Chauvelin and the League chapter 1

this follows directly from the end of 'The Redemption of Chauvelin' in which the defection of Chauvelin is a severe blow to the despots ruling France and they want him back ... whether to reinstate him or to place his head on a charger is not immediately apparent.
The background is of the attempted re-invasion of France by sundry emigrés, confident that the peasantry will be pleased to see their old masters back.  Some people just can't take a hint ... even thought the guillotine is a fairly heavy one.

Chapter 1

The news was of war!

War against France, this time an attempt by the émigrés living in England to regain the lands that had been lost to them.  Many a nobleman, grateful to the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel for their safety, turned his gaze to the lost land of his birth, grimly determined to seize it back, and re-instate the Bourbon Monarchy.

“And they are fools,” said Armand Chauvelin, to his bride when she silently handed him the newspaper to read of the endeavour.

“Undoubtedly, they are fools, Armand, but what can one do?” Peter, or properly Petronilla, said.  “I cannot see this venture being successful.”

“And then, ma mie, I suppose we shall have to rescue the poor fools from their folly,” sighed Chauvelin.

Chauvelin had fallen madly in love with Peter when she deputised for her brother, the Viscount Frogham, after he broke his leg. Dressed as a boy, she had assisted the Chief in the rescue of a former arch-enemy, all on the entreaty of Chauvelin’s daughter, Fleurette.  He had grudgingly admitted that the League held the ideals he had originally had before being dragged down by the monstrous terror of Revolutionary France, becoming one with the worst of its dictators.  And with Froggie’s blessing, he had married Peter, and moved into their own little house.

It was not a large house, nor was it one in a fashionable part of town; but it was theirs!  And if the décor was not entirely what they might have chosen, it was at least not objectionable and new curtains, carpets and upholstery went a long way to making it tolerable.

In the middle of the season, any house was hard to get hold of; and Jimmy Holte, Viscount Frogham, had used all his contacts to find one for his sister and her new husband so they might be private, and not have to start their married life in his house. Although  Peter had said that she and her Armand had no objection to living in a couple of rooms in the orphan asylum they had set up in the old Frogham property. Froggie had put his foot down.

“I know you, Peter,” he said. “You’ll get involved in the problems of your blasted foundlings rather than enjoying a decent honeymoon; and it’s not right.”

Peter chuckled.

“Well at least we’re not spending our honeymoon in France on business of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel,” she said.

“Yes; though I fancy there’ll be émigrés to rescue after the invasion attempt,” said Froggie.

Peter nodded soberly.

The invasion of France to restore the monarchy might be close to the hearts of some of the League – not that Peter shared such ideals – but the way it had been organised, or as Sir Percy said, disorganised the chance of success seemed low, even with the use of two or three ships of the line and a number of frigates besides to back up the efforts of the scratch army of émigrés. 

Armand Chauvelin, who was as staunch a republican as ever,  refused point blank to have anything to do with it; and pointed out sarcastically to any of the more enthusiastic émigrés who would listen that the emptying of the prison hulks of French prisoners to swell their ranks was nothing short of lunacy since most of them were going to be good republican patriots.

The aristos however refused to listen; the call to duty of their betters would sway the seamen they felt sure.  Armand threw up his arms and told them they deserved to be murdered in their berths, or betrayed to the Republican Army. He preferred to throw himself into making their little house into a home.

Peter declared that she had no intention of doing tapestry work to cover chairs or footstools, and for a wealthy woman to do so was an act of supreme disrespect to those who made their living undertaking upholstery.  Armand tended to agree.  His wife had more useful skills, like first aid, firing a pistol and playing a part as a full member of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel as no other wife of its members managed. Armand was proud of Petronilla. She was cool in a crisis, perhaps even more so than the redoubtable Marguerite Blakeney!  That this extended to domestic crises was a bonus, and Peter turned not a hair to hear George, the stableboy, occasional tiger and boy of all work commenting.

“Shiver me timbers, you lubberly pilot o’ the northwest passage!” when taken by surprise by the arrival of decorators; in his defence he had tripped over a ladder he was not expecting to be where it was.

“George,” said Peter, “Where did you pick up that inappropriate idiom?”

George was used to his employers using jawcrack words.

“From Mr. White, Missus Peter,” he said.  Peter and Armand had given up trying to break him of calling them ‘Missus Peter’ and ‘Mr. Armand’

Peter sighed.

‘Chalky’ White was their new groom, recommended by their equally new butler, Hodges.

“George, Hodges may be used to rather salty language, having been a captain’s servant until he lost his arm fighting France, but I am not, and I do not intend to become used to it.”

“No, Missus Peter, I’m sorry,” said George, who was genuinely contrite. “Cuh, you wouldn’t think Mr. White had lost a leg, though, the way he gets around on the wooden one, he’s almost as bang-up as Mr. Hobbes in Mr. Froggie’s stables.”

“I am glad he is efficient,” said Peter.

“Now I knows why Mr. Armand cuffed me for talking naval like,” said George. “It is so ... exciting,” he added, regretfully.

“Too exciting,” said Peter. “Mr. Armand permits you to act as his valet at times but he won’t do so if you sound like a marine under fire.”

“Nossir, I mean ma’am,” said George. Peter decided to ignore that slip; she was accustomed to dress as a man at times, and it was not worth calling him over such nomenclature.

She spoke to Hodges. 

“Please do not permit George to pick up too much Naval vernacular,” she said.

“No, ma’am, I am sorry,” said Hodges. “Chalky don’t mean nothin’ by it, but the boy will look on ‘im as an ‘ero.”

“He is, but his language is still too ripe for the drawing room.  What he teaches the horses I don’t care, as they aren’t likely to pass it on,” said Peter.

Hodges chuckled.  He had fallen on his feet here! He had been wounded on the Glorious First of June, and had been invalided out to starve, not being covered by a pension the way a rated seaman was.  And he did not want to jeopardise his position! Still, at least Mrs. Shoveling, as he rendered Chauvelin, wasn’t demanding the removal of his friend, nor of himself for recommending him.

George enjoyed working for the Chauvelins too, and never even attempted to pronounce their name. He and his young friend, Liza, rescued from a thiefmaster, would do anything for Peter and Armand, as would Lucille the French girl rescued from a nasty predicament to become Peter’s abigail..  And the disruption of having decorators in was outweighed by the excitement.

George did not mention how much extra cant he learned from the paper hangers as they nailed the paper to the wall, in the pretty Chinese pattern Peter had chosen. He had a feeling that it would be as unpopular as naval language. However he watched, and learned, in case he ever needed to put up paper for the missus, if she did move to God-forsaken-Essex where paperhangers might be in short supply.  George had no very great opinion of the countryside; he had a vague suspicion that it was like Green Park, with cows, only messier.

It was, however, a relief when the decorators had finished, and the noise of hammering was over, both from the paperhanging and from the tacks re-upholstering the chairs.  Peter did not believe in doing things by halves, and obtained the services of a company which printed both papers and matching or toning fabrics for upholstery, and installed them all.  It meant less disruption.  And the chairs were in a chintz of the same blue as the background as the  the paper. However, where the paper had flowers and birds intertwined, the upholstery had  only a light stripe in the pink of the same colour as the  bell-shaped flowers, and curtains matching. 

Armand had chosen brown, cream and gold for his study, in a swag pattern which he declared was ageless; and Peter liked it well enough to suggest the same for their bedroom, but with less brown and more cream. 

They were ready to entertain, and invited Sir Percy to give his opinion.

Sir Percy regarded the decor through his quizzing glass.

“Exquisite taste, Peter,” he said.  “I am glad you did not pursue the fashionable course of matching upholstery to paper.”

“They tried to persuade me, but I thought it was too much of a good thing,” said Peter. “Birds and flowers on the walls is one thing, sitting on them makes one feel strangled by jungle, and I don’t think I’d like the tropics.”

“By Jove, no, fever and all that sort of thing,” said Percy.  “I like Armand’s study too. Restful.”

“I thought so,” said Armand.  “And not distracting. Not that I have much to do save the books for the orphanage at the moment.”

“I notice you did not involve yourself in the intended invasion of France,” said Percy.

Sir Percy had also held aloof from the projected invasion; the divided command, the rivalry within that between Joseph de Puisaye and Francois de Charette being a serious problem.  It was Puisaye who had been deputised by the Comte d’Artois, younger brother of the technical Louis XVIII, but there was precious little intelligence or consultation with him either.  Indeed the date and place of the invasion was something that was a matter of uncertainty; which as the Comte d’Artois was supposed to time the attack with his older brother’s organising of attacks from the Alps and the Pyrenees set up conditions that were, as Percy said, doomed to failure before they began.

Armand Chauvelin sniffed.

“Those who embark on so mad a venture without thought for consequence, without considering how mismanaged it is, will die; which to my mind merely rids the world of a few more of the stupider and less realistic aristos,” he said. “The realists recognise that the ancien regime  is dead and buried.  I consider that those who have dragged their women and children along to be insane, and moreover wicked; there have been changes in the rulership of France since the overthrow of Robespierre and three of the five rulers of the directory are Jacobins; and Jacobins of the most radical kind.  They will not be in any wise forgiving to aristos who use foreign aid to invade La Belle France, and frankly I cannot see why they should be.  The Bretons may be generally opposed to any government decree because the Bretons are opposed on principle to anyone not a Breton who tells them what to do; but that does not mean that they will necessarily flock to the banner of the aristos when they land on the Quiberon penninsula as Puisaye hopes.  It will I fear just kill good honest Breton peasants who are fool enough to be talked into a Bedlam-run bumble broth.  The aristos who die will be of no great loss.”

Percy shrugged.

“We shall disagree on that; I salute their bravery though I question their wisdom; and their ability to plan.  I half considered joining them, but the level of mismanagement was such that I felt that unless I could find a way to take command, my presence would be futile.  I have not forbidden any of the League to go along; but I have done my best to warn all that I feel it unlikely to be of any success.  You and Peter should enjoy your honeymoon however; because I cannot see that any who survive to be captured should not be treated as prisoners of war.  I should not need your aid to rescue survivors.  Prisoners of war, unless ill-treated for some reason, are outside the purview of the League.”

Chauvelin nodded.

“Good; it would try my honour to rescue those I consider acting contrary to the good of France.  I despise the way that France is run, but I continue to hope that there will be a time that her officials learn to run a democracy efficiently.  Barras may remain in power but with Fouché and Merlin no longer in high office, perhaps things will improve, even with Jacobins; Jean-Francois Rewbell is a shrewd man and able; unscrupulous of course but perhaps that is no bad thing; and to balance him Lazare Carnot is a moderate and he is a man of integrity and honour.  I am grateful that the smugglers you know get the Moniteur  so readily and not too long out of date to keep up with affairs in France.”

“And I am glad of your insights into the people you know,” said Percy.  “You think then that the aristos will not be treated as prisoners of war, that this might rouse the Jacobin members of the Directory to a resumption of the Terror?”

“I fear so, Percy,” said Armand. “I fear it is the worst possible thing for France.  I recognise that England fights France partly because France is expansionistic, and expansionistic England resents others having colonies; but to my mind the situation in France could be better dealt with by recognising the Republic and sending advisors.  But I know that is not likely to happen; all other monarchies feel too afraid that republican ideals will rouse their peasantry to revolt, because they have failed to grasp the fact that it was the tyranny of an absolutist monarchy that drove the people of France to revolt in fear of their lives.  It’s something you smug complaisant English with your smug complaisant peasantry cannot understand; because your people are not a peasantry and they expect justice across the board of society. The idea of being chattels is so alien to them that they cannot conceive of it.  To hell with politics anyway; go away Percy, I’m on honeymoon.”

Sir Percy laughed and left them to it; slightly disturbed that his one time adversary thought that the invasion would lead to more stringent measures; but hoping that he might be wrong.

It may be said that Armand and Peter were content to enjoy their honeymoon as adjured; and the way they preferred to enjoy it was in spending time together, debating long on a variety of topics, and continuing any discussion in a non verbal way in their chamber; and in adding to the little touches that made the house a home.

The good dog Citizen Rateau was more than happy to make it his home if his master and mistress were contented there, and added his mite to the décor in terms of the pale hairs he left in his favourite places.  It was one of the tasks of the boy George, boy of all work, to brush Rateau daily but as George declared, Rateau  might as well be spinning new hair on his back as soon as it was brushed off.