The Masque of the Black Tulip Read Free Page B

window, Henrietta knew just what he would see: a serene young lady (Henrietta hastily pushed a stray wisp of hair back into the Grecian-style bun on the top of her head) daydreaming over her correspondence and her diary. It was enough to put a spy to sleep, which was precisely why Henrietta had suggested the plan to Jane in the first place.
    For seven long years, Henrietta had been angling to be included in the war effort. It didn't seem quite fair that her brother got to be written up in the illustrated newsletters as "that glamorous figure of shadow, that thorn in the side of France, that silent savior men know only as the Purple Gentian," while Henrietta was stuck being the glamorous shadow's pesky younger sister. As she had pointed out to her mother the year she turned thirteen—the year that Richard joined the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel—she was as smart as Richard, she was as creative as Richard, and she was certainly a great deal stealthier than Richard.
    Unfortunately, she was also, as her mother reminded her, a good deal younger than Richard. Seven years younger, to be precise.
    "Oh, bleargh," said Henrietta, since there was really nothing she could say in response to that, and Henrietta wasn't the sort who liked being without something to say.
    Lady Uppington looked at her sympathetically. "We'll discuss it when you're older."
    "Juliet was married when she was thirteen, you know," protested Henrietta.
    "Yes, and look what happened to her," replied Lady Uppington.
    By the time she was fifteen, Henrietta decided she had waited quite long enough. She put her case to the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel in her best imitation of Portia's courtroom speech. The gentlemen of the League were not moved by her musings on the quality of mercy, nor were they swayed by her arguments that an intrepid young girl could wriggle in where a full-grown man would get stuck in the window frame.
    Sir Percy looked sternly at her through his quizzing glass. "We'll discuss it—"
    "I know, I know," Henrietta said wearily, "when I'm older."
    She didn't have any more success when Sir Percy retired and Richard began cutting a wide swathe through French prisons and English news sheets as the Purple Gentian. Richard, being her older brother, was a great deal less diplomatic than Sir Percy had been. He didn't even make the obligatory reference to her age.
    "Have you run mad?" he asked, running a black-gloved hand agitatedly through his blond hair. "Do you know what Mother would do to me if I so much as let you near a French prison?"
    "Ah, but does Mama need to know?" suggested Henrietta cunningly.
    Richard gave her another "Have you gone completely and utterly insane?" look.
    "If Mother is not told, she will find out. And when she finds out," he gritted out, "she will dismember me."
    "Surely, it's not as bad as—"
    "Into hundreds and hundreds of tiny pieces."
    Henrietta had persisted for a bit, but since all she could get out of her brother were incoherent mumbles about his head being stuck up on the gates of Uppington Hall, his hindquarters being fed to the dogs, and his heart and liver being served up on a platter in the dining room, she gave up, and went off to do some muttering of her own about overbearing older brothers who thought they knew everything just because they had a five-page spread on their exploits in the Kentish Crier.
    Appealing to her parents proved equally ineffectual. After Richard had been inconsiderate enough to go and get himself captured by the Ministry of Police, Lady Uppington had become positively unreasonable on the subject of spying. Henrietta's requests were met with "No. Absolutely not. Out of the question, young lady," and even one memorable "There are still nunneries in England."
    Henrietta wasn't entirely certain that her mother was right about that—there had been a Reformation, and a fairly thorough one, at that—but she had no desire to test the point. Besides, she had heard all about the Ministry of