The Elusive Pimpernel

by Baroness Emmuska Orczy Orczy

  Two days of agonizing suspense, of alternate hope and despair, had toldheavily on Marguerite Blakeney.

  Her courage was still indomitable, her purpose firm and her faithsecure, but she was without the slightest vestige of news, entirely shutoff from the outside world, left to conjecture, to scheme, to expect andto despond alone.

  The Abbe Foucquet had tried in his gentle way to be of comfort to her,and she in her turn did her very best not to render his position morecruel than it already was.

  A message came to him twice during those forty-eight hours from Francoisand Felicite, a little note scribbled by the boy, or a token sent by theblind girl, to tell the Abbe that the children were safe and well, thatthey would be safe and well so long as the Citizeness with the nameunknown remained closely guarded by him in room No. 6.

  When these messages came, the old man would sigh and murmur somethingabout the good God: and hope, which perhaps had faintly risen inMarguerite's heart within the last hour or so, would once more sink backinto the abyss of uttermost despair.

  Outside the monotonous walk of the sentry sounded like the perpetualthud of a hammer beating upon her bruised temples.

  "What's to be done? My God? what's to be done?"

  Where was Percy now?

  "How to reach him!... Oh, God! grant me light!"

  The one real terror which she felt was that she would go mad. Nay! thatshe was in a measure mad already. For hours now,--or was it days?... oryears?... she had heard nothing save that rhythmic walk of the sentinel,and the kindly, tremulous voice of the Abbe whispering consolations,or murmuring prayers in her ears, she had seen nothing save that prisondoor, of rough deal, painted a dull grey, with great old-fashioned lock,and hinges rusty with the damp of ages.

  She had kept her eyes fixed on that door until they burned and achedwith well-nigh intolerable pain; yet she felt that she could not lookelsewhere, lest she missed the golden moment when the bolts would bedrawn, and that dull, grey door would swing slowly on its rusty hinges.

  Surely, surely, that was the commencement of madness!

  Yet for Percy's sake, because he might want her, because he might haveneed of her courage and of her presence of mind, she tried to keep herwits about her. But it was difficult! oh! terribly difficult! especiallywhen the shade of evening began to gather in, and peopled the squalid,whitewashed room with innumerable threatening ghouls.

  Then when the moon came up, a silver ray crept in through the tinywindow and struck full upon that grey door, making it look weird andspectral like the entrance to a house of ghosts.

  Even now as there was a distinct sound of the pushing of bolts and bars,Marguerite thought that she was the prey of hallucinations. The AbbeFoucquet was sitting in the remote and darkest corner of the room,quietly telling his beads. His serene philosophy and gentle placiditycould in no way be disturbed by the opening or shutting of a door, or bythe bearer of good or evil tidings.

  The room now seemed strangely gloomy and cavernous, with those deep,black shadows all around and that white ray of the moon which struck soweirdly on the door.

  Marguerite shuddered with one of those unaccountable premonitions ofsomething evil about to come, which ofttimes assail those who have anervous and passionate temperament.

  The door swung slowly open upon its hinges: there was a quick word ofcommand, and the light of a small oil lamp struck full into the gloom.Vaguely Marguerite discerned a group of men, soldiers no doubt, forthere was a glint of arms and the suggestion of tricolour cockades andscarves. One of the men was holding the lamp aloft, another took a fewsteps forward into the room. He turned to Marguerite, entirely ignoringthe presence of the old priest, and addressed her peremptorily.

  "Your presence is desired by the citizen governor," he said curtly;"stand up and follow me."

  "Whither am I to go?" she asked.

  "To where my men will take you. Now then, quick's the word. The citizengovernor does not like to wait."

  At a word of command from him, two more soldiers now entered the roomand placed themselves one on each side of Marguerite, who, knowing thatresistance was useless, had already risen and was prepared to go.

  The Abbe tried to utter a word of protest and came quickly forwardtowards Marguerite, but he was summarily and very roughly pushed aside.

  "Now then, calotin," said the first soldier with an oath, "this is noneof your business. Forward! march!" he added, addressing his men, "andyou, Citizeness, will find it wiser to come quietly along and not toattempt any tricks with me, or the gag and manacles will have to beused."

  But Marguerite had no intention of resisting. She was too tired even towonder as to what they meant to do with her or whither they were going;she moved as in a dream and felt a hope within her that she was beingled to death: summary executions were the order of the day, she knewthat, and sighed for this simple solution of the awful problem which hadbeen harassing her these past two days.

  She was being led along a passage, stumbling ever and anon as shewalked, for it was but dimly lighted by the same little oil lamp, whichone of the soldiers was carrying in front, holding it high up above hishead: then they went down a narrow flight of stone steps, until she andher escort reached a heavy oak door.

  A halt was ordered at this point: and the man in command of the littleparty pushed the door open and walked in. Marguerite caught sight ofa room beyond, dark and gloomy-looking, as was her own prison cell.Somewhere on the left there was obviously a window; she could not seeit but guessed that it was there because the moon struck full upon thefloor, ghost-like and spectral, well fitting in with the dream-likestate in which Marguerite felt herself to be.

  In the centre of the room she could discern a table with a chair closebeside it, also a couple of tallow candles, which flickered in thedraught caused no doubt by that open window which she could not see.

  All these little details impressed themselves on Marguerite's mind, asshe stood there, placidly waiting until she should once more be told tomove along. The table, the chair, that unseen window, trivial objectsthough they were, assumed before her overwrought fancy an utterlydisproportionate importance. She caught herself presently counting upthe number of boards visible on the floor, and watching the smoke of thetallow-candles rising up towards the grimy ceiling.

  After a few minutes' weary waiting which seemed endless to Marguerite,there came a short word of command from within and she was roughlypushed forward into the room by one of the men. The cool air of a lateSeptember's evening gently fanned her burning temples. She looked roundher and now perceived that someone was sitting at the table, the otherside of the tallow-candles--a man, with head bent over a bundle ofpapers and shading his face against the light with his hand.

  He rose as she approached, and the flickering flame of the candlesplayed weirdly upon the slight, sable-clad figure, illumining the keen,ferret-like face, and throwing fitful gleams across the deep-set eyesand the narrow, cruel mouth.

  It was Chauvelin.

  Mechanically Marguerite took the chair which the soldier drew towardsher, ordering her curtly to sit down. She seemed to have butlittle power to move. Though all her faculties had suddenly becomepreternaturally alert at sight of this man, whose very life now wasspent in doing her the most grievous wrong that one human being can doto another, yet all these faculties were forcefully centred in the onemighty effort not to flinch before him, not to let him see for a momentthat she was afraid.

  She compelled her eyes to look at him fully and squarely, her lips notto tremble, her very heart to stop its wild, excited beating. She felthis keen eyes fixed intently upon her, but more in curiosity than inhatred or satisfied vengeance.

  When she had sat down he came round the table and moved towards her.When he drew quite near, she instinctively recoiled. It had been analmost imperceptible action on her part and certainly an involuntaryone, for she did not wish to betray a single thought or emotion, untilshe knew what he wished to say.

  But he had noted her movement--a sor
t of drawing up and stiffening ofher whole person as he approached. He seemed pleased to see it, forhe smiled sarcastically but with evident satisfaction, and--as if hispurpose was now accomplished--he immediately withdrew and went back tohis former seat on the other side of the table. After that he orderedthe soldiers to go.

  "But remain at attention outside, you and your men," he added, "ready toenter if I call."

  It was Marguerite's turn to smile at this obvious sign of a lurking fearon Chauvelin's part, and a line of sarcasm and contempt curled her fulllips.

  The soldiers having obeyed and the oak door having closed upon them,Marguerite was now alone with the man whom she hated and loathed beyondevery living thing on earth.

  She wondered when he would begin to speak and why he had sent for her.But he seemed in no hurry to begin. Still shading his face with hishand, he was watching her with utmost attention: she, on the other hand,was looking through and beyond him, with contemptuous indifference, asif his presence here did not interest her in the least.

  She would give him no opening for this conversation which he hadsought and which she felt would prove either purposeless or else deeplywounding to her heart and to her pride. She sat, therefore, quite stillwith the flickering and yellow light fully illumining her delicate face,with its child-like curves, and delicate features, the noble, straightbrow, the great blue eyes and halo of golden hair.

  "My desire to see you here to-night, must seem strange to you, LadyBlakeney," said Chauvelin at last.

  Then, as she did not reply, he continued, speaking quite gently, almostdeferentially:

  "There are various matters of grave importance, which the events of thenext twenty-four hours will reveal to your ladyship: and believe methat I am actuated by motives of pure friendship towards you in thismy effort to mitigate the unpleasantness of such news as you might hearto-morrow perhaps, by giving you due warning of what its nature mightbe."

  She turned great questioning eyes upon him, and in their expression shetried to put all the contempt which she felt, all the bitterness, allthe defiance and the pride.

  He quietly shrugged his shoulders.

  "Ah! I fear me," he said, "that your ladyship, as usual doth me grievouswrong. It is but natural that you should misjudge me, yet believe me..."

  "A truce on this foolery, M. Chauvelin," she broke in, with suddenimpatient vehemence, "pray leave your protestations of friendship andcourtesy alone, there is no one here to hear them. I pray you proceedwith what you have to say."

  "Ah!" It was a sigh of satisfaction on the part of Chauvelin. Heranger and impatience even at this early stage of the interview provedsufficiently that her icy restraint was only on the surface.

  And Chauvelin always knew how to deal with vehemence. He loved to playwith the emotions of a passionate fellow-creature: it was only theimperturbable calm of a certain enemy of his that was wont to shake hisown impenetrable armour of reserve.

  "As your ladyship desires," he said, with a slight and ironical bow ofthe head. "But before proceeding according to your wish, I am compelledto ask your ladyship just one question."

  "And that is?"

  "Have you reflected what your present position means to that inimitableprince of dandies, Sir Percy Blakeney?"

  "Is it necessary for your present purpose, Monsieur, that you shouldmention my husband's name at all?" she asked.

  "It is indispensable, fair lady," he replied suavely, "for is not thefate of your husband so closely intertwined with yours, that his actionswill inevitably be largely influenced by your own."

  Marguerite gave a start of surprise, and as Chauvelin had paused shetried to read what hidden meaning lay behind these last words of his.Was it his intention then to propose some bargain, one of those terrible"either-or's" of which he seemed to possess the malignant secret? Oh!if that was so, if indeed he had sent for her in order to suggest one ofthose terrible alternatives of his, then--be it what it may, be it thewildest conception which the insane brain of a fiend could invent, shewould accept it, so long as the man she loved were given one singlechance of escape.

  Therefore she turned to her arch-enemy in a more conciliatory spiritnow, and even endeavoured to match her own diplomatic cunning againsthis.

  "I do not understand," she said tentatively. "How can my actionsinfluence those of my husband? I am a prisoner in Boulogne: he probablyis not aware of that fact yet and..."

  "Sir Percy Blakeney may be in Boulogne at any moment now," heinterrupted quietly. "An I mistake not, few places can offer such greatattractions to that peerless gentleman of fashion than doth this humbleprovincial town of France just at this present.... Hath it not thehonour of harbouring Lady Blakeney within its gates?... And yourladyship may indeed believe me when I say that the day that Sir Percylands in our hospitable port, two hundred pairs of eyes will be fixedupon him, lest he should wish to quit it again."

  "And if there were two thousand, sir," she said impulsively, "they wouldnot stop his coming or going as he pleased."

  "Nay, fair lady," he said, with a smile, "are you then endowing SirPercy Blakeney with the attributes which, as popular fancy has it,belong exclusively to that mysterious English hero, the ScarletPimpernel?"

  "A truce to your diplomacy, Monsieur Chauvelin," she retorted, goaded byhis sarcasm, "why should we try to fence with one another? What was theobject of your journey to England? of the farce which you enacted inmy house, with the help of the woman Candeille? of that duel andthat challenge, save that you desired to entice Sir Percy Blakeney toFrance?"

  "And also his charming wife," he added with an ironical bow.

  She bit her lip, and made no comment.

  "Shall we say that I succeeded admirably?" he continued, speaking withpersistent urbanity and calm, "and that I have strong cause to hope thatthe elusive Pimpernel will soon be a guest on our friendly shores?...There! you see I too have laid down the foils.... As you say, why shouldwe fence? Your ladyship is now in Boulogne, soon Sir Percy will come totry and take you away from us, but believe me, fair lady, that it wouldtake more than the ingenuity and the daring of the Scarlet Pimpernelmagnified a thousandfold to get him back to England again... unless..."

  "Unless?..."

  Marguerite held her breath. She felt now as if the whole universe muststand still during the next supreme moment, until she had heard whatChauvelin's next words would be.

  There was to be an "unless" then? An "either-or" more terrible no doubtthan the one he had formulated before her just a year ago.

  Chauvelin, she knew, was past master in the art of putting a knife athis victim's throat and of giving it just the necessary twist with hiscruel and relentless "unless"!

  But she felt quite calm, because her purpose was resolute. There is nodoubt that during this agonizing moment of suspense she was absolutelyfirm in her determination to accept any and every condition whichChauvelin would put before her as the price of her husband's safety.After all, these conditions, since he placed them before HER, couldresolve themselves into questions of her own life against her husband's.

  With that unreasoning impulse which was one of her most salientcharacteristics, she never paused to think that, to Chauvelin, her ownlife or death were only the means to the great end which he had in view:the complete annihilation of the Scarlet Pimpernel.

  That end could only be reached by Percy Blakeney's death--not by herown.

  Even now as she was watching him with eyes glowing and lips tightlyclosed, lest a cry of impatient agony should escape her throat,he,--like a snail that has shown its slimy horns too soon, and is notready to face the enemy as yet,--seemed suddenly to withdraw within hisformer shell of careless suavity. The earnestness of his tone vanished,giving place to light and easy conversation, just as if he werediscussing social topics with a woman of fashion in a Parisdrawing-room.

  "Nay!" he said pleasantly, "is not your ladyship taking this matter intoo serious a spirit? Of a truth you repeated my innocent word 'unless'even as if I were putting knife at your
dainty throat. Yet I meantnaught that need disturb you yet. Have I not said that I am your friend?Let me try and prove it to you."

  "You will find that a difficult task, Monsieur," she said drily.

  "Difficult tasks always have had a great fascination for your humbleservant. May I try?"

  "Certainly."

  "Shall we then touch at the root of this delicate matter? Your ladyship,so I understand, is at this moment under the impression that I desireto encompass--shall I say?--the death of an English gentleman for whom,believe me, I have the greatest respect. That is so, is it not?"

  "What is so, M. Chauvelin?" she asked almost stupidly, for truly she hadnot even begun to grasp his meaning. "I do not understand."

  "You think that I am at this moment taking measures for sending theScarlet Pimpernel to the guillotine? Eh?"

  "I do."

  "Never was so great an error committed by a clever woman. Your ladyshipmust believe me when I say that the guillotine is the very last placein the world where I would wish to see that enigmatic and elusivepersonage."

  "Are you trying to fool me, M. Chauvelin? If so, for what purpose? Andwhy do you lie to me like that?"

  "On my honour, 'tis the truth. The death of Sir Percy Blakeney--I maycall him that, may I not?--would ill suit the purpose which I have inview."

  "What purpose? You must pardon me, Monsieur Chauvelin," she added witha quick, impatient sigh, "but of a truth I am getting confused, and mywits must have become dull in the past few days. I pray to you to addto your many protestations of friendship a little more clearness in yourspeech and, if possible, a little more brevity. What then is the purposewhich you had in view when you enticed my husband to come over toFrance?"

  "My purpose was the destruction of the Scarlet Pimpernel, not the deathof Sir Percy Blakeney. Believe me, I have a great regard for Sir Percy.He is a most accomplished gentleman, witty, brilliant, an inimitabledandy. Why should he not grace with his presence the drawing-rooms ofLondon or of Brighton for many years to come?"

  She looked at him with puzzled inquiry. For one moment the thoughtflashed through her mind that, after all, Chauvelin might be still indoubt as to the identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel.... But no! that hopewas madness.... It was preposterous and impossible.... But then, why?why? why?... Oh God! for a little more patience!

  "What I have just said may seem a little enigmatic to your ladyship," hecontinued blandly, "but surely so clever a woman as yourself, so greata lady as is the wife of Sir Percy Blakeney, Baronet, will be awarethat there are other means of destroying an enemy than the taking of hislife."

  "For instance, Monsieur Chauvelin?"

  "There is the destruction of his honour," he replied slowly.

  A long, bitter laugh, almost hysterical in its loud outburst, broke fromthe very depths of Marguerite's convulsed heart.

  "The destruction of his honour!... ha! ha! ha! ha!... of a truth,Monsieur Chauvelin, your inventive powers have led you beyond the boundsof dreamland!... Ha! ha! ha! ha!... It is in the land of madnessthat you are wandering, sir, when you talk in one breath of Sir PercyBlakeney and the possible destruction of his honour!"

  But he remained apparently quite unruffled, and when her laughter hadsomewhat subsided, he said placidly:

  "Perhaps!..."

  Then he rose from his chair, and once more approached her. This time shedid not shrink from him. The suggestion which he had made just now, thistalk of attacking her husband's honour rather than his life, seemed sowild and preposterous--the conception truly of a mind unhinged--that shelooked upon it as a sign of extreme weakness on his part, almost as anacknowledgement of impotence.

  But she watched him as he moved round the table more in curiosity nowthan in fright. He puzzled her, and she still had a feeling at the backof her mind that there must be something more definite and more evillurking at the back of that tortuous brain.

  "Will your ladyship allow me to conduct you to yonder window?" he said,"the air is cool, and what I have to say can best be done in sight ofyonder sleeping city."

  His tone was one of perfect courtesy, even of respectful deferencethrough which not the slightest trace of sarcasm could be discerned, andshe, still actuated by curiosity and interest, not in any way by fear,quietly rose to obey him. Though she ignored the hand which he washolding out towards her, she followed him readily enough as he walked upto the window.

  All through this agonizing and soul-stirring interview she had feltheavily oppressed by the close atmosphere of the room, rendered nauseousby the evil smell of the smoky tallow-candles which were left to spreadtheir grease and smoke abroad unchecked. Once or twice she had gazedlongingly towards the suggestion of pure air outside.

  Chauvelin evidently had still much to say to her: the torturing, mentalrack to which she was being subjected had not yet fully done its work.It still was capable of one or two turns, a twist or so which mightsucceed in crushing her pride and her defiance. Well! so be it! shewas in the man's power: had placed herself therein through her ownunreasoning impulse. This interview was but one of the many soul-agonieswhich she had been called upon to endure, and if by submitting to it allshe could in a measure mitigate her own faults and be of help to theman she loved, she would find the sacrifice small and the mental tortureeasy to bear.

  Therefore when Chauvelin beckoned to her to draw near, she went up tothe window, and leaning her head against the deep stone embrasure, shelooked out into the night.

  Chapter XXIII The Hostage