Christmas Fic for Liz
Title: Up to Something
Fandom: The Scarlet Pimpernel
Spoilers: Book and musical, pretty much. Neither belong to me.
Rating: PG for unmitigated silliness.
Summary: Marguerite should just stop letting Percy out of the house. Also, Andrew Ffoulkes is apparently a book-only character, but he's so darned cute I just had to include him.


Sir Percy Blakeney was decidedly unamused. Which was new, for him. He spent most of the time amused, and on the whole it made life much more pleasant, but really, this was the outside of enough. If only Andrew hadn't found him he might have gotten away with this little escapade entirely; now he simply had to explain somehow.

It didn’t help that Marguerite had, upon seeing him, immediately clamped her hands tight across her mouth, and was even now staring at him through wide eyes while making odd snorting noises that he suspected meant suppressed laughter.

“This is not my fault,” Sir Andrew Ffoulkes said, again.

“Oh, do shut up, Andrew,” Percy said, wearily. “It’s hardly my fault either.”

Andrew ignored him. “I found him like that by the Serpentine,” he told Marguerite, who wasn’t, apparently, listening. “Thought I’d better bring him straight home.” He paused, glanced at Percy, leaned over to Marguerite and whispered loudly, “Between you and me I think he’s a bit foxed.”

“Andrew!” Percy snapped. “I am neither foxed nor deaf!”

Marguerite recovered herself enough to say, “You are, however, somewhat improperly dressed. Really, Percy, what were you thinking?” Her eyes danced. “Were you swimming in the Serpentine?”

“Certainly not. Lud, the very idea!” He attempted a haughty sniff. Mistake—Marguerite clapped her hands over her mouth again. Percy went on undaunted. “I was, if you must know, speaking with a gentleman who is concerned for his family in France. Which reminds me, Ffoulkes, we’ve a trip to make next week.”

Andrew nodded. “All right then,” he said. “I’ll just, er, take myself off and tell the chaps then.”

“Yes. Do.”

Percy could manage a rather good icy tone when he chose; Andrew bowed awkwardly to Marguerite, and then fled for the door.

Marguerite had used the time to compose herself again, and had wrestled her face an appropriately stern expression. She still had those tiny crinkles around her eyes that meant she was doing her damndest not to laugh, though. Percy began to feel the faintest glimmerings of amusement.

“This gentleman of yours,” she began, and he was rather impressed with the steadiness of her voice; but then she had been an actress. “He is worried for his family in France.”

“Very,” Percy said.

She nodded. “Understandable and quite commendable. What I find puzzling, my dear, is exactly why he required you to be naked.”

Percy lifted his chin and gave her his best scornful, empty-headed stare. “La! To ensure I wasn’t armed, of course!”

Marguerite choked, turned away, let out several muffled sniggers, and turned back with her stern frown back in place. “And you are dripping wet because…?”

That was a little more embarrassing. “Andrew startled him and he pushed me in the Serpentine,” Percy muttered, then gave her his best inane grin as a distraction.

That did it—Marguerite fled the parlor, uncontrollable giggles wafting in her wake. Percy stared after her thoughtfully, then grinned. That had actually gone rather well.

Now if he could only get upstairs and into the bath before she went over his story again and realized that it didn’t make the least bit of sense. He wanted to be clean and dressed before he had to tell her what had really happened.