“Why, there’s Lord Hastings!” Finn said, quickly. “I’ve been looking for him all this evening. You’ll pardon me, my dear, but I simply must have a word with him concerning business matters. We can discuss this later, surely.”
His stomach tied in knots, Finn fled Marguerite’s presence and made his way across the crowded room towards Hastings. He felt her eyes on him as he rushed away, but he did not look back. He was afraid to.
He managed to avoid her for the remainder of the evening, always finding some excuse not to be alone with her and making certain that there was always a small group of what he had privately started calling “the Blakeneyites” around him. These were socially ambitious young men who had fastened onto him as a role model, copying his style of dress, aping his mannerisms, and laughing his nasal, inane laugh. He despised them, but as Blakeney, he encouraged them, stroking their tender egos and treating them like favorite sons. They served a threefold purpose. They helped to lend Blakeney an air of vapid stupidity as they all stood around together, striking casual poses and acting like mindless peacocks. They served as a barrier between him and Marguerite who, contrary to all expectations, was not growing bored and disenchanted with her husband, but was instead growing more and more determined to rekindle his interest in her. Already astonishingly beautiful, Marguerite took great pains to become even more so for her husband. She kept experimenting with perfumes, looking for a fragrance that would please him and, even when there were no guests about, she took great care to dress herself in an exquisite fashion and to appear as seductive as possible. At parties such as this, the Blakeneyites fawned over her as well, and kept her occupied. Finally, they helped to deter the advances of other women toward Sir Percy Blakeney. Why these women found the insipid character he had created attractive was a mystery to Finn, who had never understood most women anyway, except a certain type, like Andre, who were refreshingly direct and devoid of any affectations. Why Marguerite had not grown totally disgusted with him was a mystery, as well. The mission, which he had thought would be a fairly easy one, had developed unique and seemingly insurmountable difficulties. He was growing sick and tired of the whole charade.
It was with a huge feeling of relief that he went up to his rooms that night. In the morning, he would be leaving once again for France. The Scarlet Pimpernel had to perform another daring rescue. The Marquis de Sevigne had been judged in absentia by the Committee of Public Safety and condemned to death. Unable to get out of Paris, the aristocrat had been hidden by Marguerite’s brother, Armand St. Just. Finn had passed the word to Ffoulkes and Dewhurst during the party.
It would be far less of a strain than the evening he had just endured. A pleasant sail across the English Channel on the Day Dream would be just the thing to clear his head and he could then discuss with Lucas what Cobra had told him. Hastings, Rodney Moore, and the Byrne brothers, Alastair and Tommy, would book passage across the Channel several hours behind him, giving Finn and Lucas all the time they needed to check in with Fitzroy and to decide upon a plan of action. All he needed now was sleep, and just one more drink.
He had brought a bottle of brandy up with him and he sat down on the bed, dressed only in his britches and unfastened shirt, and drank straight from the bottle. He had polished off one-third of the bottle when the door to his bedroom opened and Andre came in.
“It’s a waste of good brandy to gulp it down like water,” she said.
“Water? What’s that?”
“Something happened tonight, didn’t it?” she said. “Something shook you up. I could tell, Marguerite could tell, and I suppose that Lucas could tell, though he’s probably waiting to ask you about it tomorrow. I don’t have that luxury, since I’m being left behind again.”
“I already explained that to you, Andre,” Finn said, wearily. “I need you here, with Marguerite.”
“No, you don’t,” she said. “Marguerite has a houseful of servants to look after her. Nor do I believe that Mongoose plans anything involving her. You’re just protecting me.”
“Look, I thought we went all through this,” Finn said. “Your being a woman has nothing to do with it. It’s-”
“I know.”
“You know? Then what is-”
“You’re going to tell me that it’s because this is my first mission, right? Forrester said that this would be an easy one, but it hasn’t turned out that way and you’re only being protective because I’m inexperienced and you’re afraid I’ll make mistakes.”
“All right, that’s true. If you know-”
“If you really think that’s true, Finn, then you’re lying to yourself. I may be inexperienced insofar as temporal adjustments are concerned, but you wouldn’t have accomplished the one in the seventeenth century without me. I’m an experienced soldier and if I was prone to making mistakes, I would have died back in medieval England. If you want to talk about mistakes, let’s talk about yours.”
Simon Hawke
The Pimpernel Plot
“Mine!”
“That’s right,” she said. “Let’s talk about the mistake you made in letting Mongoose get away that night in the maze. Let’s talk about the mistake you made in allowing him to get to Leforte before you did. I could not have done any worse. And while we’re at it, let’s talk about the mistake you made in falling in love with Marguerite Blakeney.”
Finn stared at her, then looked down at the floor. “How did you know?”
“I know because I’ve been watching you. Also because up until this moment, my sole responsibility on this mission has been to stay with her, to keep her occupied and away from you as much as possible. Not only is that unfair, it’s stupid. She’s an intelligent woman, Finn, though it wouldn’t take very much intelligence for her to see right through that ploy, as she did almost from the very start. I may be a woman, Finn, but I’m a soldier. My sex does not automatically qualify me to be an older sister or to heal a broken heart. I’m not very good at it. I haven’t complained about it up till now because I am a soldier and you are my superior in rank, but it’s reached the point where my company is doing her more harm than good.”
“What do you mean?” said Finn.
“I told you, Finn, Marguerite’s no fool. She knows I’m there to be a buffer between the two of you. She might not have liked it very much, but it might have been easier for her to live with that if she knew that you didn’t care for her. The only problem is, she knows that you love her.”
“How could she know that?”
“She’d have to be blind not to see it. Lucas knows that you’re attracted to her, but I don’t think he’s realized yet that there’s a great deal more to it than that. She knows you love her and she thinks you can’t forgive her because of the St. Cyr affair. She’s been on the verge of talking to me about it several times, but she can’t bring herself to discuss it. It’s obviously extremely painful for her. Also, she’s very proud. She’s determined to win you back without having to humiliate herself by begging your forgiveness.”
“Before we go any further,” Finn said, “let’s just keep our roles straight. It isn’t me she wants, it’s Blakeney. And-”
“No, it isn’t Blakeney, Finn,” said Andre. “It’s you. Marguerite loves you.”
“You’re talking nonsense.”
“Am I? Let me tell you about Marguerite and Percy Blakeney, Finn, I’ve become an expert on the subject. She talks to me because she has no one else to talk to. Marguerite was never in love with Percy Blakeney. She was in love with the idea of being loved by a man like Blakeney, a simple man as she puts it. She had convinced herself that there was something touchingly pure and romantic in being loved by a simple man. When I said that she wasn’t a fool, I didn’t mean to imply that she was not naive.
“Blakeney was evidently pathetically clumsy in his courtship of her. In her own words, he followed her around like a little puppy. She found that rather sweet. Compared to the people she had associated with, he was a dullard. They were all much smarter than he was, far wittier and much more skilled in intellectual debate. To say that he floundered in their presence would be an understatement, but he kept trying because he wanted to impress her. I’m far more experienced in warfare than in love, but spending so much time with Marguerite has been an education. I believe that Blakeney aroused her maternal instincts and she confused them with affection. All that changed, of course, when Blakeney became cold to her as a result of her part in St. Cyr’s execution.