Lord Tony’s Wife, Baroness Orczy [bill gates best books TXT] 📗

faithful handmaiden, and the excitement of the chase after the other quarry had fortunately drawn every possible enemy from his track. He had set his teeth and accomplished his task, and even the deathly anxiety for the wife whom he idolised had been crushed, under the iron heel of a grim resolve. Now his work was done, and from far away he heard the rattle of the coach wheels which were bringing his beloved nearer and nearer to him.

Five minutes longer and the coach came to a halt. A cheery voice called out gaily:

“Tony! are you there?”

“Percy!” exclaimed the young man.

Already he knew that all was well. The gallant leader, the loyal and loving friend, had taxed every resource of a boundlessly fertile brain in order to win yet another wreath of immortal laurels for the League which he commanded, and the very tone of his merry voice proclaimed the triumph which had crowned his daring scheme.

The next moment Yvonne lay in the arms of her dear milor. He had stepped into the carriage, even while Sir Percy climbed nimbly on the box and took the reins from the bewildered coachman’s hands.

“Citizen proconsul⁠ ⁠…” murmured the latter, who of a truth thought that he was dreaming.

“Get off the box, you old noodle,” quoth the pseudo-proconsul peremptorily. “Thou and thy friend the postilion will remain here in the road, and on the morrow you’ll explain to whomsoever it may concern that the English spy made a murderous attack on you both and left you half dead outside the postern gate of the cemetery of Ste. Anne. Here,” he added as he threw a purse down to the two men⁠—who half-dazed and overcome by superstitious fear had indeed scrambled down, one from his box, the other from his horse⁠—“there’s a hundred francs for each of you in there, and mind you drink to the health of the English spy and the confusion of your brutish proconsul.”

There was no time to lose: the horses⁠—still very fresh⁠—were fretting to start.

“Where do we pick up Hastings and Ffoulkes?” asked Sir Percy Blakeney finally as he turned toward the interior of the barouche, the hood of which hid its occupants from view.

“At the corner of the rue de Gigan,” came the quick answer. “It is only two hundred metres from the city gate. They are on the look out for you.”

“Ffoulkes shall be postilion,” rejoined Sir Percy with a laugh, “and Hastings sit beside me on the box. And you will see how at the city gate and all along the route soldiers of the guard will salute the equipage of the all-powerful proconsul of Nantes. By Gad!” he added under his breath, “I’ve never had a merrier time in all my life⁠—not even when⁠ ⁠…”

He clicked his tongue and gave the horses their heads⁠—and soon the coachman and the postilion and Jean-Marie the gravedigger of the cemetery of Ste. Anne were left gaping out into the night in the direction where the barouche had so quickly disappeared.

“Now for Le Croisic and the Daydream,” sighed the daring adventurer contentedly, “… and for Marguerite!” he added wistfully.

II

Under the hood of the barouche Yvonne, wearied but immeasurably happy, was doing her best to answer all her dear milor’s impassioned questions and to give him a fairly clear account of that terrible chase and flight through the streets of the Isle Feydeau.

“Ah, milor, how can I tell you what I felt when I realised that I was being carried along in the arms of the valiant Scarlet Pimpernel? A word from him and I understood. After that I tried to be both resourceful and brave. When the chase after us was at its hottest we slipped into a ruined and deserted house. In a room at the back there were several bundles of what looked like old clothes. ‘This is my storehouse,’ milor said to me; ‘now that we have reached it we can just make long noses at the whole pack of bloodhounds.’ He made me slip into some boy’s clothes which he gave me, and whilst I donned these he disappeared. When he returned I truly did not recognise him. He looked horrible, and his voice⁠ ⁠… ! After a moment or two he laughed, and then I knew him. He explained to me the role which I was to play, and I did my best to obey him in everything. But oh! I hardly lived while we once more emerged into the open street and then turned into the great Place which was full⁠—oh full!⁠—of people. I felt that at every moment we might be suspected. Figure to yourself, my dear milor⁠ ⁠…”

What Yvonne Dewhurst was about to say next will never be recorded. My lord Tony had closed her lips with a kiss.

Endnotes

This adventure is recorded in The Elusive Pimpernel. ↩

Colophon

Lord Tony’s Wife
was published in 1917 by
Baroness Orczy.

This ebook was produced for
Standard Ebooks
by
Vince Rice,
and is based on a transcription produced in 2011 by
Brenda Lewis, Carla Foust, and The Online Distributed Proofreading Team
for
Project Gutenberg
and on digital scans available at the
Internet Archive.

The cover page is adapted from
Portrait of a Woman,
a painting completed in 1753 by
Jean-Marc Nattier.
The cover and title pages feature the
League Spartan and Sorts Mill Goudy
typefaces created in 2014 and 2009 by
The League of Moveable Type.

The first edition of this ebook was released on
December 31, 2020, 7:51 p.m.
You can check for updates to this ebook, view its revision history, or download it for different ereading systems at
standardebooks.org/ebooks/baroness-orczy/lord-tonys-wife.

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