Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy and The Scarlet Pimpernel Page 7

  At that moment, however, a haggard old woman came hobbling by, spouting profanity at pitch and speed which took Fitzwilliam –- and both guards -– by surprise. She moaned and griped, becoming louder still as she approached the three of them, walking right up to the gate as if she owned the place. “Let me in, let me in!” shouted the woman. “You know who I am!” When she said this, she looked into Fitzwilliam’s eyes, and he found that he did recognize her. Or rather, recognized him.

  The old woman was none other than the Scarlet Pimpernel, in disguise with a terribly loose dress and a dingy cap, with a big, crooked, false nose to finish the disguise nicely. Bayard as the Old Woman struggled against the guards for a moment before realizing that she was too feeble. She turned to be on her way, but as she did so, she let out a string of words so profane, so foul, and so obviously directed at the two French guards, they could not help but step from their posts.

  When they did, Bayard reached down, picked up a few pebbles on the road and slung them at the guards, all the while laughing diabolically. He turned and fled with the speed of a jungle cat, and both soldiers went to chase after him. Fitzwilliam acted quickly.

  He already had the thick braided belt around his waist unknotted. After throwing one end of the long belt over the gate, he tied it to the other end. Checking that it was strong enough to hold his weight, he swiftly began to climb the iron entryway. The first foot he placed midway up onto the obstruction, pulling himself up by the belt. He carefully placed his other foot a litter higher still. Within seconds he hurled himself over in an acrobatic flip he’d learned as a lad when he took fencing lessons. The belt looped around with him, as he managed to hang onto the belt for dear life, making sure he didn’t touch the ground with a thud, thereby alerting the soldiers of what was taking place behind them.

  He had the belt untied instantly, pulling it through to his side of the gate. Looking back to make sure he had not been seen, he slipped quietly around the perimeters of the property towards the back of the house. He surveyed the back yard before he went in through the door which was formerly used as the servants entrance.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Fitzwilliam recounted his story of his infiltration and Bayard’s assistance to the group at large during their meeting that evening, in the home of a local supporter who had taken his leave for their privacy after offering the men what hospitality he had. Fitzwilliam took comfort in the men’s solemn support that his plan, overall, had been a fine one, and that Bayard’s intervention merely served to quicken the inevitable. Bayard listened intently, but did not comment on the story. Fitzwilliam caught his eye briefly only a couple of times, but he felt that his commander was happy with his performance.

  Fitzwilliam rubbed the whiskers he had been growing out for the last few weeks. He continued his story as he entered the mansion Theriot. “I found the family quite comfortable, though obviously shaken. I introduced myself as the undertaker, and the family initially looked puzzled. Pierre looked annoyed at the prospect, and I found out later that I had interrupted their own planning of an attempt to escape!”

  “I was able to sit them all down together, and I offered them to inspect the bottom of my boot. Attached to the bottom was a written note, informing them of my allegiance with you gentlemen, as well as their impending escape if they were willing to take a risk. The note also wondered if we were in a safe place, or if we would need to speak in code. I then threw the note into the small wood burning stove.”

  “The family informed me aloud that their room was relatively safe, and we all had a bit of a laugh at Pierre’s anger, once they shared with me their own attempts at devising escape. Though their plan had many flaws which the Scarlet Pimpernel’s plan overshadows marvelously, the eldest son was able to provide me with a confident description of the guards both in and out of the house, and they made it known that a particularly vulnerable change in the guards will occur after midnight, when six guards are dismissed, but they are only relieved by three men.”

  “There will be very little resistance at this point, and I believe that I will be able to lead the family to safety through the rear garden and over wall into the neighboring estate. From there, there is an open field guarded by no more than a wooden fence, which we will need to make quite a bit less sturdy in one section, and then finally a dirt road which we can take back through the city.”

  Bayard finally spoke up, “Two of our French allies who are in regular attendance at the guillotines can meander down the dirt road later tonight to loosen a few of the fence boards. I’ll have them mark which ones by sticking a flower at the base. This will be the critical junction. Fitzwilliam, you will have to force the family to split up to avoid capture. You must bring them back through the city, though with the late hour, hopefully you will find the streets deserted, and we hope, devoid of even the revolutionaries patrolling the area. But we cannot count on that eventuality.

  Bayard pointed out several streets on the map laid out in front of them on the table. “These locations appear to be the least guarded, according to the reconnaissance that you fine men have done. Fitzwilliam, instruct the families to split into at least two groups, and give each one a route which will lead them away from the others for a while. This is a dangerous move, more people than we usually try to evacuate on one occasion, but at least this gives us the reassurance that they cannot all be recaptured at once.”

  Bayard looked at the men. “Yes?” he was asking for agreement to the plan. Not a man said one word. They all simply nodded in agreement, and the plan was set to be. As was their ritual, some of the men exited through front and rear doors, some men simply waited awhile to do the same, and still others, including Bayard and Fitzwilliam, would spend the night in the residence and exit of their own accord in the morning. Each man had his plan, each with his mission and goals. Bayard shared only a quick word with Fitzwilliam, thanking him for his dutiful work and bidding him to get some sleep before the big event the following evening. The men shook hands again, and Bayard took himself off to sleep.

  Fitzwilliam found it much easier to sleep that night, He did not dream, though. When he woke the following morning, he wished he had dreamt of Kitty and her long, lovely, brown hair.

  Fitzwilliam was the last man to leave the house. It was late afternoon, and he found the mansion Theriot this time with ease. He arrived again in the guise of the undertaker, and the guards gave him little regard this time around.

  “Here I am again for my final duty,” he said, addressing the soldiers. “I moved on to the next when you went chasing after the old woman yesterday. But time is running out and today I must get my job done.”

  They simply nodded, failing to conceal their delight at the forthcoming execution. Execution meant that they would no longer be forced to perform such a dull job. At least Fitzwilliam hoped that was the reason for their concealed elation; he could not bear to consider the alternative.

  Fitzwilliam arrived again to the relief of his recently hopeless guests and stood for a moment detailing the plan with them. He sat with them for a while afterwards, generally making small talk, but this tense moment reminded him in a way of his final night with Kitty before he had gone away. The only difference was that in this room, every single person felt the tension which Fitzwilliam also felt. But much the same, they spoke only when there were things to be said, and they allowed the silence to fill in the spaces.

  As the sun descended, and they heard the approaching boots of the soldiers, Fitzwilliam hid himself away in the wardrobe of an adjacent room. He heard the guards call after him, to tell him that it was time to leave, and he heard Mona give a confused noise, and say, “Yes, be gone you horrid man!” She sounded quite on the verge of tears, and Fitzwilliam thanked God for that. Whether it was nerves, or simply commitment, she played her role splendidly.

  The man in the undertaker’s clothes left quickly.

  The guards turned to follow him but Mona stopped them. “How can you all believe us to be spies?
How can my children, these little ones, be spies? It is ridiculous! And to take my babies measurements for, for… after! You are all monsters.”

  “Baby snakes grow up to be big snakes,” replied one of the guards coldly.

  The other guard laughed and the two vacated the room.

  Fitzwilliam stayed in his hiding spot until he received a knock at the door of the wardrobe, and he knew it was time for action.

  Pierre had tears in his eyes as he said, “I watched the guards through the window as they left. my daughter reached the gate and turned left, just as you instructed, sir. She made it! She made it!”

  Fitzwilliam smiled. “Very good.”

  “She looked like a man with those whiskers you put on her, sir,” Parnell said.

  “She sure did, didn’t she?” smiled Fitzwilliam. “Those fake mustaches and beards of my commander certainly come in handy.”

  They made their way quickly to the back door, where there was to be one guard waiting. Fitzwilliam took the lead, poking his head ever so slightly out the door to espy the villain, but he found that the unsuspecting guard easy to knock unconscious with one hard blow. This allowed their quick passage through the rear garden.

  Once they arrived at the outer wall, which stood well above any of the men’s height, Fitzwilliam hoisted the Theriot’s oldest son, Jacques, onto his shoulder and to the top of the stone wall. Jacques balanced on his stomach once at the top, and his father threw a make-shift ladder, made from bedsheets, over the wall. He and Fitzwilliam held the sheets firmly on their side of the wall, as Jacques used the ladder to climb down to their neighbors yard. The process was repeated with each member of the family being booster to the top before climbing down the ladder on the other side. Fitzwilliam was the last one over the wall.

  By the time he cleared the wall, the rest of the family was halfway to the field, the fence, and the road beyond. The family halted at the road, and Fitzwilliam caught up to them, huffing and puffing as the rest of them were because of their recent sprint. He pulled the map from his jacket and began to assign the families into groups. “Pierre, you’ll take your wife down this way. Jacques, and Parnell, you will come with me--”

  He sent on their way the parents and youngest sister as planned, to creep along the wooded areas on the outskirts of town, and finally making their way to a home where another of Bayard’s men would be waiting for them, he turned to the two boys. “With me! And quiet!”

  They took off down the dirt road towards the cobbled city center. As they reached the stone roads, they slowed their pace and became more cautious, with Fitzwilliam coming to a halt at each intersecting road and alley, peeking around the corner for guards or otherwise unsavory spectators. Bayard had been correct in assuming that much of the city had turned in for the night, and for a while they were making quick time of the escape until they saw a pair of guards rounding the corner up ahead. Fitzwilliam quickly led the family into the adjacent alley. The three of them could not all make it in enough time, though, and when Fitzwilliam heard the shout of a guard, he led them into a full sprint.

  They cut left out of the alley, down the road a bit, right into another, another right out of the road, left, right, left, right. He turned down another alley, and in the darkness failed to realize that it was a dead end. He nearly ran headlong into the tall stone wall before his eyes were able to make it out in the moonlight. He stopped and whipped around. The boys were following him down the aisle. They halted, and the group collectively caught their breath as they listened for footsteps, but found that they heard none. They waited uncounted minutes for the coming of the soldiers, but they seemed to have lost them.

  Fitzwilliam puzzled himself with the map. He crept out towards the street and stuck his head out, looking left and right, then back at the map. He folded it up and put it away. He pointed a thumb in the direction back down the street. “This way,” he said, and began to lead the way. He moved slowly at first, feeling around on some of the doors in the area, and carefully considering the first few alleys which he came upon. Suddenly, he sped to a brisk pace, bringing the du Pont boys down the closest alleyway, then left, then right down a main street.

  Fitzwilliam recognized this street as the same one belonging to their secret meeting place. They were close, and all seemed home free, until a pair of soldiers walked around the far corner. There was no alleyway to hide in. They turned around, and one more soldier was advancing on them from the rear, looking as though he had already seen them. He was walking suspiciously slowly, with a crouch. Fitzwilliam did not know if he had been following them for some time or if he had just lucked into spotting them. Either way, there looked to be no escape. “Halt!” yelled the guard from behind, and the family whirled to discover the foe, then back towards the two guards in front, who began to run at the noise.

  The uncoordinated nature of the Revolutionary Army was never so apparent as in these three men. Of the two who approached, one was obviously a captain, with a well-kept jacket and a shiny short sword on his hip. The man next to him looked dressed in rags by comparison. At the moment, he carried no sword, but still walked like a man with malice and purpose. The man to the rear was some strange combination of the two, dressed in a pirate’s rags, but with a pistol in his belt, as well as a rapier stuffed into an old leather sheath. The captain addressed the group and wondered why such a group of citizens was fumbling around, but as he approached, he recognized the Theriot boys for who they were. “My word! It is the family Theriot, set for execution in nary a day. Where are the other members of your family?”

  Neither Fitzwilliam nor the young Theriots gave an answer.

  “What should we do with them?” asked his companion, with a sly grin.

  Just then, as the man from the rear advanced on him, Jacques threw a violent elbow into the nose of the soldier. The soldier stumbled backwards, his nose likely broken, and Jacques pulled the rapier from the man’s sheath with his right hand while pushing him onto his back with the left. Parnell ran over and gave the man a kick to the head to ensure that he was unconscious, and there he lay in the street, eyes rolled to the back of his head and blood streaming from his nose.

  “Roll him over,” Fitzwilliam said. “You do not want him to die.”

  Jacques shrugged at this, but he rolled the man onto his stomach just the same.

  The captain addressed his companion, and the captain drew his sword, the blade glistening in the moonlight. “What do you think? Does the boy prefer to die by the sword tonight or wait for his date with Madam Guillotine tomorrow?”

  “Give me your worst,” Jacques replied, “en garde!”

  The captain and Jacques circled each other for a moment. Jacques was clearly suited to the rapier and danced around in a spry and calculated fencing style. The captain advanced more like a bareknuckle boxer, but he, too, was skilled with a blade. He began to swing at Jacques’s shoulders, which the young man parried with a smooth grace. He lunged back at the captain, who was able to dodge to the left, then to the right, then came back with a lunge towards Jacques, who knocked the blade sideways and stuck the captain’s offhand shoulder. The captain was knocked back a step, looked to his wounded shoulder, then advanced on the young man. A flash of steel, Jacques parried left, then right, and deflected his sword away to the left again, but the captain was able to use his wounded left hand to push Jacques back. The younger man faltered and fell backwards two steps, and the captain’s companion tripped him, sending him spilling to the ground, the rapier flying from his hand. The captain advanced on Jacques, who refused to retreat, sitting back on his hands and waiting for the inevitable conclusion of the fight, and his life. Closer and closer, the captain inched his sword towards Jacques, pressing it right up to his chest, and the young Theriot closed his eyes and muttered a silent prayer, but the captain did not finish the fight. He raised the blade between Jacques’s eyes and said, “Look at me.”

  Jacques opened his eyes.

  “You have wounded one of my men, as well
as myself. I have every right as a member of this army to take your life, and the rest of the traitors’, here and now if I so choose. As much as I would love to run you through, Theriot, traitor…, ”

  He stood upright and sheathed his sword. “I would rather watch your head be cleanly struck from your shoulders, as Madame Guillotine takes her revenge.”

  The captain gestured to his companion to keep his sword on Fitzwilliam. “We will take them to the town center immediately, and perhaps,” he said, with an evil smile, “we shall have ourselves a midnight execution for this lot.”

  They led the party back toward the center of town. Jacques and Parnell held their heads up high as they walked.

  Fitzwilliam was waiting for the right moment to attack. He knew the young Theriots were waiting for their signal from him. He would not fail! If he did… the pain that stung most was that of not seeing his beloved Kitty again. He had promised her to travel safely, but he had gone recklessly and carelessly. She would eventually know of his true life and his attempts at heroism. He wondered if she would be proud of the good that he had brought and the countless aristocrats he had saved within the past year. He wondered if this pride would be enough to soothe her sorrow, or her anger. He guessed that it would not.