Forming the League

He was livid! There was not even a solid thought in his head that made sense. Andrew! Andrew! He lead Andrew out of the ballroom, down the long hallway, passed the kitchen, passed the four receiving/card rooms, and passed the foyer. Percy turned and headed up the stairs.

He did not turn around to look back and kept walking up the stairs, hearing Andrew's footsteps behind. Percy lead the way to the far most corner of the house, on his side and entered his sleeping room. He waited at the door until Lord Ffoulkes entered and without warning, he slammed the door shut and spun on his bow-pomped shoes and faced Andrew.

The boy pressed his ear to the keyhole, listening intently. He didn't have to strain to hear what was said. It was all clear and loud.

"WHAT IN THE BLUE DEVIL WAS THAT?!" Percy shot over to Andrew and snarled, "Do you have ANY idea how UN-DISCRETE that was?! BY GOD ANDREW! Are you trying to get me killed?!? Next time, why don't you come in on horseback with a HUGE banner that says "HEY PERCY! EVERYONE, LOOK AT PERCY! I'm HERE fooooooooor PERCY!"

Armand was startled to hear Percy shouting angrily, sounding unlike any way he had heard him before. The Percy he knew would have flippantly dismissed Andrew and sent him upstairs to dress properly. Yet here he was, Armand could hear, sounding as un-foppish as anyone else. And what's more, he was MAD. Armand had never really seen Percy mad. He had thought that he had this afternoon, but that incident paled at the sound of the young Baronet's angry rants.

He did not realize he was loosing it in front of Andrew. His face flushed and he near spit out his words, so angry he was. The lack of too much sleep, the up and down swift carriage-ride-of-life being with Marguerite. The pressure of trying to bring one selves out of love, while desperately in love. Percy lost himself in that moment when Andrew appeared in the hastily manner in front of everyone. Everyone! Including the Prince!

Never once did it dawn on the sleep-deprived Englishman that poor Andrew had never seen him act anything other than the mask of a fool, nor did Andrew have any clue on why Percy sent him on the task. Andrew was as unaware of what was expected of him as the sun is of the night's task.

Poor Andrew. He had to take the very harsh end of Sir Percy's mind snapping under pressure.

Breathless, Armand waited for more to be said. Why had Andrew looked so grave in the ballroom?

Andrew was completely stunned into silence when Percy started yelling at him. They rarely fought. His knees shook. He tried desperately to keep his anger in check. Why was Percy so mad at him? Andrew would have to get to the bottom of THAT, later.

He should have known better- than to make such an entrance. By now, Percy had him backed against his desk. Andrew would have undoubtedly fallen over, had he not been holding onto it for dear life.

Once Andrew had recovered from the shock of it all, he squared up to his friend. He shot Percy such an evil glare that he shut up almost immediately while Andrew got his ten cents worth in. "By GOD Percy, what the devil has gotten into you?" Percy's jaw dropped open at his words. Still, Andrew went on. 'Best to let it out now,' He thought grimly. "I thought you WANTED me to come back to England right away- as soon as I found out about St Cyr, I came back on the first available tide." Percy blanched and Andrew did his best to soften the blow. "And what did you mean by that?" Andrew laughed nervously. "I have NO intention of getting you killed my friend, now, do you want to know about St Cyr or not?" Andrew was still puzzling over why he wanted Blakeney to have him find St Cyr's wear abouts. It was all he could think about on the way back. Percy nodded ever so slowly, and began to cool down a bit. Andrew took a deep breath and turned away. He couldn't POSSIBLY tell this to his face! Percy very well might strike him down.

"All right, then." Andrew gulped. Could he really go through with this? He had no choice. Andrew's lower lip shook. "Percy, St Cyr is dead. The whole family was beheaded a few days ago." Percy went even paler. Andrew led him to a chair and forced him to sit down.

His mad rage came to an abrupt halt when Andrew growled equally back at Percy, showing Percy what a complete buffoon he was making of himself. He felt drained. Tired. Hearing the name St. Cyrs again, the very name Percy was ignoring for the sake of his marriage, made goose bumps form under his clothes. He listened to Andrew silently as he felt so tired....

"Dead." The single word froze all his thoughts. "The entire family Percy...." Andrew was telling him what he feared. He did not want to know this, but he had to hear it. He was silent. Stoic. Andrew took a hold of his arm and patted it, leading Percy to a chair. Percy paled and sat there. He didn't say a word and couldn't.

"I'm sorry, Percy. I overheard Chauvelin talking about it with someone. I-I wish there had been some other way to tell you..I wish I didn't have to tell you at all! If you want, I'll leave now. I had no intentions of upsetting you."

Armand was quite shocked. Percy was worried about the St. Cyrs? Armand clenched his teeth in anger, remembering the marquis who had thrashed his because of his feelings for... well, she was irrelevant, he told himself. But Percy...! What had his relationship with the marquis's family been? Well, whatever it was, it was enough for him to obviously be upset. He listened carefully. Ffoulkes had mentioned leaving, and he had to make sure that he wasn't seen.

"Upsetting me?" His voice was hoarse and barely audible. "Why should this upset me?" Percy buried his face in his hands and started speaking in an abnormal, rampant manner. "It isn't everyday that a man puts everything he holds dear in life on halt for a gamble and then fails! Tis not like I had been working for months ON END, sneaking in and out of France, fooling those bloody idiots each time lives were snuck out!" He lifted his head and his hands started to shake. Sir Percy's voice mimicked his hands as the sound grew louder.

"Upset! By God Andrew! The family butchered? The entire family?" Seeing the sad and fatal nod from Andrew, Percy hunched over in the chair, bringing his hand up to his mouth and biting hard into the balled fist. His paled face looked ghostly white against the reddening of his eyes.

"The entire family... I'm here at a ball.... entertaining... when I should have been back over there.... at their sides at my failure for loosing them once already...." Percy could not think or picture anyone else but the entire family St. Cyrs. "The entire family......" Percy could not erase the intense look of pain he envisioned the children wearing, looking into his soul with hatred.

Andrew turned to go and Percy reached out and took hold of his wrist. "Please... Andrew..." His voice was hoarse and weak. "Please... don't leave.... don't turn your back and leave me...."

Armand choked. He could barely hear Percy, and he couldn't understand a word he was saying, but he could hear the sadness in his voice. Breathless, he pressed his ear against the keyhole, straining even more so than before to try and make out what was being said.

Andrew's expression softened when Percy grabbed hold of his wrist, holding onto it for dear life. He knelt down by his chair. "Percy, don't worry- I'm not going to leave you. Not now." Percy's facial expression changed by the minute as a dozen or so emotions swept over him. He looked pleadingly into Andrew's eyes, almost in tears. Andrew had never seen Blakeney cry. "But, you are going to tell me what's bothering you." Andrew saw Percy tense. "We've been friends forever, Percy." Percy shrunk back in his chair, avoiding Andrew's eyes.

"Forever..... is a long time Andrew...." He slunk back in his chair, trying to comprehend the repercussions of his actions.

Andrew forced Percy to look at him. "Look at me. You are NOT a failure!"

He did not even realize his languid face went into that inane stupid look. He was shocked and couldn't lift himself out of the chair no more than he could force himself to put on his mask of Blakeney.

The smile Percy attempted didn't fool him. "You and I will get through this....together.....somehow. Now, would you like a drink?"

"Yes. Straight up Brandy... Large. I have a small flask of it in my upper right drawer." Percy waved his finger towards the chest and noticed how blood red the cherry wood was. Percy stared at the wood, envisioning the blood of St. Cyrs children splattered against the rotting wood of a guillotine.

As Andrew poured the drink, Percy told his tale. "It started one year ago Andrew...." Percy did not look at Andrew, but stared at the cherry wooden chest.

"I don't know how I became involved, really. It was the night I snuck away to steal a glance at one of Marguerite's performances on business in France. I didn't know her at the time. Never spoke. I just knew I wanted to watch her perform again." Thinking of Marguerite, Percy covered his eyes again. He purged the very thought of her involvement and continued his tale.

"An older man was being beaten in the street. I don't know what came over me but as a crowd formed to watch, I wiggled my way up to the front and saw two young men kicking him on the ground. The crowd yelled and shouted how the two men had begged him for money and he, well dressed and rich, refused. The display was horrible.

"Taking my hand to shoulder of one of them, the fellow turned and took a swing at me. I guess my height surprised him, for when he aimed for my face, he hit me square in the chest. I did not flinch at the feeble impact. Instead, I raised my cane and hollered and all the people scattered and ran. This was before the revolution became what is it today mind you. If I tried that move today, they would all fall on me like a pack of foaming dogs, the beasts! Glad to strap one of England's wealthiest men to their steel contraption for beheading.

"Over time.... It just gradually became more Andrew..." Percy let out a sigh and took the drink out of Andrew's hand. "Thank you." He downed the Brandy and coughed. "To date twenty seven of the French have made it through the gates and gone on to live. All along I begged my friend St. Cyrs to listen to me and accompany me home to Richmond. Staying, he felt France could be fixed. Maybe I did not persuade him enough.... I don't know. It was only in the end that he agreed to let me help him. I don't know Andrew. By the time he told me, I was getting married to Marguerite! There wasn't enough time... I thought there was, but I didn't pay attention to every detail... I mean, I couldn't, could I? Marguerite knew nothing of this, and that is how it should remain."

Not tell Marguerite? Why couldn't he tell Marguerite? She was his wife!! Did he actually think that she was going to give him away to the Republic??

Percy added, looking away from Andrew. "I did not get married to make her worry for me." He could not bring himself to put Marguerite in a bad light, no matter how guilty she was for killing the family of St. Cyrs. Percy would not do that to her, or himself.

"Sir Andrew, please... if you would..." Percy handed the empty Brandy glass to Ffoulkes. He was desperately in the need of more.

The whole story... it was more than he could bear. He realized, with a start, that this whole fop/idiot thing that Percy had going on was all an act! A damned good one. He was a better actor than his sister. Armand had believed everything that the man had done as something he would do every day. Who was Percy Blakeney, really? Did ANYONE who had met the Baronet really know what he was like? From the way it sounded, probably even Dewhurst and Ffoulkes had never seen this side of Percy. And Marguerite... definitely not.

After hearing the truth, Andrew needed a glass of brandy himself and raided Percy's cabinets. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Andrew heard his friend laughing at him.

"Oh, yes. I forgot!" Andrew's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Would you like a drink too, your highness?" He smirked at his own words, then burst out laughing. Andrew allowed himself to laugh a few minutes longer, then calmed himself down. This subject was NO laughing matter. Suddenly exhausted, Sir Andrew, plopped into a chair and took a huge sip of brandy, nearly choking on it. Andrew suddenly remembered their harsh words from earlier.

Armand listened as the alcohol they were consuming began to take a little bit of an effect. Percy's speech was slightly slurred- or was it just listening through the door. Andrew's last sentence came out loud and clear, and there was obvious silence in the room. Armand sucked in his breath, waiting.

"What do you plan to do? The two of us can't exactly overthrow the government."

Percy sighed and downed quickly his second glass of brandy. It stung his throat and eyes and he shook his head. "I...I don't know... I had a plan... a plan to save St. Cyr.... I had told Tony to get Edward and Frederick up here.... they should be up any moment.... Andrew.... what am I doing?" Percy stood up himself now, the entire dancing around in his head. Marguerite. St. Cyr. Chauvelin. Himself.

"It all seemed so clear to me just a few days ago. Get in, get out. Have the family with me. Something went astray. It doesn't matter what..." Percy hid any blame he would give to his wife based on what he overheard earlier that day. Armand and Marguerite. That conversation he overheard them speak on would never be revealed.

"Something went wrong and it is obvious to me I can not keep doing this alone. It's become to big. It exceeds the capability of one man." Walking over to the flask, Percy drained it empty into his shifter. He wiggled the glass, letting the brownish yellow liquid swirl around, as he paced and thought. "I guess there is only one thing left to do Andrew. Make sure this does not happen again. Each day I become aware of more cries. I don't think if I wanted to, I could ignore them."

He walked back to his chair and sat back down, staring at the blood red of the cherry wood chest. "No. I can not stop. Not now... I need to atone for my mistakes... when Edward and Frederick come, I will ask them to help you, Tony and I. That is as far I can begin for now." He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. Bringing the third glass of Brandy to his lips, Percy's body felt a tiny bit more relaxed thanks to the alcohol. He sipped it and wondered how many of these he would have to drink... just to feel normal again.

Andrew nervously sat near Percy as he sipped yet another glass of brandy. He had no idea what to say- So Andrew remained silent. All the two of them could do was wait for the others to arrive. The situation concerning the St Cyrs was clearly troubling him. He wished he hadn't brought the subject up, but there had been literally-no other way. Percy would never have forgiven him for keeping such a secret. Finally, he looked up from the floor which he had been staring at some time. "I hear footsteps." Andrew blurted out stupidly. He and Percy both looked up just in time to see the Tony enter with two other men. Andrew sucked in his breath. It was now or never.

Percy did not hear the footsteps approaching and glanced as Andrew spoke. He nodded and sat up in his chair, glancing down at the light under the door. He saw shadows flickering back and forth.

Knocking lightly on the door, he glances around quickly before >announcing himself. "Percy?" He wasn't sure if he should say any >more, and he knew his friend would recognize the voice immediately, so he fell silent, waiting to be ushered inside.

Percy watched the two sets of feet from Frederick and Edward, hearing Hastings voice. He glanced down at his half full glass of Brandy and stood out of the chair. Bringing the shifter to his lips, he whipped his head back, making short work of the third glass of alcohol.

Setting the glass on the credenza, Percy looked at Andrew and grabbed a hold of both sets of lapels. Two quick tugs were given to flatten any wrinkles and he smoothed a falling hair strand out of his face. Leaning his head to the side, Percy cracked his neck and sauntered over to the door, the out of place hair falling back into his bloodshot eyes.

Silently he wrapped his fingers around the handle. He waited a moment or two, letting the warm feeling from the Brandy soothe him. Whipping the door back quickly, Percy thought he might have made one of them jump. The alcohol in his veins was making him relax all the more and he gave a haunting smile at the two men.

"Welcome to my parlor... said the spider to the fly." With that, the Baronet moved to the side, gesturing grandly to let them in. After them, he shut the door behind him and turned slowly to survey all three men.

He had finished three rather large shifters full of Brandy in a matter of 10 minutes. Not one to neglect alcohol, Sir Percy considered himself an appreciative person of fine Brandy and wine. The quickness of the consumption intermixed with the current physical condition made the tall, blue-eyed Baronet feel rapidly warm and content inside. He knew he should not be abusing the fine liquid as he was, but he had wanted to feel better. While this was not exactly "feeling better", it certainly beat carrying around the heavy weight of failure from a few moments prior.

The situation was the same. He did not laugh and he did not cry. For now, he just dealt.

He stood there after his witty little comment about the spider and the fly. He shot back to when he first spied his own little widow spider. The scenes in his mind were not crystal clear, but they came and went before his eyes like flashes of light. If he sat down and actually thought about it, Sir Percy would realize he was not alone, as everyone remembers times gone by. He was no different than any other man, and because of this, Percy dreamed in that standing moment all the same.

He had been secretly watching her for years. Four years to be exact. There was no saving lives or even the hint of it when he first cast his eyes on her. Always fond of the theatre, Percy was 28 years old when he ventured on a trip across France with his friend, Frederick. The goal was nothing more than catching a little sun and scenery out of England. Crossing the English Channel aboard the Daydream, they docked and rented horses for the long journey.

At the time, the fashion was variations of gray suits, tall hats and long pants. Percy, of course, was dressed in the finest of cloth, the material near silver it shone so much. No matter what the fashion, one of the stylish walking canes was at his side as they rode. Reaching Paris, they ventured into a small pub and entered. The finest of French ventured here and it was a time for all aristocrats alike to smile and take advantage of the fruits of their labors or inheritance. Percy and Frederick sat down, ordered fine wine, and ate freshly baked croissants. Imported Brie was spread on small thin wafers and they talked and laughed until late in the afternoon.

Frederick would tell Percy all about his younger sister and Percy would absentmindedly listen. His eyes glancing around the room, checking out the scenery. His eyes fell on the lovely girls there, but he never approached any of them. It had never been his style nor had it been his wish. Percy had seen what a woman's burden did on his father, and so far, he had never craved one for himself.

Wanting to catch some action in France, they went to a local theatre. Percy wanted to attend the grandest theatre, but Frederick insisted they would have more fun at one of the smaller houses in the city. Percy gave a shrug, a languid laugh and off they went. After purchasing the best seats in the house, they laughed and joked until the candles were put out, one by one and the small theatre orchestra started.

Percy leaned back in his chair and covered his mouth dully. He loved the theatre, like all aspects of art, but remembering his British education, pretended not to be interested in such things. Like clockwork, the scene before the intermission, Percy would pretend to fall asleep so when the house lights came on, whoever he was with would have to wake him up. He did it every time.

Then she came.

He sat behind Frederick so he could actually enjoy the show instead of worrying about the performance he must give. The act opened up on two parents yelling back and forth in song. The argument was over their daughter and her marriage. Percy was slightly disappointed, as this little unknown musical had every stereotype casted so far. He covered his mouth and yawned, leaning forward in the box seat and, elbow on the railing, rested his head on his hand. Suddenly, from offstage, the most magical sound floated and filled his ears.

Both of his lazy eyes opened wider and the most beautiful little girl entered the stage. She looked young, Percy guessed the actress could not have been more than 18, but he never was a good judge of women. He found himself enamored and entranced, all at once. Her moves and actions were anything but stereotypical, like the rest of the cast, and she upheld a grace about her that held Percy's eyes solid and unable to glance away.

Before he knew it, the house lights came on and he blinked back the light, realizing he forgot his usual custom of sleeping at the end of the first act. The acts to follow were more of the same. Sir Percy could not take his eyes off the little actress. When the production was over, his fingers flipped over the paper flyer and he read the French words listing the cast. Her name appeared: Marguerite St. Just. He had never heard of her before. He had never witnessed such a performance before. Percy swore he had never seen anyone so beautiful.

The next day, the two English Gentlemen took to their horses and rode further away into France's countryside. Percy's mind was still held back in Paris, thinking of the young girl. The flyer from the musical was folded neatly in his travel bag and her name was permanently running around in his mind.

Percy blinked back the memory, almost smelling the dingy little French theatre in his bedroom. Someone made a comment and he watched the three men, scratching his lazy head, wishing he had more to drink.

The boy outside the door was dying to hear what Percy's answer was, but he could hear, faintly, the footsteps and voices of Edward Hastings and Frederick Clayton. "Damn!" Armand whispered. He stood hastily, making a little more noise than he would have liked to. His eyes searched the hallway for a place to hide. Nowhere, so he took off at a fast clip down the hall in the opposite direction that Percy's friends were coming from. He leaned up against the wall around the first corner, then he peeked around the side in time to see the two men knock and enter. When he was sure that they were going to stay inside, he crept back to listen.

Hastings instantly stepped back at the sight of his friend. The blood shot eyes worried him greatly, but it was the unseen emotions and appearances that Hastings was far more concerned with. Something looked terribly wrong. He could see that in those blood shot eyes, in his stance, in the way he held his drinking glass.

Snapping himself out of it, Hastings was quick to grab the importance of the situation and stepped into the room in a great hurry, eager to hear what was on Percy's mind. "Is everything all right, Percy?" He winced at his own words, and realized instantly the stupidity of them all. His eyes sank to the ground and he hoped his friend would ignore his last comment.

The sudden, momentary silence made him shift uncomfortably. Seriousness was a distasteful matter to him just then. He'd been having such difficult times this past week, he'd wanted nothing more than to relax. And now, here stood his childhood friend before him, waiting to explain something painfully serious. It took all he had within him to remain in that room...to not flee from the situation and return to those lovely ladies awaiting him in the dance hall.

Gad what a fool everyone took him for. A lady's man. A charmer. He chuckled slightly at the thought, and wondered if a single one of them truly knew him as he really was. Oh he put on a good show for all of them! What had Percy said about hunting? Ah yes. "Do tell us about your love for hunting Hastings, and I do say, I am NOT speaking of your sought after creatures with two legs!" The voice was clear in his mind, and the round of laughter about the table had almost brought a blush to his cheeks. But he'd remained silent and endured it all, as he always had to. There was far more to him than his reputation with the ladies, which in itself was no more than a farce. His little experience with them left him extremely inadequate at entertaining them. True, he knew how to throw a quick word here and there to make a lady blush from flattery, but what did that matter? Percy Blakeney had practically only one lady, and he ended up marrying her! Gad he wished he could be so fortunate. But the life of a bachelor loomed up ahead for him, and he took it all in in silence...

But he was not the matter at hand here. The matter at hand still remained to be mentioned and so he looked up at Percy and gave a small shrug of his shoulders, trying to be humorous and failing miserably at it. "Gad sir...are you going to stand here all day, or are you going to explain what's going on?"

Andrew was nervous. He knew the task at hand was a big one, and was more than ready to get moving. Andrew felt the tension in the room, but didn't dare open his mouth, which had gone parch and dry. He glanced over at Frederick and Hastings and gave a small nod. Hastings bit his lip and the silence still continued. The tension was growing unbearable. He wanted to say something to Percy, but didn't know wither he should or not. 'Percy knows what's best.' Andrew should have been comforted by the thought but he wasn't.

Percy glanced up at Edward. Yes, was he going to stand there all day? Dwelling in the love that once was his? "Have a seat Edward.... Frederick." Percy's voice was anything but jovial. He waved his arm towards the bed for them and tugged at his collar. It became suddenly very hot in here and Percy undid his waist coat, tossing it on the chest as if it had been a burden to him all along.

"I'll make this as short as possible as I'm in no condition anymore to tell it well, so I'll let Andrew or Tony fill you on any details I might miss. It's time to play chess men. You may or may not have heard of some of the French Aristocrats making it out of France mysteriously. It is time to become more than what we are. I ask you to join me now. It is because I played a part, dressed as a blind waif, a pauper, a rich man's carrier, that gave the French a chance to escape. It was surprisingly simple really, when the foe does not expect you. At least at first it was.

"I'm in need of help gentlemen... we all like our games. Our sports, eh Hastings? The thrill of the hunt. Strategically placing our pawns, knights, rooks and bishops. Who will capture the King? Well, in the game I play, it is more of who will SAVE the Kings? This is a serious matter gentlemen. The game board has been turned and I can no longer do it alone. I've been in a few bad scrapes, so you must realize this is a game with a worthy opponent. Three weeks ago I had my ribs devilishly bruised where a soldier caught me with the blunt end of a gun. I ended up clocking the short bloke in the jaw, but not without busting my knuckles in the process."

Percy felt the wave of the alcohol effecting him and he moved back and plopped himself down on his credenza. He started to take off his gloves and then grabbed a hold of the side of the furniture to steady himself. Seeing the looks on their faces, as Blakeney was not known for a man of action, much less physical force, he added, "It's amazing how lavish clothes can cover up many a things. I wore gloves on my hand for weeks without ever taking them off.... ended up setting a new fashion."

Andrew cast a slightly bemused look over at Blakeney and chuckled at his latest statement. "A fashion statement, eh? I daresay I'll be the talk of London for days." Andrew glanced down at his wrinkled shirt then back up at his friend. The others looked at Andrew like he had gone mad. He couldn't exactly blame them... Andrew smiled sheepishly and poured himself another glass of brandy. 'This stuff is too demmed addictive,' Andrew scolded himself. He needed to have a clear head for deep discussions like this. Sir Andrew Ffoulkes wasn't one to drink excessively, but the last few hours had been pure hell. If only he could see into the future. But that obviously wasn't going to happen.

Percy listened to Andrew, not understanding him at first, the Brandy making his mind slow. Then he realized. "Yes, you do need to change still Andrew. Help yourself I suppose." He rubbed his temples and looked over at Hastings and Frederick, their forms a little fuzzy to his sight.

"What else can I tell you? Everything we do needs to be private. No wives, girls or friends outside of our little "faction" should know. Everything needs to be secretive. What am I leaving out?" Percy looked at the men sitting on his bed. He wanted to be sitting on his bed. He was not feeling so well.

Sports, he said! Gad but Hastings was a man of sport. He loved the thrill of the challenges he faced while hunting. Of course, there was always in the mind that goal of catching your prey. But more importantly to him was the challenge of how he went about achieving his goal. Planning each and every action...

He listened to Percy talk of Chess and other countless things and for a moment he wasn't sure what Percy was rambling on about. Then he mentioned those in Paris who had fled the guillotine, and named himself the man responsible for their survival. Hastings wasn't altogether as surprised as he should have been. He wondered if any of the others were surprised to hear himself speak of fighting and the likes. Here, Hastings was even less surprised. Zounds! But when they were children Percy did so love to fight. In fact, he could remember meeting Percy. He grinned some at the memory, for he'd been devilishly clever in pulling the practical joke on Percy. However, when the time came to fight, he also had to shyly admit Percy had given him a sound beating for the joke. And so they became friends. Yes...hearing him speak now of this, he was hardly surprised.

He understood quite clearly what Percy wanted of his friends. He understood all the challenges they would face, all the sacrificing they would have to do for this...he understood it all. Or, almost all. What he didn't understand is, of all the men in London, in England! Why...oh why would Percy choose him! After all, didn't he and the others think him a fool for enjoying entertaining ladies? How could a man viewed like that prove worthy of such a task?

Still, he would not deny them his help. Nay, if he truly needed Hastings, then by God he would be there for Percy. "You need not say more Percy...I understand everything you have put on the table before us..." His brow bent in sudden contemplation, as he broke off his comment, and began to wonder how in God's name so little men could do such a thing? But then, if Percy had done it alone, I suppose the answer was right before him, no?

"It would be an honor to help you, Sir Percy."

Andrew simply stared at Percy and blinked. "Percy are you all right?" He didn't answer. This was getting frustrating. And where on Earth was Tony? Hadn't Blakeney sent for him? He could tell that his friend wasn't feeling well. No doubt because of the alcohol he had been consuming. Andrew had to get him to a chair before he keeled over. With that in mind, he gave a sharp look at Hastings and Frederick who were sitting on Percy's bed- one that said 'move it'. He didn't have to actually SPEAK. But it worked.

Andrew took Percy by the arm and forced him to sit down. Then, Andrew just felt even more guilty for his current condition because he had offered Blakeney the alcohol in the first place.

He sat down on the bed and felt his head spinning. "Andrew...." Percy gave a small moan. "I could be wrong, but I believe I drank a tiny bit too fast there, Sir." He leaned forward and tugged on his blonde locks, breaking them from their tie. The Baronet's hair flung wildly down over his shoulders and he lifted his chin to view all 'nine' men standing in front of him.

"After tonight, we can not draw attention to ourselves like this. This past half of an hour is already too long, and I bet we are being missed below." Percy lowered his voice dramatically thanks to the Brandy and whispered. "The Prince, he will not like what we do I fear. Politics has a way of clouding the mind. I will communicate to you all by note." Percy reached onto the small table next to his bed.

"I will use..." he glanced around. In his den, he had many a wax for sealing. It was lacking in his bedroom. "This!" His voice shot up to full volume as he grabbed the nearest candle and started melting the end of its red hilt on a nearby piece of paper. "I will always use red, and you will know its from me because..." Percy lifted his thumb and was about to press it into the wax. He remembered his haste before when he scalded his finger slightly and did not want pain right now. His eyes scanned over his hand and the table. "......of This!" Percy turned his hand around and plunked his pinky ring right into the wax. He smiled triumphantly. Prying it loose, Percy leaned back to admire his work.

"Ahhhhh" he turned the paper upsidedown and around. "Come come come! Lookie see." Percy glanced at the 'nine' men and trusted the card into the hands of the first 'three' that came over. "It's the flower pimpernel! My family's crest, by jove. That is how you will know its from me...."

Percy stood and took hold of the 'three' card holder's shoulder to steady himself. "How's that, say whot? Damn.... I have to admit, I think I am not feeling very well."

Tony glanced around the room once more to make sure Edward and Frederick had left, and decided to make his way to the meeting.

It wasn’t until then that he had noticed just how much his shoes were bothering his feet. They had been new, and needed a small bit of adjustment, but he took them anyway, because they went perfectly with the outfit he decided to wear tonight. A reason to keep them on any longer was not seen, so he took them off. Standing up, he wiggled his toes, glad to be relieved of them.

He picked up his shoes, and padded silently down the hall to Percy's chambers. As he neared the door, he noticed someone crouching next to it, his ear against the door. Armand.

Tony's face went slightly pale. Percy wasn’t going to be happy that he had fulfilled only part of his orders. Tony had no way of knowing how long Armand had been listening, or what might have been said so far, so he prayed that he had heard nothing of importance, and cleared his throat only loud enough to make his presence known to Armand.

^There was the sound of a throat being cleared very near to him. Ad on his side of the door. Armand gulped, then turned very slowly. It was Tony Dewhurst. 'Merde! I'm done for!' Armand cursed silently. He managed a watery smile. "Uh... hello, Tony...."

Armand was dismayed. He knew Tony would tell Percy. He had just been listening to Percy say that they couldn’t tell ANYONE about their little group, when Tony showed up. Armand wanted desperately to help Percy, but he knew, now, that Percy would NEVER let him join... not after Tony told him how he had come across Armand in the hallway. And that growing dread in his stomach wouldn’t go away. The boy sighed and stood up. Might as well resign himself to his fate sooner than later.

Tony took Armand by the arm none too gently, and moved him into position a little ways behind the door. "Stay right here, until I tell you to move." He told him forcefully, and with a threatening finger. Taking a deep breath, Tony knocked gently on the door, and popped his head in with a nervous smile. "Uh.. Percy? I believe we have a small.. umm, obstacle here, Sir." He motioned behind him, where Armand was standing, but not seen. Once he received the questioning looks he was anticipating, he opened the door wider, revealing a very nervous Armand.

"We have a bit of a snoop out here who seems to be VERY interested in your conversation." Tony then took him by the arm, moving him into the doorway. "I trust you weren't speaking of anything of any.." He thought if how to phrase it without sounding quite so obvious, just in case Armand wasn’t guilty of all he feared. "Interest."

Percy's eyes focused in and out a little bit and he staggered towards the door. It took him a moment to even comprehend what Tony was saying, but his wits were about him listening to one thing: "Snoop outside your door".

Anger filled his soul, he grabbed onto the doorframe to stabilize and Sir Percy glanced around for the culprit. His hair dangling about madly.

Seeing Percy's staggering form, and smelling the alcohol on his breath, Tony immediately regretted being so harsh on Armand, and pulled him back behind him. "Look, Percy.. I’m sure that this is all just a misunderstanding." His voice was shaky, and it was obvious that Tony was not used to seeing Percy in such a fashion. He looked frantically for an escape route in case Percy completely lost it.

"Maybe we could all just sit down.. calmly and work this out? Yes.. talking is gooooood." It was just a suggestion, but he wasn't sure how Percy would take it. Just for reassurance, Tony took a step backwards, forgetting that Armand was there, and tripped over him, bringing them both down with a thud on the floor. Percy brought his hands up to rub at his eyes. Everything was just happening too fast in these last 24 hours. Seeing two bodies fumble on the floor and the severity of the snooper being Armand hit Percy with the needed sober slap in the face. He could not allow himself to continue this behavior.

He shook his head and waved his hands. "No, wait... what is all this?" He stuck his head around the corner of the room and looked around. "How many others lurk out here?" This was not the night he wanted. Where was Marguerite? Where was the Prince?

Moving them inside, Percy paced and tugged at his sleeve. He was forcing his stance more erect and using as much of his willpower left in order to sober up, and quickly. "How " he could not even fathom the idea of Armand knowing any of this. He reached up and pulled back his hair, holding it in place with his hand.

"How much have you heard?" Percy sat back down on his bed, looking at Armand and Tony with a blank stoic glance.

"Everything... almost... you were telling them that they can't tell anyone, and I..." Armand was terrified. He knew that he was as good as dead. Percy would never trust him again. "Percy, I stand beside you! I want to help you fight this evil! You know how I feel about the Revolution! I want to save my friend Helene!" Still scared, Armand swallowed and met Percy's sedate gaze with his earnest green eyes. "Dear brother-in-law, I am you ally! Let me join you!"

Looking down, he held his head in his hands for a moment, the loose blonde hair falling past his shoulders. Percy always survived on his instinct and quick witted decisions. With seemingly little effort, both of the St. Justs tipped over his carriage of ideas and plans. Now he was out of time.

He stood and closed the distance between him and Armand. Grabbing the younger around the collar, the massive six feet of Blakeney stared down at the little French man. "I have no reason to trust a man who lurks outside my door. YOU, however, have my hands tied behind my back." Percy gave Armand a shake and let him loose. Stepping back, he started to pace and think in his choppy manner.

"You stand beside me? Ha! How about you stand behind me. Waiting to attack perhaps? Hmmm? How does it go? The closer you get to the victim, the sooner you can plunge in the knife?"

Percy stopped and spun around to look at Armand, who's face seemingly pleaded against the Baronet's words. "An Ally? Join me? You want to "save the people"? At my side? Fine. You will stick at my side alright. You will not make a single move without me or my approval."

Pointing a gloveless finger at Armand, he mocked, "Mark my words, "brother", you speak one word, one whisper, of this to anyone and I'll see you back in France. It will not be the sort of homecoming one would enjoy."

Percy's eyes gleamed in anger at Armand. "We shall see, over time, what sort of "ally" you truly are." He stood there, watching the younger man tremble. Before Blakeney was no longer the likable little brother to his lovely wife. Standing in front of Blakeney was the threat that could end his life.

"Take him away. Go." He turned and waved them off. "All of you. Back to the ball and keep your eye on him." Percy glanced over his shoulder at the five men, his voice stern with the authority they renounced to him. "From this minute forth, when all are gathered, never let him out of your sight.

"When you get downstairs, you will all laugh and joke normally how the host of the ball is upstairs, sleeping soundly after loosing in a contest of drink I foolishly partook in and lost to Lord Andrew. You will make sure to explain to Lady Blakeney and The Prince on how I continually whimpered my embarrassment to this despairing situation... right up to the point before I passed out cold.

"Soon the time comes, and it WILL be sooner than later gentlemen. Expect to hear from me on the more important matters discussed here tonight. Enjoy the rest of the ball." Facing them, Percy straighter himself out to his full height and crossed his arms. His voice had been steady and his eyes gleamed at Armand, then the serious gaze fell across each pair of eyes in the group. The man, who now sealed his scarlet wax with a pimpernel, no longer looked upon them as the foppish fool once known as Sir Percy.

After the last man left the room, Percy shut the door and reached down to click the lock in place.

After the five men left his room, Percy stood at the side of his bed, his gaze moving over to the empty shifter glass sitting on the blood-red cherry chest. How long had the time been? 30 minutes? 45? 20? It almost did not matter to him. For now, it was over.

Truth revealed, there was a tiny bit of peace brought around to the Baronet's mind. He glanced over at the mirror and watched the creature staring back at him. No longer the sight of a gentleman, as the elaborate waistcoat and tails were shed. His gloves were somewhere in the room, he forgotten where he took them off. The hair wildly flopped down across his face like a starved lion. The tall gorgeousness of Blakeney was reduced to something short of bestial.

He began to undress. The lonely feeling tried to creep into his mind, but he was too tired to allow it to do its work. He had not slept in over 37 hours. Try as his overactive mind may, there was no acceptance on his part of logic or thought. The list of things gone wrong in the past 72 hours were more than enough to keep his mind properly tortured, but Percy ignored all rational ideas. He recognized the one smart thing he had done: Send five men away and declare himself finished for the evening.

In a way, he was finished. Used up. Done. There was no more will in his body to try and re-dress... to put on and wear the mask of Sir Percy. They drained him. He was only a man, and this man desperately needed to sleep if he was ever to function again it seemed.

Standing in only his undergarments, Percy pulled back the lavish blankets and silken sheets to his bed. He glanced back at the door, looking at the key position to ensure he did indeed lock it. It had been done. Crawling in, Percy never in his life wanted to sleep so badly.

Tomorrow, he would have to face Marguerite. It was not something he was looking forward to doing, as he knew there would be no way to avoid the insistent cackling of his recent bride. Bride. Percy chuffed as he leaned over and snuffed the last candle out. "I have no bride..." he spoke aloud as the room fell into darkness. "I have only a burden."

Sir Percy Blakeney, Baronet laid his head back against the soft and inviting down pillow. It was only a matter of minutes before he finally fell deep into a well-deserved sleep.

Marguerite was enjoying herself with the prince still when she noticed some of Percy's friends making their way back to the ball, without Percy. "well George, it appears as though Percy's friends have returned but forgotten to bring my husband back to me." Marguerite pulled gently away from the prince and waved to Sir Andrew who she noticed again, it appears as though Tony had quickly run off again and she could not immediately pick out where the others had gone. "I'm so glad you gentlemen have decided to rejoin us at the ball, however, may I ask where my husband has gone off to?"

Andrew grimaced. How on earth was he going to explain Percy's absence to Marguerite? He felt utterly stupid and was half mad at Blakeney for deserting them at the last minute. But, his first duty was to the master. Andrew faced Marguerite and managed a shaky smile. He could have kicked himself.

"My dear Lady Blakeney, I am afraid that your husband is having a demmed time with his cravat." He laughed despite himself. "Lud, Madame- he could be up there all night trying to untangle the bugger!" He then offered a shaky hand to Marguerite. His were covered in sweat. "However, I hope your highness will forgive me. Would you do the honor of dancing this next dance with me?"

"If it is alright with the Prince I would very much enjoy a dance, but only to buy Percy sometime before I go up and drag him back here – cravat or not!" Marguerite giggles and gave the prince a ladylike bow, "Perhaps your highness, one of the ladies that you escorted in this evening would enjoy some of your company." Marguerite allowed Sir Andrew to take her into a dance. "So tell me Sir Andrew, what were you and my husband really doing while away from me?"

"Doing?" Andrew sputtered. He had indeed got himself caught in a trap. He had to think of a way of answering Marguerite's question without giving anything away. Percy was already steamed at him for showing at the ball late and so dressed so shabishly, though he had cooled down for a time. Armand's eavesdropping at the door hadn't helped matters. What had possessed him to do something so foolish? "Uh..." Then an idea came to him. "Percy was giving me a fashionable lecture." Marguerite merely giggled, looking amused, so Andrew decided to leave it at that.

"Ah, I doubted that a cravat could keep Percy for so long." Marguerite forced a smile. She was enjoying her purse but with each dance she was missing Percy more and more.

Andrew DID feel better, after he had borrowed one of Percy's finer outfits. He was dressed in a cream colored suit with gold trimmings and complimented Lady Blakeney quite well, he thought. Now if only he could get her distracted before Andrew let something slip. "Do you care for the minuet at all?" It was a dumb question, but it would have to do for now.

"Of course Sir Andrew, but just one, and then after that I will have to go and check on my husband, make sure no other young lady has captured his heart."

Andrew laughed at Marguerite's comment concerning Percy. "Madam, Percy and I have been friends for years. It takes him HOURS to get dressed!" He wondered what Percy really WAS doing up there. Was he sick from all the brandy? Andrew decided not to dwell on that. "As for the ladies- he worships the ground you walk on, so you don't need to worry." Andrew paused, not sure wither to go on or not. Was he saying too much? "Would you care for a drink?" Andrew needed a drink himself, and this provided the perfect opportunity to get one.

"No thank you Sir Andrew, but I think it is time for me to go and fetch my husband." With that being said, Marguerite gave a slight bow and excused herself from the guests. Swiftly she moved out of the ballroom to the foyer and up the large stairway. She hoped that not too many of the guests noticed that both the host and the hostess were now absent from the gathering.

She moved along the massive corridor to the private rooms and to Percy's bedroom. Softly, she knocked on that door and waited. When there was no answer, she gently tried the doorknob only to find that it would not yield. She tried a little harder and judged that it had been locked. Disappointed, she left Percy's door and searched until she was one of the servants walking through the upstairs halls. She asked him for a key to gain entrance to Percy's room, but the man gave her an odd look. Although she hated to do so, she reminded him that she is the lady of the house as well as Percy's wife and insisted that she be granted entrance into his room. As some debating the man, probably not wanting to make a bad impression on the master's new wife, retrieved a key and allowed her to enter, however, he lingered outside the doorway until she returned.

The room was pitch black, but she knew someone was there. She could he the deep, peaceful breathing of someone in the room. She returned to the hallway and took a candle back into the see Percy under his blanket fast asleep in bed. Poor thing, she though, so tired and drained. Marguerite herself was already growing weary and was glad to notice that some of the guests were beginning to leave as she made her way to Percy's room before.

Though even in sleep Percy looked a rugged mess. His hair, which was always so neatly combed back and kept, even in sleep, tonight was down and covering his face. Marguerite gently touched his face, which was surprisingly warm and flushed. Rather then disturb him, Marguerite opened the window slightly to let the nice spring breeze in, tucked the covers around him, and placed a gentle kiss goodnight on his forehead.