Upon being told that Sir Percy had retired to his study, Helene made her way
through the hallways somewhat nervously until she reached the thick wooden
doors behind which the master of the house was concealed. Gathering her
confidence, Helene raised a hand and knocked determinedly, wondering if he
would even speak with her....
After speaking and spending the day with his lady, he finally partook
to breaking in the infernal bathing tub. Not that he did not like
the bigger space and room to stretch out his long limbs. It was not
that. Blakeney was certain that Marguerite purchased the iron item
only to further her success in tricking him. Seduction over a man
was a woman's tool.
Locking all doors surrounding him, and even the one to his quarters,
he finally undressed and stretched out. It was a rather pleasant and
useful thing. In fact, Blakeney could not remember expanding himself
in the tub since he was a teen boy. Cramped quarters is what he was
used to, and for a while, he did nothing but dunk his head in,
breathing only though his protruding nose. The tranquility of the
water was quite becoming. Something he would re-learn to get
accustomed too.
After the bathing, Blakeney took to his room and dressing in his
usual around the house best. A simple pair of britches, boots, silk
shirt, cravat and short coat. No tails. Only worn when guests were
expected.
As he stood before his wardrobe, deciding on the perfect pair of
boots, he heard the knock at his study door. Dreading Marguerite
sooner than he expected, like a beaten child, went and opened the
door leaving his personal rooms.
Looking down the hall, he was surprised to see Helene and
blinked. "Mlle?" he asked with his thick British accent. "To what
do I owe the pleasure?"
It was a talent. Helene had been nervous a moment ago, but as the moment
reigned any apprehension dropped away and the Frenchwoman's usual poise and
confidence was all that was in evidence. "I wondered if I could have a few
moments of your time, Sir Percy," she answered politely. "If you are
occupied now, I could come back later?"
"I have been known to spend hours of busy work when picking out the
most proper pair of boots, but you are in luck Mlle. Just a few
seconds before your raping hand, did my brain set its sight on the
very pair. If you will give me a moment."
Helene smiled wryly at his comment, genuinely unsure if the man was joking
or not--and, if not, whether he still expected the comment to be amusing.
Blakeney did not know
what could be on Helene's mind. Perhaps the two girls wished to play
or plan a trip in town. He mused how that sort of outting would be a
gayity occasion as he grabbed the nearest black pair of boots and
slipped them on.
Moving out of his quarters into the hallway, he simply asked, "What
is it you wish to speak on?" Sir Percy tugged ever so slightly on
his coat to undo a shoulder wrinkle. Habit after so many years.
Helene took a deep breath. "Sir, it's a rather--delicate issue, one might
say--perhaps not prudent to discuss here..." Her eyes darted down the hall,
hoping he would get her unspoken request for a more private setting for
their conversation. She wondered again whether he would let her speak, and
in her mind reaffirmed her determination to be heard.
The way she spoke, the hesitation in her voice, Blakeney felt his
back stiffen out of instinct. Glancing about, he saw no one in the
upper hallways and nodded. Quietly he spoke, "Come inside then,
mmm?" He stepped back inside his private rooms, keeping out of the
study. It was his master bedroom chamber, and regardless of his
English upbringings, he shut the door behind her and locked it.
Turning and looking at Helene, he wondered silently and waited for
her to speak.
Helene had wondered how to begin, before, and then as now had decided that
directness would be the best and only course. She had been about to preface
her question with a few probing words, but looking up into the Englishman's
suddenly serious blue eyes, she felt that the moment demanded only
candidness. "Sir," she began carefully, quietly, "You are the Scarlet
Pimpernel, aren't you?" She stopped, watching him closely for his reaction,
wondering if he would let her go on. What if he threw her out? What if he
denied it? The matter was too important for her to keep silent. But then,
what if she was wrong? She suddenly realized she should have generalized
more; her thought processes had jumped to a conlcusion that she wasn't even
sure of, but she had fooled herself into thinking she was. Stupid! If he
wasn't the Pimpernel, but some other humanitarian merely of a different
name...it could still work, she could still ask, if her faux pas did not
reveal her idiocy first...
The doubts rushed through Helene's mind almost incoherently. Outwardly,
however, she remained carefully controlled, poised, her dark eyes meeting
her employer's resolutely.
Hadn't she known? Blakeney raised a single brow and stared at her.
Had Helene not seen him conducting the entire escape between her and
the little girl? Had he not given the orders on who was to do what
and how to act and where to strap Lousie to his body?
Of course she had, but apparently it wasn't enough. Part of Blakeney
wished to fess up, confess to someone other than his League on who he
was and what he did. Helene had proven more than trustworthy and
shown nothing but respect in his home. She knew more than his own
wife and for that, he wondered about her reaction. The magician was
curious about the audience's response to the trick.
He leaned into his fireplace, resting his shoulder blade against the
shelf where his snuff box was placed. Casually, he took the box and
opened it, partaking in a few sniffs before replacing the tin back in
its proper place. "What if I am?" How to respond indeed.
Had this been a melodramatic fiction novel, the author would have
probably made Helene fall to her knees at the feet of the heroic
Scarlet Pimpernel and humbly depreciate herself while begging to join
his efforts. This was reality, however, and neither self-effacement
nor abject supplication was Helene's way. Instead, her chin lifted a
dignified fraction higher with his answer, her eyes never leaving the
baronet's while taking on a new fire of their own.
She was an oddity to watch. Almost like Sultan when Blakeney let him
choose which path to take. To the right or to the left? He remained
leaning comfortably into the fireplace shelf, watching her and
studing her behavior.
"I do not know if you are familiar with my history, sir," she told him
calmly, but her voice had a new force to it.
He shook his head 'no'. All Blakeney knew was that this was a friend
of Armand's and a good practice to break in his newly formed League.
He hardly picked them quite so informally, but there were always
exceptions to the rules.
"The reason my brother and I had to flee into hiding was that we
spoke out openly against the course the Revolution was taking. Since
then we have harbored all manner of fugitives from our government in
our home and helped them find safe passage out of France. Until we
were found out, apparently." She smiled wistfully, adding, "Louise
was one of our guests whom we were protecting," before
continuing. "As you can see, sir, it has been--torture--for me to
live in England, able to do nothing to help my countrymen. I cannot
feel--content with my safety while so many suffer..." she tried to
explain. "Despite this I tried to get my brother to join me here,
for I do care for his well-being
more than I can say. He refused because he has taken a job with a
higher official in the Republic, a member of the Committee of Public
Safety, in fact, and feels that he can have covert influence in that
position, no matter how dangerous it is. I envy him, Sir Percy, I am
only one, he is only one, but surely we can do something! In our
correspondence he has unfolded the story of the heroic Scarlet
Pimpernel and we both agreed we would find and join him if we could.
I ask you now." Her eyes were fixed on him earnestly. The petite
Frenchwoman's speech had been calm and fluent, but filled with
controlled passion. It would be obvious to her listener that she was
one of those rare people, filled with fierce loyalty, competent
honor, and a strength of resolve for what she believed to be right,
to whom apathy was among the most despicable and frustrating of
crimes. She stood very still now, her stance rigid with strong
emotion and determination, watching him.
"So it was your brother that deemed me with that infernal name that
Frenchmen near and far cringe upon hearing?"
She gave a slight nod, smiling. It was not Jacques who had originally
coined the name, but it was he who had made the Pimpernel known throughout
France.
He never directly
admitted it, but he was letting her know. She was correct. He was
*the* Flowering English Bloke. "I say, I rather like your brother."
He turned around and partook in another pinch of snuff. Rubbing a
nostril, he turned a little bit as he headed towards the middle of
his room.
Studying Helene, Blakeney wondered. Should he? Could he? He stared
at her, almost with a frown in his stoic English ways. Without
meaning to, he began to rationalize outloud in his Sir Percy
fashion. "You have proven yourself to be resourceful, but you are a
woman in milady's house." He sat down on his bed and looked at
Helene. "Your brother gave me a name that makes guards shake in
distres, yet he work's for a French official." Percy laid back and
folded his hands over his chest, staring up at his vaulted
ceilings. "Why, in the name of the King, would I employee a woman to
do men's work?"
It was almost as if he was saying, "Make me an offer. Sell me on the
idea." Part of Percy smiled as he looked up at the ceiling. He
doubted if she could see it past his fluffy cravat.
Helene recognized the challenge in his voice, and mentally leaped forward to
meet it with growing excitement. This was familiar territory. "Sir, you
yourself have already named several reasons. First, I am a woman. That in
itself is an advantage to you--a woman may often be able to go where your
men cannot. If you fear for my courage or intelligence because I am of the
fairer sex--you have already seen how I act under stress, make your own
judgement; I am not one to lose my head. As for intelligence, my father
educated me as a son and a scholar, and I have a vaster grasp of learning
than many men. Politics, language, even mathematics--you can test me if you
will. My brother and I both speak Latin, Greek, and German in addition to
French and English. And as for my brother--again you have already named a
key advantage of employing him. Surely the fact that he works in the higher
echelons of government would be invaluable to you; the fact that he has
avoided detection is a testament to his abilities. Both of us are French;
we have grown up in the Paris streets and know both the city and the people
well. We also have contacts on the other side of the law from our days in
hiding. We have resources and abilities that will bring new skill to your
league. Sir, the decision is yours. But if we are allowed to join you, I
know we will show you loyalty and determination unsurpassed among your
current men." Helene poured all her skill and experience in debate and
oration into her speech, and the fluency and articulation, the power and
intonation of her words reflected her native talent as well as her knowledge
in that area.
He already knew his decision. The very fact that Helene approached
him only impressed the Scarlet Pimpernel. She was strong. This
woman was to be trusted. Deep down, her spirit, courage and honor
was everything he thought he had found in his wife. For that, is
saddened him to see another woman who held the same virtues that he
felt were worthy in this world. So much time lost and wasted by he
over the years. Nothing could change the past.
He stood there listening to her, letting the buzz of the snuff tickle
his nose. It sounded as if her brother was already the sort of man
he wished all his league members were. Calm headed. Cool. Sly. To
date, they were all becoming that, but so far it was only Frederick
who had proved it from the very start. Blakeney admired that in a
man. It reminded him of himself and the ego liked that. He still
remained silent for a long pause, mulling it all over in his head.
Finally, he spoke, "You suggest that I test you, mmm? Alright, I
think I shall. First, you say you are well schooled and versed?
Answer me in perfect Greek then, how much is two plus two."
"Tessera," she shot back with a smile, expecting more. Her grin challenged
him to challenge her.
It was a joke. Sir Percy always lightened the moods of those around
him, and Blakeney could not tear away from the man he became over the
years. He did not speak Greek. In fact, she knew more languages
than he, which appealed to the Englishman. It didn't matter. He was
testing her on something entirely different than math and language
anyway.
"And when you are done answering that one," he began, "There is a
second test." He walked over to the wooden decorational banister
next to his bed. With one solid smack of the bottom of his fist at
the very base of a circular decoration, it flipped open and revealed
a hole that had been built deep into the wall. It was built years
and years ago by Percy when he first took over his parents bedrooms
after the death of Sir Algernon. Even then, he felt the need for
somethings to be hidden.
Reaching inside, he pulled forth a scrap of paper and looked it over
a few times before moving near Helene. Offering her the slip, he
stated, "There is another woman who also offers her help to our
cause. She is a Spaniard and has had minimal situational encounters
with me, however, to date, she has not proven to be false. Like your
brother, she plays the double edged sword card and works for a
powerful French official. Your 'test', if you will, is to contact
her and then the three of you to meet. There are more aristos to
free and The League will meet up with you in France. Be wary of what
the Spaniard does and outwardly treat her in trust, but be smart like
you are Helene."
Helene listened closely, realizing as she did so that he was accepting her,
bringing her in without further argument. And it struck her that the
Englishman's mind must have already been made up, that he must trust her
more than he let on...she would ensure that that trust was not misplaced.
"Don't let on how there is a need to watch her if you
can, for she is used to the game she plays. She works for a
man...." The horrible image popped into his head and his lips curled
back in a snarl thinking of Marguerite and Armand. "His name is
Chauvelin."
The name evoked a cold chill. Chauvelin. Anyone who had been in her
position must know the name, a ruthless man with no compassion for anyone.
The man her brother now worked for. "I know the name," she responded
calmly, taking the sheet of paper from him and perusing it. She nodded. "I
will meet with her. I do not know, however--" she hesitated, but then
plowed on, determined to speak her mind--if Sir Percy wanted her on board
for her abilities, well, forthrightness with her thoughts was a part of
that. After all, how could she be of help by withholding information? "I
do not know if it is a good idea for my brother to be there. He, too,
ostensibly works for Chauvelin. If this woman is what she says then all
will be well. If not, his position could be compromised. Since we do not
know whether this Spaniard will report Jacques or not, the only option I can
see to protect both would be to engineer it so they both report the meeting
and each other--this way Chauvelin would think they are both spying for
him." She thought for a moment. "I think it could be arranged if you think
it is to advantage, but I thought it prudent that you know what I do before
I carry out your instructions." If a situation came up like this in the
field, she would use her discretion, of course--but this was beforehand, and
Sir Percy might well make a call on this information that she would not
expect.
Taking a deep breath, he looked upon her once more. "If not in
person and private, like this, I will speak to you by sealed note. I
am sure you are aware of this seal." As he spoke, Sir Percy lifted
his left hand and wiggled the signet ring which was he donned always
on his index finger. It looked rather plain. A simple gold band
with an ornate maroonish opal swirl type jewel on the top. It was a
few centimeteres long and was longer than it was wide. It looked as
simple as any man's ring. Taking it off his finger, he walked over
to her to reveal the trick. "I need to take it off to make it work,"
he described it as if it was his own handy work, for he was quite
proud. Touching the smallest of pins underneath, the clasp unlatched
and the top allowed itself to flip over and open to reveal the
negative space where red wax formed the scarlet flowered seal. "It
will look like this. I use only red wax."
Helene watched closely and attentively as he demonstrated, storing away the
information.
He began to put the ring back on and said the part he hoped she would
be able to pull off. "As with any member of my League, you must keep
the upmost of secrecy. No talking to wives, ladies, husbands (he
found it humerous that he needed to add this now), men folk, the
Prince, I will hear none of it. This includes all members save
Frank, of this house and most exclusively includes my wife."
She nodded with an expression that said, "of course--what else would I
think?" Had he not impressed secrecy on her and Louise from the very
beginning? She understood that he had to say it, but she already knew and
would literally die before breaking such a confidence.
He studied Helene's reaction. Without waiting to see which way it
turned, he spoke, "She is strong willed and would wish to join and
that is not something I can have. One can not lead if they
constantly have such a close worry, say?" It was the same line he
gave everyone. It was a lie. It was not the truth, but he said it
all the same.
There would be no trusting of Marguerite. Not by anyone under any
circumstance.
She did not believe him. Not given what she had observed from Marguerite;
something more was going on. But it was not her business, and if he did not
volunteer it, she would not press. Likewise, however, she would not think
of doing other than he asked; it had not crossed her mind that Marguerite
should be treated differently and taken into confidence. "I understand,"
she answered him, with marked earnestness.
To finalize the conversation, he moved onto, "If your brother works
for Chauvelin that is a story under a different author, Mmm? Do as
you feel best between the two. I give direction as I can and expect
the League to fill in the rest. This is a situation you are suited
for, therefore, the decision is yours to make." He looked at her and
quieted down, moving back over to the snuff box on the shelf.
Again Helene nodded. She would talk with Jacques first, she thought,
find out his situation and discuss the issue with him. As of now she
did not know enough about how things stood with him. She turned back
toward the baronet. "If that is all then, sir, I will begin making
arrangements immediately, and await you in France when I finish."
She waited for his response, but hesitated before leaving.
"It will not be me you will meet in France this time. Lord Clayton
and Sir Andrew." he corrected. "I will not be going on the lastest
departure."
"In that case, until then." She was pretty sure she remembered the men he
referred to. Sir Andrew had struck her as a little bit of a nervous fellow,
if she remembered correctly. Lord Clayton, a bit of a cold man, with a
brooding look about him when she had met him. Yes, she remembered them.
"There is -one other matter I wished to speak to you about, sir. It
is somewhat irrelavant, and truly no business of mine--I will not
speak of it again if you tell me so, but I thought you should know--"
she spoke quickly, not waiting for him to respond-- "About Marguerite-
-I am sure she is ill in some way. I do not know if you have
noticed; it is always worse when you are gone; she seems to pine for
you. I have tried to get her to see a doctor, but she will not. I--
as I said, it is not my business, but I thought you should know. I
worry for her." She would not ask about what was going on between
the husband and the wife; that would be unspeakably rude. But she
truly did not know if Sir Percy knew the extent of Marguerite's
condition, and her sense of rightness--the same moral intuition that
had brought her here today--compelled her to tell him. "As I said,
if you tell me so, I will not speak of it again." He would be within
his rights in telling her it was not her concern, and she would
respect that. But her conscience made her make the mention of it.
Like the mention of Chauvelin's name, once more Blakeney's back
stiffened hearing Helene. He gave a respectful nod and clentched his
jaw as the woman spoke. Oh how easy it would be for him to tell her;
how his heart yearned to tell someone of the pains that pined him.
Memory flashed faster and his back stung mentally with the pain of 15
whip gashes and he dismissed the thought. He would not speak out
against his parents, nor his wife. Drilled into him like a trained
dog.
She saw him stiffen, and apprehension and sympathy surged equally within
her. As she observed the Englishman, the power of the tall man made an
impression on Helene. It struck her--perhaps a fancy, a flight of
imagination--that this was not a man who loved or lived lightly; this was a
man whose purpose would always be true and could sometimes be terrible. The
word dangerous crossed her mind, but of course that was ridiculous--it was
only the moment.
"I am more than aware of the path my wife chooses to take. Despite
my best efforts, there is nothing I can do. Force feeding devices
went out with the middle ages, say?"
The baronet's joking words tempered the impression of a moment ago, jarring
Helene out of her thoughts. What he said frankly surprised her--she
realized that she had not expected Sir Percy to refer to Marguerite's
refusal to eat as a "choice" she was making. Perhaps Helene had not
admitted that perspective even to herself, but she reluctantly realized that
the Englishman may be right, whatever else was going on between him and his
wife. She said nothing, simply observing the tall aristocrat as he
continued on.
Like Helene, he had tried in
his Sir Percy like ways, but to no avail. Only his presence seemed
to perk up the doomed flower, and his time and attention needed to be
shared elsewhere as much as it was here. His life a constant battle,
Blakeney accepted it with the distance in which he dealt with all
horrible aspects. One can only do so much.
Looking at Helene, he took her hand and kissed the top gently. He
knew she meant well, but regardless, his stern words followed. "I do
not wish to hear the subject of my wife."
She started slightly when he reached for her hand, still unused to the
courtesy. His words chilled her--he had not said that it was not her
business, not that what was going on between the couple was personal, not
that his wife's health was his own affair, but "I do not wish to hear the
subject of my wife." This was far deeper than even she had guessed, and
though she wished she could help in some way--it pained her to see both the
woman who was her friend and the man she respected so much both in such
pain, for that is what it was--part of her was glad that both had refused to
bring her into it. She had the feeling that, whatever was going on, it was
not an easy or pleasent situation. These thoughts passed half-formed
through her mind as the Englishman spoke.
Not just her health, but
of Margot overall. Blakeney did not need anyone else telling him what
he should or should not be doing. Armand, Marguerite and Frank did
it enough as it was. He liked Helene and did not wish to start
arguements with her, for if pushed, he would.
"Thank you Helene, but never again."
"Yes, sir." She knew when not to press. Even in this moment, however, her
respect for the baronet was growing. If she had known what intensity of
emotion he possessed with regard to this subject--which was obvious however
much he masked it--she would have expected a far less controlled reaction.
The fact that he even thanked her for saying something that pained him so
tremendously was a mark of this man's character.
She met his eyes for a moment more before turning to leave. Before she did
so, however, she turned back one more time to add quietly, "And sir--thank
you." She did not add the melodramatic "I will not disappoint you" or
anything along those lines; she trusted that he would assume as much and
beyond that, judge her by her actions.
Blakeney crossed the room and unlocked the door. He nodded in
understanding to her and spoke nothing more. All that had to be said
was. Soon enough, his lady would call to him, and he must sit now
and think so he would be refreshed with his head clear. He had
learned now that without a clear head, he would subcome to the will
of Marguerite. Her power was that great.