Sons of France Chapter 3: Matters of Chance

Armand returned to his small house with the gardens all around it, and kissed Jeanne as a hello when she came out to greet him. "I take it you had a successful time," she smiled.

"I found the way to get back my life," answered Armand happily. "Now I must spend some tike alone and think about a strategy." And Armand did just that—he racked his brain for a plan, but no logical answer concerning the defeat and humiliation of Sir leGourd would consent to enter his dreamer's mind.

"My darling," said Jeanne the following morning, "why are you not ready? Have you forgotten that your sister and Sir Percy have invited us to their garden party?"

Armand grunted in answer. "You know those social events are not the sort of things that amuse me," he stated. They amused him even less when he was trying to think of a way to overcome a threatening enemy.

Jeanne made her large brown eyes appealing. "Armand, you'll come for me, won't you? Everyone will be there—even some French immigrants like Sir leGourd."

Armand started up from his desk chair. "Sir leGourd?" he asked, breathlessly. Then, with a satisfied smile, he said, "I wouldn't miss it for a kingdom." Any chance of learning about leGourd was important to Armand.

The party was bigger and grander than the supper party a few days ago. Nearly every fashionable lord and lady that side of London was present; for when the ever-popular Sir Percy Blakeney threw party, it would be plainly savage not to come when invited and a pure dishonor not to be invited at all. The lawns and rose gardens outside Blakeney manor were abuzz not only with summer flowers and bees but with people. There were refreshments set on tables, there were lawn-chairs, boats on which to cruise around the shallows of the river next to the Manor, and games played on the open grassy areas. Armand was restless, walking to and for around the grounds in search of leGourd whilst Jeanne spent her time chatting and gossiping with the other women. That was the only thing Armand didn't understand about his wife—and women in general—why in the world they were interested in rumors that probably weren't true and were certainly none of the ladies' business if they happened to be true.

Suddenly Armand halted. In the center of the tables where refreshments, card games, and various entertainment was positioned, there was a platform of boards. Here, some entertainers such as jugglers and comical actors would later give a presentation. In the meantime, any person who wished to give an announcement could stand on the platform and speak the proclamation to all present. Now, standing on the platform, was the white-coated, drooping figure of old Sir leGourd. And through the events that happened next, Armand was too shocked and infuriated to move.

LeGourd spoke. He looked angry, appalled, and distraught. Many felt sorry for the old man and demanded to know what was wrong. "What's wrong?" he growled, his brow shining with sweat. "I'll tell you what's wrong! I was told that Sir Percy Blakeney's party was nothing but clean and patriotic—but there is someone present who is neither of those adjectives! I do not mean to insult our dear Blakeney, for I am certain that he can claim no responsibility for inviting such a dog, yet here amongst you all is a traitorous and detestable hypocrite!"

By now a large crowd had assembled in excitement. Those who were not eager to throw the traitor out of their midst, were merely curious. "Who is it?" demanded the crowd. "We'll fetch him for you and throw him out! Tell us what he did to deserve your ridicule!"

LeGourd pointed a shaking, wrinkly finger at the dark-haired young St. Just. "It is him! Not only is this man a poor-born friend of the Revolutionary Antoine St. Just, but he is also a man guilty of treachery to our mysterious and beloved hero, the Scarlet Pimpernel!"

The crowd gasped and was then silent for a moment. All at once the people began shouting; some demanding where Armand St. Just was and how he should be publicly disgraced, others incredulously demanding evidence of the ridiculous rumor. LeGourd explained in a hoarse shout, "You all cannot have forgotten how the Scarlet Pimpernel was captured a few back by the dogs in powers in France. He made a daring escape, but do you know how he got captured in the first place! This man, young St. Just, sold out his position! Betrayed our hero! And now here in England he has the nerve to live off the wealth of his most esteemed sister, who has no doubt been blind to the treachery."

Many people in the crowd objected to the old man's story. They said it was wrong to accuse the wonderful Lady Blakeney of being in any way related to a friend of the Revolution. Others argued that they had allowed revolutionaries from France, such as Chauvelin, to visit them in the past, and anyway it didn't matter since the Revolution was over. In the end leGourd was taken off the stage and told to have a drink and calm down; for his sake, some people began looking to deject Armand. But there was no need for this, as Armand had vanished as soon as leGourd went off the stage.

Armand had run to the stables. He knew his sister wouldn't mind him borrowing a horse, so he saddled one and rode back to his house, where he slammed the door behind him and spent five minutes devastating his orderly study in fury. "Curse you leGourd!" he roared. "Heaven help me, I'll send you the guillotine if I don't kill you myself!" Armand fell to his knees, in the utter ashes of shame and humiliation. It was one thing if Marguerite and the League knew of his treachery—but not all of social London!

A few hours later, Armand went into the parlor to try and think of a way to defeat leGourd. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw leGourd, calm and cloaked in white, sitting on the sofa. "I told you there were all sorts of ways to ruin a life," said the old man with a laugh.

Armand roared in wrath and sprung toward his enemy, but leGourd was faster than he looked and ran outside in a second's notice. Astride a white horse, leGourd rode away; his cloak streaming behind him and making him look ever so much like a ghost. In the depths of depression, St. Just collapsed into bed.

When he woke up, it was well into the night. Armand noticed Jeanne fast sleep beside him, and her gentle, peaceful face gave him momentary relief from his agony of mind. Then Armand went outside to walk about the small gardens which he and Jeanne and the Elisa the house-maid had all planted and tended. The greenery was beautiful by moonlight, but St. Just hardly noticed as he paced back and forth restlessly. As if he wasn't in control of his own feet, the young Frenchman began instinctively walking toward Percy's house. As he trudged along, the gravel road was devoid of all traffic. The private bridge, which spanned the tiny river separating Armand's' and Percy's properties, was obscured in the black shadows of overhanging boughs.

Blakeney Manor was across the lawn. Pausing under the covered walk which led up to the Manor's great doors, Armand wondered if anyone was awake. He rested on the cool stone porch until he had almost dozed off. After some time there came a great noise of galloping hooves, and up rode Sir Andrew and Sir Percy. Both were pale and breathless.

Springing to his feet, Armand exclaimed, "What is the matter?"

Sir Andrew started in shock, and even Percy looked a little surprised to see Armand here. "Sink me, dear fellow," said the latter breathlessly; "it's nearly three o'clock! May I be inquisitive and ask what you may be doing here?"

But Armand, irritable from the suspicion that Percy had launched a daring venture without him, only said, "Tell me what has happened."

Percy bowed his head ever so slightly, a sign of disparagement and defeat which he seldom stooped to show. "We were transporting the family St. Lucque to the Daydream. From there they were to be taken safely to France." His voice changed to a disturbed whisper: "…Oh Armand, something horrible has happened. The coach we took was unstable; it fell to pieces on the road. Medical personal were called, but I don't think the family's chance of survival is great."

Armand noticed for the first time the disheveled look of Percy and the bruise on his head. Andrew's coat was ripped and there was a trickle of blood on his arm. The stunning reality of the catastrophe smote Armand—an entire family gone in a second's notice. Sir Andrew must have been saved by angel to come through, and as for Percy, he would have been driving and thus thrown from the seat relatively unhurt.

For a while there was no sound between the men. Armand got a few horses tacked up, while the other two redressed themselves, and comprehensively all three heroes rode to the hospital. They were told by the good Doctor that none of the family would survive, except perhaps the youngest daughter who had been protected by her mother's body during the crash. Sir Andrew was to stay in the hospital for a few days, the Doctor instructed him. Armand and Percy exchanged crestfallen glances: for the family, and also because there was one member of the League temporarily out of service.

"How many more émigrés need to be taken over to France?" asked Armand.

"I estimate about a score," answered Percy, closing his eyes wearily. He was too distraught, Armand knew, to even try playing his usual fool's charade. "Six or seven families," he muttered. "And I dearly hope none would end in so catastrophic a way as this. I've never—I've never failed at this before…It's my line of duty, and I have always been the best at it…"

Armand broke in sternly, "Percy, don't start blaming yourself! You didn't fail; the coach failed! There, you may blame the craftsman who built the rotten thing!"

"Sir leGourd gave me that coach in congratulation of my daughter's birth," said Percy, beginning to pull his act together. "I thought his craftsmen were some of the best; ah well. We must keep level heads to in order to get through this. It shall all work out. Le Bon Dieu decides."

Armand did not hear the uplifting part of Percy's speech, for he was too astonished by the first statement. The faulty coach was leGourd's! It was another spiteful deed arranged by the ghostly man to break Armand's will. Upon the realization of this fact, Armand only steeled himself all the more. His mind was filled with stubborn thoughts; no matter what leGourd did, Armand would never submit!

"Armand," said Percy suddenly, in a soft voice with a suspicious undertone, "we didn't talk about what happened yesterday. All of London knows about your treachery, but I do not see you as a traitor. I wanted to let you know that—and I wanted to let you know that I will discover the dog who sold you out. Whoever spread the word of your treachery, their gossiping mouth will be silenced." He smiled. "Now promise not to be too # yourself."

Armand only shook his head, and as he walked away he murmured, "You know my promises mean nothing. The whole world knows it." It was not until nine o'clock that Armand returned to his house. He came into the parlor and almost passed out from shock when he saw who was there.

"Your wife is in the kitchen," explained the house guest, who was of course Sir leGourd. "She was surprised to get a call this early, but she was gracious enough to brew some tea. This place is very quaint, isn't it? Most houses in the area are run by several servants and cooks—but here you and your lady are the masters of the household." As he babbled on in this friendly and trivial manner, Armand stared open-mouthed at the old man.

Suddenly the young hero made a dash for his trophy-sword; Armand had hung the fine rapier on the mantelpiece after receiving it as a wedding gift from Sir Percy. Born poor and untrained in the ancient arts of the aristocracy, Armand hadn't the faintest idea of swordsmanship. However he managed to rip it off the mantelpiece, leap toward leGourd, and lunge clumsily.

The old man showed his surprising speed again. He shifted quickly to the right, so that the sword-tip only just penetrated his shoulder, and never got close to the fatal area of his heart. "Murder, St. Just?" he asked complacently. "And with a lady in the house, too!"

Short strands of Armand's black hair hung about his sweating brow, his face was twisted into a grim and roguish glare, and his chest heaved. "Why shouldn't I kill you?!" he growled. "You, you filthy cur, may God strike you down where you sit! You killed the St. Lucque's!"

"That was just a matter of chance," leGourd lied impassively. "Pure coincidence. On the other hand, things like that do tend to happen to people who keep dangerous secrets…the identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel, for example…"

"Curse you!" cried Armand. He would have killed leGourd then and there, but the old man pulled out a pistol. Armand froze, unsure of what to do. To his surprise, the ghostly aristocrat stood up and handed St. Just the firearm. "It's a present," he stated.

Armand was too bewildered by this turn of events to move. Why was leGourd offering him a gun? Just then Jeanne's voice shouted, "Oh Armand—come quickly!" After grabbing the pistol from leGourd's grasp, Armand onto the back porch where he found Jeanne. However, something else was here on the portico too, and when Armand saw it he saw it, his stomach churning wildly.

It was the body of Percy's friend, Lord Hastings.

The young St. Just couple stood there staring in absolute bafflement and horror. Armand began to wonder of he was dreaming. Or this could be the realization of his recent visions and dreams: for bodies were everywhere—even on his doorstep. Would the rest of the dream become as well? Despite the sick feeling which threatened to completely overwhelm him, Armand tried to be sensible. It was his mission to conquer leGourd, and he had to think things through. Like Percy. So, why was Hastings here, and was he indeed dead? Was another member of the League gone? Was this new death also plotted by leGourd? And if so, what could Armand do about it?

A band of English police rode up to the porch before Armand had time to act. "You're under arrest," shouted an officer, flaunting his club threateningly. Now Armand really began to wonder of he was insane—why were there police here? Did leGourd summon them?

"It's Fernand leGourd you want," cried Armand. "He's inside in the parlor; you must take him before he flees! He arranged the death of the St. Lucque family, and most likely he assassinated Hastings as well!"

"Stop talking nonsense, and put the weapon down!" ordered the officer.

For a moment Armand did not understand—then he looked at his own hands and found that he was still holding the pistol leGourd had made him take. Suddenly it became clear what leGourd's hateful scheme was: to frame Armand for murder! With the gun in his hand and the dead Englishman at his feet, evidence pointed its judgmental fingers at the young Frenchman.

"According to Sir leGourd and his friends," said the officer, "you were a revolutionary who once worked for Robespierre himself; the new French government demands justice. And if they do not send you to the guillotine, then you'll be brought back here to stand on English trial for the murder of Lord Hastings! Congratulations, Armand St. Just; you are an international criminal."

"No!" screamed Jeanne, jumping in front of Armand to protect him. "Armand is no follower of the Revolution—he is a friend of the Scarlet Pimpernel himself!"

The officer scoffed. "It was made public yesterday that this young man actually betrayed our national hero! Step out of the way, ma'am; we must take this man into custody."

But Jeanne would not be dissuaded. Her face and eyes which normally gave the impression of a delicate and childish maiden were now alight with savage resolution. She thought about what lengths Marguerite would go to, in order to protect Percy. "Stay away from Armand!" she exclaimed shrilly.

But the officer would have no nonsense. In those days police were hardly called into the wealthy areas of London, and when they did come, it caused them all manner of little trivial troubles. Therefore the officer, determined not to have come through those dilemmas in vain, stepped forward to strike Jeanne down.

Pushing Jeanne out of harm's way, Armand took the blow of the officer's club. After that the half-conscious young Frenchman was easily taken away. In fact, the policeman had more difficulty with Jeanne than with Armand: for she was intent on attacking the officer. Just then leGourd intervened, assuring Jeanne that all would be set to rights, with mock-gallantry incredibly like Chauvelin's.

"You ghost!" barked Jeanne. She ran into the house, slamming the door behind her.