Meetings and Departures

Marguerite nearly drove Anne Davis to the brink of insanity in selecting her attire � Davis had offered nearly a dozen choices before finding one in the exact shade of blue that Marguerite demanded. �No, it was be the exact shade!� She finally settled on one that was near enough, leaving Davis to clear away the others and mumble something that sounded very much like �... almost as demanding as the master...� It was while her lady maid was searching for shoes that Marguerite took the silk pouch he�d prepared last night and buried it with her embroidery threads. The selection of shoes was equally trying ordeal in that Mrs. Davis was want to offer her the soft soled shoes that Marguerite typically wore in her own house � far more comfortable indeed, by not practical for her current needs.

�No, let�s try the other ones with the hard soles. I plan on showing Suzanne the rose garden,� Marguerite said, brushing aside a pair embroidered with vines and small blue flowers. �And I want the fluffy white shawl and my floppy hat��

It had taken two hours to put together the perfect ensemble and Davis was heard to breath a very audible sigh of relief as Lady Blakeney order her to follow with her embroidery to the parlour. She took a seat by the window where she could see the drive, and tried slowing down her racing mind to perform the dull, repetitive task of putting a needle and thread through a cloth. In truth, embroidery was the last thing she wished to do, but she needed some vehicle in which to hide her purse while waiting for Suzanne to arrive.

The Spaniard had risen early, despite the excitement of the night before, or perhaps because of it. She dressed carefully from her still limited wardrobe and ordered a carriage to take her to Richmond. She wondered whether Sir Percy would be at home and what she would say to him if he were? Should she let him know that she knew his secret? Should she remain silent? In truth Teresia was not even sure how she felt about the man. They had spoken scarcely more than a dozen lines and every syllable had provoked her indignation towards him, yet she couldn't deny the equally strong power of physical attraction she had felt... nor could she explain her illogical decision not to reveal what she knew to Chauvelin.

The carriage turned up a graveled drive way and presently Blakeney Manor came into view. Servants rallied as La Cabarrus descended from her coach. In keeping with her cover story, she had no card to present, but Teresia was not one to require an introduction. "Is Sir Percival Blakeney at home?" She enquired of a simpering, liveried youth. "No? Perhaps her Ladyship, then?"

The lad went scampering back towards the house to announce that Mme la Marquise de Fontenay was come to visit. Teresia, meanwhile, glanced around at the gardens and the Tudor entrance, then followed elegantly in his wake.

She had pricked her finger twice in her anxiousness, not deep enough to draw blood, but enough to smart. Enough to bring her back to the present, away from a cell in another country that was once her home where her brother measured out his life in days and hours. Marguerite wondered if she would have the chance to speak to him one last time, beg his forgiveness, before� She shook her head to dismiss the grime vision of her brother mounting those final steps.

She would find a way. There were still avenues that were unexplored, still opportunities - some more distasteful than others. She had made acquaintances with many of the most powerful figures guiding the revolution before the chaos bubbled over into the streets � Robespierre, Desmoulins, H�bert, Mirabeau� It was possibly to appeal to one of them, or bribery. If necessary she would face that beast Chauvelin and bring her appeal to him, if necessary she would swallow her pride and disgust to bed the fiend if it meant winning Armand�s life.

Marguerite nearly pricked herself again as she saw the hired carriage roll down the drive. Suzanne was here! Thank the heavenly father! She got up and tried peering out of the window to see her friend, but could not see so further than the rear of the carriage. A minute later, Davies entered alone. �Mme la Marquise de Fontenay has come to visit.�

Marguerite blinked several times in confusion� de Fontenay? Bathurst�s mistress? She remembered the beautiful dark-eyed lady who had captivated Bathurst and Ffoulkes. Remembered how she appeared in Marguerite�s dream too� but that wasn�t real! She couldn�t hold her fanciful imagination against the woman. Why in heaven had she come to call anyway? There had been no note, no notice� In fact Marguerite had the vague, unsubstantiated impression that the Marquis disliked her. Once again, nothing she could hold against the woman. �Has she come to see me� or Sir Percy?�

�She asked to speak to Sir Percy, milady, but when I told her he was gone, she asked to see you.�

Curiouser and curiouser. The Marquise was the last person Marguerite had expected to call, but it would be rude and inhospitable to turn the Marquise away. Bathurst had told Marguerite of the trials the woman faced to escape France, disguised herself as a boy and stowed away in the belly of a boat to England, then the poor woman landed in the arms of the likes of Bathurst, who was positively drooling into the woman�s cleavage. The least Marguerite could do is extend her some kindness that did not involve the compromise of her virtue. �Please show her in.�

As Davies left, Marguerite shook her skirts into order, brushed back the curl that spilled over her shoulder and waited to receive the Marquise. The woman was brought forth momentarily, once more in an out-moded dress that she maintained to pull off with much dignity. �Madame Marquise, you honor me with your visit,� Marguerite greeted her warmly, offering her all manner of refreshments and waited for the Marquise to state the nature of her visit at her own pace.

Teresia was slightly surprised by the warmth of her greeting, compared to the impression she had given the previous evening, albeit at a distance. So this was Chauvelin's chimera... the dream by which he measured female perfection... if he ever did, which La Cabarrus occasionally doubted. Though even she was forced to admit that the man had taste.

She allowed the woman to fuss over her and settled into a comfortable chair, giving no more than a cursery glance to her surroundings. "Forgive me, but when Bathurst told me who you were, I just had to pay you a visit. My husband and I were great admirers of the Comedie Francais. We attended once a month without fail until... well, until recently." Teresia sipped the tea that had been set before her and smiled wanly. Such painful remembrances deserved a brief change of subject. "It's such a pity Sir Percy isn't here. He and I had the most interesting discussion yesterday on this revolution. I must say, he holds some unusual views on the matter."

For a moment, the briefest of moments, the news that Percy and the Marquise de Foutenay had met had startled Marguerite. She was allowing her imagination to get the better of her, if she wasn't careful she'd convince herself that the Marquise was Percy's mistress - which was ridiculous since the woman had only just come from France. It was easy to assume that Bathurst, who had been toting the woman about likely a prized horse, had endeavored to show her off to every man attending including Sir Percy.

Marguerite has wisely masked her surprise with an indulgent smile, as though she was quite accustom to explaining away Percy's eccentricities, "You will come to find that my husband's opinions on the Revolution are much the same as most English men. Sir Percy, however, tends to be less reserved." Percy�s contempt for all things French (fashion excluded) was very clear. With enough brandy coursing through him, Marguerite could only imagine what Percy told her.

�I�m certain Percy would have been more than pleased to continue the discussion - however I fear he was called away last evening and was not certain when he would be able to return.� It was not wholly a lie and not wholly the truth, it lingered so where in between. �Is there something I may do for you?�

The early morning light poured into Suzanne's windows. The curtain had remained drawn back from the night before and as the light fell upon her face, she smiled and rolled over, slowly opening her eyes. If she had doubted it the night before there was no doubts now. She was in love. Rolling over, she smiled into her pillow before stretching and getting up. Newly formed romantic entanglements aside, she had to see Marguerite today. She had promised her. Suzanne wondered if she would be able to speak to Marguerite of what had transpired between herself and Sir Andrew the night before.

Opening the bureau, she looked carefully at each dress. Which color had Margot instructed she wear again? Green? No, Margot had said before how sickly Suzanne looked in green (though secretly, Suzanne thought it the most amazing color). Pink? That wasn't it either. Suzanne's fingers found their way to the heavy silk gown she'd worn last night and as the thought of Sir Andrew's lips on hers began to over take her, she quickly released the garment. He fingers swept against the dress next to it. Thick brushed cotton with simple adornments. It was lovely, if a little plain for the fashion at the moment. Blue� wait! Blue! That was the color! Delighted, Suzanne grabbed the frock and laid it on her bed and gave a hard tug on the chord to the servants� bell. Seated before her mirror, she carefully ran her fingers through her blonde hair. Moments later, her maid arrived and within the hour she was laced in her stays and secured in her dress. It took only a moment to pull on her dark blue gloves and matching thick cloak (for had Margot not mentioned she would need it with the weather being as severe as it was in England?). She caught her father downstairs.

"Papa! I have to go�" He looked at her with concern and gently caught her arm.

"Everything is well?" He asked, a distinct nervousness to his voice.

"I do not know. Lady Blakeney asked that I visit her today and I am afraid something might be wrong. We saw each other last night but she was not herself." The Comte nodded.

"If you must�"

"I would stay if I could avoid it. �Maman thinks I go to confession." He gave her a stern look. Suzanne chewed on her lip as her father considered the situation.

"You must be back by the afternoon."

"Yes, of course." She kissed his cheek and embraced him before heading for the door.

All the bliss she had been experiencing subsided during the carriage ride to Richmond. Her father's nervousness at her leaving brought back a flood of memories of Paris. Watching mobs in the street� the violence� She shuddered and shifted in her seat. Was Sir Andrew well? Would he survive another trip to Paris? How on earth could she be certain that The Pimpernel and his men would be all right? Oh God� Percy. She closed her eyes, recalling their discussion the evening before. He'd thought she'd found out herself. How could Percy Blakeney be the Scarlet Pimpernel? It seemed nearly impossible but of course no one on earth would suspect him. The Pimpernel needed to be a man that would, outwardly, seem the lease likely of heroes. Suddenly, the gates of Blakeney Manor appeared before her as if the trees of the landscape had opened like the pages of a book. She took a deep breath.

"No one must know." She repeated to herself. Percy had been very specific and if his men were to survive, there needed to be limits to their secrecy. Taking the footman's hand, Suzanne stepped down from the carriage and looked up to observe the home of Lady Marguerite Blakeney. A far cry from her flat in Paris!

The foyer was exquisite. Far more ornate than the du Tournai home. She found herself captured by everything in her view and she observed the staircase in awe as she waited to be announced to Marguerite. After a moment, a butler appeared and gestured for her to follow him. Anticipation stretched the journey from the foyer into what seemed an hour. The door before her opened and the butler announced:

"Miss Suzanne du Tournai, ma'am."

She had been so engrossed in the part of a proper hostess that she did not hear the approach to the second carriage, the one that she had been anticipating for so long. She was still trying to fathom the purpose of Mme de Marquise unexpected visit, which had come at the most inconvenient time.

"Miss Suzanne du Tournai, ma'am." A thin nasally voice piped up and Suzanne appeared in the door, clothed entirely in blue � she had followed Marguerite�s instructions well. The young girl bounded across the room into Marguerite�s embrace, before she had even realized that they were not alone. The realized brought fresh color to Suzanne�s cheeks. �Madame, this is my dearest friend, Suzanne du Tournai, daughter of the Compte du Tournai, former Ambassador to the King,� Marguerite said formally, not certain how much the Marquise relied on ceremony. �Suzanne, this is the Marquise de Foutenay, like you, she only just fled persecution in France.

"Encantada" she said in greeting to Suzanne, recognising her from the ball as Sir Andrew's main amour... though she suspected he had several, more experienced women to hand whilst he slowly reeled in this beauty. "I will not bore you with my tale, Ma'mzelle, no doubt you heard it last night. I was almost hoarse by supper, but I must not complain. I am so anxious to free my friends that I would gladly lose more than my voice on their behalf. Everyone has been so supportive, especially Lord Bathurst, you know him, yes?" The question was addressed to both women, but did not require an answer. "But I was just about to tell Lady Blakeney about a strange conversation I had had with her husband. You know," she was addressing them both again, "he all but said my friends deserve their fate. I assure you they do not! You will tell me now, madame, he was joking, si?" Teresia made sure that there was no malice in her voice, just the desire of a poor foreigner to understand the culture of another world.

The woman was trying to get rid of her, Teresia was obviously getting under her skin. She was willing to oblige Lady Blakeney and indeed, now that she had ascertained that Sir Percy was not at home, she really didn't want to stay. However, there was more than one way to wreck a marriage. If the absence of the husband precluded any genuine adultery, the power of the imagination presented no such obstacles... and Teresia hoped that a former actress would have a very vivid imagination. "Lord Bathurst has found me a delightful little place in London, just a five minute carriage ride from the French embassy. It is so convenient, as I am at the embassy nearly every day petitioning for my friends, and the landlady is a darling. I hadn't a stitch to wear when I arrived. This dress belonged to her daughter... it's a little dated, but I must learn to do without life's luxuries until my friends arrive from Paris. Last night I..." Teresia deliberately cut herself off mid-sentence, "...well, let's just say I hope to greet them at Dover in the not to distant future and then I daresay we will rent somewhere cheaper in the country. So you must hurry," she added, as she started to take the leave that the other women so blatantly wished her to, "or I shall have moved on. When does Sir Percy return?" she finished, tagging the last sentence artlessly on to the rest of her babble.

There was something very feline about the Marquise de Foutenay, the way she looked at Marguerite as a cat would a mouse. But Marguerite had dealt with this type before and had not intention of cowering. The woman implied that she had used her body to barter for her friend, but the suggestive tone made it sound as if it were not too great a sacrifice. She was probably one of those types, like Simone Lafierre at the Comedie Francais, who often used their bodies to get what they want. Simone did it for precious baubles and, at the very least, this women did it for her friends.

Marguerite had the sense that the woman was trying to bait her and she had no intention giving her that satisfaction. �If I recall correctly, it was a complicated matter and he couldn�t say how long,� Marguerite replied, keeping her voice soft and conversational. �But he hopes to be back soon. It would be such a pity if you left by then, but for your friends� stakes I hope you will be meeting them again soon.

"You're too kind." Replied Teresia with a sweet smile, suddenly realizing that she probably had more idea of Sir Percy's whereabouts than his wife did. "Well, au revoir Lady Blakeney... Ma'mzelle du Tournai... it has been a pleasure making your acquaintance." She very much doubted that the feeling was mutual. "Perhaps we will meet again sooner than you think, yes? I'm sure Sir Percy isn't the sort to let 'complicated matters' keep him from his wife's side for too long." Teresia turned to quit the room, leaving Margeurite's own words hanging in the air. You don't know where he is, they screamed...You're covering for him and you don't even know why...Complicated matters, ha! We both know what you mean by that... even the virgin by your side can guess... you think the complicated matter has arms and legs... and maybe breasts... or worse still, maybe not... maybe he's a molly!... then again, maybe you were right the first time... maybe it is another woman... maybe.

Marguerite stared after Teresia, the flounces on her skirt bouncing along jauntily as she strutted out of the room, the apparent victor in this match of wits. She's was here digging for answers, Marguerite thought, and I may have just given them to her. Maybe her dream wasn't so out of place as she thought. The woman seemed to be awfully fixated on Marguerite's husband � almost obscenely so. Arriving without invitation, unannounced� or was she uninvited? Maybe she was here to sum up the competition or torment an unwitting victim � dangling her juicy little secret over Marguerite's head hoping to see her jump for it.

Any pity Marguerite held in her heart for the marquise had withered with this conversation. The little shrew could handle herself well enough � perhaps too well. But the Marquise de Fouteney couldn't weigh too highly on Marguerite's list of priorities, let Percy deal with her. Hopefully he had the sense to see that this was a woman to steer clear of.

Suzanne patted Marguerite's hand, her brow puckered with concern. "She just arrived unannounced," Marguerite explained. "Wanted to speak to Sir Percy� perhaps looking for a hand-out." She watched out of the window for the marquise's coach to leave. "Peculiar little creature, but now she is gone and we can speak in private." Marguerite scooted closer to Suzanne and took hold of her hand.

"I need your help, Suzanne," Marguerite whisper. Even though she doubted anyone nearby understood her native language, still caution must be taken. "I wish that we could spend the whole day getting reacquainted, but every second is precious. Armand has been imprisoned and I need your help to go and petition on his behalf� to do something to save his life."

Davies stood outside the rose bower with his eyes fixed on the second to the left upstairs window, hoping to catch another glimpse of Jane Embrell as she cleaned the unused nursery. He had had his eye on that wench for some time and now that she was no longer tending to Lady Blakeney, he saw her less and less. Beside, there were few place Lady Blakeney and her friend could sneak off to without him seeing. He had been standing there some minutes before the two ladies swept out passed him, their heads bend close to each other as they whispered conspiratorially. What little he could hear was in in French of which he could not understand a word. He followed them at a respectful distance as Lady Blakeney, walked her friend to the front drive and the pair embraced, before the coachman help Mam'zelle du Tournai back into the coach. Lady Blakeney stood nearby for only a moment before turning away and returning to the garden, her graceful head bowed and her tiny hand clutching a white handkerchief with which she dabbed at her eyes. So heart-breaking was the parting that she did not even wait to see the coach go, but then that was none to Davies's business. Besides, he'd heard that Lady Blakeney was known to cry often, so that this was not an occurance to worry much about. Dutifully, he followed her back to the garden where she sat on a stone bench and wept.