“You may take it any way you wish,” said Finn, with a wave of his handkerchief, “but take it over there somewhere. This whole incident has been frightfully annoying. It would be best for all if the entire matter were forgotten. Indeed, it’s already passed from my memory.”
“Come, children,” said the comtesse. “We have yet to reach our final destination and we would do well to take some rest. We shall dine up in our rooms,” she said to Dewhurst, “where the atmosphere might be more congenial, although I daresay that it won’t be a great improvement.”
Suzanne was about to speak to Marguerite, but her mother spoke a sharp command and, with an embarrassed, apologetic look, Suzanne left the room to go upstairs.
“Well, I can’t say that I care much for her manner,” Marguerite said. “That was quite a narrow escape for you, Percy. For a moment, I actually believed that young man would attack you.”
“I daresay I would have given a good accounting of myself,” said Finn. “I’ve raised the fists in the ring with some success on a number of occasions, although brawling in a tavern would not be my idea of sport, you know.”
As they spoke, there were a number of other patrons in the Fisherman’s Rest, some of whose idea of sport was precisely that, they had been watching with some interest when it appeared that there might be an altercation between the young French aristocrat and the older English dandy. When the two would-be combatants disappointed them, they went back to their meat pies and ale, all except three men who sat on the far side of the room in a dark corner. These three all wore long cloaks and huddled together, as though in private conversation, although they did not speak. Instead, they listened very closely. One of them, his black hat with its wide brim pulled low
over his eyes, nodded to himself with satisfaction. When the young vicomte came back downstairs briefly to tell Ffoulkes and Dewhurst that his mother was quite tired and had elected to stay the night and travel to London the next morning, he smiled to himself.
“Excellent,” he said softly, in French, to his two companions. “It would seem that several opportunities are beginning to present themselves.”
One of his companions nodded. “If we strike tonight and strike quickly, we can seize the aristos and bring them back to Paris for their just desserts!”
“No, no, mon ami,” said the first man. “Put the de Tournays out of your mind. They no longer matter. We are after bigger game. Those two have proved my theory. I am convinced that this Scarlet Pimpernel is an English nobleman and they will lead us to him. Now listen closely, this is what I want the two of you to do tonight…”
Captain Briggs, skipper of the Day Dream, owned a small house overlooking the harbor in Dover. On this night, rather than sleeping in his own bed, he was staying aboard the Day Dream at Percy Blakeney’s request, so that Armand St. Just and his sister could have some hours of privacy together. Finn had conducted Marguerite to the tiny, whitewashed house with its neat little garden and then returned to his room in the Fisherman’s Rest. After an affectionate greeting, brother and sister sat down to the table for a few cups of tea.
“I feel as though I have snuck into England like a thief,” Armand said, smiling. “I hid in Captain Briggs’s cabin during the crossing, fearing to venture out. I can well imagine how the Comtesse de Tournay would have reacted upon seeing not only a St. Just, but a member of the Committee of Public Safety aboard the boat that was taking her to freedom!”
Marguerite looked at her brother and felt an overwhelming sadness. At first glance, he was still the same youthful-looking charmer, but on closer inspection, she could see that his hair was now lightly streaked with gray. There were bags under his blue eyes and his face had a tired and haggard look.
“I think Percy is being totally unreasonable, insisting upon our meeting this way,” she said. “You should come and stay with us, Armand, in Richmond. This is-”
“No, no, do not blame Percy,” said Armand. “He invited me to Richmond. This was at my insistence. I cannot be gone from France for long and, given the climate of opinion on these shores, it would scarce serve you and Percy well to be entertaining a member of Fouquier-Tinville’s committee in your home. It would be a bit awkward for me, as well. This way, at least we have some time to spend alone together. Tell me, then, my sister, are you happy here? How is England treating you?”
“England treats me well enough,” said Marguerite, “but as to being happy, I cannot recall when I have been so miserable.”
“What, is Percy not treating you well? He doesn’t beat you, surely!”
“Oh, no, nothing like that,” said Marguerite. “Sometimes I almost wish he would. It might even be preferable to the way he treats me now. He is polite and attentive, he sees to all my needs and comforts, but he has withdrawn his love from me, Armand. He has heard the gossip, the stories about the Marquis de St. Cyr-”
“Haven’t you told him the truth?” Armand said. “Haven’t you explained that you struck out at St. Cyr on my account?”
“What good would that do?” said Marguerite. “It would not change what I have done. What am I to tell him, that I spoke carelessly in a group of what I believed to be trusted friends, accusing a man of treason because he had my brother caned for having the effrontery to express his plebeian love for St. Cyr’s aristocratic daughter? Would that excuse my actions?”
“You oversimplify the situation, Marguerite. St. Cyr was a traitor. We both knew he had written letters to Austria, seeking help to put down the Revolution. He did not merely have me caned when he learned of my seeing Juliette. I was nearly beaten to death. Surely Percy would understand what you did under the circumstances. You also do not mention the lengths to which you went to try to save him after his arrest. St. Cyr was a monster who represented the worst in the old system, a decadent aristocrat who flogged his servants regularly, who ran down people with his coach when they were not quick enough to get out of his way, who-”
“What difference does all that make?” said Marguerite. “It does not change the fact that I informed upon the man and sent him to his death, along with his whole family. It does not change the fact that in doing so, I became a part of what Percy so abhors about the Revolution. I can well imagine how he must feel now, having had you brought here so that we could see each other once again. He has a wife who was an informer and a brother-in-law who sits upon a committee of ruthless murderers whose thirst for blood is infamous. Why, Armand? Why continue with it? Stay here, with me. At least give me the peace of mind in knowing that you are no longer a part of all that savagery!”
Armand shook his head. “No, my dear sister, I cannot. That we have acted savagely, I cannot dispute. Yet, there must be a voice speaking out for reason in the tribunal. I’ll grant that my lonely voice has, for the most part, been lost upon the wind, but it is a wind that must soon blow itself out. The Revolution is a force for good. It has brought about a rebirth in our country and it gives the people hope. But the abuses of the aristocracy will not be easily or quickly forgotten. The beaten dogs have turned upon their former brutal masters and they must growl and rend and tear until they’ve had their fill. This is the way of things, for better or for worse. Until the hate of the people for the aristos burns itself out, these executions will continue. I find it loathsome, but it is a fact of life. Hard to believe though it may seem, good will come of it all in the end and the Revolution will stand in history as a terrible monument to what can happen when people are pushed too far. Meanwhile, I must remain in France and do what I can, what little that may be, to bring an end to all of it so that we may get on about the business of rebuilding and leave behind the tearing down. And just as the people’s hate will burn itself out one day, so will 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.”