The Pimpernel Plot

3

They arrived at Calais the following evening, having stopped several times to change horses en route. It had been a long, hard drive. Finn was sore and covered with road dust. Marguerite had been shaken up inside the coach, but she issued not one word of complaint. They drove directly to the port and as he looked out into the bay, Finn could see a graceful fifty-foot schooner with a long and slender bowsprit riding at anchor, its twin masts barely visible in the dusk. They left the coach at an inn and hired a small boat to take them out to the Day Dream.

It was brisk out on the water and Marguerite shivered in her inadequate cloak as she clutched it around her, but she didn’t say a word. Finn had to admire her. She had been shot in the head, had some minor field surgery performed on her, though she didn’t know it, been drugged, bounced around inside a coach on bumpy, rut-filled country roads for some one hundred and fifty miles, which they had covered in an astonishing two days, exhausting several teams of horses in the process, and now she was being violently rocked up and down as the small boat pulled out toward the Day Dream in the choppy waters of the Channel. The cold wind sliced through her fashionably light hooded cloak as though it wasn’t even there and, with the exception of a slight shaking of the shoulders and a barely noticeable tremor of the lower lip, Marguerite remained calm and poised, as though she were out for a row upon a placid country lake.

The boat pulled up to the yacht and one of the crewmen dropped a rope ladder over the side. As the boatman hung onto the bottom of the ladder, trying to keep the rowboat steady in the swells, Finn helped Marguerite up the ladder, staying close behind her and holding on tight in case she should lose her grip and fall. She climbed a bit uncertainly, unaccustomed to having the world rolling all round her, but she hung on tenaciously and in moments, a crewman was giving her a hand on board. She thanked the young man, who smiled awkwardly in her presence, and turned back to look at Finn with a slightly shaky smile.

“Which way to my room, Percy? Oh, yes, it’s called a cabin on a boat, is it not?”

“Allow me, my lady,” said a tall, sandy-haired young man of about twenty-six or seven, who came up to them and offered her his arm. He flashed a dazzling smile at her. “Lord Antony Dewhurst, at your service, ma’am. You must be terribly fatigued after your journey. I’ve taken the liberty of having your cabin prepared and your bunk turned down. There’s fresh water for washing and Stevens here will bring you supper and a rum toddy momentarily. I think that you will find the bracing sea air quite conducive to deep and restful sleep. We shall be sailing on the morning tide.”

“You’re most kind, Lord Dewhurst.”

“Antony, ma’am,” he said with a grin, “or Tony, if you prefer. That’s what all my friends call me.”

“Thank you, Tony. I think I will retire, if you gentlemen will excuse me.”

Dewhurst led her away belowdeck, with a quick glance back at Finn to tell him that he would come right back at once. Finn leaned against the mainmast amidships and pulled out one of his clays. He filled it with tobacco and tamped it down; then, hunching over it and cupping his hand against the wind, he got it lit after several tries and settled down against the teak railing to wait for Dewhurst to return. With the exception of the captain, a weatherbeaten old salt named Briggs, who only bid him welcome aboard and asked if there was anything that he could do for him, the rest of the crew left him to his privacy. Briggs brought him a pewter flask filled with rum and then departed once again to his own cabin. After several moments, Dewhurst returned.

“I say, Percy, she’s absolutely marvelous! Beautiful, charming and intelligent; you’ll be the envy of every man in London.”

“I daresay,” said Finn, “excepting those who cannot abide the barbarity currently practiced on these shores.”

Dewhurst looked suddenly glum. “It’s true, then, about St. Cyr?”

“You’ve heard, then?” Finn said cautiously, to draw him out.

“Aye, news travels fast when it’s bad news,” said Dewhurst. “What are you going to do?”

“Faith, what can I do? She is my wife, Tony. I am married to her past, as well as to her future.”

“What about Ffoulkes? Is he well away? Have you seen him?”

“Aye, he’s well away. He got out the gate a bit ahead of us, but we did not pass him on the road. No doubt he pulled off the main road until he was certain it was safe to go on. There was trouble, though. Soldiers pursued him, but they pulled over the wrong wagon. I passed them as they were tearing it apart in search of human contraband.”

“He’ll make it, won’t he, Percy?” Dewhurst said, concern showing on his face.

Finn nodded. “He’ll make it. Andrew is no fool. But we must sail to Dover without him. I cannot risk having de Chalis and Marguerite come face to face. It will ruin everything. We shall have to send the Day Dream back for them.”

“Poor St. Just,” said Dewhurst.

“What’s that?” said Finn

“Oh, I said, ‘Poor St. Just.’ The only one of the Feuillants with any influence left and they appoint him to the Committee of Public Safety, where he’s outnumbered by Robespierre’s Jacobins. If only it were the other way around. Yet there he sits, teetering on the edge of the abyss, while Fouquier-Tinville pursues his butchery. Without his help, we would never have got de Chalis out alive, yet I fear that it will be a poor atonement for his sister’s crime.” Realizing, suddenly, what he had said, Dewhurst looked aghast at Finn. “God, Percy, forgive me! I didn’t think. That was a frightfully cruel thing to say.”

“Yet, nevertheless, it’s true,” said Finn. So Armand St. Just, along with Lafayette, was one of the moderate monarchists who had separated from the Jacobins. He was sympathetic to Blakeney’s cause, enough so that he had taken an active part in it. That was something Delaney had not known. It was a very worthwhile piece of information. If the bloody excesses of the Revolution, combined with his sister’s part in the fall of the Marquis de St. Cyr, were an affront to his humanistic sensibilities, Armand could be used. Indeed, it appeared that Blakeney had used him already.

“Still, I’m very sorry, Percy. She is your wife, after all. I hope you can forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive, Tony. The times have given all of us strange bedfellows.”

“I say, that’s a little crude,” said Dewhurst, a bit taken aback.

“These days, l have little patience for the delicacies of polite behavior,” Finn said. “It smacks of hypocrisy, what with people being slaughtered left and right in the name of liberty, fraternity and equality. A poet once said, ‘If you can keep your head while all about you are losing theirs…’” He broke off, realizing that the poet in question, Rudyard Kipling, would not be born until 1865. “Well, I intend to keep my head,” he said. “And to do everything in my power to keep as many as possible from losing theirs. The guillotine is an abomination and I have set myself the task of denying it as many victims as I can. This is the very least that I can do. It won’t bring back St. Cyr or make the knowledge of Marguerite’s part in his execution any easier to bear, but if I can spare others from his fate, any risk would be worthwhile. It’s not enough to simply spirit one aristocrat out of the country. I must try to save as many as I can and then rub Fouquier Tinville’s nose in it!”

“In principle, I’m all for it,” Dewhurst said, “but in practice, it would be quite dangerous. Then, too, there is the matter of Lady Blakeney’s views, although I hesitate to dwell upon the matter.”

“She must never know, of course,” said Finn. “I will have to work in secret.”

“Then each of those you help will have to be sworn to secrecy, as well,” said Dewhurst. “The only thing is, despite all good intentions, secrets do not remain secrets for long when those who share them grow great in number.”

Finn nodded. “I’m certain that the Duc de Chalis can be trusted not to speak of his benefactors. As for any others, I’ll have to take great pains to conceal my identity from them.”

“Any subterfuge along those lines would come to nought the moment anyone inquired as to the identity of the owner of this boat,” said Dewhurst. “You cannot hope to use the Day Dream in your plans and still remain unknown. She is far from being inconspicuous and she won’t be lost among more common craft.”

Finn smiled. “Then I shall sell her.”

Dewhurst frowned. “But then, how-”

“After all,” continued Finn, “I’ve grown tired of traveling and I’m on my way back to England to take charge of my affairs. I no longer have need of such an extravagant yacht since I will be staying in London most of the time. As a matter of fact, I’ve already sold her.”

“What? To whom?”

“Why, to you, Tony.”

“To me?”

“Yes, to you. You’ve wanted her for years, haven’t you? You’ve been after me to sell the Day Dream to you for as long as we’ve known each other.”

“What? Percy, what on earth are you talking about? I’ve never-”

“Yes, I know you’ve never done any such thing. You know it and I know it, but no one else knows it and that’s all that really matters.”

“I don’t understand this at all, Percy. What the devil are you getting at?”

“Look, Tony, you don’t spend all of your time sailing about in the English Channel, do you? Being the new owner of such a fine boat, is there any reason why you shouldn’t realize some profit from her? Allow Briggs to take on some small commissions to help pay for the Day Dream’s upkeep and keep the crew from being idle? As a matter of fact, the moment we return to England, you’ll be offered just such a commission, by an agent whose name you will conveniently forget. You will be very much surprised when you discover that it was for the purpose of helping the Duc de Chalis escape from France. When you discover this extraordinary fact, you’ll be so astonished and delighted that, as a gesture of noble idealism, you will instruct Briggs to keep the boat available to this unknown adventurer, whose face no one will ever see. You and Ffoulkes will make a grand show of helping the new arrivals find a place for themselves in England. You’ll speak a great deal about this man of mystery whose cause you have elected to support, even though you don’t know anything about him.” Finn grinned. “Before too long, I’m certain that you’ll be receiving contributions from everyone in London to pass on to Briggs, so that he can give it to the agents of this adventurer. If it’s managed right, we can make him a folk hero.”

“Don’t you mean ‘make yourself a folk hero’?” Dewhurst said with a smirk. “Why this sudden modesty, Percy?”

“Because it isn’t really me,” said Finn. “I don’t matter, not as Percy Blakeney, individual. It’s the principle involved, the idea of the thing. Suppose for a moment that I acted as myself, as Percy Blakeney, smuggling people out of France at great risk to myself. What would the resulting public opinion be? Some would support me, to be sure, others would think I was a fool. As that faction in Parliament who oppose our intervention in the Revolution say, ‘Let ’em murder!’ I would attract some attention for a while as a man with the courage to act on his convictions, but in due course, the novelty would wear off and people would grow bored with the whole thing. On the other hand, people love a mystery. If we have some romantic, unknown adventurer cheating the guillotine of victims, that would capture the public’s fancy. Who is he? Where did he come from? What is he like, this anonymous crusader against injustice? It’s not the man that counts, Tony, it’s the image. You see what I mean, don’t you?”

“Aye, I do. It strikes me that you’ve missed your calling, Percy. You should have been a politician or a dramatist. You seem to have an uncanny knack for understanding public opinion and emotions. As you say, the imagination of the people would indeed be captured by an adventurer such as you describe, a crusader who cloaks himself in mystery. Such a figure would appear to be larger than life and would become a cause celebre.”

“Precisely. We can all help to create him together,” said Finn. “We can recruit others into our cause, though we must do so with great care. We will form a league together, with this unknown crusader as our leader. The role that you and Ffoulkes must play in public must be that of men who are only involved indirectly with this man. It must be necessary for you to be able to account for your activities at the times when this crusader is at work; this is for your safety.”

“Why must we be known to be involved at all?” said Dewhurst.

“Because I shall need my Boswells,” said Delaney. “It will be necessary for the public to know something of the activities of this crusader if we are to curry their favor. Publicly, you will attest to his existence, though you will claim to know nothing of him whatsoever. You will be contacted by his league, his agents, by surreptitious means and told when to prepare for receiving escapees from France. Publicly, you will never set foot on French soil. Rather, you will instruct Briggs when to have the Day Dream ready, when and where to have her waiting to accept aristocrats saved by our crusader. When they arrive in England, they will then be in your charge and you and Ffoulkes will help them find a place in our society. This will leave you free to speak of this crusader and his league as the two of you, perhaps more than any others, will then be in a position to wonder at his true identity. You can help to fan the flame of public curiosity and in this manner elicit their support.”

“What about yourself?” said Dewhurst. “You will join us in this charade?”

“No, I will not,” said Finn. “I must create about myself an aura such that will insure that I can never be suspect in this matter. Only then will I be free to act. I shall have to be an even greater actor than my wife, for I will have to fool her, along with everybody else. None but you and Ffoulkes, as well as Briggs, for I must take him into my confidence, must know the part that I will play in all of this.”

“What of the Duc de Chalis?” Dewhurst said.

“I shall have to speak with him and prepare him for the part he is to play,” said Finn. “As for the rest of it, you are quite right. We must limit the number of those who share our secret.”

Dewhurst smiled. “I must say, it all sounds like a great deal of fun.”

“It will be very dangerous,” said Finn.

Dewhurst shrugged. “It will be fine sport. And what is sport without some element of risk?” He laughed. “By God, I’m really going to enjoy this! I can’t wait to get started!”

Finn smiled. “We have already started, Tony. Let’s have a drink on it. To the speedy and safe arrival of Andrew Ffoulkes and to the creation of our mysterious crusader!”

Finn took a sip of rum and then passed it to Dewhurst.

“What shall we call him, then?” said Dewhurst. “He will have to have a name, this flower of English manhood pitted against the fleur-de-lis of France.”

“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.