Chapter VI

On the Road to Boulogne

I

There is a saying of how so many words can be used for a single picture, and the same holds true for an expression. With one connecting gaze a world of misery and torment can be revealed in a person's eyes. Some, whether they be perceived as gifted or cursed is yet to be found, can hide all emotions from the common onlooker.

Chauvelin, however, was not a common man. His eyes, keen and raptorial, could see pain rather than sense it, and it was in Sir Percy's eyes he dared not look. There was an extent of his malice and hunger for relishing the fruits of his own work. It was not that the sable-clad man felt guilt or pity when he looked upon the Englishman's face; Subconsciously Chauvelin knew he did not have the strength to see the entirety of his own doing. To fully understand just what he had done to Sir Percy would result in self-loathing and unadulterated horror. He preferred to regard the one fact that emboldened him. It was a success. He had rendered the Scarlet Pimpernel so weak chains were hardly necessary.

"Citizen, we are soon to enter Boulogne," the coach driver called, and Chauvelin smiled, and ordered the horses to be driven faster.

"Surely the Tribunal has ended by this hour?" Sir Percy asked tonelessly as his eyes surveyed the hangings on the coach window.

Chauvelin glanced out the window at the scenery enshrouded by night, and replied carelessly, "They are always willing to make exceptions."

The Englishman said no more after that, and Chauvelin settled back in the seat with vague thoughts of sleeping.

As the night wore on the coaches slowly drew to a halt for a moment's rest. Chauvelin felt weariness slowly slipping over him, but he refused to sleep. He watched absently as a few guards tended to the horses, his gaze continually flitting back to Sir Percy's still form.

"Citizen Chauvelin!" The guard's voice filled the dark air quite awkwardly, and Chauvelin immediately straightened, and leaned out the window, ready for an ambush or a threat.

"What is it?" He demanded. The guard entered the small illuminated ring, and gave a respectful nod to Chauvelin before continuing, "There are fell trees blocking the road, presumably from wind or storm."

"Can it be cleared?" Chauvelin asked, his heart returning to its normal pace.

"Aye, but it will take time."

"How long?"

"If all the guards work at it, quite possibly before tomorrow's sunset."

Chauvelin frowned at the delay, and leaned out further to look down the road they'd come from. Only an hour back they had passed a small inn. Disgruntled and tired, he ordered that the carriages turn around and head for the inn while half the guards remain and begin clearing the trees.

If he could hear the grumblings of the soldiers, Chauvelin chose to ignore them. He turned his eyes back to the Englishman only to confirm that he had neither woken nor even stirred.

The inn was not of remarkable size, but the floors were well swept, and the dark walls were familiar with cleanliness. The main room was empty for the most part, save a table near the fireplace that hosted a cluster of five rowdy men.

The innkeeper approached Chauvelin with calm indifference and slight concern to learn that he would have to give up all but three of his rooms to the company.

Chauvelin commanded that the prisoner be locked in a second floor room with guards at his door and beneath his window at all times, and then made to retire to one of the rooms himself.

The men at the table, however, stopped him. Upon seeing their obviously drunk state and inhaling the rank stench of ale, Chauvelin snarled at them, almost daring them to ask anything of him.

One of the men, obviously too intoxicated to be intimidated, began, "Are you not the man who killed the Scarlet Pimpernel?"

"He is not dead yet." Chauvelin growled, his eyes itching for rest.

"Where is he, then?" Another demanded boldly.

"Under the surveillance of the Republic, now allow-"

"He's here, isn't he?" The third man asked eagerly, slamming down his mug, sloshing tepid liquid across the dark surface of the table. The innkeeper winced at this show of carelessness, but no one noticed.

"He is under the surveillance of the Republic, now leave me in peace." Chauvelin snapped, and turned on his heel. A hand seized his cloak to stop his steps.

"Can we see him?" The offender beseeched, still clawing at Chauvelin. Thoroughly disgusted, the diplomat glared a reply, and pulled himself from the man's grasp.

II

The sun rose pale into the morning sky, but Marguerite didn't notice. Instead, she leaned out the window of the inn, to look at the rippled pane to her immediate left. Because so little now actually walled her from her husband her very soul felt drawn towards him.

Her bright eyes locked on the window, longing to see her Percy, but restrained herself from her impulses. Heaving a sigh, she turned back to her room and sat restlessly on the bed. She absently twisted her hands in her lap, waiting for the signal.

It was at noon when Marguerite heard the slight scuffling of footsteps in the hallway, and a single, soft knock on her door the common onlooker would perceive as an accidental sound.

Hurriedly, silently, Marguerite went to the wall separating her room from the prisoners. The day before, as Sir Andrew Ffoulkes and My Lord Hastings were making the obstruction across the road, Armand and Antony talked with the innkeeper, a simple man by the name of Louis. With the reception of a small pouch of money, he agreed to assign the prisoner that would be arriving later a designated room. With more coaxing and promises for reparations, he consented (rather hesitantly) to allowing a small hole be cut into the wall.

It was to this aperture that Marguerite went to, and delicately pulled it aside. As it had been placed, the headboard of the bed in the adjacent room had been shoved against opening. Marguerite gingerly pressed against it with her shoulder, but it did not move.

With fond yet frustrated thoughts she realized her husband must be asleep on the bed. Furrowing her brows, she knelt even lower, and wriggled under the low frame of the bed, gasping for breath as loudly as she dared. Her limbs shaking with anxiety, she eased herself out from under the bed, and clambored to her feet, brushing off her skirts and pushing back her hair.

Before her her husband slept. Upon seeing his noble brow etched with sorrow and suffering, and the expression on torment painted across his face, Marguerite could restrain her feelings no longer. She knelt down and softly laid her palm against his cheek. A gasp tightened his throat and his eyes fluttered open. He gazed up at her face for what seemed like eternity to Marguerite, and then his eyes closed again, a look of disbelief and fearful hope passing over his countenance.

"The good lord has granted mercy on my soul and ended my life," he began, opening his eyes. His hand moved as if to touch her, but he restrained himself.

"No, Percy," Marguerite whispered tenderly, slipping her other hand into his, "you are not dead, and neither am I. What happened outside of the marquis' house was a dreadful misunderstanding. What matters, my darling, is that we are both very much alive. Now come," she pressed gently, rising to her feet, "we must leave this inn."

Sir Percy rose slowly to his feet, and then smiled down upon Marguerite. With an embrace and a single kiss all the feeling of pain and loss ebbed from Sir Percy's heart as he held her close.

"Of anything Chauvelin could have taken from me," he started softly, "losing you would be the single thing I could have never recovered from."

In Percy's arms was truly the only place Marguerite felt safe and content, no matter the situation. She wished she didn't have to pull away, and just remain within his folded arms, feeling the warmth of his cheek pressed to hers and letting his mere presence surround and fill her with joy.

"Lud love me!" Percy suddenly exclaimed in his characteristic drawl. He took a step back and smiled patronizingly at her, and finished, "if we remain we'll be found, you silly girl. Now how the devil did you sneak in here?"