The Elusive Pimpernel - Baroness Orczy (feel good books to read .txt) 📗

an altogether different world, to the poor little kitchen slut.

How wonderful are the vagaries of fortune! Désirée Candeille, the kitchen-maid’s daughter, now wearing her ex-mistress’ jewels. She supposed that these had been confiscated when the last of the Marnys⁠—the girl, Juliette⁠—had escaped from France!⁠—confiscated and now sent to her, Candeille, as a reward or as a bribe!

In either case they were welcome. The actress’ vanity was soothed. She knew Juliette Marny was in England, and that she would meet her tonight at Lady Blakeney’s. After the many snubs which she had endured from French aristocrats settled in England, the actress felt that she was about to enjoy an evening of triumph.

The intrigue excited her. She did not quite know what schemes Chauvelin was aiming at, what ultimate end he had had in view when he commanded her services and taught her the part which he wished her to play.

That the schemes were vast and the end mighty, she could not doubt. The reward she had received was proof enough of that.

Little Fanchon stood there in speechless admiration, whilst her mistress still fondly fingered the magnificent necklace.

“Mademoiselle will wear the diamond tonight?” she asked with evident anxiety: she would have been bitterly disappointed to have seen the beautiful thing once more relegated to its dark morocco case.

“Oh, yes, Fanchon!” said Candeille with a sigh of great satisfaction; “see that they are fastened quite securely, my girl.”

She put the necklace round her shapely neck and Fanchon looked to see that the clasp was quite secure.

There came the sound of loud knocking at the street door.

“That is M. Chauvelin come to fetch me with the chaise. Am I quite ready, Fanchon?” asked Désirée Candeille.

“Oh yes, Mademoiselle!” sighed the little maid; “and Mademoiselle looks very beautiful tonight.”

“Lady Blakeney is very beautiful too, Fanchon,” rejoined the actress naively, “but I wonder if she will wear anything as fine as the Marny necklace?”

The knocking at the street door was repeated. Candeille took a final, satisfied survey of herself in the glass. She knew her part and felt that she had dressed well for it. She gave a final, affectionate little tap to the diamonds round her neck, took her cloak and hood from Fanchon, and was ready to go.

X Lady Blakeney’s Rout

There are several accounts extant, in the fashionable chronicles of the time, of the gorgeous reception given that autumn by Lady Blakeney in her magnificent riverside home.

Never had the spacious apartments of Blakeney Manor looked more resplendent than on this memorable occasion⁠—memorable because of the events which brought the brilliant evening to a close.

The Prince of Wales had come over by water from Carlton House; the Royal Princesses came early, and all fashionable London was there, chattering and laughing, displaying elaborate gowns and priceless jewels, dancing, flirting, listening to the strains of the string band, or strolling listlessly in the gardens, where the late roses and clumps of heliotrope threw soft fragrance on the balmy air.

But Marguerite was nervous and agitated. Strive how she might, she could not throw off that foreboding of something evil to come, which had assailed her from the first moment when she met Chauvelin face to face.

That unaccountable feeling of unreality was still upon her, that sense that she, and the woman Candeille, Percy and even His Royal Highness were, for the time being, the actors in a play written and stage-managed by Chauvelin. The ex-ambassador’s humility, his offers of friendship, his quietude under Sir Percy’s good-humoured banter, everything was a sham. Marguerite knew it; her womanly instinct, her passionate love, all cried out to her in warning: but there was that in her husband’s nature which rendered her powerless in the face of such dangers, as, she felt sure, were now threatening him.

Just before her guests had begun to assemble, she had been alone with him for a few minutes. She had entered the room in which he sat, looking radiantly beautiful in a shimmering gown of white and silver, with diamonds in her golden hair and round her exquisite neck.

Moments like this, when she was alone with him, were the joy of her life. Then and then only did she see him as he really was, with that wistful tenderness in his deep-set eyes, that occasional flash of passion from beneath the lazily-drooping lids. For a few minutes⁠—seconds, mayhap⁠—the spirit of the reckless adventurer was laid to rest, relegated into the furthermost background of his senses by the powerful emotions of the lover.

Then he would seize her in his arms, and hold her to him, with a strange longing to tear from out his heart all other thoughts, feelings and passions save those which made him a slave to her beauty and her smiles.

“Percy!” she whispered to him tonight when freeing herself from his embrace. She looked up at him, and for this one heavenly second felt him all her own. “Percy, you will do nothing rash, nothing foolhardy tonight. That man had planned all that took place yesterday. He hates you, and⁠ ⁠…”

In a moment his face and attitude had changed, the heavy lids drooped over the eyes, the rigidity of the mouth relaxed, and that quaint, half-shy, half-inane smile played around the firm lips.

“Of course he does, m’dear,” he said in his usual affected, drawly tones, “of course he does, but that is so demmed amusing. He does not really know what or how much he knows, or what I know.⁠ ⁠… In fact⁠ ⁠… er⁠ ⁠… we none of us know anything⁠ ⁠… just at present.⁠ ⁠…”

He laughed lightly and carelessly, then deliberately readjusted the set of his lace tie.

“Percy!” she said reproachfully.

“Yes, m’dear.”

“Lately when you brought Déroulède and Juliette Marny to England⁠ ⁠… I endured agonies of anxiety⁠ ⁠… and⁠ ⁠…”

He sighed, a quick, short, wistful sigh, and said very gently:

“I know you did, m’dear, and that is where the trouble lies. I know that you are fretting, so I have to be so demmed quick about the business, so as not to keep you in suspense