by Simon Hawke
“Yes, he shall,” said Finn, “or he will be a common flower, indeed.”
Dewhurst chuckled. “Even a common English wayside flower smells sweeter to me than any of those that grow in France.”
“A common English wayside flower,” said Finn, musing. “Say, like a pimpernel?”
“The pimpernel,” said Dewhurst, considering. He grinned. “The Scarlet Pimpernel!”
Finn raised his eyebrows. “It has a sort of ring to it.”
“I like it,” Dewhurst said. He raised the flask in a toast. “To the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel!”
The Fisherman’s Rest in Dover, in the county of Kent, was a warm and pleasant sanctuary from the damp and piscatory air of the cliffside town. They came in out of the mist to be greeted by the welcome warmth and glow of Mr. Jellyband’s fireplace. The proprietor, a jovial, well-girthed innkeeper with a balding pate and a hail-fellow-well-met air, bowed to them as they came in and immediately dispatched his serving girl to the kitchen with orders for the help to snap to, as obviously well-heeled patrons had arrived.
The inn had more of the air of a country hostel than a “fisherman’s rest,” for it was clean and bright, with a red-tiled floor that was kept spotless and dark oak rafters and beams. The tables, though marked with the ancient circles of many pewter mugs that had overflowed, were well polished and there were pots of scarlet and blue flowers in the windows. They hung up their cloaks and made themselves comfortable at a long table Jellyband ushered them to.
“Your pardon, gentlemen,” said Jellyband, wringing his hands in his obvious anxiety to please, “would one of you happen, by any chance, to be the honorable Sir Percy Blakeney?”
“I have the honor to answer to that name,” said Finn.
“Ah, yes, well, there is a young woman here expecting the arrival of your lordship,” Jellyband said.
“Indeed?” said Marguerite.
“One of his lordship’s servants, I believe,” Jellyband added, hastily. “A young woman of a most peculiar temperament, if you will excuse the observation, she was most insistent that I—”
“That would be Andre, I believe,” said Finn.
“Andre?” said Marguerite. “I thought you said that it was a young woman?”
“Andre is a young woman, my dear,” said Finn. “Her family has served the Blakeneys for years. She was part of the serving staff at my estate in Rouen. I sent her on ahead with Lucas to make certain that all was in readiness for us at Richmond. Regrettably, they were the only two of all my staff there who have shown me the least bit of loyalty. The others were all so full of revolutionary zeal that they all elected to become free citizens and, as such, could hardly be expected to continue in the service of a despised aristocrat such as myself. Go and fetch her, my good man,” he said to Jellyband. Then turning to Marguerite, he added, “She is of Basque origin, I believe, and possesses the roughness and independent spirit of those people. She is, however, loyal, and makes an admirable servant.”
“Is she pretty?” Marguerite said, archly.
Finn frowned. “Pretty? Faith, I can’t say as I’ve ever noticed, really.”
“How singularly unobservant of you,” Marguerite said.
“Well, at any rate, you may judge for yourself,” said Finn. “She will doubtless be here momentarily.”
The innkeeper returned, with Andre following behind. If Marguerite had expected to see a well-turned-out serving girl in a clinging bodice darting bold glances at Sir Percy, she was disappointed. Andre was dressed in riding boots and breeches. She had on a plain brown jacket with a matching waistcoat; a white shirt not altogether clean; a bit of lace adornment at the throat, begrimed with road dust; and a simple tricorne, which she carried in her left hand. Her blond hair was worn loose and was considerably shorter than the style of the day dictated.
“I say,” said Dewhurst, “there’s a manly looking wench. Shoulders like a farmboy’s and a manner like a soldier’s.”
Marguerite sat silent, appraising Andre. Finn had the feeling that Lady Blakeney would just as coolly and as carefully take the measure of everyone and everything involved with her husband and her new life in England. It was the actress in her. She wanted to be thoroughly familiar with the set, to know where every light and prop was, where every other actor was to stand and what lines he was to deliver. Perhaps “Percy” hadn’t noticed whether or not Andre was pretty, but he could bet that Lady Blakeney noticed everything.
“Well, then, Andre,” Finn said, “is everything in readiness for us at Richmond? How stands the old estate? I trust that it has not fallen into disrepair?”
“Oh, no, milord,” said Andre. “The estate has been kept up most admirably and Master Lucas is there presently to make certain that all are prepared for your arrival. The news has caused a good deal of excitement. There has been a great deal of scurrying and cleaning and polishing and several of the neighbors have already sent servants to inquire as to when you and Lady Blakeney would be arriving.”
“Ah, you see, Dewhurst,” said Finn, “the Blakeney name still stands for something. It appears that we have not been forgotten.”
“Or your money has not been forgotten,” Marguerite said, dryly.
“My name, my money, what’s the difference?” Finn said with an airy wave. “If I were a pauper, I would not be a Blakeney, nor would you be, my dear, for chances are that I would then never have set foot in France to be captivated by your charms. What, I see our food’s arriving. Andre, have you eaten? No? Innkeeper, Jellybelly, whatever your name is, see to it that my servant’s fed, there’s a good man. And Andre, after you have eaten you may ride ahead and inform Master Lucas that we shall be arriving at Richmond this evening, lest something should happen to delay us. Lord, there have been enough adventures on this trip already! I pray that the remainder of our journey will be safely dull and devastating in its boredom. I’ve had enough stimulation these past several days to last me a lifetime!”
“If you don’t mind, Percy,” Marguerite said, rising, “I think that I will take my meal in my room. I fear that the effects of the Channel crossing have not quite worn off and I should like to be refreshed and rested before we continue on our way.” She turned to Dewhurst and smiled. “I will leave you gentlemen to discuss the pressing matters which no doubt await us all in London. Since the neighbors are inquiring as to our arrival time, doubtless they plan some entertainment and, in such a case, if Lady Blakeney is to be shown off to her best advantage, it would be well that she were rested. You may send for me after you have had your port and pipes and are ready to continue.”
She curtsied and departed.
Dewhurst shook his head. “Faith, Percy, if you are out to encourage Marguerite’s indifference, it would seem that you are making a good start.”
“Oh, there is one thing more, milord,” said Andre, “that Master Lucas bid me bring to your attention.”
“And what would that be, pray?” said Finn.
“A minor matter, surely,” Andre replied, guardedly, “and nothing that should overly concern your lordship. Rather, it is a matter for the gamekeeper, though Master Lucas wished me to inform you of it in the event that it required his attention and he was not there to greet you when you arrived.”
Finn frowned. What on earth was she getting at?
“Why should Lucas be concerned over something that would be the province of the gamekeeper?” he said, genuinely puzzled.
“Well, milord, it seems that some animal has been hard at work butchering the grouse on your estate,” said Andre. “The gamekeeper has been at a loss to trap it and he keeps insisting that it is some exotic creature not native to these parts. Master Lucas has resolved to look into the matter personally, in case the gamekeeper has been drinking overmuch or doing some poaching on the side and blaming it on this unlikely creature.”
At the mention of the words, “not native to these parts,” Finn came fully on the alert.
“What sort of creature does the gamekeeper
say it is, pray tell?” he said, feigning only mild curiosity.
Andre stared at him steadily. “A mongoose, milord.”
“What, a mongoose, did you say?” said Dewhurst. “Surely, you must be mistaken. A weasel or a ferret, perhaps, even though such creatures do not normally kill grouse, but surely not a mongoose. There are no mongoose in England. Such creatures are generally found in India and thereabouts. You’re quite certain that he said it was a mongoose?”
“Quite certain, milord,” said Andre. She glanced again at Finn. “As I said, a creature not native to these parts.”
“How very interesting,” said Dewhurst. “This servant of yours, Percy, would he know a mongoose if he saw one?”
“Most assuredly,” said Finn. “Lucas was a sailor once and he has also been a tracker. He has hunted all over the world.”
“He sounds like quite a fellow,” Dewhurst said. “I’m looking forward to meeting him. Still, a mongoose! Well, I suppose it might be possible. I have heard that these creatures are frequently captured and domesticated in the east. Perhaps someone brought one into England and it got away, reverting to its wild state.”
“Well, I shall hope that Lucas catches it, whatever it may be, before the creature spoils the shooting,” Finn said. However, he knew that Andre was not referring to an animal. The only mongoose they all knew was human and he was highly dangerous. Moreover, he was supposed to be confined to the 27th century, barred from field work. Finn met Andre’s gaze and saw by the expression on her face that he had guessed correctly.
So they had not seen the last of Mongoose, after all. That worried him. It worried him a great deal.
Chapter 4
The Blakeney estate in Richmond was an elegant testimony to the fortune amassed by Sir Algernon Blakeney before his wife was struck down with her unfortunate malady. Having exhausted all hope of curing her in England, the elder Blakeney had sought the advice of countless physicians abroad, all to no avail. She died, hopelessly insane. Algernon Blakeney could not bear to return to his estate, where everything reminded him of the life he shared with his beloved wife, but he could not bear to sell it, either. Leaving the estate and the management of his fortune in capable and trusted hands, he lived out what life was left to him traveling abroad. His solicitors looked after his interests back in England, knowing that young Percy would one day return to claim his rightful place and title.
Percy, or Finn, was now returning to discover that his wealth had increased tenfold due to shrewd management and that, as a result, there was now a great deal of interest in him. What little was known of him filtered back to England from Zurich, Genoa and Brussels, news of him brought back by travelers and friends such as Ffoulkes and Dewhurst, wealthy scions both, who had spent time with him abroad.
The coach turned into the drive leading up to the entrance of the palatial red-brick mansion, which dated back to the Tudor days. The grounds covered some 2500 acres and encompassed a wooded area that teemed with deer; a number of ponds ranging in size from small tree-shaded pools to little lakes, all stocked with fish, several immaculately maintained parks with graceful gardens; white gravel paths and ivy-covered gazebos and guest houses; and smaller cottages reserved for the serving staff who did not reside in the mansion itself, these being the gamekeeper, the stableboys and master, the houndkeepers, and the gardeners and woodsmen.
All were supported by the Blakeney fortune and the patronage of less well-heeled gentry, who were allowed the use of the grounds occasionally for the purposes of shoots and riding to hounds. This practice, initiated in Blakeney’s absence by his solicitors, helped to support the estate and keep the serving staff in trim, as well as the hounds from growing fat and lazy. Now, with the return of Blakeney, the tenure of such usage was in doubt and many among the local bluebloods were on tenterhooks, anxious to curry favor with young Blakeney so that he would not, by his resumption of the tenancy, put an end to their recreations. Finn found a large number of calling cards awaiting him and no small amount of invitations to parties, balls and dinners. Among these were invitations from personages no less illustrious than Lord Grenville, the Foreign Secretary, and His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales.
Marguerite was quite obviously taken aback by the splendor of the estate. She had known, of course, that she had married an extremely wealthy man, but it was not the palatial representation of that wealth that so impressed her so much as the sheer beauty of the grounds. Finn, on the other hand, affected boredom and leaned back in his seat with his eyes half closed.
The coach pulled up in front of the Elizabethan entrance hall, stopping between the steps leading up into the house and a huge sundial on the beautifully trimmed lawn. Andre had ridden on ahead, as directed, and now a small platoon of grooms stood by to receive them and the coach. As Finn and Marguerite disembarked, the coach was taken to the stables some distance away and servants busied themselves carrying their things into the house. Dewhurst had remained behind in Dover, to await the arrival of Andrew Ffoulkes and his charges and to deliver a message to the Duc de Chalis from Sir Percy Blakeney.
Both Lucas and Andre stood by inside the hall to greet them, Lucas having obviously established himself as chief whipcracker with the staff. He was attired elegantly in a dark green jacket with a high collar and wide lapels, black breeches, clean stockings and shiny buckle shoes. Andre had changed into a simple dress and, though Finn knew well that she despised it, she had put on a wig to create an air of subdued femininity. She looked well enough, but she was obviously uncomfortable and it showed in her manner.
Finn noted that Lucas had already arranged things so that Sir Percy Blakeney and his wife would occupy two separate suites of apartments above the reception rooms, each separated from the other by the width of the entire house. Marguerite made no comment concerning this arrangement and allowed herself to be shown to her suite by Andre. Lucas directed the other servants to take Finn’s portmanteau and chests up to his rooms and then waited until they had all departed and he was alone with Finn.
“She’s a hell of a fine-looking woman,” Lucas said, nodding in the direction Marguerite had taken. “Considering the way things stand, I hope you’ve kept your hands off her.”
“I have, but it hasn’t been easy,” Finn said.
“She could cause some trouble.”
“I know. But forget about Marguerite for now. What’s this about Mongoose? Are you telling me he’s here?”
Lucas nodded. “Yeah. Surprise.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure,” said Lucas, taking his arm. “Come on, let’s take a walk. I don’t feel especially safe discussing this inside. Everyone here is mighty curious about you and I wouldn’t want us to be overheard.”
They went outside into the growing darkness and followed a gravel path that led to a garden at the side of the sprawling mansion. Here, after they passed through a gate of hedges, there was privacy for them where they could either stroll through the maze of immaculate hedgerows taller than a man or sit and talk in one of several green enclosures in which marble benches had been placed, as well as marble urns for the knocking out of pipe dottles.
“A guy could get lost in here,” said Finn.
“He could, if he didn’t know the trick,” said Lucas. “You can see into the maze from the upstairs terrace. It looks deceptively simple until you get down here. Algernon Blakeney had a prankster’s sense of humor. From upstairs, you can see people muddling about down here, trying to find their way out. You can see which way they have to go, but they can’t. I memorized the sequence of the turns you have to take, but it wasn’t until I actually got down here that I discovered that there’s a key to the maze that’ll guide you out in case you forgot the way. Notice how the benches are placed? There’s a bench near every key branching off point. The placement of the marble urns, whether on the right or left hand side of the benches, tells you which way you have to go.”
They came to a bench and sat down, hidden from any pryi
ng eyes except those which might be watching from the upstairs terrace. However, in the growing darkness, they were almost invisible.
Lucas took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “The other day, one of the grooms came up to me and handed me a note, addressed to Sir Percy Blakeney. Thinking it might be yet another invitation or some such thing, I didn’t open it right away. I should have. It was from Mongoose. It seems that he’s our contact. Oh, and by the way, the groom was a tall, dark-haired fellow with a beard. I’ve since discovered that none of Blakeney’s grooms wear beards. Mongoose still likes playing games with cute disguises.”
Finn shook his head. “I don’t believe it. How in hell did he manage to pull field duty after screwing up so badly on the Timekeeper case? I thought Forrester said he’d been demoted to the TIA’s evaluations section? How did he wind up in the
Observers?”
“He does have the necessary qualifications,” Lucas said.
“I know that. I just can’t believe that the Observers would accept him after he almost blew an adjustment. Besides, doesn’t it strike you as one hell of a coincidence that our paths just happened to cross again?”
“No more of a coincidence than our meeting up with Andre in 17th Century Paris,” said Lucas.
“Maybe,” said Finn. “Back when I was in RCS, we did a whole year on coincidence as it relates to the Fate Factor. We used to call it ‘zen physics.’ But I somehow doubt that temporal inertia had anything to do with Mongoose’s showing up here at the same time as we did.”
“You’re thinking that it’s too much of a coincidence.”
“That’s exactly what I’m thinking. In fact, I’ve thought of little else since Andre gave me your message back in Dover. I just can’t see him being given an assignment in the field after what happened. I can’t believe it’s on the level. It occurs to me that if he had spent some time in evaluating TIA data, then he had access to the records. He might have indulged in some kind of creative programming.”
