“Good evening, Citoyenne,” he said, slipping into the chair next to hers. “I told you that we would meet again in London.”
“So you did,” said Marguerite. “How are you enjoying the performance, Chauvelin?”
The little Frenchman shrugged. “To be quite honest, I have no ear for music, although I find the pageantry of some slight interest.”
“Well, I am glad that we have been able to interest you at least to some degree,” said Marguerite.
Chauvelin smiled. “Yes, well, perhaps I may interest you, Citoyenne. You will recall the discussion that we had in Dover?”
“If you recall our discussion,” Marguerite said, “then you shall also recall my answer.”
“Indeed,” said Chauvelin. “I was hoping that I could persuade you to change your mind.”
“My answer still remains the same,” said Marguerite, stiffly.
Chauvelin’s smile became even wider. “Yet I remain confident that I can prevail upon you to reconsider,” he said. “I have here a letter which I think will greatly interest you.” He reached into his pocket and passed the paper over to her. “It is a copy, of course. I retain the original. I am not greatly skilled in these matters, but I have made an effort to reproduce the hand as exactly as I could, along with the signature, to which I would draw your attention in particular. I trust you will recognize it.”
Marguerite grew pale as she read the letter. “Where did you get this?”
“From two young gentlemen named Ffoulkes and Dewhurst,” Chauvelin said. “I knew them to be members of this League of the Scarlet Pimpernel, you see, so l thought it prudent to have my men…how shall I say it?… incapacitate them temporarily so that I might examine them for clues. This letter was quite interesting, I thought, but folded together with it was another note, from which I learned that there would be a meeting between Andrew Ffoulkes and the Scarlet Pimpernel at Lord Grenville’s ball at the Foreign Office. I trust that you will be in attendance?”
“Yes,” said Marguerite, in a low voice. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the paper. It wasn’t Armand’s handwriting, but it was a copy close enough to tell her that Chauvelin had worked from a sample of the original. “We have been invited.” She swallowed hard and made an effort to compose herself. “You are indeed quite bold, Chauvelin, to assault Englishmen in their own country like a common bandit.”
“I had uncommon cause,” said Chauvelin, taking the paper from her hands and replacing it in his pocket. “You see, I know that the English, above all, insist on the proper form in all things. As an accredited representative of my government, I could hardly be accused of doing such a thing without conclusive proof. Your word would carry weight, I’m sure, but under the circumstances, I feel confident that you will keep my little secret.”
“What do you want?” said Marguerite, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I thought that I had made that quite clear,” said Chauvelin. “I merely want you to listen and observe. Your brother has, quite foolishly, aligned himself with these criminals and has seriously compromised himself, as you can see. You can well imagine what his fate would be if this letter fell into the hands of Citoyen Fouquier-Tinville. However, I have no wish to see any ill befall Armand St. Just. I am satisfied that he is not a criminal, only misguided in his idealism. Still, people have lost their heads for far less than what he has done.”
“Chauvelin, please-”
“Do not plead with me,” said Chauvelin. “It would be to no avail. I will make you a promise, however, on my honor. The day I know the identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel, your brother’s self-incriminating letter will be in your hands and this copy I have made will have been destroyed. Help me to discover the Scarlet Pimpernel’s true identity and I will forget all about Armand’s involvement in this affair.”
“You are asking me to murder a man to save my brother,” Marguerite said.
“Consider the alternative,” said Chauvelin. “It is a question of bringing a criminal to justice or seeing your brother lose his head for his foolishness when you could have prevented it. You see?”
“I see that I have no choice.”
“We all do what we must,” said Chauvelin. “When you are at Lord Grenville’s ball, watch Andrew Ffoulkes. See who he comes in contact with. One of them will be the Pimpernel.” At that moment, Finn returned to his seat. Seeing Chauvelin sitting in his place, beginning to rise at his entrance, he said, “No, no, do not let me interrupt your conversation. Chauvelin, isn’t it? The French representative?”
Feeling slightly faint, Marguerite performed the introductions. The curtain was about to go up again and Chauvelin excused himself, saying that he looked forward to seeing them again at Lord Grenville’s ball. “It promises to be a memorable occasion,” he said.
Lord Grenville’s ball was, indeed, a memorable occasion. It was the highlight of the season. The grand rooms of the Foreign Office were exquisitely decorated with plants and art-works for the evening and there was a full orchestra on hand to play throughout the night. The Prince of Wales arrived together with the Blakeneys. On seeing the Comtesse de Tournay approaching with her children, Marguerite detached herself from the company, anxious to avoid another scene. She needn’t have worried. The comtesse totally ignored her as she swept past to pay her respects to the Prince of Wales.
“Ah, good evening to you, Comtesse,” the Prince of Wales said. “Allow me to express my joy at seeing you and your children safely in England.”
“You are most kind, Your Highness,” said the comtesse. “I only pray that my husband will soon be able to join us here.”
“I am sure that all here will join in that prayer,” the Prince of Wales said, somberly.
“Not all, Your Highness,” the comtesse said, as Chauvelin approached. She gave him an acid look.
“Your Highness,” said Chauvelin, bowing very slightly from the waist. “You are looking very well, Comtesse. The climate here seems to agree with you. I see that there is color in your cheeks.”
The comtesse ignored him. Lord Grenville looked ill at ease.
“Welcome, Citizen Chauvelin,” the Prince of Wales said, breaking the awkward silence. “I trust that our English climate will agree with you, as well. Though we may not be in sympathy with the government you represent, nevertheless you are as welcome here as are our friends, the Comtesse de Tournay and her two children, whose presence here pleases us immensely.”
“We owe our presence here to that gallant English gentleman, the Scarlet Pimpernel,” said the young vicomte loudly, with a pointed look at Chauvelin.
“Please,” said Lord Grenville, touching the boy on the elbow. “Let us try to remember that this evening is-”
“Do not concern yourself, Lord Grenville,” said Chauvelin. “I can quite understand the young man’s attitude for your fellow Englishman. The Scarlet Pimpernel is a name well known in France. We have as great an interest in this man of mystery as you English seem to have.”
“Everyone seems to be fascinated by this fellow,” Finn said. “He has become quite the rage on both sides of the Channel. I heard Sheridan say that he was thinking of writing a play about him. Perhaps he could use a bit of doggerel I’ve composed upon the subject. You might recommend it to him, Your Highness, if you find it amusing:
“We seek him here, we seek him there,
Those Frenchies seek him everywhere.
Is he in heaven? Is he in hell?
That demmed elusive Pimpernel.”
Grenville looked pained, but the Prince of Wales chuckled and slapped Finn on the back. “Excellent!” he said. “You must tell me how that goes again, Percy! What was it? We seek him here, we seek him there…”
Within moments, everyone was repeating it. The Blakeneyites were chanting it like a Greek chorus. Marguerite might have wondered at the imbecility of it all, but she had spotted Andrew Ffoulkes talking with Suzanne de Tournay and she felt a sudden tightness in her stomach.