Work Text:
Blakeney Manor, 1792
Hot tears again surged to her eyes, as she would not let him see them, she turned quickly within and ran as fast as she could up to her own rooms. The Scarlet Pimpernel, Chapter 17, 'Richmond'
It was imperative for an actress to stay quiet in the wings , so walking soft-footed was second nature to Marguerite Francoise. And fortunately, Fashion had rejected the hoops and panniers that she'd learnt to maneuver at the Comedie Francaise. So they were not there to impede her when she left Percy on the terrace of Blakeney Manor, and slipped unnoticed through a side door. Silently, she crossed the tessellated floor of the spacious entry hall. The faint sounds of servants' talk drifted from below stairs. Marguerite glanced down the hall to be sure that no early rising maid would see her here, stealing in like an errant child with tears on her cheeks. Finding herself alone, she gathered her skirts in one hand, took off her jewel -buckled shoes, and raced up the right arm the of the magnificent curving staircase to the upper floor.
When she reached the landing at the top she paused, put on her shoes and shook out her gown. No candle was needed, for the landing was lit by a brace of Palladian windows, now tinged golden with sunrise. The light filled the gallery that led to 'my lady's suite'. Percy's rooms were at the other end of the house, reached by the left stair. As far away from hers as possible. As were their lives, she reflected, not for the first time. She glanced out the window into the garden, searching for a sign of him, but Percy was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he'd gone in by a side door as well, to avoid another encounter with his wife.
Wife- in name only, that was. How ironic that she, who'd been the toast of tout Paris, flattered, courted and sought after , could rarely induce her own husband to come to her bed. And Les aristos, by all accounts, were held to be mad about begetting an heir.... Still, despite his absences, she did not believe that Percy was keeping a mistress. She knew the signs, hien- there'd been no shortage of men in Paris willing to offer her a carte blanche. And Marguerite Francoise had been called 'the cleverest woman in Europe' for a reason. Although she swept by the whisperers with her head held high, Marguerite was well aware of those in the Polite World who held that a Blakeney of Blakeney Manor should never have married a commoner from France. Those old dragons would have been only too glad to ensure that such a tit-bit of scandal reached her ears, in the most humiliating way possible.
Marguerite wiped her eyes and squared her shoulders, preparing for her next entrance. Louise, her English 'abigail', was waiting in her rooms. Marguerite liked Louise, who'd been a faithful, and startlingly accurate, guide to the baffling customs of the English upper class. But she lacked the comfort with servants that came as second nature to those reared in luxury, and there was not the sort of instinctive sympathy between them that she'd had with Therese, her dresser at the theatre. Fortunately, Louise was tired as well. She was grateful to only unlace Marguerite's gown and stays, hand her a wrapper, and leave her, blessedly, alone.
Although she, too, could have wept with fatigue Marguerite was restless. She prowled through the room, picking things up and putting them down- a bottle of scent, a jeweled comb, a hairbrush.
Finally she retreated to the bed, tucked her arms around drawn up knees like a child, and thought. In a sudden flash of memory she saw Armand when they were children, sitting next to her bed to tell her a story by the light of a single candle, or kneeling down calm her night time fears. Or the last grey morning when he shook her awake and said, "Margot, cherie, you must come with me to Papa and kiss him good bye. It won't be long, now..." Armand. The desperate fear for him that had clutched her heart since Chauvelin's ultimatum had begin to release its grip. Percy would do something . Percy would know someone who could aid Armand. Perhaps he would go to the Prince or to one of his father's friends in Parliament. But, she began to hope, Percy would prevail.
Their encounter on the terrace had convinced Marguerite that the drawling fop, the overdressed effete dandy, that Percy presented to the world was indeed a mask for the man within. Perhaps as much of a mask as the beautiful actress with her sparkling wit had been for the orphaned girl making her own way in the world? The man she'd known in Paris had not been averse to enjoying life's pleasures, certainly. But there had been something, behind his sleepy eyes that drew her irresistibly . Marguerite hadn't wanted to spend her youth and beauty, as so many actresses did, on a series of pointless liasons. She'd wanted someone she could rely on, someone who could help her find a safe harbor from the storms that racked her beloved France. She'd thought Percy could be that man. And perhaps he still was. Still pondering, she fell into a light doze.
Sir Percy Blakeney, Bart. listened in silence as his wife's retreating footsteps faded. He considered, briefly, circling around to the back of Blakeney Manor and making use of the old tree that had been his ally in secret escapes as a boy. But he was master in his own demmed home, now and he'd walk through the front door, thank you. When he reached his rooms, his confidential valet was waiting for him. Frank, quick witted and close-mouthed, was as good as any official member of the league. He was an invaluable asset in mining the treasure-trove of servant's gossip that was often the first clue that someone was getting too close to the League's business. And the League's business was most pressing this morning.
Armand-demmed fool- had fallen into the toils of those more cunning than he through his impulsive nature, ruled by his heart and not his head.. . like his sister mayhap? Could he believe her? Yes, her account of the events leading to the death of the Marquis de St. Cyr had the ring of truth, and fit with what he thought he had know of her character. Yet he could not gamble the lives of innocents, or those of his men, on one conversation in a garden, as desperately as he wanted to. Could Margot's account be confirmed by his contacts in France? Perhaps. And then could he open his heart to her, and find their way back into the life they should have had? He could hope.
But first Armand must be rescued, and that quickly. Armand was as brave as he was impulsive but Percy has no illusions about the resources at his adversaries' disposal. Now that Armand's affiliation with the League was confirmed and the Scarlet Pimpernel's invisibility compromised, the Committee of Public Safety would not hesitate to use more persuasive methods to draw as many members of the League into their toils as possible. Some were still in France. And if they were all not to be lined up in a tumbril rattling to the guillotine, quick thinking and decisive action were called for. Percy stripped off his ball dress, splashed his face with water, and spoke.
'I'm afraid, Frank, my good fellow that I must trespass on your resourcefulness again. I leave for France this morning."
Frank wisely bit back any observations about his master only just having returned and confined himself to a "This morning, sir?"
"Yes, as quickly as may be. Go to the stables and have Hopkins saddle up and set out for Dover. I want the Day Dream ready to sail at the first tide. Those devils may have a fast courier but they won't have a ship ready for his sole use. He'll likely end up on the packet boat and the Dream will buy us invaluable time."
"Sir."
"Once Hopkins is on his way, have my coach and four horses put to. I'll need Weygand to drive the first leg-must get some sleep on the way. Once he's sorted out, please come back and help me pack a few things."
Frank allowed himself a smile. "No need, sir. I keep a valise ready for your use."
Percy's rare, genuine smile illuminated his features. "Good man. Well come back in any case, I'll have a note ready for you to take to her ladyship."
Frank paused by the door and turned to his employer with a question. "A shave, Sir Percy?"
Percy ran a rueful finger over his chin. " I think not, alas. I may need this for disguise when we reach Calais. If not I can shave myself when we disembark."
" Very well, sir. Anything else?"
"Yes, as I said I'll have a note ready for you to take to her ladyship when you return"
Behind his impassive countenance, Frank's mind teemed with speculation as he hurried to the stables. A note was, it? Now that was promising. Although both he and Wilson, the butler, did their best to depress any idle chatter, the estrangement between their master and mistress was an open secret at Blakeney Manor. Some of the maids were sympathetic to the lovely young bride, who seemed lonely and unhappy when she thought no one could see her. A few of the footmen held that a man who married a Frenchy was taking his chances, and Sir Percy should have known better. Wilson, who'd been a footman in old Sir Algernon's day, would have forgiven the foreign actress anything if she would only produce an Heir. This may not be a tender parting, but it's better than setting off without a fare-thee well, Frank reminded himself. If things are beginning to thaw between them, perhaps that Heir won't be out of the question....
After Frank closed the door, Percy sat at the secretaire by his window and dipped his pen in ink. What to tell her? ' My darling... '-which he had to admit was accurate- was also perhaps premature. He longed to confide in her, to reassure her that he would move heaven and earth to secure Armand's safety. But, despite his best efforts, that might not be the outcome. Would she turn on him again in heartbroken fury if her brother died? Perhaps. And he was well aware that his departure could leave Chauvelin in possession of the field in England for the next crucial days. What vile schemes might he have, or what pressure could he bring on Marguerite? No, best to protect them all by preserving his secret. So he wrote
A most unforeseen circumstance forces me to leave for the North immediately, so I beg your ladyship's pardon if I do not avail myself of the honour of bidding you good-bye. My business may keep me employed for about a week, so I shall not have the privilege of being present at your ladyship's water-party on Wednesday. I remain your ladyship's most humble and most obedient servant,
Percy Blakeney."
That would do for now. If he returned with Armand by his side, there would be time for more.