by Simon Hawke
“It’s nothing, I’m just a little dizzy,” she said. “I think perhaps I should step outside and get a little air. Don’t bother about me, Andrew, I will be fine.”
“You’re quite certain?”
“Oh, yes, it’s really nothing. You go on, enjoy yourself. I will return presently.”
She left the drawing room and started toward the exit, making sure to catch Chauvelin’s eye on her way. He raised his eyebrows and she nodded. He returned her nod, then turned to talk to someone. Marguerite went outside.
Well, in a few moments, it will be done, she thought. Chauvelin will have the information that will help him learn the true identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel and Armand will be saved. And I will have sent another man to his death. She heard a step behind her and turned to face Chauvelin.
“You’re being uncharacteristically silent tonight,” Finn said to Marguerite as they drove back to Richmond in their coach. He had resolved to face his feelings for her head-on and deal with the situation as best he could. The relationship between them had warmed over the past several days, but now it was Marguerite who was acting withdrawn. “Is something wrong?”
She hesitated for a moment, then the words all came out in a torrent.
“It’s Armand,” she said. “He is in terrible danger and I don’t know what I can do to save him. I fear for his life.”
Finn frowned. “You seem quite friendly with the French representative, Chauvelin. Perhaps he can do something?”
She shook her head. “It is Chauvelin who holds Armand’s life in the palm of his hand,” she said. “He has put a terrible price upon it. To save Armand, I would have to condemn another man. I fear that I have already done so. I could not live with the death of yet another on my conscience!”
“Ah,” said Finn, softly. “I see. You mean the Marquis de St. Cyr.”
Marguerite began to weep. The stress of the past two days finally took its toll and she began to shake uncontrollably, unable to hold anything back.
“I never meant for him to die,” she said, her fingers clutching spasmodically at her dress. “In anger, I spoke out against him, wanting to hurt him because he had hurt Armand. You should have seen him! When I found him that day, beaten nearly beyond recognition… Yes, I wanted to hurt St. Cyr, God help me, but I did not want him to die!”
“Marguerite-”
“After the trial, I did everything I could to try to save him and his family. I begged and pleaded, I humbled myself before the tribunal, I went to all my influential friends, but it was all to no avail. As if the burden of the guilt were not enough, I have had to live with all the gossip and the scorn, hated by my old friends, distrusted by others who believed me to be an informer. Then I met you. I thought that with you, I had another chance. A chance for a new life in England, where no one knew me and perhaps I could forget what I had done, but no, my infamy followed me to London. I never had that chance. I see loathing in the faces of the French aristocrats who have come here. I know your friends speak about me behind my back and I know that you have heard all of the stories and despise me for what I have done. When all of this is over, you will despise me more!”
Finn leaned over and took Marguerite by the shoulders. “I do not despise you, Marguerite. Whatever else you may think of me, I want you to believe that. I am not without some influence in France and I have powerful friends in London. I will do what I can.”
“How could you possibly-”
“I said that I would help,” said Finn, “and I will. Trust in me. Armand will be safe. I promise.”
“If I could only believe that!”
“Believe it.” He pressed her close to him and she put her arms around him. “I know that it’s been very hard for you,” said Finn. “I know that I’ve been terribly unkind. I will make it up to you, I swear it. Look, we are home now. If I’m to try to help Armand, there are some matters I must see to. You must get some sleep. Try not to worry. Things will look better in the morning, you’ll see.”
The coach pulled up to the entrance of the mansion and Finn helped Marguerite out. She was unsteady on her feet. As the coachman drove the rig down to the stables, Finn hugged Marguerite and stroked her hair reassuringly. She clung to him tightly, desperately. After a moment, Finn held her away, wiping the tears from her cheeks with the knuckle of his index finger. Later, he wasn’t sure which of them initiated the kiss, but it lasted for a long time. When it was over, she gazed at him with an expression that was a mixture of happiness and confusion. She started to say something, but Finn put a finger against her lips.
“Tomorrow,” he said. “Get some rest now. Leave everything to, me.”
12
In the morning, Marguerite awoke with a cry from a nightmare. She had been standing in the Place de la Revolution, all alone. It was dusk. The city was as quiet as a deserted forest clearing as she stared at the platform upon which stood the guillotine, its blade raised and ready to descend. From the distance, she could hear the creaking sound of wooden wheels and the slow clip-clop of a horse’s hooves upon the cobble-stones. A soft breeze began to blow, gaining in strength as the sound of the approaching tumbrel grew closer. Then the wooden cart entered the empty square. The wind was fierce now and she had to lean into it to stand upright. The tumbrel had no driver. The tired-looking horse moved slowly, ponderously, as though it found the load that it was pulling unbearably heavy.
Armand stood in the tumbrel, dressed simply in black britches and a white shirt that was open at the neck. His hands were bound behind him and his eyes were glazed. It was rapidly growing darker in the deserted square. The horse came to a stop almost in front of her and Armand, moving slowly, regally, stepped out of the tumbrel and began to climb the steps up to the platform. She wanted to say something, to call out to him, to run to him and stop him, but she was unable to move or speak. Armand stopped. He kneeled, then slowly bent over putting his head down…
She spun around, turning her back upon the sight, and was confronted with a crowd of people. The entire square was filled with people holding torches, hundreds, thousands of them, all looking at her. She recognized Chauvelin. He smiled, then pushed another man forward. The man stepped up to her, holding out a paper. She looked down at the paper he held out to her and saw that it was Armand’s letter. As she looked up, she saw that the man holding out the letter to her was the Marquis de St. Cyr. At that moment, she heard the sound of the blade descending. She covered her eyes. Something bumped against her feet. She opened her eyes and saw Armand’s head lying at her feet. His eyes were open and looking straight at her, accusingly. As she stared down in horror, his mouth opened and he said, “Why, Marguerite? Why did you not help me?”
She cried out and sat bolt upright in bed, clutching at her throat. She jumped out of bed and threw on a dressing gown, then ran downstairs. One of the servants started to approach her, but she ran past him into the dining room. Percy was not there. From the dining room, she ran to Percy’s den and flung open the door. The room was empty. She came into the den, looking around wildly, as though he might be hidden somewhere. He was an early riser, surely he could not still be sleeping! He had promised that he would…she looked down at the desk. She had leaned upon it and knocked over an inkwell. The ink was red. Lying on the surface of the desk was a signet ring. She picked it up. It was a design in the shape of a flower. She dipped the ring into the ink and pressed it down upon a piece of paper lying on the desktop. The imprint was the same as that she briefly saw on the note burned by Andrew Ffoulkes. It was the sign of the Scarlet Pimpernel.
The door to the den opened a little and the servant who had tried to speak with her moments earlier stuck his head in.
“Excuse me, Lady Blakeney, but there is a gentleman-”
“Come in,’ Marguerite said, dully, not having heard him.
“Milady, there is a gentleman, a messenger to see you. He insists upon speaking to you. I’ve left him waiting in the reception…Oh, dear, I see you’ve had a slight mish
ap. Allow me, my lady…”
He pulled out a handkerchief and began wiping up the spilled ink.
“A gentleman, you said?” said Marguerite, feeling numb.
“Yes, my lady. He was most insistent upon speaking only to you. I told him that you had not risen yet, but he said that he would wait.”
He picked up the signet ring which she had dropped upon the desk and began to wipe at it.
“Tell him that I will see him,” Marguerite said.
“Very well, mi- ouch!”
“What is it?”
“I seem to have pricked myself,” the servant said. He held up the ring. “There’s a tiny needle-” He collapsed onto the floor.
“Giles!” Marguerite was down by his side in an instant. She listened for his heartbeat. He was not dead. He seemed to be asleep. Carefully, she picked up the ring and looked at it. The top of the ring seemed to have been moved very slightly off center and now there was a small needle protruding from it Cautiously, she tried pressing on the sides of the ring. When her finger touched one point, the top of the ring slid back into position and the needle disappeared. She wrapped the ring inside a handkerchief and put it in her pocket, then left the room, closing the door behind her. She called for a servant.
“Have you seen my husband?” she said.
“Yes, milady. He left early this morning, shortly before dawn.”
“Before dawn! Did he say where he was going?”
“He did not tell me, milady. Perhaps the grooms might know?”
“Go and find out immediately,” she said. She hurried into the reception hall. A swarthy-looking man rose to his feet as she entered.
“Lady Blakeney?”
“Yes, what is it that you want?”
“I have been instructed to give you this from a gentleman named Chauvelin, a Frenchman-”
“Yes, I know him, give it to me!”
He handed her a letter. She quickly broke the seal. It was a note from Chauvelin and along with it was Armand’s letter. Chauvelin’s note read: You have discharged your service Citoyenne St. Just. Your brother will be safe. I leave for Dover this morning. Adieu. Chauvelin.
She continued staring at the note, oblivious now to the man’s presence.
“I have already been paid for my service, Lady Blakeney,” he said after a moment. “I will see myself out.”
He hesitated and, when she did not respond, gave her a slight bow and left. He passed the servant she had sent out to question the grooms as he left.
“Milady, the grooms report that your husband left for Dover, along with Master Lucas and Miss Andre.”
She crumpled the letter in her hand. So they are all in it together, she thought. Ffoulkes and Dewhurst, Hastings, Lucas, Andre, all of them. The League of the Scarlet Pimpernel-and she had betrayed them. She had told Chauvelin of the meeting Ffoulkes had had with the Pimpernel in the supper room at the Foreign Office, long after most of the guests had left and those few remaining were gathered in the parlor. Chauvelin had seen Ffoulkes meet the Pimpernel and now he was on his way to apprehend him the moment he set foot in France. They were riding directly into a trap and she had set it
“Tell the grooms to have my horse saddled at once,” she said.
“Your horse, milady? Would not the coach be-”
“Yes, my horse, damn you! Be quick about it!”
With Cobra’s chronoplate, they didn’t have to waste time sailing across the English Channel or riding to Paris. They clocked from Dover, where the agent had set up a temporary safehouse, directly to Calais.
“All right, here’s how it stands right now,” said Cobra. “I’ve got one of my men stationed at Lafitte’s tobacco shop, just in case Mongoose or the boy returns there. There’s been no sign of the boy since we took his brother. What’s more, there’s been no sign of the old man, either.”
“What, the tobacconist?” said Lucas. “Jean’s uncle?”
Cobra nodded. “He may be working with Mongoose, as well. Something that you don’t know is that before he became head of field operations, Mongoose was section chief in Paris in this time period. I’m only making a wild guess, but it’s possible that Lafitte might have been one of his indigenous field men.”
Finn threw up his hands. “Jesus, this is getting nuttier all the time!”
“But it makes sense,” said Lucas. “I was wondering how Mongoose was able to dress up as an old woman and make off with Leforte and still have time to get back to the safehouse and meet us as Fitzroy some ten minutes later. I had thought that he might have taken Leforte directly to the safehouse and hidden him from sight after tranquilizing him, but that would still have been cutting it extremely close. In fact, considering everything that he’s been able to accomplish, it would make sense that he was getting help from more than just a 12-year-old boy.”
“Wait a minute,” Finn said. “If Mongoose used to be the section chief here, wouldn’t the man who came in to replace him know the-”
“Allow me to anticipate you,” Cobra said. “No, not necessarily. Remember, we’re still dealing with a practice that is technically illegal. As a result, section chiefs tend to be extremely secretive about such things. Besides, no one would like to inherit somebody else’s field personnel. They’d prefer to pick their own. The old contacts would simply dry up and new ones would be made. Except in this case, it looks like the old contacts have been reestablished. The problem is, I have no idea how many of them there might be.”
“You’re saying that Mongoose has an indefinite number of indigenous personnel dancing to his tune?” said Finn
“I don’t know,” said Cobra, “but it’s entirely possible. Probable, in fact. He likes to have an edge.”
“Terrific,” Finn said. “I’m sure glad you save these little tidbits until they become germane.”
“Delaney, you just don’t seem to understand,” said Cobra in exasperation. “I’m disclosing top-secret information to you here! You guys aren’t supposed to know any of this!”
“What worries me is not what we’re not supposed to know that you’ve already told us,” Finn said, “but what we’re not supposed to know that you haven’t told us yet.”
Lucas looked at him and frowned. “You want to run that by me again?”
“No, I’m not sure I understand what I just said, either,” said Delaney.
“Never mind,” said Cobra. “It doesn’t really matter. There’s nothing I can do about it anyway. I’m way out of line in telling you as much as I have already. You could do a great deal of damage to the agency with what you know now.”
“What about the damage the agency has done?” said Finn.
“In spite of what you may want to believe,” said Cobra, “the agency is the only thing keeping-”
“Let’s not get into this, all right?” said Lucas. “We’ve got enough problems. The question is, what do we do about St. Just, now that he’s been compromised?”
“We get him out,” said Cobra, “and we take the Comte de Tournay on this trip, as well.”
“When did you have time to locate him?” said Finn.
“I didn’t. The local section chief did.”
“How many people does the TIA have back here, anyway?” said Finn.
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Where are St. Just and the Comte de Tournay now?” said Lucas.
“At this moment, they should be somewhere between Paris and Cap Gris Nez,” said Cobra. “They’re going by road because by the time they get there, Ffoulkes should arrive in time to receive them. You don’t want them rescued before the Pimpernel could have had time in which to do it, do you? He’s due to arrive in Calais tomorrow, right? By then, the section chief’s people should have them here and if Ffoulkes is surprised at the speed with which you got them out, you can tell him that the Pimpernel’s agents in Paris were in on it. It’ll almost be the truth.”
“So what’s our next move going to be?” said Andre, who had been silently smoking a pipe all th
rough the discussion, having developed a liking for it.
“First of all, is Pierre Lafitte going to be safe alone at Richmond?” said Cobra.
“He’ll be fine,” said Andre. “I’ve got him in the gamekeeper’s cottage.”
“What did you tell the gamekeeper?” Cobra said, surprised.
“The truth,” said Andre.
“The truth?” they all asked, in unison.
“Well, something fairly close to it, anyway,” she said. “I told him that I was having an affair with Andrew Ffoulkes, that Ffoulkes was a member of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel and that the league had kidnapped the boy because he’s the son of a French spy we wanted to put pressure on. Ffoulkes needed a safe place to keep the boy for a week or so and I thought I could help.”
“And he bought that?” Cobra said, incredulously.
“Why not? Who’d make up a lie like that?”
“Amazing.”
“What’s amazing is that in all the excitement, I actually forgot about that kid,” said Finn.
“Believe it or not, so did I,” said Lucas. “This mission has me going in so many directions at the same time, I can’t even keep track of what’s happening anymore.”
“Well, in that case, you’ll be pleased to know that it’s almost over,” Cobra said. “The Scarlet Pimpernel ended his career after rescuing the Comte de Tournay and St. Just. It was a brief career, but a flamboyant one.”
“You mean that’s it?” said Finn. “It’s over?”
“Not quite,” said Cobra. “This will be your last trip to France, but there’s still the matter of Percy Blakeney to consider. Chances are there’s going to be a relocation and you’ll be relieved, but that can’t happen until the adjustment has been reported as complete and I can’t clock to Plus Time to do that so long as Mongoose is at liberty. You’re just going to have to stay here until he’s found and apprehended.”
