The Scarlet Pimpernel (35 page)

He bent forward to kiss them, for they peeped out through her torn
stockings, and bore pathetic witness to her endurance and devotion.

"But Armand . . ." she said with sudden terror and remorse, as in the
midst of her happiness the image of the beloved brother, for whose sake
she had so deeply sinned, rose now before her mind.

"Oh! have no fear for Armand, sweetheart," he said tenderly, "did I not
pledge you my word that he should be safe? He with de Tournay and the
others are even now on board the DAY DREAM."

"But how?" she gasped, "I do not understand."

"Yet, 'tis simple enough, m'dear," he said with that funny, half-shy,
half-inane laugh of his, "you see! when I found that that brute
Chauvelin meant to stick to me like a leech, I thought the best thing I
could do, as I could not shake him off, was to take him along with me.
I had to get to Armand and the others somehow, and all the roads were
patrolled, and every one on the look-out for your humble servant. I knew
that when I slipped through Chauvelin's fingers at the 'Chat Gris,' that
he would lie in wait for me here, whichever way I took. I wanted to keep
an eye on him and his doings, and a British head is as good as a French
one any day."

Indeed it had proved to be infinitely better, and Marguerite's heart was
filled with joy and marvel, as he continued to recount to her the daring
manner in which he had snatched the fugitives away, right from under
Chauvelin's very nose.

"Dressed as the dirty old Jew," he said gaily, "I knew I should not be
recognized. I had met Reuben Goldstein in Calais earlier in the evening.
For a few gold pieces he supplied me with this rig-out, and undertook to
bury himself out of sight of everybody, whilst he lent me his cart and
nag."

"But if Chauvelin had discovered you," she gasped excitedly, "your
disguise was good . . . but he is so sharp."

"Odd's fish!" he rejoined quietly, "then certainly the game would have
been up. I could but take the risk. I know human nature pretty well by
now," he added, with a note of sadness in his cheery, young voice, "and
I know these Frenchmen out and out. They so loathe a Jew, that they
never come nearer than a couple of yards of him, and begad! I fancy that
I contrived to make myself look about as loathsome an object as it is
possible to conceive."

"Yes!—and then?" she asked eagerly.

"Zooks!—then I carried out my little plan: that is to say, at first
I only determined to leave everything to chance, but when I heard
Chauvelin giving his orders to the soldiers, I thought that Fate and I
were going to work together after all. I reckoned on the blind obedience
of the soldiers. Chauvelin had ordered them on pain of death not to
stir until the tall Englishman came. Desgas had thrown me down in a heap
quite close to the hut; the soldiers took no notice of the Jew, who had
driven Citoyen Chauvelin to this spot. I managed to free my hands from
the ropes, with which the brute had trussed me; I always carry pencil
and paper with me wherever I go, and I hastily scrawled a few important
instructions on a scrap of paper; then I looked about me. I crawled up
to the hut, under the very noses of the soldiers, who lay under cover
without stirring, just as Chauvelin had ordered them to do, then I
dropped my little note into the hut through a chink in the wall, and
waited. In this note I told the fugitives to walk noiselessly out of
the hut, creep down the cliffs, keep to the left until they came to the
first creek, to give a certain signal, when the boat of the DAY DREAM,
which lay in wait not far out to sea, would pick them up. They obeyed
implicitly, fortunately for them and for me. The soldiers who saw them
were equally obedient to Chauvelin's orders. They did not stir! I waited
for nearly half an hour; when I knew that the fugitives were safe I gave
the signal, which caused so much stir."

And that was the whole story. It seemed so simple! and Marguerite could
be marvel at the wonderful ingenuity, the boundless pluck and audacity
which had evolved and helped to carry out this daring plan.

"But those brutes struck you!" she gasped in horror, at the bare
recollection of the fearful indignity.

"Well! that could not be helped," he said gently, "whilst my little
wife's fate was so uncertain, I had to remain here by her side. Odd's
life!" he added merrily, "never fear! Chauvelin will lose nothing by
waiting, I warrant! Wait till I get him back to England!—La! he shall
pay for the thrashing he gave me with compound interest, I promise you."

Marguerite laughed. It was so good to be beside him, to hear his cheery
voice, to watch that good-humoured twinkle in his blue eyes, as he
stretched out his strong arms, in longing for that foe, and anticipation
of his well-deserved punishment.

Suddenly, however, she started: the happy blush left her cheek, the
light of joy died out of her eyes: she had heard a stealthy footfall
overhead, and a stone had rolled down from the top of the cliffs right
down to the beach below.

"What's that?" she whispered in horror and alarm.

"Oh! nothing, m'dear," he muttered with a pleasant laugh, "only a trifle
you happened to have forgotten . . . my friend, Ffoulkes . . ."

"Sir Andrew!" she gasped.

Indeed, she had wholly forgotten the devoted friend and companion,
who had trusted and stood by her during all these hours of anxiety and
suffering. She remembered him how, tardily and with a pang of remorse.

"Aye! you had forgotten him, hadn't you, m'dear?" said Sir Percy
merrily. "Fortunately, I met him, not far from the 'Chat Gris.' before
I had that interesting supper party, with my friend Chauvelin. . . .
Odd's life! but I have a score to settle with that young reprobate!—but
in the meanwhile, I told him of a very long, very circuitous road which
Chauvelin's men would never suspect, just about the time when we are
ready for him, eh, little woman?"

"And he obeyed?" asked Marguerite, in utter astonishment.

"Without word or question. See, here he comes. He was not in the way
when I did not want him, and now he arrives in the nick of time. Ah!
he will make pretty little Suzanne a most admirable and methodical
husband."

In the meanwhile Sir Andrew Ffoulkes had cautiously worked his way down
the cliffs: he stopped once or twice, pausing to listen for whispered
words, which would guide him to Blakeney's hiding-place.

"Blakeney!" he ventured to say at last cautiously, "Blakeney! are you
there?"

The next moment he rounded the rock against which Sir Percy and
Marguerite were leaning, and seeing the weird figure still clad in the
Jew's long gaberdine, he paused in sudden, complete bewilderment.

But already Blakeney had struggled to his feet.

"Here I am, friend," he said with his funny, inane laugh, "all alive!
though I do look a begad scarecrow in these demmed things."

"Zooks!" ejaculated Sir Andrew in boundless astonishment as he
recognized his leader, "of all the . . ."

The young man had seen Marguerite, and happily checked the forcible
language that rose to his lips, at sight of the exquisite Sir Percy in
this weird and dirty garb.

"Yes!" said Blakeney, calmly, "of all the . . . hem! . . . My friend!—I
have not yet had time to ask you what you were doing in France, when
I ordered you to remain in London? Insubordination? What? Wait till my
shoulders are less sore, and, by Gad, see the punishment you'll get."

"Odd's fish! I'll bear it," said Sir Andrew with a merry laugh, "seeing
that you are alive to give it. . . . Would you have had me allow Lady
Blakeney to do the journey alone? But, in the name of heaven, man, where
did you get these extraordinary clothes?" "Lud! they are a bit quaint,
ain't they?" laughed Sir Percy, jovially, "But, odd's fish!" he added,
with sudden earnestness and authority, "now you are here, Ffoulkes, we
must lose no more time: that brute Chauvelin may send some one to look
after us."

Marguerite was so happy, she could have stayed here for ever, hearing
his voice, asking a hundred questions. But at mention of Chauvelin's
name she started in quick alarm, afraid for the dear life she would have
died to save.

"But how can we get back?" she gasped; "the roads are full of soldiers
between here and Calais, and . . ."

"We are not going back to Calais, sweetheart," he said, "but just the
other side of Gris Nez, not half a league from here. The boat of the DAY
DREAM will meet us there."

"The boat of the DAY DREAM?"

"Yes!" he said, with a merry laugh; "another little trick of mine. I
should have told you before that when I slipped that note into the hut,
I also added another for Armand, which I directed him to leave behind,
and which has sent Chauvelin and his men running full tilt back to
the 'Chat Gris' after me; but the first little note contained my real
instructions, including those to old Briggs. He had my orders to go out
further to sea, and then towards the west. When well out of sight of
Calais, he will send the galley to a little creek he and I know of, just
beyond Gris Nez. The men will look out for me—we have a preconcerted
signal, and we will all be safely aboard, whilst Chauvelin and his
men solemnly sit and watch the creek which is 'just opposite the "Chat
Gris."'"

"The other side of Gris Nez? But I . . . I cannot walk, Percy," she
moaned helplessly as, trying to struggle to her tired feet, she found
herself unable even to stand.

"I will carry you, dear," he said simply; "the blind leading the lame,
you know."

Sir Andrew was ready, too, to help with the precious burden, but Sir
Percy would not entrust his beloved to any arms but his own.

"When you and she are both safely on board the DAY DREAM," he said to
his young comrade, "and I feel that Mlle. Suzanne's eyes will not greet
me in England with reproachful looks, then it will be my turn to rest."

And his arms, still vigorous in spite of fatigue and suffering, closed
round Marguerite's poor, weary body, and lifted her as gently as if she
had been a feather.

Then, as Sir Andrew discreetly kept out of earshot, there were many
things said, or rather whispered, which even the autumn breeze did not
catch, for it had gone to rest.

All his fatigue was forgotten; his shoulders must have been very sore,
for the soldiers had hit hard, but the man's muscles seemed made of
steel, and his energy was almost supernatural. It was a weary tramp,
half a league along the stony side of the cliffs, but never for a moment
did his courage give way or his muscles yield to fatigue. On he tramped,
with firm footstep, his vigorous arms encircling the precious burden,
and . . . no doubt, as she lay, quiet and happy, at times lulled to
momentary drowsiness, at others watching, through the slowly gathering
morning light, the pleasant face with the lazy, drooping blue eyes, ever
cheerful, ever illumined with a good-humoured smile, she whispered many
things, which helped to shorten the weary road, and acted as a soothing
balsam to his aching sinews.

The many-hued light of dawn was breaking in the east, when at last they
reached the creek beyond Gris Nez. The galley lay in wait: in answer to
a signal from Sir Percy, she drew near, and two sturdy British sailors
had the honour of carrying my lady into the boat.

Half an hour later, they were on board the DAY DREAM. The crew, who of
necessity were in their master's secrets, and who were devoted to
him heart and soul, were not surprised to see him arriving in so
extraordinary a disguise.

Armand St. Just and the other fugitives were eagerly awaiting the advent
of their brave rescuer; he would not stay to hear the expressions of
their gratitude, but found the way to his private cabin as quickly as he
could, leaving Marguerite quite happy in the arms of her brother.

Everything on board the DAY DREAM was fitted with that exquisite luxury,
so dear to Sir Percy Blakeney's heart, and by the time they all landed
at Dover he had found time to get into some of the sumptuous clothes
which he loved, and of which he always kept a supply on board his yacht.

The difficulty was to provide Marguerite with a pair of shoes, and great
was the little middy's joy when my lady found that she could put foot on
English shore in his best pair.

The rest is silence!—silence and joy for those who had endured so much
suffering, yet found at last a great and lasting happiness.

But it is on record that at the brilliant wedding of Sir Andrew
Ffoulkes, Bart., with Mlle. Suzanne de Tournay de Basserive, a function
at which H. R. H. the Prince of Wales and all the ELITE of fashionable
society were present, the most beautiful woman there was unquestionably
Lady Blakeney, whilst the clothes of Sir Percy Blakeney wore were the
talk of the JEUNESSE DOREE of London for many days.

It is also a fact that M. Chauvelin, the accredited agent of the French
Republican Government, was not present at that or any other social
function in London, after that memorable evening at Lord Grenville's
ball.