The
journey through the bowels of the building became a
living nightmare for De' Mere. The cloaked figure, his
hood now back in place, led the way unerringly from
doorway to doorway, from shadow from shadow, little more
that a shadow himself. And De' Mere followed, clumsily he
knew, but doing the best he could to be quick and
quiet.
As they
approached the guard room the figure suddenly held out a
restraining hand, drawing
De'
Mere back into the darkness. Within the lighted square of
the doorway a shadow moved. A guard appeared, yawning and
stretching. The hooded figure stood quite still in the
gloom, watching, but De' Mere was staring at something
else entirely. Incongruously, the hand that held him back
bore upon the smallest finger a ring, finely wrought in
gold, bearing the emblem of a tiny flower. De' Mere Knew
that emblem. The whole of France knew that emblem, and
the implications of it took his breath away. He was being
rescued from his much deserved fate by the Scarlet
Pimpernel!
The
guard yawned again and looked around, and seeing nothing
disappeared back into the light. Ghost-like, the two
moved on.
De'
Mere stood in the lamp light at the steps of the fine
building. A shabby cloak was about his shoulders and a
short staff was in his rag wrapped hands. It was starting
to rain again and he was cold and hungry and he had no
money, but at least he was free.
A fine
carriage drawn by two grey horses drew up beside him,
splashing the gutter water over his feet. Soaked, De'
Mere stepped back. At the top of the steps the doors were
opened by servants. A tall, handsome figure emerged,
pausing in the doorway while he pulled on his gloves. His
head turned and he caught De' Meres' eye. De' Mere gasped
and stared. It couldn't possibly be. This mans' face,
long of jaw and brow, was shaved and powdered, his dark
hair drawn smoothly back and tied with black satin into
the nap of his neck. His clothes were of deep red
brocaded velvet beneath a greatcoat of black broad cloth.
But it was the eyes that held De' Meres' attention. They
were a bright, bright blue.
The
gentleman slipped a finger into his waistcoat pocket and
flipped De' Mere a coin before stepping into the
carriage. Automatically he picked it up, fingering the
edge as he watched the carriage pull away. Not until it
had disappeared from view did he look down at what he
held. It was an English guinea.
N.B The
character of the Scarlet Pimpernel is the creation and
sole property of Baroness Emmuska Orczy and this text is
intended in no way to infringe upon her copyright or that
of her heirs or descendants.
Potters
Bar 2000