The rhythmic clapper of oars roused Marguerite from this trance-likeswoon.
In a moment she was on her feet, all her fatigue gone, her numbnessof soul and body vanished as in a flash. She was fully conscious now!conscious that he had gone! that according to every probability underheaven and every machination concocted in hell, he would never returnfrom France alive, and that she had failed to hear the last words whichhe spoke to her, had failed to glean his last look or to savour hisfinal kiss.
Though the night was starlit and balmy it was singularly dark, andvainly did Marguerite strain her eyes to catch sight of that boat whichwas bearing him away so swiftly now: she strained her ears, vaguelyhoping to catch one last, lingering echo of his voice. But all wassilence, save that monotonous clapper, which seemed to beat against herheart like a rhythmic knell of death.
She could hear the oars distinctly: there were six or eight, shethought: certainly no fewer. Eight oarsmen probably, which meant thelarger boat, and undoubtedly the longer journey... not to London onlywith a view to posting to Dover, but to Tilbury Fort, where the "DayDream" would be in readiness to start with a favourable tide.
Thought was returning to her, slowly and coherently: the pain of thelast farewell was still there, bruising her very senses with its dulland heavy weight, but it had become numb and dead, leaving her,herself, her heart and soul, stunned and apathetic, whilst her brain wasgradually resuming its activity.
And the more she thought it over, the more certain she grew that herhusband was going as far as Tilbury by river and would embark on the"Day Dream" there. Of course he would go to Boulogne at once. The duelwas to take place there, Candeille had told her that... adding that shethought she, Marguerite, would wish to go with him.
To go with him!
Heavens above! was not that the only real, tangible thought in thatwhirling chaos which was raging in her mind?
To go with him! Surely there must be some means of reaching him yet!Fate, Nature, God Himself would never permit so monstrous a thing asthis: that she should be parted from her husband, now when his life wasnot only in danger, but forfeited already... lost... a precious thingall but gone from this world.
Percy was going to Boulogne... she must go too. By posting at once toDover, she could get the tidal boat on the morrow and reach the Frenchcoast quite as soon as the "Day Dream." Once at Boulogne, she would haveno difficulty in finding her husband, of that she felt sure. She wouldhave but to dog Chauvelin's footsteps, find out something of his plans,of the orders he gave to troops or to spies,--oh! she would find him! ofthat she was never for a moment in doubt!
How well she remembered her journey to Calais just a year ago, incompany with Sir Andrew Ffoulkes! Chance had favoured her then, hadenabled her to be of service to her husband if only by distractingChauvelin's attention for awhile to herself. Heaven knows! she had butlittle hope of being of use to him now: an aching sense was in her thatfate had at last been too strong! that the daring adventurer had stakedonce too often, had cast the die and had lost.
In the bosom of her dress she felt the sharp edge of the paper left forher by Desiree Candeille among the roses in the park. She had picked itup almost mechanically then, and tucked it away, hardly heeding what shewas doing. Whatever the motive of the French actress had been in placingthe passport at her disposal, Marguerite blessed her in her heart forit. To the woman she had mistrusted, she would owe the last supremehappiness of her life.
Her resolution never once wavered. Percy would not take her with him:that was understandable. She could neither expect it nor think it. Butshe, on the other hand, could not stay in England, at Blakeney Manor,whilst any day, any hour, the death-trap set by Chauvelin for theScarlet Pimpernel might be closing upon the man whom she worshipped. Shewould go mad if she stayed. As there could be no chance of escape forPercy now, as he had agreed to meet his deadly enemy face to face at agiven place, and a given hour, she could not be a hindrance to him: andshe knew enough subterfuge, enough machinations and disguises by now, toescape Chauvelin's observation, unless... unless Percy wanted her, andthen she would be there.
No! she could not be a hindrance. She had a passport in her pocket,everything en regle, nobody could harm her, and she could come and go asshe pleased. There were plenty of swift horses in the stables, plenty ofdevoted servants to do her bidding quickly and discreetly: moreover, atmoments like these, conventionalities and the possible conjecturesand surmises of others became of infinitesimally small importance.The household of Blakeney Manor were accustomed to the master's suddenjourneys and absences of several days, presumably on some shootingor other sporting expeditions, with no one in attendance on him, saveBenyon, his favourite valet. These passed without any comments now! Bah!let everyone marvel for once at her ladyship's sudden desire to go toDover, and let it all be a nine days' wonder; she certainly did notcare. Skirting the house, she reached the stables beyond. One or twomen were astir. To these she gave the necessary orders for her coach andfour, then she found her way back to the house.
Walking along the corridor, she went past the room occupied by Juliettede Marny. For a moment she hesitated, then she turned and knocked at thedoor.
Juliette was not yet in bed, for she went to the door herself and openedit. Obviously she had been quite unable to rest, her hair was fallingloosely over her shoulders, and there was a look of grave anxiety on heryoung face.
"Juliette," said Marguerite in a hurried whisper, the moment she hadclosed the door behind her and she and the young girl were alone, "I amgoing to France to be near my husband. He has gone to meet that fiend ina duel which is nothing but a trap, set to capture him, and lead himto his death. I want you to be of help to me, here in my house, in myabsence."
"I would give my life for you, Lady Blakeney," said Juliette simply, "isit not HIS since he saved it?"
"It is only a little presence of mind, a little coolness and patience,which I will ask of you, dear," said Marguerite. "You of course knowwho your rescuer was, therefore you will understand my fears. Untilto-night, I had vague doubts as to how much Chauvelin really knew,but now these doubts have naturally vanished. He and the FrenchRevolutionary Government know that the Scarlet Pimpernel and PercyBlakeney are one and the same. The whole scene to-night was prearranged:you and I and all the spectators, and that woman Candeille--we were allpuppets piping to that devil's tune. The duel, too, was prearranged!...that woman wearing your mother's jewels!... Had you not provoked her, aquarrel between her and me, or one of my guests would have been forcedsomehow... I wanted to tell you this, lest you should fret, and thinkthat you were in any way responsible for what has happened.... You werenot.... He had arranged it all.... You were only the tool... just as Iwas. ... You must understand and believe that.... Percy would hateto think that you felt yourself to blame... you are not that, in anyway.... The challenge was bound to come.... Chauvelin had arranged thatit should come, and if you had failed him as a tool, he soon would havefound another! Do you believe that?"
"I believe that you are an angel of goodness, Lady Blakeney," repliedJuliette, struggling with her tears, "and that you are the only woman inthe world worthy to be his wife."
"But," insisted Marguerite firmly, as the young girl took her cold handin her own, and gently fondling it, covered it with grateful kisses,"but if... if anything happens... anon... you will believe firmly thatyou were in no way responsible?... that you were innocent.. and merely ablind tool?..."
"God bless you for that!"
"You will believe it?"
"I will."
"And now for my request," rejoined Lady Blakeney in a more quiet, morematter-of-fact tone of voice. "You must represent me, here, when I amgone: explain as casually and as naturally as you can, that I havegone to join my husband on his yacht for a few days. Lucie, my maid, isdevoted and a tower of secrecy; she will stand between you and the restof the household, in concocting some plausible story. To every friendwho calls, to anyone of our world whom you may meet, you must tell thesame tale, a
nd if you note an air of incredulity in anyone, if you hearwhispers of there being some mystery, well! let the world wag its busytongue--I care less than naught: it will soon tire of me and my doings,and having torn my reputation to shreds will quickly leave me in peace.But to Sir Andrew Ffoulkes," she added earnestly, "tell the whole truthfrom me. He will understand and do as he thinks right."
"I will do all you ask, Lady Blakeney, and am proud to think that Ishall be serving you, even in so humble and easy a capacity. When do youstart?"
"At once. Good-bye, Juliette."
She bent down to the young girl and kissed her tenderly on the forehead,then she glided out of the room as rapidly as she had come. Juliette, ofcourse, did not try to detain her, or to force her help of companionshipon her when obviously she would wish to be alone.
Marguerite quickly reached her room. Her maid Lucie was already waitingfor her. Devoted and silent as she was, one glance at her mistress' facetold her that trouble--grave and imminent--had reached Blakeney Manor.
Marguerite, whilst Lucie undressed her, took up the passport andcarefully perused the personal description of one, Celine Dumont, maidto Citizeness Desiree Candeille, which was given therein: tall, blueeyes, light hair, age about twenty-five. It all might have been vaguelymeant for her. She had a dark cloth gown, and long black cloak with hoodto come well over the head. These she now donned, with some thick shoes,and a dark-coloured handkerchief tied over her head under the hood, soas to hide the golden glory of her hair.
She was quite calm and in no haste. She made Lucie pack a small handvalise with some necessaries for the journey, and provided herselfplentifully with money--French and English notes--which she tucked wellaway inside her dress.
Then she bade her maid, who was struggling with her tears, a kindlyfarewell, and quickly went down to her coach.
Chapter XVII: Boulogne
The Elusive Pimpernel Page 16
