now and I’ll be forced to follow you from ball to ball like an attendant.”
“As it happens, I’ve already been invited to a tea at Lady Bollingbrook’s,” said Marguerite. “It’s for ladies only, Percy, so you will be spared the agony of having to attend. That is, if you have no objection to my going?”
“Object? Begad, why should 1? You must go, of course. Otherwise, Lady What’s-her-name might take offense. When is this tea to take place?”
“This afternoon.”
“Ah, well, you see? It works out perfectly. I have certain business matters that require my attention today and I was afraid that you would be left with nothing at all to do other than staying at Richmond and wallowing in boredom. Far better for you to go to this Lady Something-or-other’s and cultivate some friendships.”
“Then I shall go,” said Marguerite, quietly. “I wouldn’t want to interfere with any of your plans.”
“Well now, if you’re having tea in London, you can’t possibly be in my way then, can you?” Finn said jauntily. “For that matter, my being absent will enable you to enjoy yourself without having to suffer my sad attempts at witty conversation. It works out well for all concerned.”
“Yes, I suppose it does,” said Marguerite, without looking at him.
The arrival of Lucas forestalled any further conversation, much to Finn’s relief. Lucas said that he had brought an urgent message from Percy’s solicitors in London and they withdrew, leaving Lady Blakeney to finish eating breakfast alone. Andre was summoned and the three friends went into one of the smaller parlors. They closed and locked the doors after themselves.
“I’m really beginning to feel terrible about the way I’m forced to treat that lady,” Finn said.
Lucas glanced at him sharply. “You start caring about her, Finn, and it’s going to get very rough on you,” he said. “Remember, she sent a whole family to the guillotine. You’re not getting involved with her, are you?”
Andre watched Finn closely, but said nothing.
