Percy come to understand why you did what you have done and he will forgive you for it.”
Marguerite shook her head. “I wish I could believe that.”
“You must believe it, Marguerite. Percy loves you. It is the strongest of emotions and it soon defeats all others.”
“I wonder,” she said. “I know he loves me, Armand, I can see it in his eyes. Yet, though we live together, we remain apart. We almost never speak, except when necessary, and the only true friend that I had at Richmond, one of the servants, a girl named Andre, was sent away by Percy and now I have no one left to talk to.”
“Then you must talk to Percy,” said Armand. “You must resolve matters between you.”
“Believe me, Armand, there is nothing I want more, but I am frightened. Percy frightens me. I do not know him anymore. I think sometimes that I must be going mad. You have seen him, you have spoken with him. Have you not found him changed?”
Armand frowned. “I’m not certain what you mean. He has, perhaps, put on a few more airs since last I saw him; other than that, he seems the same.”
“I tell you, he is a different man,” said Marguerite. “I cannot explain it, but I half believe that he is not Percy Blakeney, but some impostor who looks and speaks just like him. I am living with some stranger and what frightens me even more is that I seem to find this stranger even more compelling than my husband.”
Armand smiled. “From what you tell me, it seems that Percy is at odds with his ideals. He loves you, yet he hates what you have done, what he thinks you believe. Such a state of affairs might well affect a man so deeply that he would seem a stranger, not only to you, but to himself, as well.”
“Perhaps that is what it is,” said Marguerite. “Still, I cannot help but think that-”
“I’m certain that is all it is,” Armand said, taking his sister’s hand. “These are trying times for all of us, Marguerite. We shall simply have to persevere.”
She smiled halfheartedly. “Look at me,” she said, “crying on your shoulder when you have troubles ever so much greater than my own.”
“They, too, shall pass,” Armand said, patting her hand.
“Must you leave so soon?” she said. “I’ve missed you so!”
Armand nodded. “Yes, I’m afraid I must. I sail in the morning. Captain Briggs has been good enough to promise to take me back across. I should not have come, but I missed you, too. Still, there is much needing to be done in Paris.”
“Then I shall come to visit you in Paris soon!”
“That would not be wise,” Armand said. “Things are unstable in the government right now. I would feel far happier knowing you were safe in England, where a threat to you could not be used against me.”
“Is it as bad as that?” she said, her face grave with concern.
“Yes, and I fear it will grow worse before it’s over,” Armand said. “You mark my words, those doing the chopping now may one day soon find their own necks on the block.”
“Then don’t go back, Armand,” said Marguerite. “Why place yourself in danger needlessly?”
“Because it is not needless, my dear. I said that there must be a voice for reason and there is precious little reason in France these days. If those who feel as I do were to abdicate their responsibility, there would be no reason at all.”
It was late when Marguerite returned to the Fisherman’s Rest. Finn had left the coach with her, but because the inn was not far away, she had sent the coachman back to eat his supper earlier, saying she preferred to walk in the cool night air. As she was about to pass through the door of the inn, she heard a soft voice behind her say, “I always find a walk before bedtime relaxing, too, Citoyenne St. Just.”
Startled, she quickly turned around to see a little, foxlike man dressed all in black approaching her. He was about forty years old and slender. He held a tiny pewter snuffbox in his left hand and beneath his wide-brimmed black hat his sharp features were set in a look of friendly affection.
“Chauvelin?” said Marguerite.
“It’s so nice to be remembered, Citoyenne St. Just,” he said, with a slight bow.
“Not Citoyenne St. Just, but Lady Blakeney now,” said Marguerite.
“Ah, yes, of course. I stand corrected. How fares the leading light of the Comedie Francaise?”
“The former leading light of the Comedie Francais is frightfully bored these days, my dear Chauvelin. And what brings you to England?”
“Matters of state,” said Chauvelin, taking a pinch of snuff. “I am to present my credentials to Mr. Pitt in London tomorrow as the official representative of the Republican government to England.”
“You may find your reception a trifle cool, my dear Chauvelin,” said Marguerite. “The English are not very sympathetic to the government in France these days.”
Chauvelin smiled. “I am quite aware of that,” he said. “If anything, you understate the case. Still, I must do my duty. Besides, I also have other responsibilities. You mentioned that you were bored, Citoyenne. I may have just the remedy for that. It is called work.”
Marguerite raised her eyebrows. “Work? Are you saying that you would employ me, Chauvelin?”
The Frenchman shrugged. “In a manner of speaking, perhaps. Tell me, have you ever heard of the Scarlet Pimpernel?”
“Heard of the Scarlet Pimpernel?” said Marguerite, with a chuckle. “My dear Chauvelin, all of England has heard of the Scarlet Pimpernel! We talk of nothing else. We have hats a la Scarlet Pimpernel; our horses are called Scarlet Pimpernel; at the Prince of Wales’s party the other night, we had a souffle a la Scarlet Pimpernel.”
“Yes, well, he has become rather well known in France, as well,” said Chauvelin. “In fact, as I have said, I have several responsibilities on my mission here. One of my duties is to learn about this League of the Scarlet Pimpernel. Aristocratic French emigres have been arousing feeling abroad against the Republic. I need to find this Scarlet Pimpernel and bring to an end his criminal activities. I am certain that he is a young buck in English society. I would like you to help me find him.”
“Me?” said Marguerite. “Why, what could I do?”
“You could watch, Citoyenne, and you could listen. You move in the same circles as he does.”
“Understand me, Chauvelin,” she said, “even if I could do anything to aid your cause, I would not do so. I could never betray so brave a man, whoever he may be.”
“You would prefer to be insulted by every French aristocrat that comes to this country?” Chauvelin said. “Yes, I observed that little drama earlier this evening. If this Scarlet Pimpernel is not brought to justice, I can assure you that it will be replayed time and time again, with each new arrival who recalls your part in the trial of the ci-devant Marquis de St. Cyr.”
Marguerite stiffened. “Be that as it may, Chauvelin,” she said, “I will not help you.”
“I see,” said Chauvelin. “Well, I am not a man to be easily dissuaded, Citoyenne.” He pointedly ignored her correction of him as to her proper title. “I think that we shall meet again in London.”
Irritated, Marguerite gave him a curt nod of dismissal and entered the Fisherman’s Rest without saying anything further to the little Frenchman. Since they had last seen each other in Paris, he had developed an oily officiousness she did not care for at all.
There were still several patrons sitting at the tables, despite the lateness of the hour, among them Ffoulkes and Dewhurst Marguerite said a brief good night to them and went upstairs, only to find that her husband was not in. For a moment, she wondered if she had really expected him to be. She also wondered about the pretty blonde girl in Jellyband’s employ. If Percy was not coming to her bed, perhaps he was going to someone else’s.
As she prepared to go to bed, alone as usual, Marguerite contemplated all her recent disappointments. The fact that Armand was only able to spend so brief a period of time with her was only one more disappointment added to the list. She understood why he had to go back to Paris and why it would be unseemly for him to mingle in the Blakeneys’ social circle. Still, she felt that she had not really been able to tell him half the things she meant to say to him. Some things, she thought one cannot speak of, even with a brother. She had only been able to hint at what was really bothering her. She missed her confidant.
As Chauvelin quietly entered the small firelight room, he saw Ffoulkes and Dewhurst lying unconscious on the floor, his two agents going through their pockets. He closed the door behind him softly.
“Did either of them see you?” he whispered.
One of the men shook his head. “No, Citizen. We took them from behind.”
Chauvelin nodded. “Excellent. Quickly now, let me see what you have found.”
