Free TW03 The Pimpernel Plot NEW by Simon Hawke

bracing sea air quite conducive to deep and restful sleep. We shall be sailing on the morning tide.”
    “You’re most kind, Lord Dewhurst.”
    “Antony, ma’am,” he said with a grin, “or Tony, if you prefer.
    That’s what all my friends call me.”
    “Thank you, Tony. I think I will retire, if you gentlemen will excuse me.”
    Dewhurst led her away belowdeck, with a quick glance back at Finn to tell him that he would come right back at once. Finn leaned against the mainmast amidships and pulled out one of his clays. He filled it with tobacco and tamped it down; then, hunching over it and cupping his hand against the wind, he got it lit after several tries and settled down against the teak railing to wait for Dewhurst to return. With the exception of the captain, a weatherbeaten old salt named Briggs, who only bid him welcome aboard and asked if there was anything that he could do for him, the rest of the crew left him to his privacy.
    Briggs brought him a pewter flask filled with rum and then departed once again to his own cabin. After several moments, Dewhurst returned.
    “I say, Percy, she’s absolutely marvelous! Beautiful, charming and intelligent; you’ll be the envy of every man in London.”
    “I daresay,” said Finn, “excepting those who cannot abide the barbarity currently practiced on these shores.” Dewhurst looked suddenly glum. “It’s true, then, about St. Cyr?”
    “You’ve heard, then?” Finn said cautiously, to draw him out.
    “Aye, news travels fast when it’s bad news,” said Dewhurst.
    “What are you going to do?”
    “Faith, what can I do? She is my wife, Tony. I am married to her past, as well as to her future.”
    “What about Ffoulkes? Is he well away? Have you seen him?”
    “Aye, he’s well away. He got out the gate a bit ahead of us, but we did not pass him on the road. No doubt he pulled off the main road until he was certain it was safe to go on. There was trouble, though. Soldiers pursued him, but they pulled over the wrong wagon. I passed them as they were tearing it apart in search of human contraband.”
    “He’ll make it, won’t he, Percy?” Dewhurst said, concern showing on his face.
    Finn nodded. “He’ll make it. Andrew is no fool. But we must sail to Dover without him. I cannot risk having de Chalis and Marguerite come face to face. It will ruin everything. We shall have to send the Day Dream back for them.”
    “Poor St. Just,” said Dewhurst.
    “What’s that?” said Finn
    “Oh, I said, ‘Poor St. Just.’ The only one of the Feuillants with any influence left and they appoint him to the Committee of Public Safety, where he’s outnumbered by Robespierre’s Jacobins. If only it were the other way around. Yet there he sits, teetering on the edge of the abyss, while Fouquier-Tinville pursues his butchery. Without his help, we would never have got de Chalis out alive, yet I fear that it will be a poor atonement for his sister’s crime.” Realizing, suddenly, what he had said, Dewhurst looked aghast at Finn. “God, Percy, forgive me! I didn’t think. That was a frightfully cruel thing to say.”
    “Yet, nevertheless, it’s true,” said Finn. So Armand St. Just, along with Lafayette, was one of the moderate monarchists who had separated from the Jacobins. He was sympathetic to Blakeney’s cause, enough so that he had taken an active part in it. That was something Delaney had not known. It was a very worthwhile piece of information. If the bloody excesses of the Revolution, combined with his sister’s part in the fall of the Marquis de St. Cyr, were an affront to his humanistic sensibilities, Armand could be used. Indeed, it appeared that Blakeney had used him already.
    “Still, I’m very sorry, Percy. She is your wife, after all. I hope you can forgive me.”
    “There’s nothing to forgive, Tony. The times have given all of us strange bedfellows.”
    “I say, that’s a little crude,” said Dewhurst, a bit taken aback.
    “These