Prologue
Is it not amazing how human beings can be so insolently callous, without flinching at their own monstrosity, as to make such an insult in the face of their fellow men by simply ignoring them in their hour of greatest need. Such is society, in all its feted and justified perversity, compelling men to turn away and tend to their own comfort at the ignored persons' expense. Yet this was hardly uncommon in the year of Grace 1792. Though the two countries shared a bloody history, it seemed that in the face of the extinction of the French aristocracy, England, proud and free, would be willing to extend a helping hand to her sister France. But this was not so, beyond half-hearted negotiation, which hardly counted as anything at all, for all the influence it yielded. Yet even these [petty] endeavors had all butceased by the aforementioned year of Grace 1792, and England seemed content to watch the drama unfold from her veritable opera box across the waters. Such were the times, and there was very little todo about it.
Then, as if the Deity Himself thought to send an avenging angel, a mysterious individual, known only as the Scarlet Pimpernel, began carrying out daring and wily schemes to free those condemned to Madame Guillotine in Paris. The small, English flower, also known as "poor man's weather glass", became the symbol of the daring champion of the guillotine and his league of companions. No one knew who this enigmatic hero was, they only knew he (for he was male, that was certain) was an Englishman, who seemed to enjoy sporton a life-threatening level. It was argued in the lavish parlors and dining halls of stately England as to whether this man was mad, or unwilling--as many Englishmen were--to reveal his true compassionate and empathetic nature. Women of the time adored him; men wanted to be him, though likely only for the social advantages. And so it was that the Scarlet Pimpernelbecame the pride and gossip of all England.
That Demmed Idiot
"We seek him here, we seek him there,
those Frenchies seek him everywhere.
Is he in heaven, or is he in hell?
That demmed, elusive Pimpernel !"
Such was quoted by Sir Percy Blakeney, Bart., one evening at the Lord Grenville's ball. Some suspected he had conjured up the slightly offensive--though terribly amusing--quatrain to belittle Lord Grenville's only French guest. But this was no ordinary Frenchman, but a high-ranking official in the new revolutionist government, which, for obvious reasons, was less then highly revered or respected by the English noblesse, as the French were wont to call them.
Quite the fashion demi-god of modern England, Sir Percy was well-loved by all, despite his obvious lack of brains. He was rich, and that was the only qualification needed by modern society to be taken under her wing. Thus the quite handsome, yet undeniably stupid Baronet was doted upon and petted by society, and all the exclusive upperclasses.
However, if one were to take closer stock of those present at that night's fashionable frippery, one would note Blakeney's beautiful, witty, and undeniably French wife. One would think that surely Blakeney had erred, and carelessly forgotten his own wife's nationality (which he had so blatantly insulted). And yet if one was an astute observer, and had watched the couple together, one would note the air of emotional estrangement and lack of warmth between the two people, which is so vital in any marriage. One could conjecture about what was passing between them, to cause such a lack of typical matrimonial admiration for oneanother. Was that cruel shaft aimed at perhaps more that one victim?--or was Blakeney simplytoo stupid to realize his gaping err?
Such was the juicy topic being discussed and relished by two young ladies at the far wall of the vast ballroom, where Blakeney had only minutes ago recited his latest fit of questionable genius. They were by name, Miss Cayliegh Aaron and Miss Catherine Yorkshire, the best of friends, and likely the two most popular girls in their university's Department of the Arts. Miss Cayliegh was a writer, Miss Catherine an actress, and both showed great talent in their favorite hobby: sketching. This made them undeniably dangerous, in a domestic sense. Their political cartoons were the center of entertainment for the university girls, who, in their naiveté, accepted these mockeries as factual; these two witty young artists practically held sway over the political views of their prestigious university. The only reason they weren't restrained was because women had no say in politics anyway, so what harm was it to let these pampered princesses play with their fellow students' minds? After all, the professors did dwell on them so, and they being so deceptively charming and lax when in their professors' presence, that the latter mentioned hadn't the slightest idea that they, too, were having the wool gently pulledover their eyes.
How they laughed together at Sir Percy's inanities with perfectly emulated authenticity, and bantered with the young men, pretending not to understand or take note of their deep discussions on political debate. How wily were they indeed, and (to the great expense of manya young man's heart) beautiful to match their wiles.
Miss Cayliegh had the petite figure of a girl, and the well-defined features of a womanly face. Though her nose would not be described as 'classic', the rest of her features bespoke that of the classic 'cameo' appearance--that being the accepted identity of modern beauty. She had a tapered chin, small mouth, and large, languid blue eyes, but it was her spiraling golden tresses (free from any powder) that were the glimmer in the eye of many a young schoolboy. Cayliegh was tall, above the average, and, completing her external look of unaffectedinnocence, she had a slight, almost elfin bone structure.
Almost all this was directly in contrast with her companion, Miss Catherine. Catherine barely achieved the classification of average height, womanly in figure but child-like in face. Her nose was classic, or aristocratic as it is sometimes called, her large eyes were a clear, dark brown, and crowned with the angled classic brow. Her rounded chin was complimentary to her full lips which turned upwards at the corners, thus accounting for her child-like expression. Though not quite as small in bone as Cayliegh, Catherine still had what was considered a small bone structure; and like Cayliegh, Catherine was known for her hair. Catherine had a variable mane of dark red spirals that fell over her white shoulders like awaterfall.
But now that you know of the physical appearance of these two young ladies, let us listen to their conversation, which concerned the [intentional?] insult of Sir Percy Blakeney to hisbrilliant, French wife.
"Seems uncharacteristic of Sir Percy to aim such a shaft at his own wife, whom heappeared to adore." Cayliegh reasoned to her companion.
"Indeed, my impression of his loyalty was as you have said...that of deepest admiration. La! 'Twere almost to the point of worship, methought." Catherine said, half her attention stillfocused on Blakeney and his lady.
"Lud love her," Cayliegh sighed sympathetically, "for all his dashing good-looks, money,and gentlemanly manner--"
"...and sense of style," Catherine put in.
"...yes, and style...I do believe I would go mad if I were she; he being so inane andsaturated in foppish ways." Miss Cayliegh's speculations were interrupted by a whispered, yetforceful exclamation from her colleague.
"Zounds!" Catherine hissed. Then at her friend's obvious look of reproach she added, "Forgive me that, but I believe that little Frenchman just beat our dear poet Sir Percy at cards."
"What game was it?"
"I can't tell, they're in the other room--I just read the Prince of Wales's lips." Both girls paused a moment. Catherine lifted a delicate eyebrow disdainfully and Cayliegh smirked prettily, muttering under her breath: "How quaint. Shall we move out of theshadows, my dear, and blatantly spy on the next game?"
"H'm, most certainly! I'll lead, " Catherine offered in good-natured sarcasm as the first chords of the minuet lilted over the ballroom. And with that, the girls linked arms and stroderegally across the ballroom steps towards the game room.
A Jewel of Fire and a Sea of Blue
Now, it was a well-known fact that the game room was only inhabited by men. There were no written rules of etiquette that forbade women to enter the room, as long as they didn't gamble; yet the proper ladies of the time simply did not enter the game room. This unwritten rule of high society was ignored by the two charming girls, who all the while wore the sweetest veil of innocence since Hermes's deception of his mother to maskcow-stealing.
Upon the entrance of the two young women, the game room fellmomentarily silent. But that lasted only a few seconds before the general murmur of conversation resumed; it was, however, noticeably quieter, and the language censored.
Smiling sweet, indulgent smiles, the ladies Catherine and Caylieghnodded a warm greeting to those who were familiar to them as they passed. They made a direct path to the table at which the Prince of Wales, Sir Percy, and the French agent sat, attempting conversation. Cayliegh dropped behind Catherine who stepped delicately up to the Prince. "Your Majesty," she addressed him reverently with a deep curtsy.
"Miss Catherine Yorkshire, simply charmed!" His Highness acknowledged the pretty little woman as she rose from her gallant gesture. She then turned to Sir Percy and extended her small, porcelain hand. "And a good evening to you as well, Sir Percy," she added, blushing ashe addressed her and kissed the tips of her fingers.
"I'm honored, milady."
Meanwhile Cayliegh had given her greeting and curtsy to the Prince, andwas now watching Catherine blush. The girls exchanged a momentary glance ofsympathy and understanding. They weren't blind, after all, and Sir Percy Blakeney, Bart., was very handsome.
After releasing the charmed girl's hand, Sir Percy bowed again and took Cayliegh'shand. At this time His Highness the Prince of Wales gestured to the diminutive Frenchman who had been standing silently by. "Allow me to introduce the Chairman of Public Safety, Monsieur..." the Prince paused, obviously trying to recollect the man'sname.
"Showbertin!" Sir Percy announced gaily. Then he appeared a trifle confused, "...or was it Shouvelin'? or perhaps--well sink me, I'm not so certain anymore; what is your name, anyway, mon-sewer?" he concluded indecisively. Catherine flinched at the badFrench.
The little man appeared slightly agitated at the various mispronunciations of his name, but he quickly recovered an easy manner. " Chauvelin..." he said blandly, with a pointed look at Blakeney, who seemed either unaware of what that look meant, or he just simply didn't care. Chauvelin continued, "At your service, mademoiselles." He bowed deeply to accentuate his cordial words. The young ladies returned the gesture in two flourishes of colored satin anddainty lace.
As if to help clear the air between Chauvelin and Blakeney, the Prince chuckled merrily, "My dear friend Sir Percy, though an excellent man of rhyme, I fear you have the most appallingFrench I've ever heard...even in England."
The young women giggled, the Prince laughed good-naturedly, and eventhe stony Frenchman smiled...but Percy Blakeney positively guffawed. His mirthful and inane laugh rang over the highly vaulted ceiling, causing it to echo and re-echo like the laughing ghosts of past festivities. "I say," he managed, "why can't we just call you Chau-Chau, it's the most I canhandle of that God-forsaken language, ha-ha-HA!"
This appeared to grate on Chauvelin's nerves, though he tried not to show it. He smirkedin response and commented, "Yes, I'm sure it is."
Blakeney obviously didn't hear the last retort, for he had taken his handkerchief out and was proceeding to giggle into it. "Ah, these demmed French names, who comes up with thethem?" he inquired light-heartedly.
"Probably French mums," Cayliegh murmured absently.
"Ah-ha," Sir Percy responded with a clipped chuckle, "There are no "mums" in France, m'dear, that's an English word."
"French mamans, then," Catherine interjected.
"Well begad! It seems the little woman knows a bit of zee French, eh? Chau-Chau."Blakeney beamed an inane smile on the whole group.
Chauvelin cleared his throat, but Catherine quickly went up to him, cutting him off before he could speak. "So, Monsieur Chauvelin, is it true that you beat our distinguished Sir Percy at cards not an hour ago?" she queried, trying to prevent further offense to the somewhatpeeved agent of the French Republic.
At first he seemed unwilling to let the insult to his name pass unanswered, but after a second glance at Blakeney's tall, powerful figure, he wisely reverted his attention to the young mademoiselle at his side. He bowed his head humbly, "It was, indeed, a close game, but--" he threw a sarcastic glance at Blakeney, who was speaking in jovial tones to the Prince andCayliegh while flipping his handkerchief foppishly. Chauvelin continued, "--but in the end I wasthe victor, oui."
Catherine smiled a dazzling smile, then inclined her head in a conspiratorial manner toward Chauvelin. "May I confide something in you, Monsieur?"
"Certainly mademoiselle, my lips are sealed."
"I'm not a pure-blooded Englishwoman."
Chauvelin raised an eyebrow, urging her to continue.
"My grandfather was French," Catherine concluded, leaning back to her usual posture.
The French agent gave her a warm smile. "Well, citizeness," he lowered his voice until only she could hear him, "you do your grandfather's homeland proud."
"La! Discussing those icky little frog legs?" Sir Percy calledmerrily.
Catherine lowered her head, cocked an eyebrow, and a mischievous half-smile pulled at the corner of her pretty mouth. "Why no, Sir Percy," she proceeded to sachet over to him so that her right elbow touched his left, "we were discussing the fact that you seem to have been dealt a bad card or two by Fate, while our dear Chauvelin seems to have gotten a bit of what Ibelieve you call "beginner's luck"."
"Ah yes, that little incident," he paused to step between Catherine and Cayliegh,offering an arm to each. "However, I'm feeling devilish lucky at the moment. Will Mon-sewer join me at a re-match? and will you lovely ladies stay to wish me good luck?" In response both women took Sir Percy's offered escort to the playing table, and Chauvelin fell in step behind them. "Come along, Your Majesty," Blakeney called over his shoulder, "I need anotherwitness."
With that, all four guests settled down at the playing table. Sir Percy and Chauvelin across from each other, the Prince between them, and the two women on either side of Sir Percy. At this point His Majesty announced, "I do believe the clever little Frenchman will win again," intending to provoke Blakeney to defend himself, and thus allow him to poke fun atBlakeney all the more when the Frenchman won.
"Fie, my good man," Sir Percy drawled passively, "don't think I'm gonna let that littlefrog-eater get all the glory."
At this the Prince announced to all in the game room, "Hear ye, hear ye! Sir Percy Blakeney has challenged French agent Chauvelin to a round of cards!" And with those words, a crowd of men and a few bold women crowded up to the playing table. Sir Percy seemed quite unperturbed by this, and asked the Prince to please deal the cardsout.
Finding an opportunity to slip away, Cayliegh and Catherine worked their way out of the crowd and back to the threshold of the ballroom. Standing at the top of the staircase overlooking the ballroom floor, they immediately noticed the billowing crimson dress and red-gold hair of the stunningly beautiful Marguerite Blakeney. She was dancing with Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, a well known gentleman who had recently shown great interest in one of the French girls saved by the Scarlet Pimpernel, Suzanne deTournay. Lady Blakeney seemed happy, and danced lightly and gracefully. Such was very becoming to one who was known as the"cleverest woman in Europe".
"It seems so tragic," Cayliegh commented to her companion, "that a beautiful woman gifted with such an exquisite mind should be trapped in matrimony with the dullest of fops. Sheis like a jewel of fire."
Catherine gave a melancholy nod, "Her husband appears as a sea of blue. So lovely and yet...his cold, icy waves seem to threaten to put out the fire of the jewel he has wedded."
"And so they are," Cayliegh assented, "a jewel of fire and a sea of blue."
Lord Anthony Dewhurst
Cayliegh and Catherine continued to stand there a moment longer, mulling over the situation in their heads. However, it was not long until two young men, obviously friends, came up to the two girls asking them to dance. Neither of them really felt like dancing, but they accepted the offers anyway and allowed themselves to be led down to the dance floor. Swept up in the tide of those dancing and the lilt of the music, both girls soon forgot about Sir Percy and Lady Blakeney as their partners addressed them in idle chatter. 'Cayliegh must have gotten the more interesting of the two boys,' Catherine thought as her dance partner, Siegfried, prattled on about the weather in southern Wales. Poor Siegfied was also no taller than Catherine, and she did not find this very romantic. Seeing an opportunity, Catherine ducked away when Siegfried spun her around, then turned to do his next motion in the dance. She quickly found cover behind a large pillar. "Ugh!" she sighed in spite of herself, "even the least creative ones talk about how beautiful I am, but this guy really believes he's engaging." Catherine turned to glance around the other side of the pillar, were she saw Cayliegh still dancing with the other boy. 'At least he's taller than she is,' Catherine mused. She saw Cayliegh laugh shyly as the raven-haired youth said something to her. 'Must be the "you are the envy of Helen of Troy" line again.' Catherine made a little smirk, recollecting how many times she had been compared to Venus.
"I say, there," a voice behind Catherine addressed her, "you seem glad to be rid of that impudent jackanapes."
Catherine whirled around to face the speaker. He was a tall man of excellent build, and jovial of face. Catherine guessed him to be about five and twenty. "Sir, I do not believe we've met before," Catherine began, a reserved manner about her stance.
"Forgive me, milady," he nodded his head respectfully to her, "I am Anthony Dewhurst."
"Anthony Dewhurst...you have no title?" Catherine asked, confused, but trying not to be rude.
"Well, Lord Anthony, if you must know..." then he added, " but I was never really fond of titles."
She smiled warmly at him, "Well, Lord Dewhurst, I am most pleased to meet your acquaintance, I am Catherine Yorkshire, Lady Catherine, if you care to address me that way."
"Call me Tony, Lady Catherine," he smiled as he took her hand to administer a kiss to it.
Catherine shyly lifted her other white-gloved hand to her lips, quite conscious of his friendly flirting. "Very well, Lord Tony, may I ask if you dance the gavotte?"
"Most certainly, Lady Catherine, it was my first dance," he replied, sweeping her onto the dance floor. Catherine laughed merrily as she and her new (and much improved) dance partner glided and stepped across the floor. They talked of music and the arts, and later the utter absurdity of modern politics. Catherine danced until her feet were sore, many times passing by Cayliegh and her partner.
As Catherine, Cayliegh and their partners were dancing side by side, Cayliegh gave a little gasp of surprise. Neither of the men noticed, but Catherine gave her friend a questioning look which asked her what was wrong. Cayliegh's eyes jerked to their right. Catherine's gaze followed her friend's...and then her eyes widened in astonishment. For not far away, Marguerite Blakeney was seen dancing with the French agent Chauvelin. Both girls thought this very strange, indeed. Their eyes met a moment, and a silent conversation ensued. Having known each other so long, the two young women could communicate their feelings without words. Suddenly Catherine gave a slight swoon and bowed her head.
"Whatever is the matter, Lady Catherine?" Lord Tony asked, concerned.
"I believe, clumsy girl that I am, I twisted my ankle."
"Let me help you over to sidelines out of the action, milady," Lord Tony offered, slipping his arm around her waist and taking her other hand.
"Thank you so much, milord," Catherine sighed, acting as if she could not make it on her own.
"Oh, let me come with you, Catherine," Cayliegh pleaded, playing up the act, "I'm tired anyway, and surely you want some company."
"Thank you, as well, Cayliegh, I don't know what I'd do without you." Catherine paused abruptly, realizing that she had probably taken that last line too far.
Cayliegh covered for her, "Tobias," she turned to her dance partner of the past hour, "would you bring Catherine a drink? I don't care what kind...and bring some of the same for me and this kind man here," she gestured to Lord Tony. Then Cayliegh followed the other two to the deserted room that led from the ballroom. There, Lord Tony lowered Catherine into a seat.
It was going just as the girls planned. Catherine's seat faced out into the ballroom, so she could watch Lady Blakeney and Chauvelin. Then Cayliegh made her move. "Excuse me just a moment, let me see if Tobias needs help with all those drinks." she turned to Catherine, "I'll be back in moment, dear." Then Cayliegh turned and swept out of the room and across the dance floor, soon vanishing amongst all the people.
Catherine sighed as if relieved, and carefully spied out the door. Then Lord Tony struck up conversation again. "Are you quite all right now, Lady Catherine?"
"Quite, Lord Tony, thank you so much. I just needed a moment's respite from the constant motion."
"You're sure I didn't step on your foot or something else rather clumsy," he grinned.
"Lud, no! It was my own clumsiness that did me in, but I shall be fine."
"I don't think you're clumsy, just inexperienced. You should dance more, that would be all you need."
"Are you offering me lessons, Lord Tony, or simply trying to make me feel better?" Catherine suddenly realized she wasn't paying attention to the dance floor, she had been so caught up in the conversation. She quickly reverted her gaze back to the ballroom, searching for Lady Blakeney and Chauvelin.
"Both," Tony answered her question, "you seem very fond of dancing. In fact, you can't seem to keep your eyes off the dance floor."
"I, um--I'm sorry, what did you say? I was watching the floor..." she smiled to illustrate her jest, and cover for the real purpose behind her facination with the floor. She looked out again, just in time to see Lady Blakeney and Chauvelin disappear from view. She realized she'd have to move if she wanted to continue her endeavors. "Could you please help me up milord?"
He looked surprised. "You are ready to go back out so soon? You could re-injure yourself,and more severely."
"So you confess you think I'm not a graceful dancer, hm?" Catherine chided him.
"I never said that," he established.
"Ah, but you were thinking that," she pursued, not one to give way.
"I was not!"
"Oh yes, you were!"
"Nay!"
"Yea!"
At Catherine's final answer they both burst out laughing. "Look," she resumed, "I'll take you up on those aforementioned dancing lessons, now please help me up."Lord Tony complied with Catherine's wishes, the latter making quite a show of limping. She realized she felt a little guilty for using such a kind heart to her spying advantages. She decided to attempt conversation to make this interesting for him. "So, my Lord Tony," she wracked her brains, "do you by any chance...," 'Oh, what is that craze that all the university boys are going though?' Catherine tried to recall, "...have an interest in genealogy?" she finally stammered out.
"Actually, yes," milord agreed, seemingly delighted that she should mention it.
Catherine sighed inwardly, 'All men are the same...at least that makes them predictable in a prickly situation such as lack of conversation material.' "I've been doing some myself." was what she actually said, "And have thus far traced back to my great-grandparents." Catherine caught the fact he was trying to hide that he didn't find this very impressive, "--But then again,I've only been researching about a week."
"Ah, I see, that explains it. Are you enjoying it?"
"Yes, actually."
"La then! Tell me about your ancestors."
"Oh! Don't you wish to go first?" she tried, attempting to distract him.
"Nea, milady first." Lord Anthony smiled a disarmingly handsome smile.
Catherine made as if her ankle hurt to hide her blushing. "Oo! Dear me...Lud...well, then...ah yes, my family tree. My mother's maiden name was Mayberry, my grandmother's was Cartwright."
"Those are two fine, English names." Lord Tony interjected, still smiling.
"Thank you, milord. Now then, my father's side was a little more interesting. His mother'smaiden name was Messurier."
"She was French?"
"Yes, and so was my grandfather."
"But Yorkshire is not French, m'dear."
"Grandfather changed his name when he moved to England, which was before father was born. Grandfather's given last name was St. Just."
Lord Tony, who had begun the opening steps of the waltz, stopped abruptly and stared at her as if in disbelief. "Dear lady..." he stammered, trying to regain himself, "pardon me for asking you to repeat yourself, but did you say...St. Just?"
"Yes, Lord Tony. You have heard of my family, then?"
"I believe so, much to my own surprise."
"That is surprising! You do look genuinely dumbfounded, Lord Tony, as if someone had just slipped ice down your cravat."
It was, indeed, an excellent likeness to my good Lord Anthony's expression. He did appear quite cowed. "I, well la, love." was all he could manage.
Catherine giggled and lifted a hand to her lips, staring up at him. "Sink me! You must tell me what you know about my family that should give you such a silly expression."
"Truly, dear..." he began, seeming to fight an urge to keep quiet, "...you know Lady Blakeney, am I correct?"
"Ha! Lud, man, who doesn't?"
"Then you also you knew her maiden name was St. Just?"
--not finished--