And So the Truth Comes Out

"Well," Tony said, sighing with a heaviness he had felt since he had heard the news of Armand's quick departure, "then there is no doubt that Armand is in danger, for whether he works for Chauvelin or not, that scoundrel cannot be trusted. It is possible that Armand may have been captured, but we shall have to see if that is the case once we inform the Pimpernel of what we have discovered." Tony was always careful not to use Percy's name even while in the confines of the deserted Fisherman's Rest. It was almost supersticious of him, but he would rather be foolishly safe then dreadfully sorry. "But what if it was not Chauvelin? Perhaps Armand has fallen into debt and is now paying for it with his own blood? It is, perhaps, far-fetched, but something to consider."

The drums sounded, ringing up and down the streets. The Revolutionary Guard was on patrol, possibly to capture Madame Guillotine's next lover, paying for her services with their blood. Suzanne was hiding below a window sill, feeling as if she were five years old again, terrified of the world. The drums were getting closer... she jumped up and ran through the house, "Papa! Papa!" she cried out loud, tossing on her bed, kicking the covers off willy-nilly. "Courez! Ils viennent!"

She bolted up, ready to pounce on anyone in her site. Her chest was heaving and sweat coursed down her face. She looked around... this was not her bedroom... in fact, this was not in Paris. She turned and looked out the window, observing the English coastline rolling out before her as the realization sunk in. Her eyes closed and Suzanne sighed, sitting back on the bed and crossing her legs. Her fingers found their way through her sweat-soaked, tangled curls. She pulled the ribbon from her braid and began to comb her fingers through her hair, thinking of how foolish her dream was. They were safe, there was nothing to fear in England so why scream? Why sweat? Why cry out?

She got up and roughly grabbed her dressing gown, pulling down on the bell chord she slipped the garment over her shoulders and tied it at the waist. Sally was at her door in a minute, taking her request for a bath. Suzanne had slept deeply, but not well, the nightmares of the country she had left behind haunted her thoughts. She was mired in the images of her dream, barely noticing she had been sitting at her vanity for a half hour.

Sally's knock nearly made her jump out of her skin. Within the minute, Suzanne was lowering her tense body into the warm water of her bath. She leaned back, wiping her face, and closed her eyes, relaxation settling over her. The steam rose from the tub and she could feel the ends of her hair getting wet underneath her back. "Oh well," she thought, "I might as well wash it now." She she sunk down until her entire body under the water, relishing the momentary silence.

Nearly twenty minutes later, Suzanne was throughly washed and dry. She went back to her room and dressed for the day, Sally helping her lace her stays. She pulled on a simple light pink dress, still trying to shake off that dream of hers, and let Sally secure her shoes upon her feet before heading downstairs. Despite the hot bath making her feel much better, Suzannes' body ached from the tension that had coursed through her for the past few days. She sat down in front of the fire, hoping that the warmth would ease some of the pain, and pulled out a small book that Margot had sent her as a birthday present. Settling into the large chair, she opened the front cover and read the inscription, smiling softly as she remembered her last meeting with her dearest friend. She was not able to attend her wedding for her mother would not permit her another trip to England, escorted or not. She could not wait to see Margot again! Oh how wonderful, to have a friend once again! She knew that Marguerite's marriage might make it difficult for the two to spend much time together, but surely she could at least speak with her. Hopefully, Suzanne would be able to see Margot before the week was out...

"Far-fetched is the word for it," Bathurst returned. "What manner of debtor would hound the boy to Dover? And might I remind you that these men were waiting. Who knew we were to come here? Beyond the League only Jellyband would have had that knowledge, Dewhurst." Bathurst thrust he hands into his pockets and began to pace, trying to control his temper. "If not Chauvelin, I'll still wager a Frenchman. I don't believe Armand knows too many Englishmen, who would shuttle him away so quickly."

Bathurst heard the rapid pounding of footsteps approaching the door, followed by frantic rapping on the parlour door. Bathurst shot a quick look at Ffoulkes and Dewhurst before calling. "Enter." A youth, a mere slip of a boy, threw open the door to the parlour, breathing laboriously as he entered.

"Beggin' milords' pardon, but Mr. Jellyband instructed me to inform you that the gentlemen you were waiting for have arrived." It could only be Percy, Hastings and MacKensie, or at least most of them. Bathurst brushed past the boy and jogged to the entrance, recognizing the very three through the glass portion of the door before he even opened it. He met them halfway. "We were expecting you hours ago."

Mumbling, Tony responded to Bathurst. "Yes, of course you are right. Whoever that man was, it is most likely he is French." He stamped his foot on the floor in frustration and crosses his arms across his chest. Something did not add up here and it was likely that Armand was in grave danger. Zounds! Why did this have to happen now? Then the boy came in. Tony nearly threw his hands into the air! Lud! How could they conduct business if they were constantly interrupted??

"Beggin' milords' pardon, but Mr. Jellyband instructed me to inform you that the gentlemen you were waiting for have arrived."

Oh thank God! Tony followed Bathurst and stopped a few feet before the door, leaning himself against the wall, arms still crossed. Tony, for once, was the picture of unhappiness. He kept his face serious as Bathurst greeted their leader. He wanted to speak to Percy privately. Well, he supposed that Ffoulkes' presence would be acceptable, but the man was frustrated and, for what seemed to be the millionth time in his life, he needed his cousin to take charge of the situation. Tony hated leaving all the responsibility to Percy, but the fact was that Percy would find a solution. Tony extended his hand to his cousin. "Percy..." he said monotonally. "You've missed quite an interesting chain of events. If you have a moment, perhaps you could discuss this with Ffoulkes and I?" He said, raises his eyebrows to emphasize the importance of their discussion.

<Percy>

Percy was at the front desk, hand still covering the bell he'd begun to ring for service when he was encircled by the league and every face confronting him wore a frown of deep concern. Hastings came bumping up behind him, with Mackensie tugging on his coat and swatting invisible dust on his sleeves.

"What is it?" Percy demanded brusquely, eyes moving from one face to the next. Dewhurst all but biting his lip in frustration, while Bathurst shouted, "Oh thank God!" as if Percy could move mountains or change the colour of the sky.

There was something wrong, the atmosphere was charged with disaster. It felt like the afternoon his father had died. "What is it?" Percy asked again, quieter. Into the silence Tony's voice quavered, "If you have a moment... discuss with Ffoulkes and I?" Someone laughed uneasily, as if a joke had been told which had fallen flat.

It was right in front of him, Percy felt it - but what was he missing? He nodded toward Tony, striding toward the tap room, Tony falling in behind him like a contrite spaniel. No one followed until Percy reached the stairs where Ffoulkes hovered, looking confused. Percy held up a finger to him, quirked it, without sparing a look toward his friend. His guts were clenching as he whirled around to face the door where Tony hovered, blocking Andrew's entrance.

"What is it?" he said, the voice gravelly.

"Percy... we have no idea where Armand is. He was the first into The Fisherman's Rest and it appears, from the information we have collected from Jellyband and his staff, that Armand left, escorted by two men... one of them was distinguished. He was wearing in black." Tony stood in the uncomfortable silence for only a moment before he continued. "Everyone has their suspicions but we didn't want to make any move until we had word from you. Percy... something about this does not equate and I think Armand is in serious trouble. There was nothing to be done Percy. Armand went up to see that rooms were prepared and by the time we were at Jellyband's, he was gone..." Tony trailed off, internally he was very shaken by the whole happenings.

<Percy>

Black. A distinguished man dressed in black who whisked young Armand away so quickly no one coming up the hill from the dock saw them leave. A man who knew the back exit to Fisherman�s Rest, someone with the finances to hold a boat. Someone capable of detailed planning � foremost, someone who saw value in a lad as young as Saint-Just, a foreigner to these parts.

�Has to be Chauvelin,� Percy said curtly, punching his left palm with his right fist. �No one else could fill the bill who also had enough interest in Armand to spend the money it would take to kidnap him.�

One answer, relatively simple. More difficult to decide what to do next? The thought of Marguerite�s anguish demanded that Percy go after Armand at once, but the thought of du Tournai stayed him. Percy�s glance scored Dewhurst who stood as if the weight on his shoulders was too heavy to be borne, then Ffoulkes, looking sheepish.

�My only choice is to race back to France and try to intercept Chauvelin... although it�s the last thing I want to do. Brogard left me with the suspicion that there is a build-up of interest in the Pimpernel in Calais. Many know the name and more than a few expect him to walk their streets, so the danger to the League is increased. No matter who lands at Calais, suspicion is raised.�

�I will go with you,� Andrew said quickly, feeling the need to offer himself by way of apology.

�No, not you. You�ve been away far too long � it would increase suspicion if you�re not seen circulating at parties in London for over two months. Go home. Make a splash. Be seen everywhere.� Percy rubbed his nose, trying to clear his mind. It wasn�t fair to any of them to miss the best parties of the season. Hastings, Bathurst � young men eager to kiss all the pretty girls. MacKensie � wasn�t he engaged?

�Do me a favour, Tony, and send one of Jellyband�s fellows to the dock. Tell the captain of Daydream we�re heading back to Calais on the next tide.� Percy would have to write to Marguerite with some excuse for being delayed � the last thing he wanted. He needed to see her, to remind her of his devotion to her. Only danger to Armand could keep him away from her any longer.

Tony leapt up. "Yes, of course Percy!" He ran from the room, happy to be out of the fire for a few minutes. He went straight to Jellyband and told him what had to be done. Tony awaited the answer from the boy Jellyband sent to the docks and, once he had it, returned. "Percy... I have a suggestion and I ask that you, at least, hear me out." He said, sitting down on the arm of a chair he crossed his arms and began. "I know you would like to run straight to France and get Armand, but that might not be the best solution to the problem in this case. Chauvelin is probably expecting your immediate return to France. He has Armand and he knows that we want him back. Because of that, Armand is safe with Chauvelin. I know that sounds crazy, but I truly believe that it's true. Instead of risking your neck on a rescue we have no guarantee we have the upper hand in, why not let me go back to France and... sniff around for a week to see what I can find out? After all Percy, I was so sick before and had to miss out on most of the action this trip... although carrying Mlle. Du Tournai from danger and to the Daydream was a *thrill,*" Tony said sarcastically, "I'm itching for the sport!" He smiled his devilish smile at Percy. "Then there's your wife. If you do not return to her soon, she will begin to suspect something." He silenced himself for a moment, trying to gauge if his speech had any affect on the most wanted man in France or England ... although wanted for very different reasons. "What if Chauvelin plans to present Armand to Marguerite as assurance of her loyalty and you are off in France searching for the boy? We need to split up here Percy! I can feel it in my bones!"

<Percy>

His need to move was urgent. Galvanizing. Percy couldn�t keep himself from pacing as his thoughts whirred.

"You�re right, Tony; we should split up, but not here. In Calais. Since we don�t know whether Chauvelin left immediately for France, or whether he�s holed up somewhere around Dover, I�ll need someone to watch the docks at Calais. You can do that."

Ffoulkes followed Percy with his eyes, saying nothing, marvelling at how quickly Percy took over all their lives and actions. "Come with me aboard Daydream. When you reach Calais, you pay a fisherman to watch for Chauvelin and Armand while you stay out of sight at Le Chat Gris � I know, it�s a detestable place and far from comfortable, but it�s the safest spot. Once they�re spotted, you prepare to follow them." He wouldn�t run through a list of how important it was for Tony to follow his instructions; trusting Tony was beyond question. "Meanwhile, I�ll go straight to Paris and watch the National Assembly. Chauvelin has to report there to Robespierre."

He groaned at the mention of Le Chat Gris. "Fine Percival." He said, using Percy's full name, this time without jest, but irritation with his cousin's decision. "But you'll supply the clothespin I shall be using to plug my nose from the aroma of that awful place, do you hear?" Tony turned to leave but stopped just short of the door and turned back to Percy, raising his arm for emphasis. "However, if I am to remain there over a week, I will clean your clock once we are safe again in England, do you hear me? You may best me at swordplay, but you know I can punch that pretty face of yours for hours on end." He scoffed haughtily. "I'd sooner live in a wet hole beneath Robespierre's stoop!" Tony rounded on Andrew. "And you. You were injured recently so rest up enough that you might be able to drag Percy's body back to Lady Blakeney after I'm through with him." With that, Tony stormed up to his room to pack for the awful journey.

<Percy>

Armed children? Percy�s eyes widened as he recalled the story Armand had told him about the ABC boys, told with several furtive glances in Andrew�s direction, a description filled with gaping holes that had not been answered. "You know me, Andrew," Percy said with bravado. "I love a good surprise." He clapped Ffoulkes on the shoulder and returned to the lobby where the rest of the league stood huddled expectantly.

He walked through the minefield that was Tony�s fury as if he hadn�t heard it. What could he do? Dewhurst, impressionable and loyal, was stretched to the end of his endurance. Weren�t they all? The lad was sensitive; Percy understood that, and regretted that he�d shoved Tony against a wall, forcing him into a disagreeable situation. �Surely you can understand,� he wanted to say, �that I�m doing as much myself. D�you imagine I prefer returning to Paris over seeing my wife?� Percy couldn�t say that, couldn�t confide to anyone his hope that Marguerite was pregnant. He swallowed his yearning, focusing on his purpose. Margot would wait. The world would have to wait; damn Chauvelin and Robespierre!

Perhaps none of the members of the League saw the compromises Percy made, the decisions, made with reluctance, that drove him far away from his objectives. Did they all feel tired, miserable, overburdened? Where would the League be without their true hearts?

Percy was dragging his feet as he returned to the lobby, closing his mind to Tony�s anger. He took a moment to gaze across the gathered heads to Andrew, slumped against a wall, eyeing Dewhurst as if skewering with a sword was too good for him. What a relief that those two would not be much together, Percy sighed. A lot of baggage between them, a mountain of bruised feelings and misunderstanding. He had to wonder how much more there would be thanks to the presence of Mademoiselle du Tournai. (Pretty? God the girl was sweeter than daisies and more soothing than sunshine on spring grass.) He�d overheard snippets of conversation between Hastings and Bathurst, but more than that, he felt the urgency of testosterone in the veins, the eagerness of young men on the prowl. The girl had eyelashes near a foot long and a smile as demure as a baby lamb�s. Would she be forced to pay for her gratitude in hard currency? Good thing she had both Papa and Mama to watch over her!

She pulled a few curls into her hand absently as she read, her brown eyes scanning the page as she absorbed the words. She knew she wanted to see Margot soon and she would ask her father about it. She heard a door slam and could hear someone storm toward her from two rooms away. The door burst open.

"Lord Dewhurst?" She said, the concern evident in her voice. He looked back at her and her eyebrows raised as she saw the expression on his face. He sighed and continued up the stairs. "We're going back aren't we?" Suzanne stood up and walked to the doorway from which the statement came. She looked at the tired men in the next room and felt a twinge of sorrow in her heart. These men were not free, bound by the laws of what is right and good and seeing the injustice over in France, they decided to help out those who did not deserve to die and they ended up prisoners of their noble deeds. Suzanne looked to the man who had helped her, his name still unknown to her, and smiled softly. She was grateful and she was still unsure of how to show that gratitude. She turned from the doorway and sat back in her chair. She picked up her book and sat, staring into the fire.

The silence was unsettling, broken only by the uneasy clearing of throat by Mackensie and Ffoulkes�s enigmatical comment. �Is it possible Armand went or was taken to Richmond to see his sister? If he were working against us why show his colors now? He could have waited until we reached London, or some point where his disappearance wouldn�t be so quickly noticed. It doesn�t strike me that Armand or Chauvelin would be so foolish. Perhaps it�s best to check all the possibilities.� Hastings squirmed under the stares of those in the room. �I mean, let�s look at the possibilities... if he�s working for Chauvelin then it�s likely he�s already told what he knows and rushing into France would be dangerous, if he is still here in England then he may be found, if for some reason he was taken back against his will then it is unlikely we�ll catch them. I think we should investigate all possibilities� I would be willing to go back to France and see what information I can gather and send a courier with any information I find, if he is there I can send word. Besides with Chauvelin snooping about it might be a good idea that you weren't seen.�

Bathurst unfolded and refolded his arms, repositioning his weight on the table he was leaning against. "I could see Fanshaw in London or Gibbons, they've been watching Chauvelin since he arrived..." And Lady Blakeney as well, but there was no need to point that out. "... might be able to say where he is and what he's been up to. They should know if he's been in London all this time." Or if Armand Saint-Just has gone a callin' on him.

He wondered if Blakeney planned on going back to France or going home. Bathurst could certainly imagine the discomfort the chief must feel confronting his treacherous wife and potentially treacherous brother-in-law. But what else was there for it?

Ffoulkes remained quiet, taking in the ideas the others put forth, trying to imagine what was happening. It was a trick that he was sensitive to nuances; perhaps because he�d come to England as a child and had to rely on his intuition to keep him out of danger, and in this instance he felt something was badly out of kilter, but couldn�t say what it was. Hastings, not always logical, but eminently helpful quickly voiced every thought that entered his head � a sign of his youth, Andrew knew.

Then Bathurst, not known for his sense of caution, came up with the best suggestion thus far. "Yes! Fanshaw! Find out from one of our spies what Chauvelin is up to before you venture back to Paris, Percy. I can�t picture Armand returning to France unless a knife was held to his throat." Andrew wouldn�t confide how the pair of them had sat in the Saint-Just apartment without benefit of candle or fire that last night, terrified that any sign of life would bring a score of armed bully boys to break down the door. "You�ll have to trust me � I know Armand!"

She closed her book and stood up. She was now sufficiently warmed from the fire and her cheeks were their usual rosy color. With a thought of seeing Marguerite, Suzanne then went to find her father. He was upstairs, tying is cravat when she found him. Luckily, her mother was no where near.

"Papa? I need to ask you a question." She said sweetly. He smiled at her, giving her a long hug and a kiss on the cheek. "What is it mon cherie?" She pulled out of his arms then, and started to straighten the mess of a knot about his neck. "You know... I was just thinking that Lady Blakeney lives here in Richmond with her husband. I wasn't able to attend their wedding and I have not seen her in so long! You know how Mama is about Marguerite." Suzanne paused, admiring her handiwork. She smiled, satisfied with the beautiful bow about her father's neck. "...I would really like to see Marguerite, papa. Would you let me go? We wouldn't have to tell mamman. I could go for lunch and meet you in London this evening... I don't think she lives more than a few hours away from here and I could ask that lovely gentleman who has helped us if he knows where Richmond is!"

Her father took a minute to consider, occasionally spouting, "I don't know Suzanne... I just don't know." and the like. "All right. If I let you go, you are to meet with your mother and I this evening for dinner. You understand?" Suzanne kissed her father's cheek and smiled gleefully and ran off to pack. Ten minutes later, she was ready to go, her trunk ready for her father to transport and she with her gloves, reticule and a large, thick black cloak, the hood pulled over her hair. Now... where was that gentleman. She laughed softly for it was absurd she still did not know his name and yet she understood the need for secrecy. Now, where was the man?

<Percy>

Percy flopped into a chair and stared into the fireplace, delving deep into his thoughts. France. God in heaven, he loathed the place! The atmosphere in Calais had been so malevolent he'd felt hostility floating in the very air he breathed. Pestilential!

But were he and the league any safer here, in Dover? Here, in the public room of the Fisherman's Rest? What had become of Armand? Had he been kidnapped from this very room? Oh, Percy had been too careless, thinking the width of the channel protected them from the mighty inquisition that now ruled France.

Percy's dark thoughts veered between anger and sorrow over France, whose king was dead, executed by his own people, and the scintillating woman he called *wife*. Margot. Was she queen of his heart or queen of the damned? Murderess of Saint-Cyr - not just the marquis, but all of his brood; a wife who Percy recalled with fondness and a flock of aristo children. What harm could children do, even aristo children? Mild-mannered boys who'd baited hooks and fished in the Seine. A certain leggy girl who'd run like the wind, heedless of stockings or shoes. Wind in brown hair. He recalled happy kids, each one blessed with unruly hair. Whatever could these aristo kids have done to deserve death? For that matter, what could have so poisoned Marguerite that she would betray the Marquis de Saint-Cyr to Chauvelin and his blood-thirsty committee?

Percy rubbed his chin, ignoring the sharp stubble, coming to grips with the idea that he had to face down his wife and ask her a few very difficult questions. Was he a coward, unable to confront a spike-tongued French actress? Or was he an intrepid gladiator going into the ring against Medusa? More than one friend had told him Lady Blakeney was a spy; that his wife was his greatest enemy. Despite his feelings, dare he believe otherwise?

Percy's eyes reddened with anger over the treatment meted out to du Tournai by Robespierre and his gang of thugs. Armand had said that the count was a gentle soul who had been helpful to his father when Armand had been a child. The man had a place at court and had intervened on behalf of Saint-Just in some ancient squabble - Percy had forgotten the details Armand had provided. Percy recalled how Dewhurst had leapt to his feet demanding the league go to rescue this du Tournai, then been silent as the grave about his reasons for this insistence. Percy's eyes combed the family group, considering that more than a few mysteries dwelled among the three silent refugees. �migr�s, they were now called. Their road would not be easy in England; but at least they were alive.

Percy focused on the girl, specifically on the fact that Tony steered clear of her, which was so unlike Dewhurst as to catch Percy's attention. Tony had demanded action be taken on behalf of the family of a pretty young woman, and then he shied away from her. Why? The little mam-zelle was more than pretty and her presence stirred the protective interests of every man in his league. Questions! Percy was faced with too many questions!