Chapter 1
“There’s a fellow ‘oo wants to see you, Moosoo Shovelling,” said
Hodges. Armand Chauvelin reflected that
however badly Hodges mangled both English and French with his native London
idiom, the one-armed ex-sailor was usually quite accurate with his summations
of any callers.
“What manner of fellow?” asked Armand.
“A Frog, of the sort wot you don’t want to meet late at night on the
dock,” said Hodges. “All in black and kinda furtive and weaselly, if you knows
wot I mean.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” said Armand, softly, pondering on
the irony that thus might Hodges have described himself, Armand, not much more
than a year ago. The epiphanies through
which Chauvelin had gone had changed him; and, he hoped, had made him worthy of
the love of his wife, Petronilla, known as Peter, sister of ‘Froggie’ Holt,
Viscount Frogham. This ‘fellow’ was presumably another agent of Barras, hoping
to embarrass the former chief of police and once the agent of the dread
Committee of Public Safety.
Poor fool.
Well, he could not be arrested here in England; but it was
suspicious that he had called so soon after Peter had gone out to arrange
matters for their move to Essex.
“Did he give a name?”
“I weren’t gwine ter let ‘im in if ‘e di’n’t,” said Hodges. “Said ‘is name is ‘Freeze
y’rear’, sir.”
Armand had no difficulty recognising one of his former underlings,
Froissier, from that.
“Have my going away valise and my greatcoat ready in the hall,
Hodges,” said Armand, softly, “And send George to take my riding mare to
Richmond to inform the Chief that something is up.”
“Aye aye, cap’n,” said Hodges.
“D’you want me to frow this fellow out?”
“No, I will see him,” said Armand. “I hope not to be going out, but
be available in the hall will you?”
“Of course, sir,” said Hodges.
“And do listen in,” said Armand.
“Aye aye sir,” said Hodges.
Armand Chauvelin made sure he had various items on his body, and
went downstairs. He entered his study where Hodges had put the visitor. Armand wondered whether Henri Froissier was
aware that he had been relegated to the state of tradesman by being shown here,
not to a salon. Somehow he doubted it.
“What can I do for you, my man?” he asked, affecting not to
recognise Froissier.
“My man? What sort of talk is that, Citizen Chauvelin?”
sneered Froissier. “You know who I am;
and I know who you are – a traitor. A
man masquerading as a good citizen and all the time you are the Scarlet
Pimpernel, feigning to try to catch yourself and throwing suspicion on the good
name of people like Citizen Rateau.”
Armand reflected that it was as well that the dog of the same name
was not here, or he would have responded to his name.
“So I am the Scarlet Pimpernel, am I? To be sure, this is a departure. Are you sure?” ?” He continued in English.
Hodges would not follow a French conversation but perhaps he might pick up some
of half a conversation.
“Oh, I know you have
Englishmen in the League, but who else would know so much, to be able to work
against the Directory but a Frenchman?
Citizen Barras knows of your deceit.
And he wishes you to return to stand trial.”
Armand laughed.
“And by what great feat of prestidigitation does he expect to
accomplish that occurrence?” he asked.
“You cannot force me. Moreover, it will not prevent the League
operating, for it has more than one capable of leading, and more ways of
gaining intelligence than you could imagine, Froissier. You have been sent because you are expendable,
not an efficient agent.”
Froissier flushed.
“I am good at what I do,” he said.
“Blackmail,” said Armand, contemptuously. “And with what did you think you could
blackmail me? With Desgas’ ridiculous
and risible suggestions about my daughter?
She will not care, she is married to her peasant boy and quite happy.”
“But what of your other daughter,
Citizen?” asked Froissier.
“I have no other children but Fleurette as yet,” said Armand.
“No? But surely you were close to Citizeness
Claudette Cisne oh, five or six years ago?”
“I know her. She is a concierge and was an informant, but I would
not say I was close to her,” said Armand.
He had known her before the Revolution, before he had thrown in his lot
with the Terror; he had had rooms in her building for a while, and after the storming
of the Bastille she had been willing to pass information.
“Come, Citizen, everyone
knows that she was your mistress. And you had a daughter with her.”
“It is news to me,” said Armand, amused. “And even if I did, what of it?”
Froissier reached into his pocket and drew out a miniature which he
passed to Armand. It showed a pretty,
winsome little girl of about five, with big, solemn eyes. She had something of
a look of Fleurette, but only in passing.
“Well, Citizen Chauvelin,
as her mother is dead, and Citizen Barras has her in care, he is willing to
place her somewhere of your choice if you give yourself up. If you do not, she will be given to Citizen
Desgas to train as a good citizeness.”
It took every ounce of Armand’s will-power not to strike the
sneering blackmailer across the mouth. Desgas was the worst man Armand knew, a
man who gained his sexual gratification in the pain of others. That this child was but a tiny girl would not
influence Desgas in the least in his enjoyment of his foul pleasures.
“And what if I want her sent to my wife in England?” he asked.
“That can be arranged,” said
Froissier. “But it is your choice; come with me now and give yourself up, or I
return to tell them you have chosen to give Amelie to Desgas.”
“One day I will kill you,” said Armand.
Froissier laughed.
“You’ll be too dead for that,”
he said.
“But someone else in the League will take my place,” said Armand.
“You are a dead man walking. Because
they will find out your part in this.”
Froissier paled and ran a finger round his collar.
“I am not one who
subscribes to the view that their knowledge is supernatural,” he snapped.
“Keep on believing that; I care not,” said Armand. “But I will
strike from beyond the grave.”
Froissier gave an uneasy laugh, and Armand sneered. The French agent said,
“Well, are you coming with me?”
“Very well; I will have to leave a letter for my wife and pack a bag
...”
“No, not letter! And you will
not need a bag.”
“Excuse me? You plan to put
up with me smelling by the time we get to Paris for a lack of clean linen? And I must be unshaven as well as dirty? Do you expect me to go to court without
having shaved even?”
“I ... very well, have one
of your servants pack your bag.”
“So I should hope,” said Chauvelin, ringing the bell. “You wish me to be discourteous to my wife by
failing to let her know and bid her farewell?
If she were here, she would not take that lying down.”
“I waited for her to be
absent. Oh very well, you may write, but
I will read what your write, and you may not put where you are going.”
Hodges came in, in response to the bell.
“Hodges, have my overnight back packed, if you please. I will have it brought here in ten
minutes. Madame will not, I fear, be
home for some while.”
“Very good, sir,” said Hodges, going out again quietly. Armand got a sheet of paper and wrote,
“My darling Petronilla,
I fear I am an em barras
sment to someone, who has control of a child who is apparently my
daughter. I will have to go to her. I will miss you as much as the first time we
were parted, but I fear this may be for much longer.
I love you,
Armand.”
Froissier snatched it and read it.
“Very touching,” he
sneered. “You should not have told her about the child.”
“Have sense, do,” said Armand. “You said I could have the child sent
back to her; but if she does not know such a child exists, why should she be
expected to take her? Or is that the idea, that the child is going to be damned
whether I come with you or not? If you
plan to turn her over to Desgas and his exotic amusements regardless, then what
is the incentive for me to come and to behave myself?”
“Barras said your wishes would
be honoured so long as you came.”
“Then my wife needs to be prepared.”
“Very well.” Froissier grudgingly agreed.
Hodges came in with the valise.
“Open it,” said Froissier.
Armand did so, on the innocuous side.
Froissier rummaged about.
“Fine linen, almost like an aristo,” he said.
Armand smiled.
“But then, I am an aristo,” he said.
Froissier had a hired coach waiting for them, and Armand got in
without a word, sitting back in the squabs with his arms crossed. His face was a closed mask.
Peter would understand, she would realise that he could not let an
innocent little girl suffer. And Percy
would arrive, and hear all from Hodges and make it all right.
Of course, now Armand was plagued with doubt. Should he have laid
Froissier out and waited for Percy, to go as a team to rescue this Amelie? They
could be in Paris faster by going in Percy’s coach and on the Daydream, and
with good horses paid for with English gold than Froissier would manage on the
usual budget assigned to an agent.
Armand berated himself for not waiting. He was stupid and had placed
more risk on Percy, though at least Barras had become convinced that with
Armand in his hands, he already had the Scarlet Pimpernel. And that was not an unreasonable
supposition. Nobody but he knew the
secret identity of Sir Percy, and it was easy to suppose that a big, hulking
man of immense physical strength, the very opposite of Armand, was a construct,
imagined to remove suspicion.
But still, he could not have risked waiting. Once Barras had kept his word and sent Amelie
out of France, where she would be safe, he might turn his mind to escape. Percy
had taught him so much, and he had equipment with him, not just his travelling
valise with its hidden compartment, but also his greatcoat, which had a number
of surprises in its lining, and as a last resort, the etui box fob on his
watch-chain, and the money belt he had put on under his clothing before he went
down to Froissier. His quizzing glass
held lockpicks and a file in its ornate handle, and the etui contained a pencil
and notebook as well as a manicure set, which included a very sharp little
knife. None of the League stirred forth
without a number of such little toys, to enable them to escape any problems
they found themselves in. Even the head of the quizzing glass contained a
tenon-saw blade which hinged from the top end of the loop when it sprang out,
and could attach at the end of the handle for a small, but usable saw. Yes, he
was well-prepared, but he had pre-empted Percy, and he hoped the Chief would
understand.
George had ridden as fast as he dared to Richmond, and found Sir
Percy receptive. Marguerite Blakeney
insisted on coming as well, in case of problems, in which case Peter might need
her.
They arrived at the Chauvelins’ town house just after he had left,
and as Peter drew up outside in her phaeton.
“Percy? Marguerite? We
weren’t expecting you, is anything up?” asked Peter, passing the rein to her
groom, and coming towards the house with the large, scruffy mongrel, Citizen
Rateau, at her heels. “You look grim.”
“I hope there is no need to be; Armand sent for me,” said Percy.
They went in, to be met by Hodges, hovering.
“You just missed Moosoo Armand,” he said. “Oh I knows I should of hit that Frog fellow
on the head when he got the master to go with him, with tales of rescuing a
little girl, I should!”
“Hodges, tell us all about it,” said Peter, trying not to look
faint.
Marguerite guided her into the salon.
“Hodges, bring tea and drink some with us and tell us everything,”
she said.
George insisted on being present too, sitting on the floor, leaning
on Peter’s leg one side, as Rateau did the same the other.
Hodges handed Peter the letter, and proceeded to recite all that had
been said, with the peculiar facility so often found in men of limited
literacy.
“We have to rescue them,” said Peter, firmly.
“We need a plan and not to hurry into it,” said Percy. “Armand should have bought time until I
arrived.”
“If she looked enough like Fleurette for them to think she was his
child, then he may not have been thinking straight,” said Peter. “And yes, he should have waited for you, but
he has not. He does not often make
mistakes.”
“No, he does not,” conceded Percy. “And from this letter he has
written for you,” for Peter had passed it over, “He half expects to die to save
her.”
“We need to be a step ahead of them and then make a plan,” said
Peter. “And when I say rescue them, I
don’t just mean Armand and this Amelie.
If Barras is using children to blackmail and control one political
enemy, what is to say he does not have others? We cannot sit around here, we
must be away to the coast.”
“Hush,” said Sir Percy. “Yes,
we must, but we must be prepared. We can travel faster than they, but I cannot
guarantee to overtake them on the Dover road, and stop the carriage. Moreover,
there may be those waiting to see Armand disembark and if he does not, the
telegraph can send a message to Paris before we can be there. Armand is safe until he is in Paris, as is
the child, unless she is already dead, in which case there is nothing to be
done. We will take to the ‘Daydream’ and I wager even spending time to pack we
will be in Paris before them, able to set up watch. Armand is no fool; he has his travelling
valise. That means he has laudanum,
make-up and a few incendiary surprises. Marguerite, you and I will go home, and
if you are to come with me we shall put together some disguises for you as
well.”
Marguerite gasped.
“Oh, Percy, I am glad,” she said.
“And I think Peter needs me.”
“Of course she does,” said Percy.
“George, will you look after Rateau for me?” said Peter.
“Rateau and I are coming,” said George. “I ain’t leaving Mr. Armand in a scrape, and
if he’s lost, Rateau will find him anywhere.”
Percy opened his mouth to veto it, and shut it. As a former street
urchin, George had far more skills than many of the younger members of the
league.
“We will pack and come back with you and then straight to the
‘Daydream’ then,” said Peter.
