Sons of France Chapter 2: The Restoration

Armand tossed and turned and all night. When he finally fell asleep, he only started awake again, and at first could not understand why. Then he remembered his dreams. He was often troubled with dreams and visions; however, perhaps the apparitions were merely products of the wild imagination of the always-dramatic Armand. At any rate they only came about when he was suffering from nervous stress. Yet sometimes the dreams were so real—Armand remembered a few years earlier when Jeanne had been arrested, and the horrible vision of his love going to the guillotine was so shockingly real.

Jeanne sat up in bed. "Are you yet awake?" she asked, concerned. "Is it the dreams again, Armand? What did you see?"

"It was Chauvelin," Armand shuddered. "They executed him, but he broke out of the coffin. And he went after Percy…" then Armand stopped short and passed a hand across his sweating brow. "Then you came to rescue us; you were there, Jeanne."

"Such nightmares," Jeanne whispered concernedly. "I'm sorry, my dear. Try to rest again. Whatever stress is assailing you, sleep will help relieve it. Come, my love." She leaned over and giver him a gentle kiss.

Armand tried to sleep again. But the dreams were only worse; there was the ghostly figure of Chauvelin rising from the coffin, garments white as paint instead of his usual black clothing; he came after Percy, wielding the knife of the guillotine itself. Then Percy and Armand were down on the ground, and the ghost was coming at them. Jeanne ran to Armand to protect him, with her long tawny hair streaming behind her, and her loving tan-colored eyes opened wide. Then, oh hideous! There were bodies everywhere! Armand saw himself running through the rain—was it rain or waves?—trying to get home, only to find more bodies on his doorstep. Soldiers caught him, arrested him, took his gun; how long had he been carrying a gun anyway? For a moment there was peace, the hideousness of the corpses had vanished. Armand saw glistening sea and sky, and he heard a woman's voice saying, "Come home to me."

The dream repeated itself again and again, and when Armand woke up it was past noon. Jeanne and the hired kitchen maid would be preparing a nice luncheon. Shaking off the fingers of clinging horror and mystery, Armand scrambled out of bed and down into the kitchen.

That afternoon Armand received a message from Percy instructing him to come to the supper party at Sir leGourd's Manor. "LeGourd?" wondered Armand. "I do not remember Percy rescuing any Frenchman by that name. I was certain he meant to sail a boatload of the émigrés to France today."

Despite his puzzlement, Armand went to leGourd's supper. They had invited as many great men and women of this area of England as could possibly fit into their Manor, which was about half the size of Blakeney's. Although this event was far from the much-talked-of, highly fashionable parties thrown by Blakeney, present at the dinner were a few important lords and ladies, and many French émigrés. Among then were the Comte de Tournay and family. Armand had no trouble finding Percy, for he was as usual in the center of attention with his wife.

It was always a difficult feat to get any serious dialogue from Percy at a social function, where he must play the fool to hide his identity; but at one point Percy casually passed Armand while reaching for some refreshments, and whispered, "Tonight the émigrés present will be taken to France aboard the Daydream. I shall need your assistance."

Armand nodded and tried to look casual. However, he was inspired anew everyday by the Scarlet Pimpernel's genius; how could one man, while acting a fool in the epitome of social London and caring for a family, arrange such daring escapades in such a short time? Of course, thought Armand with disappointment, this venture was not as daring as others. With the Bourbon Restoration it was perfectly natural and common for aristos to return to their homes. Armand wished that he were doing something more dangerous for Percy than just going for a sail; he ought to be starving in a jail for at least two weeks, which was the same torture he had cost Percy. How could rigging and rowing restore Armand's honor?

When the supper party was nearly over, and Armand had dispatched a messenger informing Jeanne of his trip to Paris, Marguerite approached. She had not yet given an opinion concerning Armand's treachery; but he knew that she would be inwardly furious at the very least, for he caused her pain for two weeks by making her husband suffer in a filthy dungeon. In addition, the shame of having an oath-breaking brother must be great. Marguerite seemed to have nothing to say; but apparently she had sensed Armand's need to see her.

Indeed, there was a question which troubled Armand just now, and which Marguerite alone could answer. "Your memory is better than mine," said her brother; "do you…do you remember our mother, Margot?"

Marguerite looked stunned as she answered, "I suppose I do a little…but why?"

"I've been having these dreams," rejoined Armand, quietly. "It's the same dream every time…but perhaps I should not relate the gruesome details to you. Let me only say that at the end of every dream, I see the ocean and I hear the voice of a wonderful lady calling to me. I think—I think that lady is our mother."

Marguerite did not know what to say. In all truth, she was worried about the sanity of her brother. Besides her knowledge of Armand's treachery in the past, now he was haunted by nightmares. "…Perhaps you have been overly stressing," said Lady Blakeney coldly. "I don't recall our mother being in any way attached to the sea; but she did have a wonderful voice. And Armand, will you please keep quiet about the nightmares in public…? People will think you unsafe."

Armand nodded. "I must go and help the skippers prepare the Daydream for our mission tonight. I shall see you when I return, and…" he paused, looking earnestly into Marguerite's eyes. "Margo, in my dream I was in trouble and Jeanne came to aid me—if my return is delayed, keep Jeanne safe. Do not allow her to follow me; do you understand?"

Marguerite nodded, but with reluctance, for she believed that every wife had the right and the duty to be with her husband in time of need.

It was a fine night and the cool tang of the sea air was relaxing. The smell of fish from the English docks lingered on the wooden boards of Percy's Yacht, the expensive but efficiently speedy Daydream. Armand and the skipper were the only people awake now, for it was well into the night; Armand had been restless again and came out, leaning over the deck railing, to enjoy the flap-flap of the wind in the sails and stare into the watery depths beneath the ship.

"Armand St. Just?"

Vicomte de Tournay, the aristocratic swordsman only a year or two older than Armand, was the speaker. "I could not sleep for excitement," he explained. "Long have I dreamed of returning to my country, and restoring the old ways of France. I must admit, however, that I was much surprised to accept the offer of a ride from Blakeney; although my sister Suzanne always favored the Lady, Blakeney and his wife are traitorous dogs in my manner of thinking."

The passionate Armand longed to object and defend Percy and Marguerite, but he restrained himself. The Vicomte, after all, did not know that Percy was the Scarlet Pimpernel, the man who had saved his entire family from the guillotine. In fact, the Vicomte probably thought Percy was a coward to this day for refusing to fight a duel with him several years ago, when the Victome had only been a boy.

"Your English ahs improved very much," remarked Armand, attempting to be courteous. "If you have nothing particular to say to me, I must retire for the night…"

"As a matter of fact," interrupted the Vicomte, "there is a small episode I should like to divulge. When we supped with Sir and Lady leGourd tonight, I noticed you were present at the party. Sir leGourd asked whom I was observing, and I told him your name. In case he should despise the name St. Just, I informed the landlord that you were only distantly related to the despicable Antoine St. Just. To further defend your dislike of the Revolution, Armand, I disclosed to him the rumor that you have seen the Scarlet Pimpernel himself; the man whom, we all know, is most passionately in antagonistic towards the Revolution. Upon the mention of the Scarlet Pimpernel, leGourd grew quite grave. He was intent on speaking to you, had you not already departed the house. I thought it well to inform you that Sir leGourd is extremely anxious to make your acquaintance and learn the popular stories of the Scarlet Pimpernel."

Armand was shocked. His face tensed, but he said nothing. Could there be some harm, he wondered, in the disclosing of Armand's identity to the wealthy leGourd? Or was the Vicomte's gossiping tongue undisruptive, and leGourd's interest in the Scarlet Pimpernel only natural? Despite reasoning, Armand felt that leGourd was not trustworthy.

The Vicomte went away and Armand remained staring down into the black ocean depths until sunrise, when the Daydream pulled up to the wharfs on French soil. It was truly glorious sight for Sir Percy, and even for Armand, to see the men and women who had suffered so much these past few years return to their country. There was a sort of mellow happiness in Percy's heart now, for he knew that some of the aristocrats he rescued were so much humbler than before, and much more likely to do honest service to their country.

"The Revolution was devoid of sense, cooperation, and respect for Le Bon Dieu," thought the old Comte De Tournay; "and without these things, France shall never prosper. Yet it is with optimism that, called from over the sea, the sons of France return to their nation. We will share our new humility and ideals with our brothers."

The next few hours were wearying for Armand. Finding a reasonable inn in which to house the De Tournay family, and then make inquiries of the government agents present about how much money would be granted to the Comte upon the restoration of his rank—these things were not as difficult as they were was boring. Armand wished again he could be doing something worthwhile. Once the De Tournay family was comfortably installed, with the promise of a re-opened house and a decent amount of money, Percy and Armand set off on the Daydream. By nightfall they would reach an English inn, spend the night, and in the morning return to their own families.

Armand stood on the deck almost the entire voyage back, not even daring to try sleep despite his weariness, for he was overwhelmed with thoughts of regaining his honor, keeping Jeanne safe, and restoring the respect that Marguerite used to give him before she knew of his treachery.

At the "Fisherman's Rest," Percy's inn of choice, Armand remained in the public room of the tavern for many hours. Sometime just before midnight, he was startled out of an uneasy doze by the creaking of stairs from the upper floor. Down the stairs came an elderly and sour-looking man, with a drooping white traveling-cloak hiding his expensive garments beneath.

"Who goes there?" cried Armand, springing up in surprise.

The old man laughed. "Relax, my young friend! Are you always this uneasy at wayside taverns? Please pardon me if I am intruding; my name is Sir Fernand leGourd, and you must be Armand St. Just; the innkeeper told me you were here."

"The innkeeper or the Vicomte De Tournay?" said Armand, frank as always.

The old man's cracked chortle came out again, and he put his hands up as if to surrender. "Alright, alright; in truth I came to this inn for the soul purpose of speaking with you, St. Just," he stated. "Rumors have it that you, an enemy of the Revolution, have come face to face with the Scarlet Pimpernel himself! Would you tell me of your hero the Pimpernel?"

With extreme caution and rigidity, Armand gave brief tales of the Scarlet Pimpernel—how the hero had saved over three-score aristocrats from the guillotine—but he was sure to give only details which an outsider might collect. "As for knowing the Pimpernel personally," said Armand with a smile, "how I wish I did! Every Englishman alive—and a few Frenchmen as well—wish to join the Pimpernel's league!" Armand was determined that he would not slip up and accidentally give away information as he had in the past.

LeGourd still smiled complacently, but the sunken eyes in his wrinkled face showed that he was anything but amused by the lies being told to him. Armand knew at once that leGourd was aware of more than he let on. "Listen here, master Armand," the aristocrat said, placing a friendly hand on St. Just's shoulder; "I shall try to put things in perspective for you. I had friends in the Revolution; from their databases I have collected all sorts of valuable information—for one thing, you are a member of the Pimpernel's League. I need to know where the Scarlet Pimpernel is hiding; it is a question of personal honor.

"And I know you're not warm to the idea," went on leGourd, just as Armand was about to heatedly interrupt; "but let me assure you that giving your life to keep a mere man's identity safe is a most uninteresting and tedious cliché."

Armand shoved the old man away from him and clenched his fists, ready to fight. "If that's a threat about giving my life," he laughed, "try your strength against me now! I am younger and sprier than you!"

LeGourd picked himself up, casually brushed off, and shook his head. "Immature fool," he said, turning to go; "do you not see that there are other ways to ruin a life besides open violence?" Then the white-coated old man slipped out the door.

"Come back!" shouted Armand, but the ghostly leGourd was gone. Then the young Frenchman started in surprise, for he saw Percy descending the stairs from the second floor. "Blakeney," he said, straightening up. "How long have you been there?"

The Scarlet Pimpernel cast a casual glance at the door, still ajar, and at Armand, who was a bit disheveled from his interview with leGourd. "Not long," answered Percy, calmly; "but it looks as if you had some trouble. Your shouting awoke me from a most pleasant snooze."

Armand was about to explain the incident, when a new idea dawned on him. This was the ultimate chance to win back his repute! If Armand could baffle the attempts of leGourd alone, somehow shut the old man down, he would be credited with saving the Scarlet Pimpernel's identity and perhaps his life. Until Armand outsmarted leGourd, he could not relate the situation to his chieftain; for once Percy knew the danger, he would want to handle it all himself.

"It was nothing, Percy," lied Armand; "merely a drunken wayfarer. He is gone now."

"Get some rest," ordered Percy, after staring at Armand with an unreadable expression for some time. "At dawn, I return to Marguerite and you to Jeanne."

Armand nodded his head respectfully, looking the epitome of obedience. But Percy didn't know the secret that he was keeping for his personal redemption.