A return to Lord and Lady Hauntley's Ball – where this story began – early 1793
It was getting on towards one o'clock in the morning. Older attendees at the ball had drifted home. The younger party-goers were dancing and carousing. In a private upstairs study, away from the party, the Prince of Wales helped himself to a generous snifter of Lord Hauntley's brandy and then poured one for his only companion.
"I'm sorry that I haven't been able to thank you myself in person until now, Anthony. There just didn't seem to be an opportunity that wasn't suspicious. And, of course, there's been your marriage."
Sir Anthony took the glass and toasted his friend.
"Please, there was no need, sir. I'm just glad that it all went according to plan."
"You have no idea!" Prinny sat down and gestured to Anthony to follow suit. "If Robespierre had carried out the execution of a British peer, there would have been no way out of a war. If he were well, my father would have my guts for garters!" He took a good gulp of his drink. "Of course, there may yet be no way out of war but at least you gave us a few more months, or perhaps even years, to prepare. England thanks you."
Anthony inclined his head modestly whereupon they sat in companionable silence for a while.
"Of course, it's turned out alright for you personally too! Rescuing Robert led directly to marrying his daughter, yes?! I never thought I would see the day when Anthony Strallan married! So, how's conjugal bliss, then?"
Anthony didn't look up from his glass. "Very pleasant, thank you, sir."
The Prince regarded him cynically. "That bad, eh?" Anthony glanced at him with discomfort. After a moment George continued "I married because the country, and my father, expected me to breed. Romance had nothing to do with it, but I thought that you and Edith … that is to say, I believed there was more than that between you. Much more. What happened?"
Anthony gave a shrug. "Marriage, I suppose."
"Rot! I'd never seen a man more in love with a woman. You were besotted with her! What the devil happened?"
Anthony sighed.
"You probably know that Grantham is not circumspect in his choice of guests. That was as true at his French château as it is here…that is, his former château. He foolishly entertained some Austrian diplomats. One of those diplomats took advantage of Lady Mary's flirtation with him and he physically attacked her. He died in her bed from taking too much laudanum and too much brandy. Although the event was covered up, someone … close to the family deliberately told some prying French investigators. Robespierre was informed of it, giving him the perfect excuse he needed to arrest the Crawleys, seize his property, and, if I hadn't stopped him, execute him and march a merry way to war with England. "
George was confused. "I did not know of this. And worrying though it is, it has a bearing on the happiness of your marriage…how, exactly?
"It was my wife who leaked the knowledge of that excuse to the French investigators. It was my wife who almost led your realm to war with France and the deadly maniacs who now control it."
"I don't believe it!"
"Lady Grantham told me this herself. I believe that Edith embarrasses her, and Cora didn't want her to embarrass me."
"Good grief! But, you being the noble Sir Anthony, you married her anyway, even though you had ceased to love her. What a tragedy."
"Ceased?! I will love her until the day I die. But I can never let her know it, I cannot risk her knowing anything of my work or the League. It would be too dangerous. She is dangerous."
"I'm so very sorry, Anthony."
After a pause he rose from his seat.
"I don't suppose there is anything I can do to help, but carry on doing what I do at present?"
"Not really, sir. The agent in Paris is in constant danger, but the information that they supply is invaluable. I am truly grateful."
"Not at all, old chap. This island has much so much to thank you for, it's the least that the monarchy and the government can do to support you."
They were walking towards the door to rejoin the party when the Prince asked "What do you make of Chauvelin?"
"I haven't met him yet, but from what I've learned of him and his past endeavours, he is very dangerous. He's smart, he's tenacious, and he's ruthless. We will have to be careful."
"Then let's hope he trips up on protocol and we can expel 'im!" Prinny's laughter was weak. He stopped by the door and turned to Anthony, and asked hesitantly and quietly "And what news of your … most important rescue?"
"Understandably, the authorities are taking no chances. Each member of the family is held separately, so if one of them escapes the security surrounding the others will be redoubled … or worse. We will need to plan for three simultaneous rescues for any of them to be successful, and for all of us to get away before the French realise what has happened. The time is not right just yet, but there may be an opening in a few months' time."
With a final grateful hand on Anthony's shoulder, the Prince said "Well, God bless you Anthony."
…
At the same time, downstairs in one of the boudoirs, Lady Strallan and Mrs Branson were talking quietly.
"So, how's conjugal bliss, then?"
Edith looked blankly at her sister, then, to break the silence, she hazarded a guess.
"Much the same as you found it, I suppose."
"Oh, I'm so pleased for you, Edith. You officially outrank Mary now! At present, she, like me, is a mere 'Mrs'."
"She will never hear of it from me, I swear."
Sybil giggled into her champagne. "Oh it is lovely to have us all married, all settled." She paused. "And the first baby on the way!"
It took Edith a moment to realise her meaning.
"Sybil! Really! Oh gosh, how wonderful! You are alright, aren't you?"
"Oh yes, fit as a flea. At least until Tom's Irish relatives arrive. Tom says there's hoards of them, and because it's a bit of a trek they are going to stay for at least a month either side of the birth."
Edith sighed. "But it is nice that your husband's family are solicitous."
Sybil put her hand on her sister's. "I'm sure you will be in the family way soon enough."
That was finally too much.
"Only if immaculate conception is still a thing."
"Pardon?"
"Anthony never visits me."
"What?"
"Never. The marriage hasn't been consummated. And there seems to be nothing I can do to help matters. Oh Sybil, I have lost the love of my husband and I have no idea what I have done to do so, or how to win him back!"
Sybil hugged her as she finally let her tears flow, and whispered that she would help in any way she could.
…
In a secluded alcove, a waiter holding a tray of full glasses stood to attention. Behind him, a heavily-accented voice said "Anything?"
"Not yet, Monsieur, although Captain Branson has been acting strangely this evening."
"Strangely? How so?"
"He usually sticks to his wife's side like glue, but this evening he has been seen at the gambling tables."
"Pah! The man's merely discovered how awful marriage can be." Or perhaps he has discovered how awful his wife's sister's behaviour was when she was in France, he thought.
"I would've thought so too, but he was there with His Highness' Equerry, and seemed to be more interested in Lord Robert's conversation than the luck of the cards."
"Mmm. That is different, I agree. I have more orders for you."
Ambassador Chauvelin appeared from the shadows and took a glass from the waiter's tray, replacing it with what seemed to be a far more generous tip than the drink warranted wrapped in a piece of paper.
…
"Oh good shot, Strallan!"
Anthony bowed his head modestly towards his father-in-law, and stood back to allow others to take their shots unbothered by his expert discernment.
Tom, Robert, and Matthew all fired at the distant targets, but none hit the bull's eye quite as surely as Anthony's had done. Their sport concluded, they all meandered back to the club in twos and threes.
"Anthony, I must speak with you" Tom said quietly by his side.
"Catch me on my way out and ask for a lift. Interrupt Robert if he detains me" was his hushed response.
At the start of Robert's third anecdote concerning the Earl of Southampton (which everyone present had heard before at least once), Tom remarked loudly that he really had to be going to report to barracks.
"I thought you were only in the Reserve?" exclaimed Robert.
"I am, sir, but even we have to train sometime."
"And, going by your performance this afternoon, you need to more than anyone, Tom!" joked Matthew.
"I'll remind you that I am a Captain and that I am not required to shoot that far when I have artillery to do it for me!" parried Tom. "And, to be fair, in battle I wouldn't have to hit a bull's eye, just somewhere on the enemy's person would be enough."
"I, too, need to get back to Town. May I offer you a ride some of the way, Captain?" Anthony asked politely.
Once they'd made their farewells and were on their way, Anthony asked Tom "So, Tom, what's bothering you?"
"Sybil spent time with Edith at the Ball last night. Edith, er, confided in Sybil that your marriage has not been …"
"Consummated. I think the word you are looking for is consummated." Anthony stared out of the carriage window.
"Er, yes. Well, anyway, Edith is desperately unhappy that you don't love her any more and asked Sybil to ask me to ask you what she can do to remedy matters." He slumped having accomplished his difficult task.
"The marriage has made us both miserable, but I cannot trust her. There is nothing to be done, nothing to be said. It would be better to concentrate on the mission to rescue the Duke of Montmorency and his family next Thursday. We will need fifteen horses, fifteen cavalry uniforms two small enough to fit the Duke's wife and daughter, and a cart with some rotten pumpkins. Make sure that they smell. Here are the names of the League that we will need. Now, what will happen will be …"
…
"Halt, citizeness."
"What! What is it! Where's Lieutenant Doublon? He's always nice to me, he is! I like his smile."
The cart stopped just short of the toll-gate out of Paris. The driver, an elderly lady with warts on her nose and a piercing voice, was certainly not used to this sort of treatment.
"All persons and vehicles leaving Paris must be searched" stated the officer.
"Hah!" the crone scoffed, "Much good may it do you. I've only got the squashy ones left. I sold all the rest, and that's a blessing."
"Selling anything's a blessing, these days" muttered one of the privates, digging his bayonet into one of the more fragrant pumpkins and wrinkling his nose. It had been a boring day. This was as near to entertainment as his duty got.
"Ah, but this is very fortunate. The money I got today will help pay those devils of doctors. Oh, what fees they charge! But it has to be done."
The officer couldn't help himself. "What has to be done?"
"Buying the medicine for my poor grandson. He's in the back there with the pumpkins."
"He can't have no sense of smell then" offered another soldier, enjoying this.
"He's the one who's smelling. He's got the pox; maybe even the Plague, they say."
As one man, the squad recoiled away from the cart.
"Get out of here, you old hag, and take your rotten grandson with you."
Complaining loudly, the old woman drove slowly through the gates.
Ten minutes later a full detachment of cavalry galloped up to the gates. The Major shouted down "Have you let any carts through the gate in the last hour?!"
"Yes sir."
"An old woman driving a cart containing pumpkins and claiming her grandson was there too?!"
"Yes sir."
"Please tell me you didn't let them through?"
"Well, yes sir. We searched the cart and there was nothing …"
With complete truthfulness, the Major bellowed "Fool! That was the Scarlet Pimpernel! Open the gates!"
The gates were opened as fast as the soldiers could do it in their panic, and through them, on their way to England, rode twelve members of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel, with the Duke and Duchess of Montmorency and their daughter.