Sons of France Chapter 4: Not to Turn Their Backs
Marguerite sat in the homey, elegant sitting room of Blakeney Manor, trying with all her heart to console Jeanne who sat crying next to her. However, Marguerite was herself so worried about her brother that her attempts at consolation were poor. She kept whispering to her sister-in-law that everything would be alright in due time, but her mind was full of dark doubts and puzzlement. For after all, Lady Blakeney had no concept of Armand's designs to conquer leGourd; she had no idea that leGourd was a danger to the Scarlet Pimpernel. What was she to do—indeed what could she do?
"Jeanne," said Marguerite, making her voice as steady as possible, "you must tell me everything Armand has been up to." Surely, thought Marguerite, Armand could not be responsible for in anyway harming Percy's friend, Hastings. And yet Armand had been odd lately…the treachery against Percy, the insane dreams…indeed the gun was in Armand's hands!
"I thought Armand was fine," sobbed Jeanne pitifully; "but now I can remember how exhausted and troubled he really was. He complained about dreams, he spent much of his time in his room, and he slept so fitfully!—but I paid him no need! Marguerite, you must help me get to my Armand again! I failed him as a partner and I must pay for my wrongs by proving myself to him in any way possible."
"My dear Jeanne," said Marguerite with a touch of impatience, "Armand would not want to charge headlong into danger. It would be much better if you told me more information."
"The only thing I know—besides the dreams—is that Armand had some score to settle with leGourd. Just before he was taken away, Armand shouted something about Sir Fernand leGourd killing a family of aristocrats…"
Marguerite tied to make sense of what little information she had. "Armand was obviously in some kind of trouble with Sir leGourd," she thought o herself; "so why did he keep it secret? I heard him speak to Percy about regaining his honor—Armand is so hot-blooded, I suppose he could have gotten in trouble and tried to handle it himself, for honor." She mumbled aloud, "Men are such idiots. The only things of value to them are accomplishments."
"Oh, what can we do?" Jeanne cried.
Quite suddenly a servant rushed in and could barely speak the words, "Lord Dewhurst, Madame," before Tony came into the parlor. "Lady Blakeney," said Tony with animated disappointment; "I regret to say that Percy is nowhere to be found. I think…it could be that he went after Armand himself."
"But to leave without a plan…" Marguerite said, trying to stay calm.
Tony smiled his usual entrepreneur's grin. "Lady Blakeney, I know for a fact that Percy always has a plan! He's quite capable of escaping any kind of sealed steel box laid for him! I would go after him, but that old bore Andrew insisted that we let the Chief handle this himself. We shall stay here until Percy's return."
"Very well," Marguerite concurred. Jeanne was surprised at her sister-in-law's submission, but Marguerite whispered to her, "Later."
As soon as Tony had gone—which was not long, for the adventurer was very flighty—Lady Blakeney said, "Now. Both my brother and my husband are in danger, and I do not intend to wait here. I must go, even without an escort! I must speak to Armand."
Jeanne stood up and clapped her hands. "Marguerite, you're an absolute dear! We'll go together! Of course we'll have to be sure that Tony and Andrew do not know of our departure. Oh, and Elisa could take care of your Scarlet—Elisa's an angel when it comes to baby care."
"Jeanne…I can't allow you to accompany me." Marguerite's deep-blue eyes were resolute. "I know it's cruel, but…Armand made me promise. You must stay here in safety; take care of Scarlet."
Jeanne sunk back on the sofa, distraught. "Marguerite, how can you? When Percy gets into scrapes you always go with him or you sneak after him." But Jeanne knew that when strong-minded Marguerite made a decision, she could not argue against it.
Jeanne returned to her cottage, hanging her hopes entirely upon Marguerite, who had boarded a ferry-boat in five hours' time, armed with a passport and a strong heart.
When Armand fully regained consciousness, he was in the cargo hold of a ship bound for France. The sound of the roaring waves outside reminded him if the dream that had once again haunted him—the ghost, the bodies, the sea, and the voice. Thinking about his dream, Armand quickly began to see its path in the recent events of his life—old leGourd chasing him as if he were Chauvelin's ghost, and the sudden deaths of the St. Lucque's and Lord Hastings. Was this the next part of the dream: being carried across the sea as a prisoner entirely without honor? In the dream, the glistening sea and wondrous blue sky seemed comforting, like the end of a great struggle rather than the route to despair. "Unless," thought Armand, "I was meant to die in this ship. That would be almost a relief…to escape from my shame."
Silently, Armand lay down on the straw which was scattered across the floor, hoping that if he could be still enough, he would be whisked away from this painful world. But when no such alleviation came to Armand, the captive sat up and presently sensible thoughts entered his head. Firstly, Armand decided to take stock of his position. After examining his surroundings in detail, the captive came to the conclusion that he was under the care of a French authorities who had hitchhiked onto this, a regular merchant's ship. Since nobody had come to look in on him, Armand guessed there was no chance of walking on the deck, acquiring victuals, or trying to escape, until the ship reached the shores of France. These observations in place, Armand steeled himself against the pain and began to think about past few days.
Confounded in a dirty cargo hold and covered with almost more straw than shame—these hardly seem circumstances fit for a moment of clarity. However, everything was so silent and peaceful here that clarity came to the captive's brain. With a wave of self-reproach, Armand realized what an idiot he had been trying to conquer leGourd alone; the treachery that he was trying to make up for had been a result of the same mistake—wanting to do everything by himself. If Armand had trusted Percy to rescue Jeanne, he wouldn't have been in the position to be tricked into treachery. And here, if he had just told Percy about leGourd, the responsibility never would have fallen on Armand's shoulders, and much trouble would have been avoided. Why was it so hard for him to trust Percy?
"It's not really an issue of trust," thought Armand, "it's an issue of independence. I always have trouble following orders; I always forget to stop and think before charging in. It's happened so many times! Why is it so important that I listen to emotion without thinking of anything else?"
Maybe it was because he wanted to be something he was not. He was always looking to prove himself to somebody, often subconsciously. And as Armand daringly explored his emotions, thoughts, and memories, he began to realize that his need for proving himself came from events very early in his life. When his parents died, he vaguely remembered his father telling him to be all that he possibly could be. As orphans, Marguerite had done more work than Armand, and this further spurred the desire to attest his worth to her. Later, Armand formed a crush on an aristocrat girl and, determined to demonstrate his interest, wrote her a few lines of poetry; the result was an accusation of "seducing" a high-born Lady and a near-death beating for punishment. When he joined the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel, Armand was not satisfied unless he was on the most daring errands. Then, after Armand fell in love in Jeanne and hotheadedly sold out Percy to the enemy, he begged and prayed for a chance to prove his worth again. Lastly, the situation with leGourd had occurred, and Armand fell into the same cycle of behavior, causing him the same cycle of shame.
Armand knew recognized the faulty pattern now, and he was glad of it. After all, the French revolution with all its carnage had come into being because of the same pattern—people becoming too absorbed in their own defective definition of justice.
Yet how easy it was to fall back into that cycle! It was deeply important for Armand to be honorable because he felt that he was a reflection of his country, and that his family depended on him. The fact that nobody had ever fully respected Armand also contributed to his desire for upright behavior. Armand was always doing the modest tasks and being the "hot-blooded little brother" as many called him.
Now Armand saw that his perspective may have been skewed: perhaps he didn't need to prove himself to anybody. Why couldn't he just be confident in who he was? Like Percy, for example. Percy had to leave his wife and daughter constantly, but he was never ashamed. He had the courage to come home and talk with Marguerite, open his heart to her, explain the reason why he had to risk his life on the daring missions. Percy was a hero indeed, but neither could he be placed on a pedestal, for Armand had seen him do things which no proud Frenchman would accept as noble behavior. A shaft of light just began to break through to Armand's heart: he had no real shame to speak of, just imaginary shame. Then what was he to do next? Whatever he did, he would always be the passionate man he was born to be, but perhaps he could work harder on checking his motives.
While these complex thoughts raced through Armand's mind, the ship had reached France. A couple of uniformed men came down and led him rather roughly out of the ship and into a secluded little cell inside the "House of Justice" which, devoid of Robespierre and his dogs, seemed much a more promising place.
It was dark in the cell, but when Armand's eyes began to adjust he made every observation possible. The whole front wall was made of steel bars. Inside the cell was a bench for sleeping and sitting, a window, a small table on which was laid a single hunk of bread and a mug of water. Through the bars, Armand could see two or three other cells, all empty, and an old janitor cleaning them out. The janitor looked surprisingly fit and well-fed for someone of his position, although he did have a stoop when he walked and a swollen black eye.
Armand was not sure how much time passed—an hour or a day—before he heard the guards in the next room debating whether or not to let a newcomer inside. At length, footfalls could be heard approaching: somebody had come to speak with Armand. The captive sat up and approached the bar-door eagerly.
"Hmm, this place is not to your taste, is it St. Just? I like your little cottage better." It was leGourd. He smiled broadly at Armand, his lank gray hair and wrinkled old face hideous in the obscurity of the chamber. "So you killed Hastings, eh? What for—did he win a bet with you? I have heard that Englishmen take their games seriously and don't lose well…"
"You heard wrong," barked Armand, trying to keep his wits about him. "The English are sportsman and can take it easily when they lose a game. I'm French by birth, but I'm picking up a thing or two. I'm willing to admit that you've got me."
"Good! My dear boy, I'm glad to see you coming to your senses! Just between you and me, the Bourbon Restoration gives me a lot of new power…and I know you don't want to stay in this dreary place."
"Are you suggesting my release?" asked Armand.
LeGourd shrugged his sunken, bony shoulders. "I could arrange something…on the other hand I might testify against you. If your interest lies the former option, you must tell me the identity of our dear heroic sportsman The Scarlet Pimpernel. If, however, you desire the latter option, I'm entirely at your service at any moment."
"I will never give you the Pimpernel," said Armand adamantly.
"Then you will die as a dog in your dishonor!" taunted leGourd.
But this did not faze Armand. He said, "I'm not ashamed. All this time, I thought I was proving my worth to other people, but now I see I was just trying to prove my worth to myself. Making myself into something I'm not—as if I'm play-acting God himself. I'm done with all that."
LeGourd only sneered at the heroic speech. "Listen to me, St. Just," he growled, "you would be wise to halt this Pimpernel's babble and consider your motives more extensively. We all pursue our own goals and we're willing to fight for them. My goal is the capture of the Scarlet Pimpernel; and deep down, I believe your goal is peace. Peace for your family and country, am I right?" In response to Armand's silence, leGourd went on, "Give me the Pimpernel and you will live peacefully; or at least live without my constant presence. Think about it, St. Just! The world will never accept you after all this—what else can you do?"
But it was just then that Armand realized what he was supposed to do. The thunderclouds of anger and the biting wind of shame were penetrated by one bold bolt of lightening—and Armand knew. It is best explained in Armand's own words. As he told Marguerite back at the start of all these adventures: "You would in any case be my own brave sister, who would remember, when France is in peril, it is not for her sons to turn their backs on her." He was a true patriotic son of France. And the same principle was applicable for his family and for Percy: he could not turn his back on them. Right now, Armand could help Percy by not giving away his identity; and later, he could help his country by restoring the Bourbons. The Restoration was no longer a boring task to win honor, but an act of patriotism from the heart.
"My mind is made up," said Armand, "and you'll find it quite hard to argue with me. I'm afraid everyone in my acquaintance has accused me of stubbornness at least once. You may think you need to avenge Chauvelin by hunting the Pimpernel, but I'm positively certain that I don't need to avenge myself to get rid of shame. I have honor in my Family, my Country and Le Bon Dieu!"
LeGourd was stunned. He slowly left the room, but before he was completely gone, he turned back and said, "Then, St. Just, you will die."
"So be it!" exclaimed Armand passionately, almost happily.
