"Once more, Captain Branson: who is your leader? Who is the Scarlet Pimpernel?"
"I...I don't know what you mean. Why do you keep calling me by that name? And I know nothing about the …"
Chauvelin nodded once again to the thug of a prison guard. At the signal, the oaf struck Tom again, spinning his head and almost toppling him out of the chair despite the ropes that bound him.
"Now then, Dubois, not too hard. The Pimpernel won't have anything to rescue if we kill him … inadvertently."
The thug grinned a toothless smile back at His Excellency, who leaned forward towards Tom.
"Don't tell me that a mere Captain in the Militia Reserve automatically has access to the Prince Regent's Equerry. Or that you and he have oh so much to say to each other."
Tom spat out some blood and replied "I have no idea what you are talking about. Whoever you think this person is, he isn't me." He had only one task: keep playing the innocent, idiotic French guard, the victim of a mistaken identity. He knew that Anthony would come for him.
Chauvelin regarded Tom like a puma playing with a mouse, silently for some time. Then he leaned back abruptly.
"Take him back to his cell. We will try again … soon."
He turned on his heel and left the torture chamber. This was clearly not going to work. Captain Branson would die before he consciously betrayed his leader. The only value the Irishman had now was as bait. But just to make sure, it might be prudent to have an even more enticing lure.
Within ten minutes, the French Ambassador to the Court of St James was hastening back to England.
Anthony was more than usually quiet on the voyage back to England. Locked in his cabin, he thought the problem through from every angle. Unfortunately, there was nothing more to be done in France immediately. Rescuing Tom and carrying out the most important rescue facing the League would mean redesigning the whole mission. Blundering in without a plan threatened everyone's safety. A mission of this size would also take all the manpower at his disposal, and many of their loyal staff as well. Of course, he would not put valets and butlers in places of danger. The very thought sickened him. But he would need all the members of the League in the field if they were to pull off the most daring rescue he had ever attempted, which meant he would have to rely on Stewart and his colleagues to provide backup. Because reaching the prisoners, four of them in total including Tom, had to take place at the same time, since Chauvelin knew enough to realise that the rescues would be linked and would put a strengthened guard presence in place. And Chauvelin had the entire French army at his disposal.
If only they were all being held in the same place! Robespierre had been too clever for him there; four different prisons! At least they were all in Paris. If he could...
"I said we're at Dover, Sir" said Captain Briggs, the ship's master, who had only just succeeded in getting Anthony's attention by raising his voice a little more than usual.
"Hmm? Oh, yes. Thank you, Briggs. Would you ask Sir Andrew to step down here for a moment? Thank you."
Anthony returned to the paperwork on his desk. The plans were shaping up, but there were still too many imponderables, and too few members of the League, for his liking.
"You wanted to see me, Anthony?"
Andrew had been Anthony's friend since their schooldays. It was only his support that had enabled the Scarlet Pimpernel to be as effective as he had been. Anthony valued his opinion.
"Yes, how are things with the de Neuvillettes?"
"Very well. The Comte keeps asking to thank you in person, and I keep telling him that that is not possible. Geoffrey is seeing them off the ship and into the carriage, and then he's going to escort them to London."
"Excellent. Though...you saw how the Comte was both brave and obedient during the mission. Do you think he might make a member of the League?"
Andrew thought for a moment, then nodded.
"I think that would be a good idea. He's steady under pressure, and his knowledge would be very useful."
"When you go up, ask Geoffrey to sound him out. In the meanwhile, would you look at these?" he said waving a hand at the papers covering his desk. "I...I know we have too few men, but we...I must try."
"Of course, Anthony. When you get back to Richmond, try to get some sleep. Let me go to see Mrs Branson."
"No. Thank you, but no. She is my sister-in-law. I must talk to her."
That very night, there was a ball given by the Prince Regent himself. Despite being dog-tired, Anthony had to attend. There would be talk if he didn't. And if he was going, Edith had to accompany him for the same reason. Sir Anthony and Lady Strallan had not been married long, and interest in their rather unconventional marriage was still rife. Best to keep the right side of it.
He spent the day furthering his plans to rescue Tom and, at Stewart's pleading, trying to catch some sleep. Then, far too soon, he was with his wife on their way to Kew Palace. Stewart had pleaded with Sir Anthony not to drive, but Anthony waved that suggestion away.
He and Edith had not talked, not really, since that night in his bedroom. There seemed very little to be said. However, they maintained a polite truce between the two of them, for the sake of their friends, acquaintances, and the staff.
For Stewart, it was almost unbearable to be in the presence of such sadness. Lord knows how Lady Strallan or Sir Anthony feel. The loyal valet felt so very helpless, but there seemed to be nothing he could do, apart from be present if Sir Anthony ever wanted to talk.
He never did though.
Anthony held the carriage door open for his wife as he watched her walk gracefully towards him. Dressed appropriately for a Prince's ball in a velvet dress of the deepest claret, with a clutch of rubies and diamonds sparkling at her throat in the shape of a humble wayside flower, Anthony kept his face bland and inscrutable, though he lost the battle with his heart. She's wearing that jewelled pimpernel in MY honour, yet she doesn't know it! He yearned for her whenever they spent time together. However, as their entire marriage had been doomed since before they had met, he bit his lip … but still let his eyes wander hopelessly over her.
With her foot on the carriage step she turned suddenly.
"Will you not ride with me, Sir Anthony? Please?"
Nearly undone, he coughed. "If my lady wishes it."
He glanced up to Stewart on the box, and an invisible signal passed between them. Then Anthony handed her in and followed her, as Stewart, sighing with relief, urged the horses into action.
"I do not recall seeing that rather sumptuous gown before, my lady. Is it new?"
"Yes, it was something that Sybil convinced me would look good on me, although I think it would look better on her, if Captain Branson could afford such."
"Much though I respect and admire your sister, I believe that you do it more justice than she, or even Lady Mary, could."
Edith merely glanced at him. "You flatter me, Sir."
He looked out of the window, hiding his face. "What is a husband for?"
So quietly that he had to strain to hear it, she answered " 'for the mutual society, help, and comfort, that the one ought to have of the other, and for the procreation of children' … or so I thought."
In the gathering darkness, she could not see his eyes, but could sense the tension that had seized his body. After too long a pause, she whispered "Do I recall correctly, sir?"
It was enough to push him over the edge.
"The vows we took, madam, did not consider whether the one had gratuitously endangered herself and her own family, and thereby, the peace of Europe; or, indeed, whether the other should not withhold his trust as a consequence."
They pulled into the drive of the palace behind a queue of elegant coaches.
"You know nothing, Sir Anthony Strallan" she said sadly. "And I see no reason to disabuse you of your opinion since you have hardened your heart against me."
She opened the door of the carriage herself and went to leave. His hand on her arm stopped her.
"If I have, as you say, no idea of what happened in France, why won't you tell me, Edith?"
"Because I failed! I tried so very hard, yet I failed" she cried, and before her tears began to fall, she jumped down to the gravel and walked up to the shining lights of the entrance, past the other coaches, and to hell with propriety.
Andrew ffoulkes was waiting for him when he finally walked through the magnificent doors.
"Anthony! You need to know: Chauvelin is here, and he's asking awkward questions."
"Good evening to you too, Andrew" Anthony answered with sang froid. "What sort of …"
"Bon soir, milord ffoulkes, milord Strallan. We have not met, yet I am emboldened to make your acquaintance on the recommendation of the Regent himself. Such a charming and knowledgeable prince."
Behind Anthony, with all the arrogance of a lion walking into a sheepfold, was the French Ambassador.
"Monsieur, you flatter us, I'm sure" muttered Andrew, resisting the temptation to glance at Anthony for reassurance.
"Monsieur Chauvelin, I am honoured that you feel I am worth your time and attention. Most people in my own country think I am boring to the point of tears. I can't imagine how tedious I will appear to someone for whom English is not their first language" offered Anthony.
Chauvelin gave a small bow, smiling like a very devil.
"I am promised that you are the person absolument to talk to regarding agricultural improvement. There is much need of such expertise in France at the present moment."
"Well, I can see that you would need to look further afield, if all the native heads holding all the information you need have been severed …"
There were a few audible gasps from those around the trio at that remark. Anthony, giving a prize performance, stared at the Frenchman blankly until he felt it the right time to 'realise' his misstep.
"Er … I mean, cut off from their lands … that is to say … I would, of course, be happy to help" he winced.
Chauvelin had come to a conclusion of his own.
"Perhaps I have already taken up too much of your time, Sir Anthony." And with that, he drifted away.
Having been served something to steady himself, Andrew made sure Chauvelin had really left before finding himself by Anthony's side once more.
"Dear God, Anthony, that was a risky one!"
"But a calculated risk. It paid off. He now thinks I am a socially inept idiot with a passing interest in mud. He also thinks that you are a brainless hanger-on. For the moment, I think we can be cautiously optimistic that we ourselves are not being considered candidates for headlessness."
Andrew gave a shake of his head. "You will be the death of me!"
"I sincerely hope not, Andrew. Suzanne would make mincemeat of me. Talking of which, where is my wife?"
"She stomped in without you and went straight into the Orangery to find her sister."
"Sybil?"
"Yes."
"Damn! I must speak with Mrs Branson before the night is out. We have to get back to France at first light the day after tomorrow!"
"Avoiding your spouse already, Anthony?! You have fallen into married life quickly. Had a lovers' tiff, have you?" chuckled Andrew, his mood falling just as quickly when he saw the look on Anthony's face.
"There is something I have missed about Edith, something that no one else in her family suspects about what happened at Grantham's château. Something crucial. I think that our friend Chauvelin is somehow involved. I can't speak to Sybil with Edith there. Could you distract her somehow? Perhaps drag her off to see Suzanne? How is Suzanne, by the way?"
"Six months pregnant and feeling fatter than the Prince himself. Consider it done, Anthony. How long do you need?"
"Ten minutes will be ample."
Many apologies for the delay. My computer packed up, and then my sister died.