“You already know of what happened later: Suzanne de Tournay arrived from Paris. By chance, I met her at a party, and was thrilled to see her. I half didn’t believe that she’d been rescued by the Scarlet Pimpernel, but what else could I believe? Still, I kept my reservations, until about a week later.”
“When the ambassador visited?” asked Basil.
“Yes,” confirmed she. “He arrived just days apart from Suzanne, and was quick to visit me. I was very surprised to see him, since I had thought never to see him again. My husband was away, so we were able to talk secretly, but here is what he told me: First of all, the truth; he was here as an undercover agent looking for the Scarlet Pimpernel. That was enough of a shock, but the next was even more so. He said that he knew I was loyal to France at heart, and asked me to help him find the Pimpernel.”
“And what did he do when you refused?” questioned Dawson.
Here she laughed slightly. “Dieu, yes, you’d expect him to be furious, wouldn’t you?”
“Well, wasn’t he?” the good doctor queried.
“That was the amazing part,” continued she. “He was absolutely calm about it. I suppose he suspected it; he feels England has fogged my mind, that I need good, French air again. He revealed to me that he knew my marriage was in shambles. I suspect he had me watched, I wouldn’t put it past him. He told me that he knew that I was unhappy, and that he hated to see that. He admitted that he still loved me, would always love me, and was here so as to rescue me from the British brainwashing I’d undergone.”
“Ah,” said Basil, sitting back in his chair, still smoking his pipe. “So part of the reason he went was to try and seduce you.”
Marguerite nodded. “Make no mistake, Monsieur Basil, I was miserable. I still am miserable. Entertain no idea that it had no chance of working, for it almost did. Chauvelin knows that I almost bent and gave in. That is why he is so persistent. Had he succeeded, I very well might have been helping him to find the Pimpernel of my own free will by now. Lucky for all parties concerned, except for him, I sent Citizen Chauvelin away immediately.
“It was a few days later, just before my husband returned, that he visited again. This time he brought me the ultimatum of my brother’s life. Terrified, I sent him away once more, begging time to think through the situation. I kept putting off an answer, and he kept visiting, no matter what. In desperation, I resigned myself to fate, and came to seek your help in capturing the Pimpernel. The rest you know.”
“No,” responded the detective, “I do not know. The story still has no ending, and several different people wish it several different endings.”
Delicately, Lady Blakeney dried her tears. “My husband does not love me, my brother is all that I have left. So you can already divine the ending I desire, monsieur.”
Basil slowly puffed his pipe, responding “Yes…..” His thoughts ticked slowly through his genius mind, and he finally came to realm of the living, practically jumping out of his chair. “I think you must be off, Lady Blakeney. I have theories to try and work through.”
Marguerite rose as well. “Yes, thank you for your time, Monsieur Basil. I shall contact you if anything new happens.”
“Yes, please do, Lady Blakeney.” With that, he showed her out the door, still muddled in his thoughts.
Marguerite was surprised by her husband’s news, found him packing up all the things he’d need for a fishing trip in Scotland.
“But of course, m’dear! There’s fish to be caught! I can’t simply sit here at let the demmed trout laugh in my face, now can I?” His eyes still carrying that lazy, half awake expression, he turned back to inspecting his fishing rods. Slightly worried, he turned to her and asked “I thought I told you last week.”
“You did,” she remembered. “I suppose the week has just gone by quickly.”
“Ah, yes, indeed it has, with you popping out to London so often and all. I trust you bought some fine new clothes for all the shopping you’ve been doing.”
“Yes,” she lied. Well, she could always order the non-existent clothes later. “They are lovely.”
“Excellent! Lovely clothes for my lovely wife. What could be better?”
“Love for your lovely wife,” she silently thought, but said nothing.
“Will you be expecting company?” Percy asked her sociably, stealing glances in her direction, the sunlight glinting off her auburn hair.
She knew it best not to tell him of Chauvelin and Fluerette’s planned visit. “I’m not sure. Possibly tea with Suzanne.”
“Ah, yes, Mademoiselle de Tournay. Sweet little girl, isn’t she? How simply marvelous! Andrew’s quite taken with her, you know?” he idly gossiped.
Lady Blakeney had guessed as much, since the two had been whispering and talking and sighing constantly the last time she’d seen them together.
“Is he? Well, they’d make a splendid match.”
“Ah, yes, indeed.” The tall blonde gentleman quickly turned on his heels, taking his wife’s paw and kissing it. “Well, my dear, I must be off. I shall see you in a week, alright?”
She tightly held onto his own paw, and begged, “You won’t be late this time?”
“Lord, madame, that all depends on the weather and the tide! But the Day Dream is a wonderful ship; I’m sure she’ll carry me there and back again with all possible haste.” He released her delicate paw, and stepped back, bowing. “Goodbye, m’dear.”
Mournfully, she watched him leave, not moving. She felt like collapsing, she was so very tired. There was no one’s embrace to escape to, no loving words to be heard. Oh, Chauvelin would gladly give them, but she did not want words from him. She wanted words of adoration from her husband once more, and tranquility from her brother. Neither were possible.
The trip proved to be enjoyable enough, and Chauvelin was exceedingly proud of his little angel’s behavior. She was such a wonderful child! They arrived at Blakeney Manor and were asked kindly by the butler to wait while he told his mistress that they’d arrived.
Strain was showing in Marguerite’s features; she had circles under her eyes, her complexion was slightly grey, and her hands shook ever so slightly if she thought about the peril her brother was in. When Jessup, the butler, told her that Citizen Chauvelin arrived, she been sitting in the library, reading to try and relax her nerves, occasionally staring out the window at the garden, lit with summer sunlight.
“Chauvelin?” she thought. “What is he doing here?”
“He’s also come with a child, my lady,” added Jessup.
“A child?” she asked aloud. “Oh, Fluerette!” She stole another glance out the window, at the garden, deciding she would rather meet them outdoors than in. “Please, Jessup, ask them to meet me in the garden.” Setting the book down, she swept outside, picking a spot by a bush of white roses to wait. Chauvelin knew the grounds well enough from the walks she’d reluctantly taken with him on previous visits; he’d know exactly where to find her.
And after only a moment of waiting anxiously, two sets of feet could be distinctly heard as the gravel crunched beneath them. The two rounded the corner, Fluerette eagerly holding onto her father’s paw as she watched for Lady Blakeney.
Smiling, Marguerite opened her arms out to the child, and, glancing up at her father to make sure it was alright, Fluerette released his paw and raced to Mademoiselle St. Just.
“Ah, Fluerette, how much you’ve grown since I’ve last seen you! It’s been eight months at least!”
“I have missed you, mademoiselle,” she replied, tightly wrapping her arms around the woman’s waist. “I haven’t seen you in forever!”
“You’re right, it must have been that long.” She now stood up straight, to see Chauvelin, who was standing a few feet off, just watching the idyllic scene. They were always so happy together, Marguerite was so kind to the girl. If only…..
“Good day,” he greeted, gazing at the goddess, who continued to hold his angel’s paw.
“Good day,” responded she, settling upon a stone bench with the child who simply could not wait to tell Mademoiselle St. Just all of the exciting things that had happened to her. “I trust you are well, these past few days that I’ve not seen you?”
“Excellent.” He did not bother to return the question, not wanting to engage in meaningless conversation. Fluerette seized her chance to begin talking with the older woman. Chauvelin continued to watch from the side lines, inwardly sighing occasionally as he played out his own scenario; how wonderful life would be if he could only just bring Marguerite back home!
“You have a lovely garden, Mademoiselle St. Just,” complimented Fluerette, admiring a butterfly as it flew past.
“Ah, but you haven’t even seen the river yet! It is lovely in summer, and I go walking out there quite often.” Rising, she helped the child off the bench. “Come, we shall walk together. Your father and I have much to talk about.”
And so, the three took a walk about the garden, the ambassador watching nervously whenever Fluerette attempted to climb a rock. For the most part, she stopped to smell the plants, and to bring handfuls of wildflowers back to the pair, who walked in steady silence.
Finally, Marguerite spoke: “You have what you wanted, Fluerette is here. It can do you no harm to tell me if my brother is well or not.”
Chauvelin looked down at her as she walked by his side, staring straight ahead, not looking at him. “Last I heard, he was doing fine,” he allowed. A great weight lifted off of Marguerite’s shoulders, she sighed.
“Oh, thank heaven.”
“Have you found anything new about the Pimpernel yet?”
“Nothing.”
“A predicament.” With that, he let that part of the conversation drop. Instead, he was quickly and nervously shouting “Fluerette, get down from there, you’ll break your neck!” Reluctantly, the child climbed down from the rock. He sighed nervously, rubbing at his face. “It is hard,” he admitted, “raising her alone.”
“Yes,” she responded icily, “By trading his head with that of the Pimpernel’s.”
“It was the only way. Do you think I like hurting you like this?”
“I think you would do anything, say anything, to get what you want. The Pimpernel is a threat to you, and this is a convenient way to get rid of him.”
“But at the price of your hatred?”
“That you already had,” she quipped, snatching her paw away, glaring at the horizon and resolutely walking foreword once more. He stood behind her for a moment, somewhat shocked at the admission.
“Alright,” he agreed. “I can understand that. I did some things I shouldn’t have. Equally true, you shouldn’t have triggered them.”
“I?” she demanded hotly, turning around. “I merely fell in love and planned to marry!”
“Exactly so. You planned to run off and marry an Englishman, abandon your country-”
“France has gone mad!”
He continued, ignoring her interruption. “-And leave me.”
“This has nothing to do with ‘abandoning the Republic.’ Stop hiding behind that. Admit that it was always about you, and that I left you for another.”
Angrily, he crossed the distance between them, glad that Fluerette was far ahead, couldn’t hear their angry words. He snatched her paw up, pulled her somewhat roughly to him and held her there, breathing in her perfume, refusing to let her go while she remained helpless to do anything to stop him.
“You callously broke my heart!”
“You tricked me into murder.”
He released her, tossing his arms into the air. “My God, but will you never forget St. Cyr?”
Tears in her eyes, she declared “I will have his blood on my hands for as long as I live.”
“He nearly killed the brother you are working so hard to save!”
“Armand would not want him dead because of it! That is no kind of justice! That is madness.”
“I did not come here to argue justice and vengeance with you,” snarled he, continuing to walk along the river bank. “Let’s be civil. What do you care about the life of an Englishman you’ve never met before? Let it go, give up. It’s the only way to save your brother. That’s the only way I can protect him.”
“Protect him!” she laughed incredulously. “You talk of protecting him when you’re the one who is causing the threat?”
“His own foolish behavior and throwing his lot in with that damned Englishmen is what caused the threat. The League of the Scarlet Pimpernel is the sickness. The blood of the leader is the cure. You and I are simply the doctors to administer the drug. We can do nothing about where it comes from or what sort of after effects it might take. We can only do what’s best.”
“How can you consider murder to be a form of protection?” demanded Marguerite.
“Remember what you said the last time we met? You said that we must trust one another. Well, here I am, asking you to trust me. Remember, in Paris I did quite a lot of protecting.”
“I would have rather died, a finally act to beg St. Cyr for forgiveness. Only then might I have obtained clemency.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Chauvelin sighed. “You would have been afraid of death, would have come running to me for help.”
“And what would you have done?” charged she.
Now gazing at her with adoration again, he took her delicate paw and kissed it. “I would have done whatever I could have possibly done to save you, just as I do now for your brother.”
“You could be doing more.”
“No, I could not. Were you in my shoes, you would see the situation as it really is. This is the only way.”
Marguerite continued to glare at him, but said “Come, ambassador, I think we should finish our walk.”
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