Lord Tony's Wife: An Adventure of the Scarlet Pimpernel

  CHAPTER VI

  THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL

  I

  Instinct kept him away from the more frequented streets--and instinctafter awhile drew him in the direction of his friend's house at thecomer of The Circus. Sir Percy Blakeney had not gone out fortunately:the lacquey who opened the door to my lord Tony stared astonished andalmost paralysed for the moment at the extraordinary appearance of hislordship. Rain dropped down from the brim of his hat on to hisshoulders: his boots were muddy to the knees, his clothes wringing wet.His eyes were wild and hazy and there was a curious tremor round hismouth.

  The lacquey declared with a knowing wink afterwards that his lordshipmust 'ave been drinkin'!

  But at the moment his sense of duty urged him to show my lord--who washis master's friend--into the library, whatever condition he was in. Hetook his dripping coat and hat from him and marshalled him across thelarge, square hall.

  Sir Percy Blakeney was sitting at his desk, writing, when Lord Tony wasshown in. He looked up and at once rose and went to his friend.

  "Sit down, Tony," he said quietly, "while I get you some brandy."

  He forced the young man down gently into a chair in front of the fireand threw another log into the blaze. Then from a cupboard he fetched aflask of brandy and a glass, poured some out and held it to Tony's lips.The latter drank--unresisting--like a child. Then as some warmthpenetrated into his bones, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on hisknees and buried his face in his hands. Blakeney waited quietly, sittingdown opposite to him, until his friend should be able to speak.

  "And after all that you told me on Monday night!" were the first wordswhich came from Tony's quivering lips, "and the letter you sent me overon Tuesday! Oh! I was prepared to mistrust Martin-Roget. Why! I neverallowed her out of my sight!... But her father!... How could I guess?"

  "Can you tell me exactly what happened?"

  Lord Tony drew himself up, and staring vacantly into the fire told hisfriend the events of the past four days. On Wednesday the courier withM. de Kernogan's letter, breathing kindness and forgiveness. On Thursdayhis arrival and seeming ill-health, on Friday his departure with Yvonne.Tony spoke quite calmly. He had never been anything but calm sincefirst, in the house in Laura Place, he had received that awful blow.

  "I ought to have known," he concluded dully, "I ought to have guessed.Especially since you warned me."

  "I warned you that Martin-Roget was not the man he pretended to be,"said Blakeney gently, "I warned you against him. But I too failed tosuspect the duc de Kernogan. We are Britishers, you and I, my dearTony," he added with a quaint little laugh, "our minds will never bequite equal to the tortuous ways of these Latin races. But we are notgoing to waste time now talking about the past. We have got to find yourwife before those brutes have time to wreak their devilries againsther."

  "On the high seas ... on the way to Holland ... thence to Coblentz ..."murmured Tony, "I have not yet shown you the duc's letter to me."

  He drew from his pocket the crumpled, damp piece of paper on which theink had run into patches and blotches, and which had become almostundecipherable now. Sir Percy took it from him and read it through:

  "The duc de Kernogan and Lady Anthony Dewhurst are not on their way toHolland and to Coblentz," he said quietly as he handed the letter backto Lord Tony.

  "Not on their way to Holland?" queried the young man with a puzzledfrown. "What do you mean?"

  Blakeney drew his chair closer to his friend: a marvellous and subtlechange had suddenly taken place in his individuality. Only a few momentsago he was the polished, elegant man of the world, then the kindly andunderstanding friend--self-contained, reserved, with a perfect mannerredolent of sympathy and dignity. Suddenly all that was changed. Hismanner was still perfect and outwardly calm, his gestures scarce, hisspeech deliberate, but the compelling power of the leader--which is thebirth-right of such men--glowed and sparkled now in his deep-set eyes:the spirit of adventure and reckless daring was awake--insistent andrampant--and subtle effluvia of enthusiasm and audacity emanated fromhis entire personality.

  Sir Percy Blakeney had sunk his individuality in that of the ScarletPimpernel.

  "I mean," he said, returning his friend's anxious look with one that wasinspiring in its unshakable confidence, "I mean that on Monday last, thenight before your wedding--when I urged you to obtain Yvonne deKernogan's consent to an immediate marriage--I had followedMartin-Roget to a place called "The Bottom Inn" on Goblin Combe--aplace well known to every smuggler in the county."

  "You, Percy!" exclaimed Tony in amazement.

  "Yes, I," laughed the other lightly. "Why not? I had had my suspicionsof him for some time. As luck would have it he started off on the Mondayafternoon by hired coach to Chelwood. I followed. From Chelwood hewanted to go on to Redhill: but the roads were axle deep in mud, andevening was gathering in very fast. Nobody would take him. He wanted ahorse and a guide. I was on the spot--as disreputable a bar-loafer asyou ever saw in your life. I offered to take him. He had no choice. Hehad to take me. No one else had offered. I took him to the Bottom Inn.There he met our esteemed friend M. Chauvelin...."

  "Chauvelin!" cried Tony, suddenly roused from the dull apathy of hisimmeasurable grief, at sound of that name which recalled so manyexciting adventures, such mad, wild, hair-breadth escapes. "Chauvelin!What in the world is he doing here in England?"

  "Brewing mischief, of course," replied Blakeney dryly. "In disgrace,discredited, a marked man--what you will--my friend M. Chauvelin hasstill an infinite capacity for mischief. Through the interstices of abadly fastened shutter I heard two blackguards devising infinitedevilry. That is why, Tony," he added, "I urged an immediate marriage asthe only real protection for Yvonne de Kernogan against thoseblackguards."

  "Would to God you had been more explicit!" exclaimed Tony with a bittersigh.

  "Would to God I had," rejoined the other, "but there was so little time,with licences and what not all to arrange for, and less than an hour todo it in. And would you have suspected the Duc himself of suchexecrable duplicity even if you had known, as I did then, that theso-called Martin-Roget hath name Adet, and that he matures thoughts ofdeadly revenge against the duc de Kernogan and his daughter?"

  "Martin-Roget? the banker--the exiled royalist who...."

  "He may be a banker now ... but he certainly is no royalist--he is theson of a peasant who was unjustly put to death four years ago by the ducde Kernogan."

  "Ye gods!"

  "He came over to England plentifully supplied with money--I could notgather if the money is his or if it has been entrusted to him by therevolutionary government for purposes of spying and corruption--but hecame to England in order to ingratiate himself with the duc de Kernoganand his daughter, and then to lure them back to France, for what purposeyou may well imagine."

  "Good God, man ... you can't mean ...?"

  "He has chartered a smuggler's craft--or rather Chauvelin has done itfor him. Her name is the _Hollandia_, her master hath name Kuyper. Shewas to be in Portishead harbour on the last day of November: all herpapers in order. Cargo of West India sugar, destination Amsterdam,consignee some Mynheer over there. But Martin-Roget, or whatever hisname may be, and no doubt our friend Chauvelin too, were to be aboardher, and also M. le duc de Kernogan and his daughter. And the_Hollandia_ is to put into Le Croisic for Nantes, whose revolutionaryproconsul, that infamous Carrier, is of course Chauvelin's bosomfriend."

  Sir Percy Blakeney finished speaking. Lord Tony had listened to himquietly and in silence: now he rose and turned resolutely to hisfriend. There was no longer any trace in him of that stunned apathywhich had been the primary result of the terrible blow. His young facewas still almost unrecognisable from the lines of grief and horror whichmarred its habitual fresh, boyish look. He looked twenty years olderthan he had done a few hours ago, but there was also in his wholeattitude now the virility of more mature manhood, its determination andunswerving purpose.

  "And what can I do now?" he asked
simply, knowing that he could trusthis friend and leader with what he held dearest in all the world."Without you, Blakeney, I am of course impotent and lost. I haven't thehead to think. I haven't sufficient brains to pit against those cunningdevils. But if you will help me...."

  Then he checked himself abruptly, and the look of hopeless despair oncemore crept into his eyes.

  "I am mad, Percy," he said with a self-deprecating shrug of theshoulders, "gone crazy with grief, I suppose, or I shouldn't talk ofasking your help, of risking your life in my cause."

  "Tony, if you talk that rubbish, I shall be forced to punch your head,"retorted Blakeney with his light laugh. "Why man," he added gaily,"can't you see that I am aching to have at my old friend Chauvelinagain?"

  And indeed the zest of adventure, the zest to fight, never dormant, wasglowing with compelling vigour now in those lazy eyes of his which wereresting with such kindliness upon his stricken friend. "Go home, Tony!"he added, "go, you rascal, and collect what things you want, while Isend for Hastings and Ffoulkes, and see that four good horses are readyfor us within the hour. To-night we sleep at Portishead, Tony. The_Day-Dream_ is lying off there, ready to sail at any hour of the day ornight. The _Hollandia_ has twenty-four hour's start of us, alas! and wecannot overtake her now: but we'll be in Nantes ere those devils can domuch mischief: and once in Nantes!... Why, Tony man! think of theglorious escapes we've had together, you and I! Think of the gay, madrides across the north of France, with half-fainting women and swooningchildren across our saddle-bows! Think of the day when we smuggled thede Tournais out of Calais harbour, the day we snatched JulietteDeroulede and her Paul out of the tumbril and tore across Paris withthat howling mob at our heels! Think! think, Tony! of all the happiest,merriest moments of your life and they will seem dull and lifelessbeside what is in store for you, when with your dear wife's armsclinging round your neck, we'll fly along the quays of Nantes on theroad to liberty! Ah, Tony lad! were it not for the anxiety which I knowis gnawing at your heart, I would count this one of the happiest hoursof my happy life!"

  He was so full of enthusiasm, so full of vitality, that life itselfseemed to emanate from him and to communicate itself to the veryatmosphere around. Hope lit up my lord Tony's wan face: he believed inhis friend as mediaeval ascetics believed in the saints whom they adored.Enthusiasm had crept into his veins, dull despair fell away from himlike a mantle.

  "God bless you, Percy," he exclaimed as his firm and loyal hand graspedthat of the leader whom he revered.

  "Nay!" retorted Blakeney with sudden gravity. "He hath done thatalready. Pray for His help to-day, lad, as you have never prayedbefore."