“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.”