Books: The Elusive Pimpernel
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Baroness Emmuska Orczy [Full name] >> The Elusive Pimpernel
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Chapter XVI : The Passport
The rhythmic clapper of oars roused Marguerite from this trance-like
swoon.
In a moment she was on her feet, all her fatigue gone, her numbness of
soul and body vanished as in a flash. She was fully conscious now!
conscious that he had gone! that according to every probability under
heaven and every machination concocted in hell, he would never return
from France alive, and that she had failed to hear the last words which he
spoke to her, had failed to glean his last look or to savour his final kiss.
Though the night was starlit and balmy it was singularly dark, and vainly
did Marguerite strain her eyes to catch sight of that boat which was
bearing him away so swiftly now: she strained her ears, vaguely hoping to
catch one last, lingering echo of his voice. But all was silence, save that
monotonous clapper, which seemed to beat against her heart like a
rhythmic knell of death.
She could hear the oars distinctly: there were six or eight, she thought:
certainly no fewer. Eight oarsmen probably, which meant the larger boat,
and undoubtedly the longer journey ... not to London only with a view to
posting to Dover, but to Tilbury Fort, where the "Day Dream" would be
in readiness to start with a favourable tide.
Thought was returning to her, slowly and coherently: the pain of the last
farewell was still there, bruising her very senses with its dull and heavy
weight, but it had become numb and dead, leaving her, herself, her heart
and soul, stunned and apathetic, whilst her brain was gradually resuming
its activity.
And the more she thought it over, the more certain she grew that her
husband was going as far as Tilbury by river and would embark on the
"Day Dream" there. Of course he would go to Boulogne at once. The
duel was to take place there, Candeille had told her that ... adding that
she thought she, Marguerite, would wish to go with him.
To go with him!
Heavens above! was not that the only real, tangible thought in that
whirling chaos which was raging in her mind?
To go with him! Surely there must be some means of reaching him yet!
Fate, Nature, God Himself would never permit so monstrous a thing as
this: that she should be parted from her husband, now when his life was
not only in danger, but forfeited already ... lost ... a precious thing all but
gone from this world.
Percy was going to Boulogne ... she must go too. By posting at once to
Dover, she could get the tidal boat on the morrow and reach the French
coast quite as soon as the "Day Dream." Once at Boulogne, she would
have no difficulty in finding her husband, of that she felt sure. She would
have but to dog Chauvelin's footsteps, find out something of his plans, of
the orders he gave to troops or to spies,--oh! she would find him! of that
she was never for a moment in doubt!
How well she remembered her journey to Calais just a year ago, in
company with Sir Andrew Ffoulkes! Chance had favoured her then, had
enabled her to be of service to her husband if only by distracting
Chauvelin's attention for awhile to herself. Heaven knows! she had but
little hope of being of use to him now: an aching sense was in her that
fate had at last been too strong! that the daring adventurer had staked
once too often, had cast the die and had lost.
In the bosom of her dress she felt the sharp edge of the paper left for her
by Desiree Candeille among the roses in the park. She had picked it up
almost mechanically then, and tucked it away, hardly heeding what she
was doing. Whatever the motive of the French actress had been in placing
the passport at her disposal, Marguerite blessed her in her heart for it. To
the woman she had mistrusted, she would owe the last supreme
happiness of her life.
Her resolution never once wavered. Percy would not take her with him:
that was understandable. She could neither expect it nor think it. But she,
on the other hand, could not stay in England, at Blakeney Manor, whilst
any day, any hour, the death-trap set by Chauvelin for the Scarlet
Pimpernel might be closing upon the man whom she worshipped. She
would go mad if she stayed. As there could be no chance of escape for
Percy now, as he had agreed to meet his deadly enemy face to face at a
given place, and a given hour, she could not be a hindrance to him: and
she knew enough subterfuge, enough machinations and disguises by now,
to escape Chauvelin's observation, unless ... unless Percy wanted her, and
then she would be there.
No! she could not be a hindrance. She had a passport in her pocket,
everything en regle, nobody could harm her, and she could come and go
as she pleased. There were plenty of swift horses in the stables, plenty of
devoted servants to do her bidding quickly and discreetly: moreover, at
moments like these, conventionalities and the possible conjectures and
surmises of others became of infinitesimally small importance. The
household of Blakeney Manor were accustomed to the master's sudden
journeys and absences of several days, presumably on some shooting or
other sporting expeditions, with no one in attendance on him, save
Benyon, his favourite valet. These passed without any comments now!
Bah! let everyone marvel for once at her ladyship's sudden desire to go to
Dover, and let it all be a nine days' wonder; she certainly did not care.
Skirting the house, she reached the stables beyond. One or two men were
astir. To these she gave the necessary orders for her coach and four, then
she found her way back to the house.
Walking along the corridor, she went past the room occupied by Juliette
de Marny. For a moment she hesitated, then she turned and knocked at
the door.
Juliette was not yet in bed, for she went to the door herself and opened it.
Obviously she had been quite unable to rest, her hair was falling loosely
over her shoulders, and there was a look of grave anxiety on her young
face.
"Juliette," said Marguerite in a hurried whisper, the moment she had
closed the door behind her and she and the young girl were alone, "I am
going to France to be near my husband. He has gone to meet that fiend in
a duel which is nothing but a trap, set to capture him, and lead him to his
death. I want you to be of help to me, here in my house, in my absence."
"I would give my life for you, Lady Blakeney." said Juliette simply, "is it
not HIS since he save it?"
"It is only a little presence of mind, a little coolness and patience, which I
will ask of you, dear," said Marguerite. "You of course know who your
rescuer was, therefore you will understand my fears. Until to-night, I had
vague doubts as to how much Chauvelin really knew, but now these
doubts have naturally vanished. He and the French Revolutionary
Government know that the Scarlet Pimpernel and Percy Blakeney are one
and the same. The whole scene to-night was prearranged: you and I and
all the spectators, and that woman Candeille--we were all puppets piping
to that devil's tune. The duel, too, was prearranged! ... that woman
wearing your mother's jewels! ... Had you not provoked her, a quarrel
between her and me, or one of my guests would have been forced
somehow ... I wanted to tell you this, lest you should fret, and think that
you were in any way responsible for what has happened. ... You were
not. ... He had arranged it all. ... You were only the tool ... just as I was.
... You must understand and believe that. ... Percy would hate to think
that you felt yourself to blame ... you are not that, in any way. ... The
challenge was bound to come. ... Chauvelin had arranged that it should
come, and if you had failed him as a tool, he soon would have found
another! Do you believe that?"
"I believe that you are an angel of goodness, Lady Blakeney," replied
Juliette, struggling with her tears, "and that you are the only woman in
the world worthy to be his wife."
"But," insisted Marguerite firmly, as the young girl took her cold hand in
her own, and gently fondling it, covered it with grateful kisses, "but if ...
if anything happens ... anon ... you will believe firmly that you were in no
way responsible? ... that you were innocent .. and merely a blind tool? ..."
"God bless you for that!"
"You will believe it?"
"I will."
"And now for my request," rejoined Lady Blakeney in a more quiet, more
matter-of-fact tone of voice. "You must represent me, here, when I am
gone: explain as casually and as naturally as you can, that I have gone to
join my husband on his yacht for a few days. Lucie, my maid, is devoted
and a tower of secrecy; she will stand between you and the rest of the
household, in concocting some plausible story. To every friend who calls,
to anyone of our world whom you may meet, you must tell the same tale,
and if you note an air of incredulity in anyone, if you hear whispers of
there being some mystery, well! let the world wag its busy tongue--I care
less than naught: it will soon tire of me and my doings, and having torn
my reputation to shreds will quickly leave me in peace. But to Sir
Andrew Ffoulkes," she added earnestly, "tell the whole truth from me. He
will understand and do as he thinks right."
"I will do all you ask, Lady Blakeney, and am proud to think that I shall
be serving you, even in so humble and easy a capacity. When do you
start?"
"At once. Good-bye, Juliette."
She bent down to the young girl and kissed her tenderly on the forehead,
then she glided out of the room as rapidly as she had come. Juliette, of
course, did not try to detain her, or to force her help of companionship
on her when obviously she would wish to be alone.
Marguerite quickly reached her room. Her maid Lucie was already
waiting for her. Devoted and silent as she was, one glance at her mistress'
face told her that trouble--grave and imminent-- had reached Blakeney
Manor.
Marguerite, whilst Lucie undressed her, took up the passport and
carefully perused the personal description of one, Celine Dumont, maid
to Citizeness Desiree Candeille, which was given therein: tall, blue eyes,
light hair, age about twenty-five. It all might have been vaguely meant for
her. She had a dark cloth gown, and long black cloak with hood to come
well over the head. These she now donned, with some thick shoes, and a
dark-coloured handkerchief tied over her head under the hood, so as to
hide the golden glory of her hair.
She was quite calm and in no haste. She made Lucie pack a small hand
valise with some necessaries for the journey, and provided herself
plentifully with money--French and English notes--which she tucked well
away inside her dress.
Then she bade her maid, who was struggling with her tears, a kindly
farewell, and quickly went down to her coach.
Chapter XVII : Boulogne
During the journey Marguerite had not much leisure to think. The
discomforts and petty miseries incidental on cheap travelling had the very
welcome effect of making her forget, for the time being, the soul-
rendering crisis through which she was now passing.
For, of necessity, she had to travel at the cheap rate, among the crowd of
poorer passengers who were herded aft the packet boat, leaning up
against one another, sitting on bundles and packages of all kinds; that
part of the deck, reeking with the smell of tar and sea-water, damp,
squally and stuffy, was an abomination of hideous discomfort to the
dainty, fastidious lady of fashion, yet she almost welcomed the intolerable
propinquity, the cold douches of salt water, which every now and then
wetted her through and through, for it was the consequent sense of
physical wretchedness that helped her to forget the intolerable anguish of
her mind.
And among these poorer travellers she felt secure from observation. No
one took much notice of her. She looked just like one of the herd, and in
the huddled-up little figure, in the dark bedraggled clothes, no one would
for a moment have recognized the dazzling personality of Lady Blakeney.
Drawing her hood well over her head, she sat in a secluded corner of the
deck, upon the little black valise which contained the few belongings she
had brought with her. Her cloak and dress, now mud-stained and dank
with splashings of salt-water, attracted no one's attention. There was a
keen northeasterly breeze, cold and penetrating, but favourable to a rapid
crossing. Marguerite, who had gone through several hours of weary
travelling by coach, before she had embarked at Dover in the late
afternoon, was unspeakably tired. She had watched the golden sunset out
at sea until her eyes were burning with pain, and as the dazzling crimson
and orange and purple gave place to the soft grey tones of evening, she
descried the round cupola of the church of Our Lady of Boulogne against
the dull background of the sky.
After that her mind became a blank. A sort of torpor fell over her sense:
she was wakeful and yet half-asleep, unconscious of everything around
her, seeing nothing but the distant massive towers of old Boulogne
churches gradually detaching themselves one by one from out the fast
gathering gloom.
The town seemed like a dream city, a creation of some morbid
imagination, presented to her mind's eye as the city of sorrow and death.
When the boat finally scraped her sides along the rough wooden jetty,
Marguerite felt as if she were forcibly awakened. She was numb and stiff
and thought she must have fallen asleep during the last half hour of the
journey. Everything round her was dark. The sky was overcast, and the
night seemed unusually sombre. Figures were moving all around her,
there was noise and confusion of voices, and a general pushing and
shouting which seemed strangely weird in this gloom. Here among the
poorer passengers, there had not been thought any necessity for a light,
one solitary lantern fixed to a mast only enhanced the intense blackness
of everything around. Now and then a face would come within range of
this meagre streak of yellow light, looking strangely distorted, with great,
elongated shadows across the brow and chin, a grotesque, ghostly
apparition which quickly vanished again, scurrying off like some
frightened gnome, giving place other forms, other figures all equally
grotesque and equally weird.
Marguerite watched them all half stupidly and motionlessly for awhile.
She did not quite know what she ought to do, and did not like to ask any
questions: she was dazed and the darkness blinded her. Then gradually
things began to detach themselves more clearly. On looking straight
before her, she began to discern the landing place, the little wooden
bridge across which the passengers walked one by one from the boat
unto the jetty. The first-class passengers were evidently all alighting now:
the crowd of which Marguerite formed a unit, had been pushed back in a
more compact herd, out of the way for the moment, so that their betters
might get along more comfortably.
Beyond the landing stage a little booth had been erected, a kind of tent,
open in front and lighted up within by a couple of lanthorns. Under this
tent there was a table, behind which sat a man dressed in some sort of
official looking clothes, and wearing the tricolour scarf across his chest.
All the passengers from the boat had apparently to file past this tent.
Marguerite could see them now quite distinctly, the profiles of the
various faces, as they paused for a moment in front of the table, being
brilliantly illuminated by one of the lanterns. Two sentinels wearing the
uniform of the National Guard stood each side of the table. The
passengers one by one took out their passport as they went by, handed it
to the man in the official dress, who examined it carefully, very lengthily,
then signed it and returned the paper to its owner: but at times, he
appeared doubtful, folded the passport and put it down in front of him:
the passenger would protest; Marguerite could not hear what was said,
but she could see that some argument was attempted, quickly dismissed
by a peremptory order from the official. The doubtful passport was
obviously put on one side for further examination, and the unfortunate
owner thereof detained, until he or she had been able to give more
satisfactory references to the representatives of the Committee of Public
Safety, stationed at Boulogne.
This process of examination necessarily took a long time. Marguerite was
getting horribly tired, her feet ached and she scarcely could hold herself
upright: yet she watched all these people mechanically, making absurd
little guesses in her weary mind as to whose passport would find favour
in the eyes of the official, and whose would be found suspect and
inadequate.
Suspect! a terrible word these times! since Merlin's terrible law decreed
now that every man, woman or child, who was suspected by the Republic
of being a traitor was a traitor in fact.
How sorry she felt for those whose passports were detained: who tried to
argue--so needlessly!--and who were finally led off by a soldier, who had
stepped out from somewhere in the dark, and had to await further
examination, probably imprisonment and often death.
As to herself, she felt quite safe: the passport given to her by Chauvelin's
own accomplice was sure to be quite en regle.
Then suddenly her heart seemed to give a sudden leap and then to stop in
its beating for a second or two. In one of the passengers, a man who was
just passing in front of the tent, she had recognized the form and profile
of Chauvelin.
He had no passport to show, but evidently the official knew who he was,
for he stood up and saluted, and listened deferentially whilst the ex-
ambassador apparently gave him a few instructions. It seemed to
Marguerite that these instructions related to two women who were close
behind Chauvelin at the time, and who presently seemed to file past
without going through the usual formalities of showing their passports.
But of this she could not be quite sure. The women were closely hooded
and veiled and her own attention had been completely absorbed by this
sudden appearance of her deadly enemy.
Yet what more natural than that Chauvelin should be here now? His
object accomplished, he had no doubt posted to Dover, just as she had
done. There was no difficulty in that, and a man of his type and
importance would always have unlimited means and money at his
command to accomplish any journey he might desire to undertake.
There was nothing strange or even unexpected in the man's presence
here; and yet somehow it had made the whole, awful reality more
tangible, more wholly unforgettable. Marguerite remembered his abject
words to her, when first she had seen him at the Richmond fete: he said
that he had fallen into disgrace, that, having failed in his service to the
Republic, he had been relegated to a subordinate position, pushed aside
with contumely to make room for better, abler men.
Well! all that was a lie, of course, a cunning method of gaining access
into her house; of that she had already been convinced, when Candeille
provoked the esclandre which led to the challenge.
That on French soil he seemed in anything but a subsidiary position, that
he appeared to rule rather than to obey, could in no way appear to
Marguerite in the nature of surprise.
As the actress had been a willing tool in the cunning hands of Chauvelin,
so were probably all these people around her. Where others cringed in
the face of officialism, the ex-ambassador had stepped forth as a master:
he had shown a badge, spoken a word mayhap, and the man in the tent
who had made other people tremble, stood up deferentially and obeyed
all commands.
It was all very simple and very obvious: but Marguerite's mind has been
asleep, and it was the sight of the sable-clad little figure which had roused
it from its happy torpor.
In a moment now her brain was active and alert, and presently it seemed
to her as if another figure--taller than those around-- had crossed the
barrier immediately in the wake of Chauvelin. Then she chided herself for
her fancies!
It could not be her husband. Not yet! He had gone by water, and would
scarce be in Boulogne before the morning!
Ah! now at last came the turn of the second-class passengers! There was
a general bousculade and the human bundle began to move. Marguerite
lost sight of the tent and its awe-inspiring appurtenances: she was a mere
unit again in this herd on the move. She too progressed along slowly, one
step at a time; it was wearisome and she was deadly tired. She was
beginning to form plans now that she had arrived in France. All along she
had made up her mind that she would begin by seeking out the Abbe
Foucquet, for he would prove a link 'twixt her husband and herself. She
knew that Percy would communicate with the abbe; had he not told her
that the rescue of the devoted old man from the clutches of the Terrorists
would be one of the chief objects of his journey? It had never occurred to
her what she would do if she found the Abbe Foucquet gone from
Boulogne.
"He! la mere! your passport!"
The rough words roused her from her meditations. She had moved
forward, quite mechanically, her mind elsewhere, her thoughts not
following the aim of her feet. Thus she must have crossed the bridge
along with some of the crowd, must have landed on the jetty, and
reached the front of the tent, without really knowing what she was doing.
Ah yes! her passport! She had quite forgotten that! But she had it by her,
quite in order, given to her in a fit of tardy remorse by Demoiselle
Candeille, the intimate friend of one of the most influential members of
the Revolutionary Government of France.
She took the passport from the bosom of her dress and handed it to the
man in the official dress.
"Your name?" he asked peremptorily.
"Celine Dumont," she replied unhesitatingly, for had she not rehearsed all
this in her mind dozens of times, until her tongue could rattle off the
borrowed name as easily as it could her own; "servitor to Citizeness
Desiree Candeille!"
The man who had very carefully been examining the paper the while,
placed it down on the table deliberately in front of him, and said:
"Celine Dumont! Eh! la mere! what tricks are you up to now?"
"Tricks? I don't understand!" she said quietly, for she was not afraid. The
passport was en regle: she knew she had nothing to fear.
"Oh! but I think you do!" retorted the official with a sneer, "and 'tis a
mighty clever one, I'll allow. Celine Dumont, ma foi! Not badly imagined,
ma petite mere: and all would have passed off splendidly; unfortunately,
Celine Dumont, servitor to Citizeness Desiree Candeille, passed through
these barriers along with her mistress not half an hour ago."
And with long, grimy finger he pointed to an entry in the large book
which lay open before him, and wherein he had apparently been busy
making notes of the various passengers who had filed past him.
Then he looked up with a triumphant leer at the calm face of Marguerite.
She still did not feel really frightened, only puzzled and perturbed; but all
the blood had rushed away from her face, leaving her cheeks ashen white,
and pressing against her heart, until it almost choked her.
"You are making a mistake, Citizen," she said very quietly. "I am
Citizeness Candeille's maid. She gave me the passport herself, just before
I left for England; if you will ask her the question, she will confirm what I
say, and she assured me that it was quite en regle."
But the man only shrugged his shoulders and laughed derisively. The
incident evidently amused him, yet he must have seen many of the same
sort; in the far corner of the tent Marguerite seemed to discern a few
moving forms, soldiers, she thought, for she caught sight of a glint like
that of steel. One or two men stood close behind the official at the desk,
and the sentinels were to the right and left of the tent.
With an instinctive sense of appeal, Marguerite looked round from one
face to the other: but each looked absolutely impassive and stolid, quite
uninterested in this little scene, the exact counterpart of a dozen others,
enacted on this very spot within the last hour.
"He! la! la! petite mere!" said the official in the same tone of easy
persiflage which he had adopted all along, "but we do know how to
concoct a pretty lie, aye! and so circumstantially too! Unfortunately it
was Citizeness Desiree Candeille herself who happened to be standing
just where you are at the present moment, along with her maid, Celine
Dumont, both of whom were specially signed for and recommended as
perfectly trustworthy, by no less a person than Citoyen Chauvelin of the
Committee of Public Safety."
"But I assure you that there is a mistake," pleased Marguerite earnestly,
"'Tis the other woman who lied, I have my passport and ..."
"A truce on this," retorted the man peremptorily. "If everything is as you
say, and if you have nothing to hide, you'll be at liberty to continue your
journey to-morrow, after you have explained yourself before the citizen
governor. Next one now, quick!"
Marguerite tried another protest, just as those others had done, whom
she had watched so mechanically before. But already she knew that that
would be useless, for she had felt that a heavy hand was being placed on
her shoulder, and that she was being roughly led away.
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