I'm so sorry to keep you all waiting.
.
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!"
…
"Anthony!"
The shots and Edith's harsh, agonised sob almost coincided. She gave in to her grief and wept bitterly in Matthew's arms, collapsing to her knees.
Chauvelin's reaction was quite different. He closed his eyes as if in ecstasy, and gave a long slow sigh. Then he glanced up with a look of pure evil.
"Captain!" he shouted "Captain!"
"Citizen!" came the reply from the doorway.
"Make sure that the Pimpernel's body is safely delivered to Paris. On the orders of Citizen Robespierre it will be guillotined at the Place de la Revolution." He had been looking at Edith while speaking this, quite obviously enjoying her distress.
"And the prisoners?" asked the Captain.
"They are to be taken to Paris as well, and for the same fate…eventually."
"I'm afraid I can't let you break your promise like that, monsieur." The voice speaking with care but in ordinary, boring tones petrified Chauvelin rigid. He spun round on his heel and stared in terror at the vision of Sir Anthony Strallan strolling leisurely toward him from the doorway.
"Good heavens" he droned "I do believe you think I'm my own ghost. Well, that's my…how did you put it, my ingenuity, energy, and audacity." He turned towards Edith who wore an expression of bewilderment tinged with hope.
"Anthony" she breathed. She couldn't allow herself to feel joy. She was ice inside; they were still in danger. But he had survived again; each time she found herself despairing, her brilliant Anthony had found a way through. God, how she loved him!
"Have courage, my dearest darling. I told you that nothing would keep me from you."
Before she could reply, Chauvelin came to his senses.
"Captain! Captain!"
There was a hubbub of activity and the Captain and his squad appeared at the door.
"Arrest him. For god's sake, how did he escape? Arrest him and kill him!"
The squad and Matthew dissolved into laughter, as Anthony, smiling, approached the little Frenchman.
"Oh, don't tell me that you haven't worked it out yet? Someone as clever as you?" He went to stand with the men.
"Let me introduce you, because you were right when you said that this was my firing squad. They are all members of the League of The Scarlet Pimpernel. I'm afraid your men are getting very cold down in the cellars; that is if they've woken up yet. When they arrived we had to hit them a tad hard, and, of course, we borrowed their uniforms as well; all but poor Geoffrey over there. He makes a pretty good monastery odd job man, don't you think? Not a bad act for a Viscount." This caused some jostling laughter among the League.
"But why this charade? This mock execution?" Chauvelin spat.
"Oh, I couldn't deprive you of your moment of triumph! After all, that moment is all I could spare you. And it passed the time…until the tide."
"You cannot escape!" Chauvelin roared. "There are more soldiers outside, surrounding the Mount. You cannot escape."
"I'm sure you know best, monsieur. It's a wonderful thing always being right, isn't it?"
To his squad in more serious tones he asked "Any casualties?" To his relief there was a chorus of 'no's'.
Edith held her hand out to him.
"None, but your wife, whose heart has been ripped apart twice in the last twelve hours."
"Then you shall choose and carry out the punishment, my sweet one" he answered, causing a few wolf whistles from behind him. Without looking around, Anthony said "I will deal with you later, Captain Branson!" Another chorus of laughs.
Pulling her arm through his, Anthony bowed politely in Chauvelin's direction.
"But we must be going, monsieur. Time and tide wait for no man, you know. Lead on, Captain."
As the squad filed out, Chauvelin made a sudden dash for the desk, opening the drawer and pulling out the pistol that Anthony had surrendered after their agreement. He pointed it at The Pimpernel and pulled the trigger.
There was a quiet click as the hammer struck the empty pan.
Anthony reached out to him calmly and took the weapon from him by the barrel.
"We never load them. They're dangerous things, you know; can never be too careful. And please don't bother seeing us to my ship. My ship will come to me."
"What?!"
As Sir Anthony left, Chauvelin ran to the window. He was a Parisian, he didn't understand anything about the sea. What he saw terrified him.
The daily tidal bore, on which Anthony was depending, was coming towards the Mount, faster than a man could run, three feet high, unrelenting and unforgiving.
He ran down the stairs but Sir Anthony and his party were nowhere to be seen. Then he continued through the hall and out into the courtyard. The screams of the guards posted on the sands began before he reached the Causeway. Chauvelin was too occupied trying to save his men from the rising waters that he didn't notice the schooner brought in expertly with the tide, further round the Mount only a few minutes later, nor the launch that rowed to the pier and collected a motley band of English noblemen dressed as French soldiers, and a tall man gallantly carrying a well-dressed lady.
…
Once everyone was on board and the ship was safely on her course back to England, Anthony finally set Edith down on her own feet and entrusted her care to Captain Briggs.
"I must see to The League. I just need to make sure that they are all right, especially Tom."
"The surgeon is looking him over in the sick bay, Anthony" Andrew informed him.
Anthony nodded his thanks. "Tom's been through so much and yet he insisted that he took part in hoodwinking Chauvelin. But I think it was good for him that he did: a just vengeance, perhaps."
"I understand, Anthony. Give Tom my love. And I am in very good hands with Captain Briggs."
"Let me show you down to the master's cabin, my lady. You can rest easy there" the old seafarer said.
"Take care of her, Briggs" murmured Anthony. "I won't be long, m'dear." He kissed her hand and hurried to see to his friends.
Briggs showed her to Anthony's rather modest and workmanlike cabin, and left her there to recover, but Edith found that her nerves were still too disturbed to relax. Instead she let the slow-blossoming feeling of being safe envelope her at its own glacial pace. Meanwhile she distracted herself by looking around her husband's sanctum.
On the wooden walls maps of France were mounted. Army manuals containing descriptions of postings, names of officers, the uniforms worn by different regiments, and many other details lined the bookshelves along with reports and proclamations from the National Convention, and the Committee for Public Safety. She noticed how well thumbed they were. Most were annotated by her husband's neat and elegant handwriting. To one side there was a small bed. In the centre was a large desk. And wasn't that so like Anthony she thought: work comes first, rest is not as important.
She began to look over the papers on the desk, and was fascinated to find a diagram of Mont St Michel and its monastery inked over with names and positions. She found the symbol representing Anthony and let her fingers rest over it.
She suddenly thought that she should not be looking through Anthony's private papers, not without his permission anyway. She cursed herself and sat back on the bed intending to close her eyes when something else caught her eye.
On the bedside table, there was a sealed letter addressed to her! She picked it up delicately. The hand was undoubtedly Anthony's. Should she open it? Was this why he wanted her to be left alone in his cabin, so she would have privacy to read this letter?
She couldn't think of any other reason why Anthony would specifically place her here with this note so obviously on display. There was nothing wrong in reading a letter addressed to her.
She opened it, and read it.
…
Anthony, reassured that all his friends were unharmed (or, in the case of Tom, well cared for and on the mend) hurried to his cabin where his wife was waiting for him. He paused outside, a nervous smile on his lips, thinking of all the times when he had dreamt of this. He knocked quietly and opened the door.
Edith was sobbing holding a piece of paper to her heart.
"Darling! What is it?"
"Y-your l-l-letter!"
Dear God, that desperate letter…the letter he wrote three days ago. Three days that felt like half a lifetime. He'd forgotten all about it. What an idiot he was! He'd left it there to be found if everything had gone to the devil and he didn't survive. He had never dreamed that Edith would be left to find it with him still living…certainly not now.
He knelt at her feet, tentatively taking her hands in his.
"My darling, I plan all my missions as meticulously as I can, but I always know that something might go wrong. I didn't want to leave you without saying goodbye and asking your forgiveness."
"Oh Anthony!"
"I'm so very sorry that you found this letter. And I do want forgiveness for putting you in this position. Please forgive me, I beg you!"
"It isn't that" she wailed. "You do not need to ask my forgiveness for being The Pimpernel! I am so proud of you. You have saved so many people. If nothing else, I owe you my own life and that of all my family. And you don't need me to forgive you for not telling me, or for risking your life, or…or…or for anything!"
She pressed his hands in hers. In a very small voice, she added "I'm crying because…you don't believe I love you! That I only married you because I wanted a husband, because I wanted to keep up with my sisters!"
Anthony opened his mouth to reply, but found that he had no words, because it was, alas, true. Or it had been until a few hours ago.
Edith went on "Why do you think that I chased you to France once I'd worked it all out?"
In a daze, Anthony vaguely shook his head.
"When Chauvelin threatened Tom, I felt trapped to do what he asked, but I couldn't just leave it like that. When we got home I told you about it because I wanted to undo what I had done to endanger The Pimpernel and I needed your help to do it. It was only after you had left that I realised you were The Pimpernel. I was so scared that I might have sent Chauvelin on your trail, and you into mortal danger. I had to do something, so I asked Matthew to assist me. If only I could get to you before Chauvelin did, I might be able to warn you, but even if everything failed and I was too late, I still had to reach you…to tell you, at the last…how much I love you."
Anthony was utterly under her spell. Could she really care for him, even after he had ignored her ever since their wedding? He looked down and shook his head again in joyous disbelief.
"I couldn't bear to lose you" she continued. "So, if you had to die, I wanted to die with you so we weren't separated. Yet all I achieved was to lead Chauvelin straight to you. I deserve your hatred if only for that."
He was silent still.
Edith put her hand to his cheek. "Have I disappointed you so much that there is no hope for me?"
Anthony's response wasn't what she expected.
He put his hand around her shoulders and kissed her hard, pulling her into his embrace. Now, finally, he was truly free. Nothing the French could do to him compared with the power this woman had over him. If she loved him, Life suddenly burst into flaming colours and blinding light. He worshipped this woman. And against all odds, this brave, beautiful, clever woman loved him. He moved his lips down to her neck and was rewarded by Edith's quiet moan which fanned the flames of his desire into a blaze.
Edith was consumed by relief, by love, by desire. Her brave, noble husband, hero to half of France and all the rest of Europe, was holding her like a lion at the triumph of his hunt. His mouth caressed every part of her face and neck, his strong hands were possessive over her back, and she wanted, heavens! how she wanted him to take the rest of her.
Her hand stroked his face again, but he abruptly pulled back.
"Heavens, I do apologise."
He went to rise, but she stopped him.
"What? I'm sorry. What did I do?"
"Nothing, my love. But I haven't shaved in three days. I thought…you touched my cheek…you…offended…?"
He watched in horror as Edith doubled up. Then she looked up laughing with greater and greater mirth.
"We will have to sort out our miscommunication, my husband, or we will spend all our marriage at cross purposes!"
Her hand reached for his cheek once more. "I rather like your whiskers" she purred, though it came out awkward rather than the seductive tone for which she had aimed. Nevertheless, it hit Anthony right in the vitals. He'd never heard her use such a low, enticing voice before. Good God! his woman wanted him…
He stood up, breathing hard.
"My dearest darling, I adore you and I want you. And I will show you just how much when we reach Richmond, because I am going to wait until we are truly alone, and much more comfortable than we can be in a small cabin with no lock, before I make you mine."
After the very small pang of disappointment, Edith was washed over with unfettered love for her caring, considerate husband.
"Oh Anthony!" She accepted his quieter, fond embrace.
"Perhaps we should take a turn on deck? I know Matthew is keen to see how you do."
He took her hand, just a little too awkwardly, and she yelped in pain.
"Sweetheart?"
"Ah. I expect someone will tell you sooner or later, so it might as well be me. When he was interrogating Matthew as to your whereabouts, instead of torturing him Chauvelin got Matthew to talk by threatening to cut off my fingers."
Anthony went quite white and looked at her hand.
"He didn't but they did hammer my thumb. It's sore."
"Oh my darling!" He leant down and kissed her hand and her thumb with melting softness.
"I'll live" she murmured.
"You've been so brave, my sweet."
"Let's go and see Tom and Matthew; I should like to see them."
"I think we'll go to the sick bay first, and the surgeon can look at that thumb."
…
The ship's surgeon agreed that Edith's thumb was not broken and would heal with rest and care.
Tom was well enough to continue teasing Anthony concerning he and his wife's newly expressed affections, which Tom was overjoyed to see. After a quarter hour's jesting, Anthony and Edith left Tom to sleep. However, he did not let them leave without calling after them
"Remember Edith, you are still owed a choice of punishment over our Great Leader for almost breaking your heart!"
"Go to sleep, Captain Branson. It would appear that you are growing delirious!" retorted Anthony.
"You declared it publicly, Sir Anthony! I can produce witnesses."
"Mmm."
Edith just smiled, thoughtfully.