The Bearer of Bad News

After dinner, Marguerite had felt tempted to stroll out alone. She threw a shawl over her head and stepped out on to the terrace. Sir Percy had ordered that all her meals be served in the sitting room, that she be kept on the property, and that she was to be watched at all times. Undoubtedly it was on these orders and the fact that she had tried to slip that leash that the leash had become shorter and shorter. She didn�t need to look to know that Sanders paced silently behind her, that her escourt was doubled when she attempted to go near the stables, her world was retracting in around her, shrinking in on itself until she would be confined solely to her rooms. Was this how life would be from now on?

She made her way to the rose garden and sat for several moments on the stone craved bench, this bower of glossy dark green leaves and a plethora of pink and red roses, she had heard of years before she had seen it when she had stood in the garden that the bower was meant to emulate � Saint-Cyr�s garden. Percy had taken her there and she had kissed him for the first time. She still had the rose bud that had prompted the kiss pressed and preserved in her room. What had changed since? He didn�t love her with the fierce intensity that he once had, perhaps because his heart belonged to another. Marguerite stomach twisted at the thought that at that moment somewhere Percy might be lying in the arms of another, while she worried and wondered.

He had sent no word � no word in two weeks. He could have been hurt and she would have no way to tell. Then there was Armand, in serious peril, and she trapped and unable to help. She stood and broke a red blossom from the creepers of red which filled in the trellised entrance and quickly left. It did no good to dwell on the past.

Before her spread the vista of velvet lawns, of shady paths and rose borders in full bloom, stretched out into the dim distance before her; and beyond these, the boundary wall, ivy-clad, overhung with stately limes, and broken into by the finely wrought iron gates that gave straight into the Park. She might have tried to stroll through the Park, but knew that since an activity was prohibited for her. Damn Percy for leaving her like this.

Rather that taking the path to the Park, Marguerite made her trek towards the river wondering if that was now out of bounds, wondering what Percy�s exact instructions were. How much force were they allowed to use if she didn�t cooperate? The farther she got from the house the closer she could feel Sanders walking. Before she reached the river Sanders cleared his throat to indicate she�d gone far enough. Rolling her eyes in exasperation, Marguerite did an about face and swept across the lawns back to the house.

Since Chauvelin�s visit, she had been in a constant state of unrest, no word had reach her of Armand. Even another visit from the odious Chauvelin

The trip that had started in darkness ended in full light as the rented chaise turned into the set of massive gates and pulled up the drive to the massive Tudor-styled house. Blakeney would live in a home like this, nothing less would likely satisfy his arrogant pride. As they drew up Chauvelin made out part of the gardens and terrace, the red brick walls sharply contrasting its lush surrounding. The river nearby sparkled in the sunlight drawing his attention. Moving across the lawns nearby was the figure of a woman followed by a round fellow dressed in the Blakeney livery following like a puppy. Marguerite. It had to be. Only she was possessed of that blazing halo of hair.

He wanted to call to the coachman to stop the carriage at once, when the man actually did so. A footman was at the door in an instant with a look to indicate his disapproval. Chauvelin wondered what Blakeney had told the help of Lady Blakeney�s occasional visitor or were they making their own decisions. It was likely that gossip had run amok since his last visit. Let it. It would reach their lord�s ears and drive the wedge further between him and Margot.

Instead of follow the man into the house as he had indicated, Chauvelin skirted the house to the lawns where he had seen Marguerite a moment before, the footman chasing after him. When he caught saw of her she had stopped in her footsteps at the sight of him, seeming to grow paler, an almost unhealthy shade. It was he who crossed the expanse to meet her as she made no movement at all save to nervously fold and unfold her hands before her. Her brow furrowed, but she kept his gaze. She knew that he did not bring her good tidings.

�I have had word from Paris,� he said as a form of greeting. �I have located Armand.�

The carriage appeared as a small dark shape on the horizon, even before she could distinguish any of it�s features Marguerite knew instinctively what it was and it�s destination. She was in the middle of her morning walk, relishing what little freedom it offered, when she saw the carriage on the drive. With quick steps she headed back to the house, hearing round Leman puffing behind her, struggling to keep up.

Perhaps it was Percy returned at long last. How she hoped it was he! She would tell him of Armand�s plight, of Chauvelin�s demands, and beg him to use his influence to intervene on her brother�s behalf. She would be willing to forgive him anything, even infidelity, if he could save Armand again. Any concession would be worth that precious life. Or, dare she hope, perhaps it was Armand himself safe and well. If only! She could convince him to stay and put the nightmare finally behind them.

However these hopeful fantasy were dashed to pieces at the appearance of somber Chauvelin, dressed as ever as though attending the dead. His look stopped her in her tracks and sent a cold chill down my spine. She felt her chest tighten in anticipation. She couldn�t have moved if she wanted to, could only wait in agonized anticipation for him to confirm her worst fears, when he said nothing she prompted him. �Well?�

�I have had word from Paris . I have located Armand,� he told her. He was stalling. Her throat when dry at the realization that the Revolution Armand had fought so valiantly to bring to fruition had finally turned it�s head upon him.

�And?� she asked at length when she finally found her voice, though she was hesitant to know the answer. �I charge you speak, sir!�

"You mean to kill him," Marguerite gasped, raising her hand to her lips. She felt sick - numb. She could see his fate even now... he would be brought to a speedy trial and they would not even listen to his arguments, from there he would be taken to the Place de la Greve where his head would part company from his shoulder. She had seen it before... when her attempts to intervene on Saint Cyr's behalf had failed she had gone to witness the trial, brief as it was, saw how the jury seemed to condemn him before the first piece of evidence was present, the evident she had brought to their hands. She had choked back tears as the sentence was proclaimed over the family, even the baby that the Marquise held in her arms. When they were herded away she followed them, followed them to the Place de la Greve, praying all the while that some divine intervention would save them, but enlightened people don't believe in miracles. The executions proceeded without hindrance. She knew that she had done this to them, and reminded herself over and over that their blood was on her hands.

Now the life to be snuffed out was Armand's. She could not allow it.

"You have influence with the government, Chauvelin. You could intervene on his behalf," Marguerite pleaded. "You know that he is innocent! I beg you help him now!"

She stared at Chauvelin incredulously, he meant to use Armand as a bargaining chip. �What you ask is horrible! Impossible!� she gasped. As much as she loved her brother, the thought of more blood on her hands filled her with disgust. Even if she brought herself to undertake so vile a proposition, it was not within her power. She was trapped until Sir Percy rescinded his cruel decree. �You ask the impossible, Chauvelin! What you ask is beyond my power! Please tell me there�s another way.� She was grasping at straws, knew that when Chauvelin had a mind to do a thing he would stick to it.

�Please tell me there�s another way,� she repeated.

For the first time in their interview Chauvelin�s controlled exterior cracked � she was so close. Close enough for him to smell the perfume of her hair and feel the heat of her. How often he had dreamed of experiencing the delights of Marguerite, to have as his own those favor she bestowed on those so unworthy of them. There was no doubt her offer appealed to him. He could have her now if he wanted to� but as tempting as the thought was... he didn�t want her under those circumstances. If he was to have her it was not because he purchased her at the cost Armand. Besides Armand had greater value than a night of passion, Armand was the key to capturing the Scarlet Pimpernel and raising Chauvelin�s position to one of greatest prominence.

He looked into her desperate, tear-filled eyes that continued her pleas even after the words had failed. �If only there were,� he whispered, wiping a tear from her cheek and relishing the warmth of the silken flesh beneath his fingers before, with great effort, he suppressed his desire. �I fear this is the best and only way to free your brother. Believe me, Marguerite, I too wish to see Armand free. We must do this together. You are Lady Blakeney, there is no where you can�t go and with your charms who would deny you anything? We know the Scarlet Pimpernel is a nobleman, that he is likely to be found in the most elite of social circle, how else who he be privy to the intelligence he has and have the influence to act unhindered. All I ask is for you to keep your eyes and ears alert. Provide me any clues that would point me in his direction... perhaps speak with those aristos rescued to see what they might provide� hideouts, disguises, perhaps those who collaborate with him. I do not ask you to bring him to me yourself, merely provide me the information so that I might do so myself.�

Marguerite shuddered under Chauvelin�s touch and pulled her hands free of his, for a moment it seemed as though Chauvelin were preparing to propose another bargain. However a moment later she found herself mistaken... perhaps she had imagined it. �Believe me, Marguerite, I too wish to see Armand free.� Did he? She still held a doubt that that Chauvelin may have had some hand in Armand�s misfortune, but why put one of his prot�g�s in such peril? �I do not ask you to bring him to me yourself, merely provide me the information so that I might do so myself.�

�You credit me with far more power than I have. Should I leave here�� As if she could leave. �� my actions are watched! If your quarry has the influence you claim then he would know that I am suspected of spying, he would be doubly on his guard. So you see I have no power to aid you!� Surely if he couldn�t understand the horror she felt at the prospect there was the logic of it.

Her stubbornness was trying his patience; she was trying to use his interest in her to gain what she desired. So she was considered to be a spy... that would explain Marguerite's honor guard - her husband didn't trust her.

Chauvelin folded his hands behind his back and straightened himself to his full height, which was perhaps two or three inches taller that Marguerite. "You refuse?" he said stiffly. "Then I fear there is little I can do to help your brother. I will attempt to delay the inevitable, but that is precisely what it is... inevitable. For wont of the true criminal, I have no doubt they will settle for what is within their grasp. If you have other options, by all means use them. Although I doubt anyone in the English government would consider intervening on the behalf of one of so little consequence. In fact, given your reputation, I feel they would be more inclined to watch you for fear that you would barter their secret for your brother. And do you think you husband would go to Paris to intervene for Armand? If he were so inclined, I doubt his insipid poetry and advice on fashion would have much of an effect."

"All I ask is your aid in helping your brother. I do not seek a strategic advantage over England , all I want is one man. He is life for Armand, Marguerite," Chauvelin emphasized. "Will you help me save your brother?"

Chauvelin voiced nothing less than the fears that had been gnawing at Marguerite. The English would have no concern for the life of a French bourgeois, especially one who was a known advocate of the Revolution. What care had they if the revolutionaries tore each other to pieces? And Percy� what could he do? What would he do? Armand might be dead before Percy returned to reverse his terrible order. �I cannot� I can not� you do not understand�� her voice cracked with violent emotions. �... you tell me there is not hope...�

If she refused he damned her brother, if she agreed she killed a man and damned herself... but it was not so simple as that. There was Percy to consider� if she were caught they might both be hung for treason. And what if she agreed and could not find any clue? Armand might die regardless. There were too many things to consider and she had learned by bitter experience not to makes such hastily. Chauvelin remained resolute � he would not leave without an answer� unless the choice was not his. She dare not turn him away, but what if Aitkins turned him out long enough for her to think� and so she fainted on the spot.

For Marguerite to faint was the very last thing that he�d expected, so much so that when she collapsed she was on the ground before he could dive to catch her. He dropped to her side, wondering what could be used as smelling salts when the burly footman scooped Marguerite up and brushed passed him without so much as a glance. Chauvelin was on his feet and following instantly, wondering if he had pushed her too far. Never in all the time he�d known her had he seen or heard the lady swoon. Even when she had been questioned on the Saint-Cyr letter she had remained strong while her friend had to be revived shortly after the questions had begun.

They were met halfway to the house by three more men under Blakeney�s employment. �What happened?� The tallest demanded of the man carrying Marguerite, then barked at one of the other. �Go summon Davis and Perry.� One of the men turned on his heels and sped off towards the house.

�She was speakin� French to this �ere bloke when she collapsed. She was all upset �bout something� �e said,� the burly footman said as if Chauvelin did not understand the conversation. The other scowled at Chauvelin.

�Hurrying up and get her inside,� he commanded as he turned to Chauvelin. �I�m afraid I�ll have to ask you to leave. Perhaps you write Lady Blakeney and request an interview on the morrow.� The men loomed over him in a menacing fashion.

�Tell Lady Blakeney I will call on her tomorrow. I have a feeling she will see me,� Chauvelin replied coldly and made for his waiting coach, the two footmen following in his wake. He resolved when the Scarlet Pimpernel was captured, he would see to it that Marguerite would return with him to France � if only to save her from her inhospitable servants.

Marguerite lay limp as a puppy as Atkins lifted her into his arms and strode presumably to the house, wondering if Chauvelin had left or, more likely, followed in the hopes of continuing the interview. Before long the sound of squelching grass alerted her that others had come. �What happened?� the voice of Henshaw demanded. After Atkins responded, Henshaw shooed him on. �I�m afraid I�ll have to ask you to leave. Perhaps you write Lady Blakeney and request an interview on the morrow.� She reasoned that he was speaking to Chauvelin, Henshaw�s voice almost hostile. And Marguerite was hard pressed not to peek beneath her eye lids at Chauvelin�s discomfort. But if Chauvelin gave a response, she not hear as Atkin�s footstep rang out noisily on the terrace, a moment more and the shift in pressure and the reports of his heels echoing in a confined space told her that they were inside. More footsteps and a woman�s voice.

�What on earth happened here?� Mrs. Perry demanded. �You were supposed to be watching her. Did she make another attempt to run off?� Atkins recounted the events that had transpired, only figuring his role in the events as more prominent than they had actually been. �Well to the room with her. If Sir Percy finds out someone�s sure to be sacked.� Perry continued muttering to herself testily as they climbed the stairs.

�Jaimeson, told me Lady Blakeney had taken ill.� Marguerite recognized Anne Davis� voice at once. �Onto the bed with her, Atkins and then out!� Marguerite felt herself lowered onto the bed and listened as his footsteps departed, likely to take up guard outside the door. �Did she try running off?� Davis asked, amidst the sounds of opening and closing drawers. Perry told Davis the tale Atkins conveyed, adding in her own opinions of what the conversation between Chauvelin and Marguerite had been. The story had changed ever so slightly in this telling as it would likely do from telling to telling and Marguerite wondered at the final story that would reach Percy�s ear. If he ever came back to hear it.

Where was he and would he return? she wondered. Today? Tomorrow? In a week? Or a month? Or a year? Perhaps he had taken his mistress to Scotland and vowed never to return. Marguerite�s stomach turned at the thought of Percy lying in the arms of another woman. She didn�t even have a name or face to place on this usurping phantom. Likely someone younger and prettier� compliant. Had she lost her husband because she had failed to be the obedient wife? Armand might perish long before Percy set foot on the threshold.

What were her option? She couldn�t spy for Chauvelin trapped in the house, and was far from taken with the idea of spying in the first place. She could bear to let an innocence heroic man perish at a word from her. But if she did nothing, Armand would pay� She could write to the prince or Pitt, but Chauvelin had rightly reckoned their positions. It was unlikely that anyone in England would help. The man amongst them that took action was the man she was to hunt and he had probably heard the rumours circulating about the treacherous Lady Blakeney and would figure her to be sending him into a trap.

No one in England would help, that only left France . She could go and appeal to the contacts she had there. Perhaps Robespierre would remember her kindly or Camille, who is was indebted to her for the publishing of his pamphlet. Many of the men she had entertained at her salons had positions in the National Assembly, surely one would be willing to help.

But before she could travel to France she had to get away from this house and the ideal opportunity hadn�t presented itself. If need be she�d shred the counterpane and fashion a rope to climb out the window. But she had to leave soon. Chauvelin would not be long in returning for an answer.

Her contemplations were disturbed by the pungent aromas of the smelling salts wafted under her nose, and Marguerite made an elaborate production of being revive. She sat up blinking and staring about her. Anne Davis was perched on the bed, smelling salts in hand, with Mrs. Perry staring over her shoulder. Henshaw and Atkins hovered in the door looking on expectantly. Reassuring the ladies that she was quite well, Henshaw step forward with Chauvelin's parting message.

"He asked that I convey his intent to call tomorrow, my lady. Is that to your wishes?"

Marguerite paused. "Send word to Ambassador Chauvelin that Lady Blakeney will be in poor condition to receive guests tomorrow, however if the matter is of the utmost urgency she will attempt to see him," Marguerite replied. Chauvelin would see to Armand's well-being until he got her reply, hopefully he would feel repentant to give her tomorrow. Perhaps by then she could come up with a plan that did not involve betraying the Scarlet Pimpernel.