Awaiting the Native Flower

Armand Chauvlin, the French Ambassador looked out at England and shuddered. Why any intelligent person would choose to live in this fog ridden land was beyond his reasoning. Especially when France was in her finest hour! The thought of Margot, Marguerite St.-Just, France 's most lovely blossom languishing in this aristo drenched soil disgusted him. Poor girl, once the queen of France's intellectual society, the most beautiful and talented actress of the continent, trapped for a moment's weakness in the arms of some Anglais aristo. How could she ever be happy with Sir Percival Blakeney, the stupidest man England had ever known, which was saying something. A French head was worth twenty English ones, that was why Aristos needed theirs removed and that is why he was in a constant duel with twenty Englishmen, the cursed Pimpernel and his nineteen henchmen, whose reactionary activity was a thorn in the side of the glorious republic. Providence worked in mysterious ways, Margot being trapped here in England. If Marguerite could prove her loyalty by aiding in the capture of the Pimpernel, he'd take her back to France and return her to her native soil. That wildfire didn't belong here, she was too free, too open. He had sent a letter to Marguerite to meet him in the Chartroom Eating House to talk and hoped she would agree. If not, he'd take stronger methods. He had chosen this eatery for its unsavoryness, hoping to bring Margot back to her roots. He never felt happy in a lounge, reminded him of his past. He looked up to see the woman he worshipped, sailing in and marveled at her beauty. Marguerite St.-Just had long auburn hair, free of powder, a face designed by Aphrodite herself and eyes as blue as cornflowers. Wasted here, but not for long. "Citoyenne, greetings from your native land who mourns the loss of your presence" he said and bowed.

Marguerite looked around the establishment with some distain, this establishment was far removed from the opulent gatherings of London society that Percy had indoctrinated her into. The men appeared corse and duplicitous, and the women even more disreputable. Why ever did Chauvelin choose such a location? Perhaps it was more reflective of the current state of her former homeland, far more so then one of the Duchess of Marlborough's routs or the theater. When she was in Paris she had seen such establishments, but the only time she had been in one was in order to help her brother home after a night of drinking and lamenting over the unrequited love of Angele St.Cyr. Armand had taken great pains to steer her clear of such distasteful locales.

However, it was an opportunity to speak with a friend, a fellow countryman, an intellectual, rather than some of the vacuous, insipid fops that propagated the London social circles. When she saw Chauvelin she smiled, though she noted a change to the man who so frequently attended her salons and who's wit challenged some of the greatest minds in Europe. He appeared a little older, sterner... there was a harshness to his features that seemed characteristic of the people of that violent land. For a moment she almost turned and left, something about him gave her the slightest chill that she could not quite fathom, but after a moment it was gone and she joined him at a table in the corner of the room.

"Ah, Chauvelin! My dear little friend! What a pleasure it is to see you!" Marguerite said joyfully. "Tell me, my friend, what it is that grants me the pleasure of your presence!"

Chauvelin smiled and his fox-like eyes quickly searched her face. The joy in her face spoke volumes, she yearned to fix her mistake and return to her true land. Things would be simpler than he thought. He could see her slight nervousness but that would be dealt with later. He allowed himself a second to drown in her eyes. She was beautiful, fiery, like a phoenix or a rare flower. Here was a woman who could make the most chaste man drown in lust. He could see the weariness, the lines around her eyes. Was that blasted Anglais being cruel to her? If so, he'd drag him back to France and personally give him a new mistress, one just as sharp as lovely Margot and not as forgiving. "My lovely Marguerite St.-Just, how could I come to London without seeing you? I would never be forgiven in Paris if I missed the chance to bring back good wishes from the loveliest daughter France has ever brought forth. I thought another revolution would start when you left" he answered lightly and gave her another quick look. "So tell me, as a connoisseur of life, do you find the French air better or the English?" he asked cautiously.

Marguerite blushed modestly and laughed. How long it had been since last she had heard her native tongue spoken! it reminded her of her joyous days as a celebrated Parisian actress. And dear little Chauvelin, a frequent at her gatherings, a man who challenged her intellect and regarded her with nothing less than reverence. She had know of his disappointment when her marriage was announced, but then all of Marguerite's acquaintances disapproved. It was only now that she saw why. She had thought that a clever man, like Chauvelin, would naturally have other interests, an ambitious man other hopes, but a fool, like Sir Percy, would be likely to worship her, and think of nothing else. Percy had appealed to her yearning for a man who would love blindly and would passionately, wholly worship her. But that adulation soon faded... And here was dear little Chauvelin again, his eyes filled with longing.

She allowed him to kiss her finger tips as she took a seat across from him. "You flatter me, sir!" Marguerite laughed merrily. "I will always have a fondness for my country of birth, but my husband provides me a beautiful home and allows me to indulge my whims. I have everything I could want here... save..."

Love.

"...save Armand. I miss him so, but he writes to me often." If Armand were here, he would fill that empty place in her heart. " London society has greeted me with open arms and hearts, I feel truly blessed that I've been so readily welcomed... But I go on so! Tell me what news of yourself! How go things in Paris? I've only read the English papers and I fear they paint a most unflattering picture of our people. Do tell me everything! But I say, why on Earth have you chosen to meet here? There are so many places in London , or you could have called upon me in Richmond!"

Chauvelin's sharp eyes were not fooled. He had seen Margot in her prime, when she had led Europe's intellectual world. He was well trained in reading faces could see more than merriment to her face. He listened to the way she spoke of her marital bliss so materialistically, she who scorned titles and fortune. It confirmed her unhappiness. He had heard that pregnant pause, he could feel the way she was hiding something. Something was wrong, he could feel it. He decided to press the issue a bit. "I felt it would an interesting change for you, variety is the spice of life. Why, you don't like it here? It seems rather charming...but I jest, dear friend" he mused lightly. "Things in Paris, my dear lady? Like a dawn, it is truly beautiful, it's a pity you are missing it. All the things we talked about, coming to life, it's magnificent. The power is finally in the hands of the people, after so many years. Alas, your English friends don't seem to like it, that's the real reason why I wanted to meet you here. I need your help getting into the aristocratic circles; somehow they seem to think I represent their doom. I came to ask that you help me allay their fears that just because I am part of the glorious revolution in France, I have no interest toppling them as of yet. The masses are even worse; I've never felt so much ill feeling. Well, people always fear what they don't understand. But I am sure once England gets a good look at you, they will run back to see if France has more treasures and then what shall we do when we explain to them that there is but one Margot St.-Just. But I am sure your husband knows he got the finest rose Paris had, doesn't he?" He said softly.

Marguerite laughed good-humouredly. "'Not yet', my dear Chauvelin! I would think if you had said such remarks to Lord Grenville, he would have you ousted from English and ban all future French ambassadors! He's likely to think you want to start a revolution on these soils!" Marguerite remarked, light-heartedly. "The English can be a bit sensitive if they feel threatened..."

She attempted to side-step the question of her husband, the English fop adored by society for his humor and taste, who regarded her so coldly. Would he agree with Chauvelin's opinions of his wife? It was so difficult to tell what he thought now, he was so distant when in her presence, otherwise he made great efforts to place sufficient quantity of physical distance between them. Disappearing for days at a time.

"I do so miss Paris. The English papers paint a very unflattering portrait of our people these days. They have less experience with the horrors the people of France have suffered at the hands of the aristocracy. Few have watched their children starve, their loved ones beaten and humiliated by an uncaring upper class. They are a bit naive, Chauvelin, and so we should try to be tolerant of their ignorance."

Chauvelin smiled. He could feel her eluding the topic of that overfed Aristo she had married. She was unhappy, how could she not be? He would help her, he'd free her from this Bastille of a country. "You see, dear Margot why I need your help. You know the mores of this country; you can help me become accepted by them. A Frenchman can speak his mind freely but this English reserve, bah! It baffles even me. But an actress, nay a star such as yourself can assume anyone she wishes, even an aristo, but still keep her heart true. Please, educate me on this new species of man, these Aristos one that's fast becoming extinct in France. Teach me of their society, of their rules, of their likes and dislikes so I can stop getting the infernal cold shoulder. I fear I am not a good actor, another reason to come to you" he said lightly. He turned his tone more serious. "I am sure you miss Paris, it's a city that captures your heart. I agree that the English are naive but that is why I am here. To show them that we are not bloodthirsty murderers, that we are a wronged people who have finally righted them! They should learn of the starvation, the degradation, the poverty, the injustice suffered by peasants and remember that France is a nation of gallant men, who suffer no injustice! Remember that, Citoyenne, you will always have friends in France who will help you if you need them" he said, studying her face.

Marguerite was slightly taken aback by Chauvelin's zeal, the nearly forgotten fervor with which her fellow countryman spoke his ideals. She had the distinct impression that he was summing her up. "My dear little Chauvelin! How very droll you are!" Marguerite laughed to hide her uneasiness. She felt slightly uncomfortable under Chauvelin's piercing gaze. "I fear am happy to offer you, my dear Chauvelin, I am certain that would open doors for you... But you should try to curb your enthusiasm when speaking to them of the People's justice. They won't understand!" She paused trying to find a way of phrasing the words that would be treasonable in her own country. "But who can blame them. The new government is going too far, my friend! You are a republican, as am I! We both share the same ideals, the same thoughts, the same enthusiasm for liberty and equality... Yet you must admit they are going too far! Children are being executed, Chauvelin! You'll find it difficult to justify murdering children..." She stopped abruptly upon seeing the singular expression upon Chauvelin's face. It was true that she was in England, far from the howling mobs of France, but something in his expression sent a cold chill through her spine.

Chauvelin's eyes narrowed, his jaw tightened, and he felt anger build up inside him, bitter bile choking him. How dare she? What audacity, what disloyalty! She, who had once been the model for Frenchwomen everywhere, she who had been the shining star of Paris, how could she express pity for the people who for centuries had crushed the poor peasants under their dainty little feet, the people who had hurt her family? It sickened him to see this, how this foggy isle dulled the sharpest woman he had known. Had that nitwit Anglais spoiled her brains? Had living the Aristo life softened her? How could he take her back to Paris, a defector, a sympathizer, almost an emigre? "Really, Citoyenne St.-Just, I find it interesting that you sympathize with the people who spat on you? Children? I wonder how many children lay dying in hovels from starvation while those whom you now pity gorged themselves. Mercy, ma'amzelle is a noble sentiment, but it should be reserved for the victim, not the criminal, I believe that is what you call justice." He said coldly, his gaze like a knife. But she was still so beautiful, her gaze afraid but still so lovely. His heart beat faster. He'd have to force some loyalty out of her, save the gem from herself. He'd have to destroy the bad, to remove the trappings of a lady and reveal the true girl with a mind. She had a wild heart, how long could she stay happy here. She was crying out for help! His expression then softened somewhat and he smiled shyly at her. "I speak with passion, I know, but it is a vice of our native country. We are a people of passion, of fire. We are both republicans, but ideas are only air. It takes some blood to achieve our dreams but it will be over soon. Think of it as labor, pain before a blessing, birth is not an easy process, most bloody but in the end, it's all worth it when the new life comes, the new life for all of us French" he said. "We are working to build a better world, a world for you as well, Margot. As I said before, France will always open it's arms to you, should you need us. I sincerely thank you for aiding France, we knew we can count on you to stay true to the cause." He said sincerely and then grinned. "Oh, and your cousin, Antoine sends his greetings, if you can call it that. I believe his exact words "Should you see anyone I know, please send my regards" in a tone that could freeze beer. Dear god, how ice and fire could come from the same tree... Ah well, you did break the boy's heart, it's the best he can do. He's been making quite a name for himself, but you Saint-Justs always lived in the spotlight, why should he be any different? His pamphlet L'Esprit de la Revolution sold quite well, better then his... ahem earlier work." he said with a wiry grin.

Perhaps she didn't entirely realize the power that Chauvelin held over her or, perhaps, her pride took precedence over prudence. "What of the concept of the 'noble savage'? Do you not believe that it is the society that has perpetuated this on-going evil? It is true that what they did was wrong, but we can be better! They watched as our children suffered, does that mean that we are right in killing theirs? Would not the logical thing be to teach them to turn away from the ideals that led to such madness? Justice would be to teach them to realize that their predecessors were wrong." Chauvelin's cold gaze had told her she had said too much, she had forgotten that Armand was still in Paris and her words, even at this distance, her words might prove disastrous to him.

"Forgive me, my dear Chauvelin," she said with an awkward laugh. "I was almost of the mind that we were back in one of my salons... I am grateful for your offer, but I am married and my husband's only interest in France is the fashion!" Alas her husband, the fool! the spoilt child of English society! He had once courted her amidst those passionate discussions... and now if he were to return now he might himself become an ornament to the lamp posts of Paris. "I am happy to hear dear Antoine is coming into his own, should you see him next remember me to him. -- But I prattle on like a school girl, we have business to discuss, do we not?"

Chauvelin took a sniff of snuff from his precious, beloved box and took the opportunity to give Margot a fresh piercing glance. The anger in his heart had not quelled, what an accursed country, the soil of which had the callousness to damage such a priceless flower like this. How could she defend them as if they were her own kin, as if she was one of them? True, she was married to one but that mattered not. Marriage, bah, to some spoiled namby pamby who would not know an intellectual thought if it walked up to him and sang "Ca Ira" an inch from his nose. He did not wish for war, but war had been declared on them, by centuries of persecution. Hah, teach them the proper way, if they did not see as if now, it would take a lot more then this to teach the error of their ways. He himself had made that choice, so long ago, Marquis de Chauvelin, yes, so many years since he had heard that name, so many years since he had made that choice, seemed like centuries ago. He had come from that cursed spawn, yes, he was no better then the myriad's he sent to the guillotine, but he had redeemed himself, he was innocent of the sins of his family! He, by his own sweat and blood had made himself who he was! He had more to say on Margot's loyalty but he wisely chose not to continue this tete a tete now, he had to proceed cautiously, if he wished to save her from herself and the wrath of her cousin. Antoine's heart had been ripped from his chest by his fair cousin, who then proceeded to dance a jig over it. What little mercy the Angelic looking little boy had died that day. Nothing would please Antoine St-Just more than vengefully sending Margot, her brother Armand, his own flesh and blood, that imbecile husband and every English noble he could get his pale little hands on to the Concierge to prove his loyalty. To be honest, Chauvelin would not mind the last part of the plan; in fact, nothing would please him more then seeing the Cr�me of London facing the people's justice. But Marguerite, no, not yet. There was hope for her, he knew it. But if he had to make the choice...

He smiled, he would proceed cautiously and keep an eye on Armand to make sure his loyalties stayed where they were supposed to. "Remember you? My dear Citoyenne, believe me, he does all the remembering one needs, one doesn't forget you so easily. I don't think a day passes when he doesn't curse fate for losing the quest for your hand. Ah yes, the introductions, anything you can do would greatly aid me. But I enjoy our banter, it's been too long. Well, shall we begin with some society people who might be...more sympathetic, more modern thinking people or is that like the Holy Grail, a modern thinking Englishman, a myth?" he asked.

Marguerite smiled, "I fear the matter of man you are looking for is a myth, you might sooner find the hidden city of Eldorado! Those who would be sympathetic are likely not to find favor at court and thus would do you little good, though through my husband I have made friends in these circle and perhaps that name will be sufficient to give you the access you seek. I will prepare some letters of introduction for you and have them sent to your residence." She maintained her guise of ease and friendliness, but hoped to depart in all haste for fear that Chauvelin ask some other favor of her or lest she make some slip that might endanger her brother on the other side of the channel.

Chauvelin smiled coldly. "Well, it was worth a try. I suppose some things are just impossible. Thank you for the letters, it's amazing what fortune places in our path. I will be sure to mention the name. I will be staying at the French Embassy. Speaking of relations, your brother Armand, how is he?" he asked.

Chauvelin could see his arrow had found its mark. He had Armand, no matter what happened, if he needed something, he had Armand. He could see her lovely face pale, her hand clench the glass. "The nerve of that boy, not keeping in touch. Paris isn't that large that he could not stop by once and tell me how his lovely sister is. Obligations, yes, obligations to his country, truly noble work that has little room for anything else. The work of any true French, working for his family. "Don't worry so much, Margot, he's safe, I'll keep on eye on him when in Paris to make sure he's safe. You don't look well, my friend. You'd best go. Remember, you always have a friend in me. It was wonderful seeing you again, I'll call on you again at a later date" he said.

With that he dismissed her! He set the sword of Damocles over her head, should she fail to meet expections Armand would suffer. Poor dear Armand, Chauvelin had the power and influence to make him suffer. Chauvelin had something in mind for her and she had the distinct feeling that she would have no choice but to obey. She nodded to Chauvelin and left.

She thought about talking to Percy, but her husband seemed less than willing to listen. Gone was the man who wooed her in Paris, and now he revealed himself to be all the things she had hated in the aristocracy of her own country. She ordered her carriage home and thought of her options, what did Chauvelin have in mind? Could she bring herself to do it? It seemed there was little choice.