It was Andrew ffoulkes who saw them first. He had been on watch for only about half and hour when he saw the soldiers far away over the Causeway. He summoned Anthony immediately.
"Well, they took longer to find us than I thought they would" Anthony muttered as he climbed up to Andrew's lookout position in the belltower.
"Perhaps Chauvelin isn't as clever as you think" hoped Andrew.
Anthony shook his head. "I'm afraid it isn't that. He's a very devil. Something else must've delayed them." He was silent as he thought over his plans, analysing the movements of the French infantrymen approaching the mainland shore. He had briefed The League with the three most likely courses of action that Chauvelin would follow, and the League's plans of action to match. With a worried look on his face, he muttered to himself "It all depends on what he does now…"
As the two Englishmen watched, the column of soldiers and an accompanying coach halted. There was movement and what looked liked orders being given by someone in the carriage. Then about a dozen of the force made their way across the Causeway towards the Mount.
Anthony released the breath he'd been holding. "Good! Tell everyone that we follow the first plan!"
…
"Commander!"
"Yes, Citizen!"
"I want you to take twelve of your soldiers and cross over to the island. If you find any Englishmen, kill them. If you can take their Leader alive, do so. When you have made sure that the place is secure, send a signal."
"Yes, Citizen. And the monastery…?"
"Burn it to the ground for all I care, with all the monks! Just capture the Pimpernel, recover his body, or make the isle secure for a search, and let me know when you've done it."
"Citizen!" The soldier saluted and left.
Chauvelin sat back in his seat in the coach and glared at his two companions, both bound and gagged. If, for whatever reason, this chase should not succeed, the Pimpernel would certainly return to try to rescue these two: his wife and his brother-in-law/colleague in The League. Then he, Chauvelin, would set such a series of traps that no one would be able to escape, not even that weasel Sir Anthony Strallan. He watched the ramparts on the island, and waited.
…
A length of cloth was being waved in the distance by a soldier.
Chauvelin saw it before anyone else. He smiled like a tiger.
"Citizen! The signal! What are your orders?" shouted the Captain.
"Continue over to the monastery. I wish to reacquaint myself with the most boring man in England" he smiled goadingly at Edith. She stared her silent fear back.
Once they were nearly over the Causeway, Chauvelin leaned out of the carriage window.
"Captain!"
"Citizen!"
"Choose five of your soldiers to come with us. The rest of the column are to surround the Mount; completely surround the island…twenty paces out onto the sands. Arrest anyone who tries to leave. Execute anyone who resists arrest."
"Very good, Citizen."
After the orders were obeyed and the guard placed around the Mount, the carriage and escort continued up to the Monastery. There at the gates were the advance party, standing to attention. Chauvelin lost no time in alighting from the coach.
"What have you found?"
"We arrested about a dozen Englishmen, but there are no monks here, Citizen. No one apart from this peasant."
A shivering wreck of a man was thrown to the ground at Chauvelin's feet.
"Who are you?" he barked.
"I…I am the monks' odd job man. I go to the mainland to market, thing like that."
"What has happened to all the monks?"
"The Englishmen, they came and hustled all the brothers off the isle. They said they needed it."
Chauvelin lowered over the trembling man, and spoke very precisely.
"Then what happened with the Englishmen?"
"Some of them rode away, some of them stayed. As I told your Captain, your soldiers found all but the tall one, he's been in the Abbot's study for hours now."
Chauvelin allowed himself a moment: At last, The Pimpernel is within my grasp! He thought of a dozen ways to apprehend him, some more violent than others. His fists twitched by his sides. "Where is the Abbot's study?"
"Up those stairs, overlooking the Hall, sir."
"Is that the only way up to the study?"
"Yes, sir."
He turned to the Captain.
"Where are the English prisoners?"
"We locked them in the wine cellar, Citizen."
"Excellent. Lock this idiot away with them, then bring our two, aha, guests to the Hall. Keep them there, in full sight of the study, until I give further orders. And have some soldiers stationed on those stairs."
Chauvelin slowly walked up the stairs to the Abbot's study. His eyes darting around, his heart thumping. His knowledge of Sir Anthony Strallan, (and he had been studying this complex and infuriating man for months now!) told him that the baronet was not a naturally violent man. The danger to himself was minimal. Nevertheless…
He found the door open. Quiet noises, such as a man writing might make, came from within. He stepped forward.
The man at the desk looked up.
"The devil?!"
"At your service, Sir Anthony. And, this time, I have got you! Your ingenuity, your energy, your audacity have been so very…"
"Me?" Anthony sat back from the desk, palms stretched open placatingly. "Oh, monsieur, but I am the most boring man in England, and very probably in France as well!"
"You may have convinced everyone else of that, but not me, Sir Anthony, not me. I am here, at your rendezvous, and you and all your men are in my possession." He leaned over the desk. "Where is the Dauphin?"
"By now, I should think he is being cared for by my sister in Luxembourg, and under the protection of her husband. He's the English Chargé d'Affaires there, you know."
Chauvelin winced.
"You are a meddling amateur in European politics, Sir Anthony."
"And Louis is a ten year-old boy" Anthony shot back suddenly standing, with a momentary flash of anger. "He'll never reign in France, I accept that now! But he deserves a chance to recover and have his childhood in peace."
"That is as may be, Sir Anthony, but for you, ha! your little game is over."
"Because you hold all the trump cards?"
"Yes! Precisely! More trumps than you think. The stairs leading to this room are occupied by my soldiers. More of them surround the Mount. I have only to raise my voice."
Anthony turned and walked away from the little Frenchman.
"Yes, I see your point. But if I should reach the door, and make a dash!?"
Anthony took a rugby-tackle stance as if to run for it, but without actually moving. Chauvelin, never a particularly physical man, awkwardly blocked the bulkier Anthony's way to the door. Anthony straightened up, smiling.
"I don't make a dash. I don't need to because one of my friends might shoot you from behind, perhaps hiding in that clock."
Chauvelin, twisting this way and that, tried to guard Anthony while also attempting to find non-existent League members behind him. He was growing visibly more agitated the more Anthony played with him.
"Oh come now" Anthony laughed, "no one really ever hides in a clock. There wouldn't be room. You see the pendulum would…"
"Ah mon dieu!" Chauvelin swore loudly.
"…not a horologist? Your loss. Or am I just boring you? Well, anyway, talking of boring…this whole mound is honeycombed with secret passages that you do not know…and I do."
Chauvelin took a breath and straightened his shoulders. Time to play an ace.
"If you want to go, Sir Anthony, you may go, but you will come back of your own accord."
"Alas, you overestimate the charm of your society, monsieur Chauvelin."
"There is one other trump card of which you know nothing. Down there" he indicated the main hall "there is a woman under arrest." Chauvelin stopped talking, certain that he could play mind games better than Sir Anthony ever could.
Anthony went to the small balcony overlooking the hall. He looked down and saw, to his horror, his own wife and Matthew Crawley surrounded by French guards.
As he retreated back to the Abbot's study, Chauvelin stated in a more confident voice "Lady Strallan has forfeited her life for aiding the enemies of the Republic…twice over, the Austrians, and now you."
Anthony continued walking to the window over the sea, without speaking.
"So, now, Sir Anthony, is the game over? Is this the last adventure of the Scarlet Pimpernel?"
Anthony turned to him quietly and decidedly. "If I give up, what then?"
"A firing squad…in the cloisters."
"And Edith?"
"Oh, Lady Strallan will be taken to Paris, to be incarcerated in the very prison cell lately vacated by Marie Antoinette. There she will be treated in exactly the same way as the ex-queen was treated, and for the same offence: collaboration with the Austrians…Do you know what that means, Sir Anthony? It does not mean a summary trial and a speedy death, with the halo and glory of martyrdom thrown in. It means days, weeks, months perhaps, of misery and humiliation…it means, that, like Marie Antoinette, she will never be allowed solitude for one single instant of the day or night. It means the constant proximity of soldiers drunk with cruelty and with hate … the insults, the shame, for soldiers and gaolers alike the 'favours' freely taken and lasciviously enjoyed…"
"I'll kill you before that happens" Anthony whispered, more ferocious than any shout.
"You are not in a position to bargain, Sir Anthony" Chauvelin jeered.
At that point, Anthony drew a pistol from his coat pocket.
"I disagree. I've never used this before, Chauvelin. I've never needed to. But I've always carried it with me just in case I should need to."
Anthony had to give the man credit, faced with an enemy pointing a firearm at him, Chauvelin showed as much bravery as he would have expected from any member of the League. All Chauvelin said was "Well?" accepting that the initiative had been snatched away from him again.
Anthony continued "If you cause harm to my wife in any way, I have many friends—people who owe me their lives, throughout England and France—who will ensure that you pay for it, even after my death. However, if you will promise on your honour as a republican that you will say nothing of this to my wife, and to guarantee the League, and all persons English or French under my protection at the present moment safe passage back to my ship and thence to England, then yes, of my own free will, I shall walk in front of your firing squad."
Chauvelin hesitated, but then with a silent triumph answered "I accept".
Anthony turned the pistol around and offered him the grip. Their eyes met, hunter and hunted, understanding each other. Chauvelin took the pistol and put it away in the desk drawer. Then he went to the study door and shouted for the Captain of the guards to bring a detachment of twelve men.
Anthony retreated once more to stare at the sea out of the window, utterly still.
What neither of them expected was that the Captain, in order to obey his latest orders had to bring his prisoners with him. Lady Strallan burst into the study fighting out of the grip of a French escort, and with her was Matthew Crawley.
"Chauvelin! Let me see my husband! I demand that you let me see…"
She trailed off as she saw Anthony. He was still dressed in the dirty, raggéd clothes of his disguise. Two days' stubble graced his jaw, and there were lines of tiredness and worry around his eyes.
None of that mattered in the slightest to Edith. Relief flooded her body at seeing him still alive, relief which increased tenfold because he didn't look angry at her. In fact, he looked at her with all the adoration he'd shown during their courtship, holding out his arms to her.
She hesitated only a moment and then she ran to him.
He caught her up in his arms and held her very close.
"Oh, Edith, my sweet one. My dearest!"
"Oh my darling, my love!" she whispered. "I'm so sorry. Can you ever forgive me?"
He drew back just a little to look into her eyes.
"But it is I who should ask for your forgiveness. I should have trusted you."
"I hardly gave you any chance to do so" she confessed.
"It doesn't matter now" he said.
"Are you wounded?"
"Only a broken heart, and you alone can mend that."
He bent down and caught her mouth with his; a kiss full of truth and solace and love.
Chauvelin pointedly cleared his throat as the escort party arrived at the door.
Edith looked at the Frenchman with such venom and hatred that he was momentarily put off his stride. She turned back to Anthony. "I only wanted to warn you, and everything has gone wrong again, just as it did with the Austrians. I led him to you! Oh God!"
As she let her tears fall, Anthony hugged her protectively, resting his head on hers with his eyes closed.
Quietly Edith said "Let me die with you."
Anthony looked at her with anguish.
"My dear, what sort of gentleman would I be if I allowed my wife to stand beside me at the last when she didn't have to? Especially when I have been at great pains to negotiate with Monsieur Chavelin your safe passage back to England?"
Folding her back into his embrace he murmured "Now then, my sweet one, I knew that my escapades as The Scarlet Pimpernel were always most likely going to end this way. Let me face death on my own terms, with my head held high. And remember, my dearest darling, I love you more than the sun and stars, and I will conquer anything, anything, even death, to be with you. I will always love you. Have courage." He kissed her then with every ounce of love that ran through his veins.
Chauvelin nodded to the Captain of the squad who brought the soldiers to attention. Anthony, slowly drawing away from his wife, also brought himself up to his full height, never taking his eyes from Edith's until he turned and walked between the two columns of soldiers.
Matthew gently put his arm around Edith's shoulders as she watched the guards march out from the study taking her darling away from her forever. The only sign of her distress was leaning on Matthew as he offered her his support.
When they had gone Chauvelin put his hands behind his back and walked slowly to the door of the study and back.
They waited. Matthew tried to comfort Edith, but she stood like a statue, listening for the merest hint of what was happening in the cloisters below.
Then they heard the Captain, very clearly give the order to halt.
"Right turn!"
A pause.
In her mind's eye she couldn't help imagining her husband taking his place and facing his executioners.
"Present arms!"
Another pause.
"Take aim!"
Time seemed to slow. Chauvelin lost patience and growled "Fire, damn you!"
"Fire!"