“I like it,” Dewhurst said. He raised the flask in a toast. “To the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel!”
The Fisherman’s Rest in Dover, in the county of Kent, was a warm and pleasant sanctuary from the damp and piscatory air of the cliffside town. They came in out of the mist to be greeted by the welcome warmth and glow of Mr. Jellyband’s fireplace. The proprietor, a jovial, well-girthed innkeeper with a balding pate and a hail-fellow-well-met air, bowed to them as they came in and immediately dispatched his serving girl to the kitchen with orders for the help to snap to, as obviously well-heeled patrons had arrived.
The inn had more of the air of a country hostel than a “fisherman’s rest,” for it was clean and bright, with a red-tiled floor that was kept spotless and dark oak rafters and beams. The tables, though marked with the ancient circles of many pewter mugs that had overflowed, were well polished and there were pots of scarlet and blue flowers in the windows. They hung up their cloaks and made themselves comfortable at a long table Jellyband ushered them to.
“Your pardon, gentlemen,” said Jellyband, wringing his hands in his obvious anxiety to please, “would one of you happen, by any chance, to be the honorable Sir Percy Blakeney?”
“I have the honor to answer to that name,” said Finn.
“Ah, yes, well, there is a young woman here expecting the arrival of your lordship,” Jellyband said.
“Indeed?” said Marguerite.
“One of his lordship’s servants, I believe,” Jellyband added, hastily. “A young woman of a most peculiar temperament, if you will excuse the observation, she was most insistent that I-”
“That would be Andre, I believe,” said Finn.
“Andre?” said Marguerite. “I thought you said that it was a young woman?”
“Andre is a young woman, my dear,” said Finn. “Her family has served the Blakeneys for years. She was part of the serving staff at my estate in Rouen. I sent her on ahead with Lucas to make certain that all was in readiness for us at Richmond. Regrettably, they were the only two of all my staff there who have shown me the least bit of loyalty. The others were all so full of revolutionary zeal that they all elected to become free citizens and, as such, could hardly be expected to continue in the service of a despised aristocrat such as myself. Go and fetch her, my good man,” he said to Jellyband. Then turning to Marguerite, he added, “She is of Basque origin, I believe, and possesses the roughness and independent spirit of those people. She is, however, loyal, and makes an admirable servant.”
“Is she pretty?” Marguerite said, archly.
Finn frowned. “Pretty? Faith, I can’t say as I’ve ever noticed, really.”
“How singularly unobservant of you,” Marguerite said.
“Well, at any rate, you may judge for yourself,” said Finn. “She will doubtless be here momentarily.”
The innkeeper returned, with Andre following behind. If Marguerite had expected to see a well-turned-out serving girl in a clinging bodice darting bold glances at Sir Percy, she was disappointed. Andre was dressed in riding boots and breeches. She had on a plain brown jacket with a matching waistcoat; a white shirt not altogether clean; a bit of lace adornment at the throat, begrimed with road dust; and a simple tricorne, which she carried in her left hand. Her blond hair was worn loose and was considerably shorter than the style of the day dictated.
“I say,” said Dewhurst, “there’s a manly looking wench. Shoulders like a farmboy’s and a manner like a soldier’s.”
Marguerite sat silent, appraising Andre. Finn had the feeling that Lady Blakeney would just as coolly and as carefully take the measure of everyone and everything involved with her husband and her new life in England. It was the actress in her. She wanted to be thoroughly familiar with the set, to know where every light and prop was, where every other actor was to stand and what lines he was to deliver. Perhaps “Percy” hadn’t noticed whether or not Andre was pretty, but he could bet that Lady Blakeney noticed everything.
“Well, then, Andre,” Finn said, “is everything in readiness for us at Richmond? How stands the old estate? I trust that it has not fallen into disrepair?”
“Oh, no, milord,” said Andre. “The estate has been kept up most admirably and Master Lucas is there presently to make certain that all are prepared for your arrival. The news has caused a good deal of excitement. There has been a great deal of scurrying and cleaning and polishing and several of the neighbors have already sent servants to inquire as to when you and Lady Blakeney would be arriving.”
“Ah, you see, Dewhurst,” said Finn, “the Blakeney name still stands for something. It appears that we have not been forgotten.”
“Or your money has not been forgotten,” Marguerite said, dryly.
“My name, my money, what’s the difference?” Finn said with an airy wave. “If I were a pauper, I would not be a Blakeney, nor would you be, my dear, for chances are that I would then never have set foot in France to be captivated by your charms. What, I see our food’s arriving. Andre, have you eaten? No? Innkeeper, Jellybelly, whatever your name is, see to it that my servant’s fed, there’s a good man. And Andre, after you have eaten you may ride ahead and inform Master Lucas that we shall be arriving at Richmond this evening, lest something should happen to delay us. Lord, there have been enough adventures on this trip already! I pray that the remainder of our journey will be safely dull and devastating in its boredom. I’ve had enough stimulation these past several days to last me a lifetime!”
“If you don’t mind, Percy,” Marguerite said, rising, “I think that I will take my meal in my room. I fear that the effects of the Channel crossing have not quite worn off and I should like to be refreshed and rested before we continue on our way.” She turned to Dewhurst and smiled. “I will leave you gentlemen to discuss the pressing matters which no doubt await us all in London. Since the neighbors are inquiring as to our arrival time, doubtless they plan some entertainment and, in such a case, if Lady Blakeney is to be shown off to her best advantage, it would be well that she were rested. You may send for me after you have had your port and pipes and are ready to continue.”
She curtsied and departed.
Dewhurst shook his head. “Faith, Percy, if you are out to encourage Marguerite’s indifference, it would seem that you are making a good start.”
“Oh, there is one thing more, milord,” said Andre, “that Master Lucas bid me bring to your attention.”
“And what would that be, pray?” said Finn.
“A minor matter, surely,” Andre replied, guardedly, “and nothing that should overly concern your lordship. Rather, it is a matter for the gamekeeper, though Master Lucas wished me to inform you of it in the event that it required his attention and he was not there to greet you when you arrived.”
Finn frowned. What on earth was she getting at?