A/N: Yes, it's been a while. This chapter was tricky as it kept being too short to stand on it's own, but when combined with the one coming up made for one too ridiculously long. This resulted in a lot of puzzling and working it over, and hence rather great delays. It was only recently that I realized a little one-shot I had been debating posting could be combined with this quite nicely. The result is Sir Percy gets a little spotlight of his own in this chapter. Read, enjoy, and review!
Foppish Follies
I sighed glumly and swirled my brandy snifter, studying the golden liquid as it lapped in varying wave patterns up the sides of the glass. It was our first time back in England since the formation of the League and already I had discovered that the return to society life was harder than I had expected. I was at one of Lady Newbury's fine evening parties in London, and I would be remiss if I deny the pleasure I felt at being back in my favorite shoes and fashionable cuts of silk and satin clothing. These were comforts I had long been accustomed to expect, but alas, the persona I had carefully chosen them to portray no longer existed. At least, it no longer existed in the form it once had. I was different now. Society could not be seen in the same light as I had previously regarded it. I was a man who had risked his life for another's, something that not a single soul at this gathering – with the exception of the league members present – could lay claim to. Unfortunately, I was also still as awkward as ever in spite of all that and the hindrance was quickly proving itself more difficult than usual.
The sounds of eager conversations, delighted laughter, and pleas for more stories of the adventures of the Scarlet Pimpernel floated through the elegant assemblage, inviting me to leap up as I had so disastrously earlier that night, ready to tell my own tales of my hero. However, it was an invitation destined to tempt me in vain, for I hardly dared repeat my performance. I took a sip of brandy as I recalled the moment and made a face when the scene played out before me. What a nincompoop I was. Dewhurst and Ffoulkes had been doing a fine enough job of it on their own, singing the praises of our anonymous leader, regaling the ladies with accounts of hairbreadth escapes and derring-do and all that, what? Then I decided to put my graceless foot in and ruin it all. We had naturally been charged very strictly by Percy not to reveal his true identity to anyone, however he had not forbidden us to divulge our own part as members of the league. This gave us quite a bit of freedom and when one of the ladies pled for more details on one of our rescues, I had decided to avail myself of it.
"I could tell you what happened next!" I had exclaimed in response from my place on one of the couches, springing up and stepping on the feet of the nobleman seated beside me.
The nobleman swore and the eyes of everyone in the room turned upon me.
"Really, Sir Charles?" the lady queried, obviously doubtful of the legitimacy of my claim, but desperate nonetheless for any information regarding the secretive adventures of the Scarlet Pimpernel. "Well tell us then, if you would be so good, lest we perish of anxious suspense!"
"Well," I took a deep breath and tried to ignore the fact that for the first time in my life, an entire roomful of people actually wanted to hear what I had to say, "th-there was, well, that is t-to say, a contingent of soldiers was dis-dispatched and soon hard on their heels…" I trailed off and my mouth began to dry. Everyone was literally hanging on my every word. Why could I not exert myself to be more eloquent? The pressure of it all unnerved me further and my stammering grew worse. "It – it was really qu-quite a – a fix, y-you know, a-and all the-that, eh what?" I tried to laugh to put myself at ease but could not ignore the fact that the expressions still fixed upon me now bore strong evidence of strained grimaces as the company forced themselves to endure my blithering in hopes I would come to the point they were really interested in. "Demme," I continued weakly, "but th-this was t-to be no m-m-match for the b-boundless ingenuity of our leader!" Excitement began to take over and I suddenly forgot to be nervous as I extolled Blakeney's prowess. "You should have seen him! Why, no sooner had the troops appeared over the ridge, in view of the old church, than P – " I froze in horror as did nearly every visible league member in the room. In my exuberance I had very nearly given the whole game away!
The rest of my audience, however, had lost patience with me, so I had not paused for very long before one of the young ladies on a nearby sofa encouraged, "Yes, Sir Charles? And?"
For the first time in my life I thanked my stars for stuttering and groped about my scattered brain for any alternative to what I had nearly said. But it was hard to recover from the scare I had given myself and nothing intelligent came readily to mind. Soon I had to settle with the worst sort of nonsense. "P-p-pa…p-p…" I gulped, "p-p-p, er, pigeons!"
"Pigeons?" snorted the nobleman whose toes I had trampled. "What in blazes did they have to do with it?"
"W-well," I stammered, "th-they, that is to say, pigeons flew ou-out of the belfry!"
The room was suddenly filled with a long, drawn-out, inane laugh. "Gad Worthsby, but I don't believe a word – not a word of that stupendous story!" It was Blakeney. He had apparently forsaken his place at the card tables in the adjoining room and was leaning in the doorway, observing my dilemma. He twirled his eyeglass and laughed again. "Sink me! But I hardly thought a fine fellow like you would go a-mixin' himself up with all this blasted Pimpernel nonsense! You? A member of that band of foolhardy, neck-risking adventurers? Lud! 'Tis preposterous! To think of you gallivanting around France, getting dirty! I tell you again, I don't believe you for a moment!" He laughed again and this time everyone joined with him.
I was certainly nonplussed to say the least. What in blazes was Percy trying to do?
"To think we almost thought you could be a member of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel!" one of the ladies teased.
"Fie on you, Sir Charles! I did not take you for the jealous sort!" chided another.
"Tell us, Sir Andrew," exclaimed the hostess, Lady Newbury, "has Sir Charles taken us all for fools, or is he really a follower of your illustrious leader?"
"Ah…" Sir Andrew fingered his cravat nervously and glanced at Percy, "well, my lady…" He looked at me and I could read the apology in his eyes, even from my place across the room. "I'm sure Worthsbyfeld simply got a little carried away with his story, and, in his enthusiasm for the one we all can only admire, he claimed our leader as his own. The story itself he learned from my Lord Dewhurst, and was quite accurately told although I'm afraid there were no pigeons involved."
I felt something in my heart wither and perish in that moment as everyone laughed again, but I managed a self-deprecating smile and laughed along. "Terribly sorry, everyone," I grinned, "but a f-fellow can only try, you know."
I did not return to my original seat but found a secluded alcove and ensconced myself there away from prying eyes after obtaining a bottle of brandy from the butler. So that was it then! I was not destined to garner any social benefit from my league membership. Others could sing Blakeney's praises but I must remain silent on the matter. It was this that I brooded over as I swirled my brandy and attempted to ignore the gaiety of the party continuing on without me. Lady Blakeney was now making some witty remark at her husband's expense, and Blakeney as always took it in such grand form that no-one would ever suspect that the idiot before them was England's – and perhaps Europe's – greatest mastermind. How well he played the fool! Sometimes I actually had the unnerving feeling that he was imitating me and my stupidity – and doing a better job at it too. Even now he was running idiotic wordplay circles around one of the more dedicated fashion experts present at the gathering, Sir Edward Montmorency. I watched as Blakeney complimented the fellow on his waistcoat as though it was all he ever thought of. Stupidity was a form of art to Blakeney, for me, it was simply a curse.
"I declare, Sir Edward," he said, gesturing affectedly with his eyeglass, "If that isn't the most well-cut waistcoat I've seen all month. I myself have been trying to obtain something of that very cut and style and can't quite seem to find it. Tell me now, who is your tailor?"
"Oh, I'm sure you've heard of him," Sir Edward said, beaming with pleasure that Sir Percy Blakeney, the great fashion critic, should notice him, "Samuel Hinkerly, is his name."
"Yes I have heard of him," Sir Percy drawled, as if the remembrance brought him no pleasure, "he designs the most abominably disastrous cravats in London, but my good man, he seems to have struck it rich in waistcoats. I do believe I shall try him. Do you know his address?"
"Yes," Sir Edward said, good-humoredly, "it is a very easy one to remember. He is in London, on Westcourt Street,"
"Westcourt Street," repeated Sir Percy.
"Yes, and the number is: four four, four four."
"Four, four." Sir Percy said.
"Four, four," added Sir Edward.
"Yes that is just what I said," Sir Percy replied, "Four, four."
"No, I was adding," said Sir Edward, a slight look of exasperation crossing his face.
"Well, if you were adding, man, then wouldn't that be eight?" Sir Percy asked.
"No! Not adding a sum," Sir Edward replied, a bit more exasperated now, "I was adding to what you had said."
"Demme, is that fifteen or sixteen, what?" Sir Percy said, "I really do apologize, but arithmetic has never quite been my forte."
"No arithmetic necessary, Sir Percy," Sir Edward said in the pleasantest voice he could possibly put on. "The number to the tailor's shop is: four, four, four, four."
"Four, four, four, four," declared Sir Percy.
"There you have it!" said Sir Edward, greatly relieved, "For once you have got it right."
"Four once?" Sir Percy asked, looking very puzzled.
"Yes, for once," returned Sir Edward.
"Well then my good man," Sir Percy said, "what have you been telling me to memorize all these 'four's for, if I only need to remember 'four' once?"
"No, it is four, fours," Sir Edward said. "I told you that already."
"But you said it wasn't 'four, four'," Sir Percy replied.
"No, no, no," Sir Edward groaned, a muscle tightening in his jaw, "I mean it is four, four times."
"Four for what times?" Sir Percy asked.
"'Four what times'?" repeated a very bewildered Sir Edward, now turning a plainly visible red hue of aggravation.
"Yes, that is just what I said," Sir Percy replied, imperturbably, "For what times?"
"Four times, I suppose," Sir Edward said, throwing up his hands in an air of defeat.
"Do you mean four o' clock then?" Sir Percy asked.
"Demmit Sir Percy!" Sir Edward yelled, losing all sense of propriety in his frustration, "The address is four, four, four, four! And blast your thick skull if you can't remember that! I'm surprised you can even put your own shoes on the right feet!"
"Well that is very simple," replied Sir Percy, with complete composure, "you just put one on the right and one on the left and if they don't feel comfortable, you know that either you must change your boot-maker, or you have simply got them on the wrong feet."
Half the people in the room began to snicker and titter with amusement – I myself could not help but grin as I poured myself some more brandy, and watched as Sir Edward realized that somehow, some way, even though he had been perfectly sane up to that point, he had become the object of embarrassment and mortification, and that Sir Percy had come out on top, the man who had been the complete, utter idiot and nincompoop. It would be Sir Percy who would still be feted, praised, and sought after, while he, Sir Edward, would be condemned to the edges of every intimate circle he sought to make his way into. Yes, Blakeney was the perfect fool, and such was the irony of society. I could not even possess enough brains to be as stupid as he.
Sir Edward muttered something extremely uncharitable under his breath, not fit to repeat here, but from which I could surmise his complete irritation with Sir Percy. He turned on his heel and left the room so as not to ruin the entire party with a murder scene, which he just might have attempted against the fashionable nitwit, even in face of the fact that Sir Percy was a full foot taller than him. Sir Percy watched him go with a half sigh and said in an apologetic tone,
"I did think I had got it for a moment."
"Indeed you did, Sir Percy," said one of the ladies next to him, in a pettish manner, "but how could anyone remember such a difficult address?"
"Especially since Sir Edward explained it so horribly," added the lady next to her.
"Quite," another of the ladies, consoled, "even someone with twice Sir Percy's brains wouldn't have figured it out."
"Truer words never spoken," Lady Marguerite Blakeney said suddenly, from where she had been watching the entire scene, "for Sir Percy has no brains, and everyone knows that two times nothing is still very much nothing."
The entire room of people laughed at this witticism, and none louder than Sir Percy.
"There now!" he exclaimed gaily, "My clever wife knows well the subject of arithmetic!"
It was a pity that his 'clever wife' could not be let in on his secret. What a perfect pair they would make then! If she only knew that she had married the most ingenious man in Europe, what she might think of him then. Of course, though, she had notoriously played her own part in her country's bloody revolution, and Blakeney had already intimated to us that it would never do for her to learn of our activities. Still, it was a pity.
The musicians in the dance hall struck up a lively tune and many of the guests began to make their way to the dance. Suddenly I was aware that someone had taken the seat beside me. It was Blakeney.
"Well, well," he drawled quietly, holding his own empty glass out for me to fill. "How does it feel to be disowned by your own comrades?"
"Please, Percy," I muttered tersely, hoping he would not guess my true thoughts, and poured him some brandy, "let's not mention it. I dare say I deserved it for bungling things. I don't know what I was thinking." I tried to smile reassuringly and laughed lightly. "You were right to stop me the way you did."
"Tush!" Blakeney snorted. "I had only hoped to divert your audience's attention long enough for you to gather your wits. Unfortunately, Ffoulkes didn't quite catch my intentions and followed through rather thoroughly on what he thought was my hint. I was impressed with how well you bore it. You're a demmed good sport, Worthsby."
My darkened world of friendship and camaraderie suddenly grew a little brighter. "Do you mean, it was all a misunderstanding?"
"Completely," Blakeney affirmed, taking a sip of brandy. "Poor Andrew feels terrible about it. He would never have done such a thing to you if he hadn't thought he was obeying my express orders. The good-hearted fellow trusts me so well he thought I had something in mind that would explain everything later." A smile twinkled in his blue eyes and he winked at me. "Perhaps I will have something in mind after all. It could be useful to have an unknown league member that is just as unsuspected as myself."
I began to feel ashamed at having ever thought my friends would betray me and blurted, "Sink me, Blakeney, j-just don't throw me out of the league and I dare say I'll be the happiest I've ever been."
We sat quietly for a few moments, drinking our brandy before Blakeney spoke again.
"You know, Worthsby, I've been thinking," he murmured absently, "there is something our league is missing."
"Missing?" I queried. "I hadn't noticed anything."
"We need some sort of signal," Blakeney continued. "A call by which we can communicate while still remaining secret." He mused silently some moments more, and as I had nothing to say, I did not interrupt him. "What do you think of sea mews, Worthsby?" He asked at length.
"Sea mews?" I puzzled. "Odd's fish but I never think of the confounded birds if I can help it. Demmed risky creatures for soiling one's attire, what?"
Blakeney had apparently not expected this sort of response and laughed heartily, attracting the attention of a group of young ladies on their way to the dance floor.
"What is this?" One exclaimed. "Sir Percy is hiding from us in a corner!"
"The naughty fellow!" scolded another.
"What was so amusing that made you laugh?" the first asked. "If you are to hide from us the least you might do is share your measureless wit with us all."
The ladies giggled, as anyone who knew Sir Percy was also fully aware of the fact that there was precious little wit to be had with him.
Blakeney contained his laughter with a foppish grin and replied with consummate inanity, "Sink me, my dear ladies, I was simply trying to dissuade my friend here further from his foolhardy notions of joining that monstrous daredevil's league. I myself wouldn't put money on him lasting more than five minutes in that bloodthirsty, frog-eating bedlam, e'en though it be five minutes longer than your humble servant could survive. But cheer up," he winked at me, "as I always say, 'There may be many things old Worthsby's not, but none can deny he's a demmed good shot!'"
"I'll drink to that!" I replied heartily and laughed as well.
Little did we know how soon that doggerel rhyme would come to have new meaning.