Читать книгу The Life and Exploits of the Scarlet Pimpernel - Emmuska Orczy - Страница 11

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In the meanwhile, over in England, John Blake had died and left his son sole heir to his vast wealth and considerable property. Nothing, therefore, kept Sir Percy in Holland now that peace had been restored. Blake House awaited its future master. Sir Percy took his bride across the water and settled down in England, there to pass the rest of his days in peace.

And so the years passed away.

Atropos cut the thread of life with her scissors, and Diogenes rests in the churchyard of Blakeney beside Gilda, his dearly beloved wife.

And Nikolas, his son, reigned in his stead.

Sir Nikolas Blakeney carried on the tradition — love of adventure cannot be quenched in the “mad-cap” Blakeneys. They can never settle down and live in quiet enjoyment; they must always be up and doing, battling for fame and fortune, for the mere sake of the sport itself. And Nikolas was a true son of his father; he fought with Marlborough, going with him from victory to victory; he organized the Dutch allies; he was caught spying for the English generals; he escaped by the skin of his teeth; whilst his wife, Helen Hamilton, waited patiently at Blake with her son, George. But Nikolas never returned. On the eve of the Battle of Blenheim he was stricken down by a fever and died within a few days — died as all Blakeneys have wished and ever will wish to die, to the sound of the trumpet and cannon, with a sword in his hand.

Sir George Blakeney was a failure! Nothing could induce him to travel or to take up arms. It is to be feared that he was the black sheep of the Blakeney family. The only important thing in his life, on which entitled him to a mention in their chronicles, is the fact that he nursed his grandchild, Percy, the Scarlet Pimpernel, on his knee. He played games with the baby; invented stories, recounted the history of his famous ancestor to this boy, who was himself destined to invent the greatest game of all — who was to be the most famous and most beloved Blakeney throughout the length and breadth of England, the most hated and feared man in revolutionary France. A small, insignificant red flower became a device, the mere sight of which thrilled the hearts of his gallant friends, brought smoldering fear into the souls of his enemies.

And soon a lazy, slightly inane, but irresistible, laugh echoed down the corridors of Blake House...