I woke up with one of those something-awful-is-going-to-happen stomachaches. Laughing ludicrously, I threw back the covers and got out of bed. Nothing ever happened to me, awful or otherwise. I shivered when my feet touched the cold wooden floor, and I quickly jumped into my frock, apron and shoes. The same frock, apron and shoes I wore yesterday. And the same frock, apron and shoes I would wear tomorrow. As I did every morning, I made breakfast for Armand and myself. We ate in silence, as we always did. My nose was buried in another fairy tale, and Armand was poring over some legal documents. After breakfast, I took the fairy tale story and my little shopping basket and headed to the market, the same as I did every morning. I couldn't bear this life much longer. To continue doing the same old thing day in and day out was going to drive me crazy. Everyone thought Armand was in danger of going crazy and ending up as fodder for Madame la Guillotine, but in truth I think I'm closer than anyone.

I walked down the street, my head in the clouds. I had just finished the most wonderful story, about a beanstalk, and an ogre. It was all so magical! I stopped to buy bread and tried to explain the magic of the story to Marie, the bread woman; but she had no time for such nonsense. As I passed the tavern, full even at this early hour, I felt the stares of the local drunks burning through my dress. My face flushed in embarrassment. They were disgusting. Avoiding eye contact, I hurried past them. As I rounded a corner, I heard one of them say, "Marguerite St. Just, its too bad she's always got her head in a book. She would be worth having if it wasn't for the fact that she's so odd. Who would ever want a girl who reads?"

The words stung a little, but I tried not to care. I had been called worse. Besides, I liked reading; in my books people are beautiful, they have wonderful adventures and they live happily ever after. Just the sort of life I wanted; adventure, romance, a happy ending. That was the life for me. I breezed into the bookstore.

"Bonjour, Monsieur!" I said pleasantly. Other than Armand, the bookseller was the only person in Paris who understood me.

"Bonjour, Mademoiselle. Back so soon?" His merry old eyes twinkled as I nodded enthusiastically.

"I couldn't put this one down. Have you got anything new?"

Chuckling, he shook his head. "Not since yesterday, Marguerite."

"That's alright," I said, clambering up the nearest ladder to reach the top shelf. "I'll borrow…this one!"

"That one?" he asked inquisitively. "But, Margot, you've read it twice."

"Oh, I know!" I gushed. "Its my favorite. Far off places, daring sword fights, magic spells! A prince in disguise!"

"Oh! Shh! Quietly, Mademoiselle St. Just! Be careful using that word! It's a very dangerous word these days. But, if you like it all that much, it's yours."

"But, Monsieur! I haven't the money..."

"Now, now," he said, cutting me short. "I know you haven't. It's a gift. Please, take it and enjoy it."

"Merci Monsieur! Merci beaucoup!" I backed out the door, and nearly skipped down the street, ignoring the hungry stares I got from the men around me. I heard gossips muttering about me as I rounded the corner, and children laughed at me as they paused from their little games to stare. Unbeknownst to me, I had become the laughing stock of Paris.

Nearing the northern gate of Paris, my book was rudely taken from my hands. I stopped and looked up. "Citizen Chauvelin!" I cried, a little surprised.

"Please," he drawled. "Call me Gaston."

I grimaced. "May I have my book back please?"

"You know, my little Citizeness St. Just, everyone is talking about you. It simply isn't right for a woman to read trashy fairy tales like this."

"Why ever not?" I asked innocently.

"Well, she will soon get ideas. Start thinking; her head is filled with ridiculous royalist twaddle. A woman with a silly story like this book in her hands could undermine the entire republic I have worked so hard to help build."

"Why! Gaston! You are positively paranoid."

He chuckled manfully. "Why, thank you Margot. That is part of my job you know. I am the chief agent to the Committee of Public Safety." I thought I was going to be sick. He was disgusting in his arrogant display of manhood. "How about we take a stroll over to the Place de la Greve, and watch a few of the executions. You know, I caught most of those foolish aristos myself."

Gulping, I excused myself. "Perhaps some other time, Citizen. I really must hurry home to my brother. He needs my help with some paperwork this afternoon." Citizen Chauvelin's pathetic excuse for a secretary jumped in.

"That crazy idealist! He needs all the help he can get!" Lefou and Chauvelin burst into a rude peal of manly laughter. I was fuming.

"Don't talk about my brother that way!"

Stopping short, Chauvelin smacked Lefou upside the head. "Yeah. Don't talk about her brother that way."

"My brother's not crazy! He's a genius. One day he'll prove it to all of France!" I turned on my heel and stalked away, the blood rushing to my face as I heard Chauvelin and Lefou chuckling behind me.

Once out of view, I rushed home to Armand, tears burning in my eyes. I hated this town, these ruthless people, this foolish revolution that I had once supported; I hated my life.

Reaching our little flat, I threw myself in the door. Armand was lost in paperwork, so I brushed the tears from my eyes, and set to making lunch.

"Did you have a nice time in town today, Margot?" asked Armand absentmindedly, as I bustled about the kitchen.

"I got a new book." I wasn't feeling very talkative. After a moment of silence, I looked at Armand. "Armand, do you think I'm odd?"

"My sister? The cleverest girl in Europe? Odd? Where ever did you get an idea like that?" He looked up at me, peering over his reading glasses. A pencil was tucked behind each ear, and he had ink stains from his quill all over his face and fingers. A half-hearted grin crossed my face.

"Oh, I don't know," I replied sadly. I could never tell him what people said about us. It would break his heart. "Its just, well, there's no one I can really talk to."

"What about that Citizen Chauvelin?" Armand asked as he returned to his work. "He's a handsome fellow, and he's awfully intelligent and important too."

"Oh. He's smart and handsome, all right. And ruthless. And deceitful. And, oh Armand. He's not for me." I turned my back to keep Armand from seeing the tears in my eyes. At that moment, a knock at the door made us both jump. Armand answered the door. He returned in a few moments with a missive in his hand. Excitement was on his face and his hand shook.

"Armand? What is it, dear?" I asked him, concernedly.

"I'm to go to England to present my ideas before a highly recognized salon. They wish to hear my ideas on democracy and the republic. If they like what they hear, I shall be given a position at Cambridge University."

"Oh, Armand! If you succeed! This could be our chance out. We could leave France behind us. Move to London! Oh how wonderful that should be!" My face froze and fell.

"But, Armand. If you should fail, Armand, you could never return to Paris. You know that they already think your ideas are dangerous. But going to England! They will use that against you. You would surely go to the guillotine!"

"Nonsense, silly! They would have no proof whatsoever. Besides, I have no reason to fail. I am as secure in these ideas as John Locke himself." His positive attitude did not help to ease my fear. But he rapidly packed a satchel, and prepared to leave.

"Armand! For my sake, please, take Phillippe with you." Phillippe was our man-of-all-trades. He helped out around the house because Armand was usually so lost in his studies, and I wasn't able to do many of the jobs simply due to my lack of sheer strength. Phillippe wasn't the brightest; he was mute, and rather slow, but he served his purpose, and was a good friend to both of us.

"Now, now, Margot. If I take Phillippe, whoever shall look out for you?"

"Armand! I can take care of myself. Please, take Phillippe and go. You shan't be gone long, and I shall manage just fine without you both. Please, for my sake."

Grudgingly, Armand gave in. He knew I was smart and strong-willed. I was fully capable of taking care of myself for a fortnight, and Armand knew that. I bid farewell to Armand and Phillippe, then picked up my book.

Quickly, I was lost in a daring sword fight. I was totally unaware of the world around me, until the pounding on the door startled me from my daydream. Peering out the window, I saw Gaston Chauvelin and, at a safe distance, a group of ragtag revolutionaries gawking excitedly. I sighed, and opened the door.

"Gaston! What a pleasant surprise," I said in mock delight.

"Isn't it though?" His arrogance disgusted me. He paused for a moment to straighten his tricolor sash, than looked at me. "Marguerite St. Just, this is your lucky day. This is the day that all your dreams come true. Why, there isn't a girl in town who wouldn't love to be in your pretty shoes."

"Gaston, what do you know about my dreams?"

"Plenty! You are a good citizeness of the Republic of France. Picture this: a nice, wealthy looking little flat, my latest letter of congratulations from Citizen Robespierre hanging in a plaque over the mantle; my little wife massaging my feet; our children playing with a guillotine on the floor. We'll have six or seven."

"Guillotines?" I asked, confused.

"No, Marguerite! Children. Good, strong republicans, like me."

"Oh." He was starting scaring me. How I wished Phillippe were here, Chauvelin would not dare be so bold then.

"All it takes is one little word, Marguerite. Just say you'll marry me, and all you have ever wanted will be lain at your feet."

He had backed me into a corner, but I had slid towards the door. The door handle was under my fingers now. "Gaston. Why…I…I'm honored." He was leaning in to kiss me. I could feel his hot breath on my cheek; his lips were nearing mine. I couldn't panic; I had to keep my head. My hand was fumbling around the doorknob. "But, Gaston. Well…I just don't think I deserve you! Good bye!" I had finally secured my hand on the doorknob, and opened the door. As he leaned towards me, the door moved from beneath him, and he stumbled out into the street. I slammed the door behind me, and breathed a sigh of relief. I could hear the revolutionaries laughing at Chauvelin.

I was furious. Could you imagine, me, Marguerite St. Just, the wife of that boorish, bloodthirsty…oh! If he was the best that manhood had to offer, I thought I should join a convent.

A few days passed quietly. I passed the time reading, washing clothes and dishes. I read and reread my new book, waiting for Armand to send for me to join him in England. One afternoon, I was drinking a small cup of coffee and had reached my favorite part, where the girl meets prince charming, but she doesn't know it yet. Suddenly the door burst open, and Phillippe, wide-eyed, stumbled into the house.

"Phillippe! What is it? Where is Armand?" It was foolish for me to ask him, I knew he couldn't reply, but I was terrified. "No! Wait!" I said as he attempted to scrawl a note to me. "Please don't waste the time. Let me gather a few things, and we'll go. You must take me to him Phillippe!" Phillippe nodded, and I hurriedly flung a few necessities into a pack. Drawing my cloak around me, I locked the door and quickly followed Phillippe into the carriage that was waiting for us. With all haste we fled to Calais, and boarded a packet for Dover. I fidgeted all night long, and didn't sleep a wink, hoping that I could reach Armand before something terrible happened.

We reached Dover, and I followed Phillippe across the English countryside, to a dreary little hamlet known as Richmond. Pointing to a forlorn, menacing estate, Phillippe gave me a look that said 'he's in there'. Then, he turned and fled. Standing alone before the great mansion, I knew I had only one option.

I heaved open the great gate, and walked boldly up to the front door. I pushed it open, and took a hesitant step inside. "Hello?" I called out. "I'm looking for my brother. Is anyone here? Hello?" I was terrified, but I knew I had to find Armand. He must be a prisoner here. I would do anything to get him free. Oh why had I encouraged him to come to England? I heard voices leading down a hallway, and I followed calling after them. With the voices went a flickering candlelight.

"Please! Wait! I'm looking for my brother. Could you help me?" No one responded, but the light was growing dimmer, so I quickly followed the light. I finally came to a stairway, and I followed the light up the stairs. I was terrified; only God knew where these stairs lead. I could only pray that Armand would be at the top of them. I reached the top of the stairs, and I knew I was in the top tower of the mansion.

"Is anyone here? Armand?" The words rasped from my mouth. I was so afraid.

"Margot?" He sounded so sick. "Margot, is that you? How did you find me?"

"Oh Armand! Who has done this to you?"

"Margot! You shouldn't have come here!"

"Armand! We've got to get you out of here. Oh! Your hands are like ice!"

"No! Margot, you must leave. You can't stay here" I was just about to tell him I would never leave him, but I was interrupted by a sharp gust of wind and the slamming of a door behind me. A great yell of fury startled me.

"What are you doing here?!" I gasped. In the darkness and shadow of the tower, I could not see who was addressing me, but I felt the nearness of something. Something large, well over six feet tall, was lurking in the shadows, and it was terrible.



"What are you doing here?" asked the voice again.

I boldly stood up from the spot where I had knelt on the floor next to Armand's door. "If you please, sir, you've taken my brother prisoner. I would like you to release him."

"No. He shouldn't have come here, spouting his ridiculous revolutionary ideas. I won't have a revolution in my country as you have had in yours."

"But…"

"NOOO!" roared the voice.

"There must be something I can do. Would you take me instead? He's not dangerous to you anymore. He's sick. He needs a doctor. Please, take me in his place."

"YOU!" He paused. "You would take his place?"

"No Margot! I won't let you!" cried Armand from behind his cell's door. I ignored him and spoke to the great shape lurking in the shadows.

"Come into the light." I said. I wanted to shut my eyes; to turn away from whatever Armand's captor was hiding. Slowly, the great hulking figured shifted into the light. The man before me was well over six feet tall, and had very broad shoulders. But it wasn't his size that frightened me. His hair was a disheveled mess, wilding sticking all over the place. His face was scratched and bruised, his clothes tattered and torn. Even this didn't frighten me as much as his eyes. The furious, maniacal look in them, full of murderous rage; drawing himself to his full height, he stared down at me. I turned away, horrified by his frightening appearance.

"I won't let you do this Margot."

"If you stay, you must promise to stay here forever. You may never leave. You will be my prisoner for life."

I held in a great sob, and boldly stood to face him. "You have my word," I said.

"Margot! No! Listen, you have so much to live for. You could become something! Please! I have nothing to live for anymore! You must not…" He was then escorted out of the room by guards who had entered unseen.

"Take him to Dover, make sure he is able to get back into Paris unharmed," said the great beast of a man as he followed the guards and my brother from the tower.

"WAIT!" I cried. It was all happening too quickly. I had to at least kiss my brother goodbye. I would never see him again. Left alone, I sank to me knees in misery. I had always wanted an adventure, but this was not exactly what I had had in mind. The tears fell rapidly, and I shivered from the chill of the tower. I would die here. Maybe I would live a few months, perhaps a few years, but I knew I would eventually die from loneliness and cold.

"You didn't even late me say goodbye," I snapped at the great beast when he returned to the tower. "I'll never see him again, and you have ripped him away from me."

He stared at me dumbly before he said anything.

"I'll show you to your room now." His voice had not lost its edge, but it was not as loud as it was before.

"My room?" I asked hesitantly, more than a little surprised.

"What? Do you want to stay in the tower?" He quipped harshly. I shook my head slowly.

"Then follow me." In a great swirl of cape he was gone. I ran quickly to follow after him. If I did not stay close to him I would lose my way in this great mausoleum and surely die in some unknown corner. The serving man who led us, lighting the way, murmured to his master, but I did not catch what he said. I was gaping at the hidden splendor of the dirty and dark manor. All of it was of the most regal décor, yet covered in a layer of grime and dust. I gasped at the terrible grimace of a gargoyle and fled nearer to my terrible host. He hesitated, than turned to me.

"I, uh, hope you like it here." I said nothing. The servant muttered again. "Blakeney Manor is your home now," he continued. "You may go where ever you like. Except the west wing."

My curiosity sparked, I questioned him. "What's in the west wing?"

Scarcely did I get the question out, that he cut me off. "IT IS FORBIDDEN."

The terrible echo of his voice rang up and down the great hall. He scared me into silence, and so I followed him to my quarters without another word. The serving man opened the door to my rooms, and I entered with no word. I avoided my host's eyes, studying the floor, but that did not keep him from speaking to me.

"If you need anything, my servants will attend you. You will…join me for dinner. THAT'S NOT A REQUEST." It may not have been the wisest of actions, but I was so distraught, I scarcely knew what I was doing. I slammed the door in his face and threw myself down on the great bed. Sobbing uncontrollably, I cried myself into exhaustion and drifted off into a troubled sleep.

Awaking sometime later, I groggily turned to stare out the window. The cold, dreary English countryside stared blankly back at me. Closing my eyes to shut out the depressing landscape, I imagined myself back in Paris, with Armand. I was so torn. I hated Paris, hated the revolution, and hated the life I'd left behind. But now, now I was a prisoner with no freedom and no family. A knock at the door made me jump.

"Come in," I said hesitantly.

"I thought you might like a nice pot of tea, ma chere." A short, petite lady with a faintly French accent entered my room. She carried a tray loaded with all the goods for a nice English tea. I accepted a small cup of tea, and the woman introduced herself.

"So you are Marguerite St. Just. You are even prettier than your brother said, and you're much braver than anyone I've ever met. My name is Marie. I take care of things around here; I am the mistress of this manor, so to speak. The master never married and someone has to run things." She spoke on and on of things of the household. I did not hear much of what she said. Her voice lulled until she excitedly cried, "Whatever shall you wear to dinner?"

"I'm not going to dinner."

"Oh! But you must," she encouraged. "He has ordered it! Besides, you're going to stay her for a very long time. He's really not so bad, you should get to know him."

"I'm not going! And I don't want to get to know him! He's taken away my family and freedom all in one day. I've lost my brother and my dreams; I don't want to get to know him. I don't want anything to do with him!" I burst into tears.

"Poor child," cooed Marie. "My poor Marguerite." I ignored her encouragement to acquaint myself with him, but I gladly accepted her petting and cooing. At that very moment, a knock came at the door. A man efficiently hustled in the door. He played the role of a major domo, but he was dressed like a nobleman. This house reeked of mystery and I was too depressed to care to find out what its many secrets were.

Clearing his throat perfunctorily, the man spoke. "Mademoiselle, dinner is served." I clenched my jaw and shook my head.

"Go away, Hastings," said Marie. She continued to smooth my hair and gently rock me in her tiny arms.

"But! Remember what the master said! She must join him!" He was terrified of his master, I was sure of that fact. I had no desire to get the poor man into trouble, for he was a handsome young fellow. Yet I was far too stubborn to give in. After a moment or two of unsuccessful coaxing, Marie and Hastings finally left. I did not envy them the chastising they would receive when I did not show up for dinner.

About five minutes after the servants had left me, I heard a great roar come from downstairs.

"WHAAAAAAAAAAT?" A great pounding of feet and pleading and scuffling came up the grand staircase and towards my room. He pounded on my door veraciously.

"I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU TO COME DOWN TO DINNER."

"I'm not hungry!"

"IF YOU DON'T COME OUT I'LL BREAK DOWN THE DOOR!"

He was quite terrifying, but I am quite stubborn. I refused to open the door. I was not going to give into that terrible beast, even if it meant my life. I heard murmurings outside the door, and I knew my captor was conferring with his manservant.

"It would give me great pleasure, if you would come down to dinner." His growling voice was trying desperately to be gentle, and he was failing miserably. I was about to respond, when a shocking, "Please!" came through the door. He was trying so hard, but I was not going to give in to him.

"No thank you!" I cried to him.

"You can't stay in there forever!"

"Oh yes I can!"

"FINE! Then go ahead and STARVE!" He was fuming, and I didn't care. He was a terrible monster, and I wanted nothing to do with him. I heard him direct his servants "If she doesn't eat with ME, then she doesn't eat AT ALL! Ffloukes! Stand guard at the door and see that she doesn't leave. HASTINGS!!!"

I heard his footsteps swiftly retreat down the hall as he called Hastings. What a horrible creature! I thought to myself.

After I was left alone I continued to stare dejectedly out the window; I had nothing else to do. Eventually I fell asleep on the magnificent bed, and I dreamed fantastic dreams of Paris and Gaston and Armand and this horrible man who had taken my life from me. I drifted between dreams and reality. Once or twice I dreamed that my captor was watching me sleep. I would awake with a start and cast my eyes about the room, but I never saw him.

Long after it had become very dark, a faint, empty feeling overcame me. I hadn't eaten since I left Dover, which was probably sometime yesterday. In my panic over Armand and all the events that had occurred since then, I had lost track of time. I faintly rose from the bed and slipped quietly to the door. It was not locked, and I could only hope that I could avoid the man guarding my door. I turned the doorknob by slight degrees until I could open the door soundlessly. Praying that the hinges would not squeak, I opened the door slowly. I heard voices in the hallway.

"Oh no!"

"Oh yes!"

"Oh no!"

"Oh yes!"

"Andrew! I have been burnt by you before!" The girlish voice laughed merrily. I rolled my eyes as I saw the silhouettes of a man and woman kissing playfully behind a curtain. I had seen such behavior in the taverns of Paris, and the animalistic instincts disgusted me. Didn't people realize that love was so much more than simple physical intimacy? Shaking my head, I quietly slipped down the hall, my heart racing. I knew if I got caught I would probably be returned to the towers, left to freeze and die. Between my hunger and my nervousness, I was quite dizzy. I hurried quickly in what I hoped was the direction of the kitchen. I fumbled around for a while in the dark dankness of the manor, but soon I heard Marie's pretty French accent and a few other voices trickling down an almost cheery looking hallway. I followed the voices and soon came to a lovely, well-lit enormous kitchen. The muted conversation that had been in full swing stopped abruptly when I entered the room. The fussy looking Hastings, with a perturbed expression on his face bowed to me.

"Splendid to see you out and about, mademoiselle." He was trying his hardest to be cheerful, and I let him play at his game. As he began to introduce himself, a hurried figured dashed into the room. "I am Hastings, head of the household." A man I recognized as 'the master's' man Ffoulkes rudely swept him aside. "This is Ffoulkes." He said it flippantly with an annoyed tinge coloring his voice. I looked around me, and the servants didn't seem to be servants at all. I could have easily been sitting in an elegant salon discussing philosophy with this crowd. Their clothes were neat and expensive; their high brows undeniably English nobility. I was beyond baffled at their appearances

Ffoulkes took my hand and kissed it passionately. "Enchantee, cherie," he said in a disgraceful French accent. He would have continued kissing my hand had Hastings not stopped him.

"We are at your service, mademoiselle. If there is anything we can do…"

"Well," I broke in faintly. "I am a little hungry."

"Do you hear that, Elton?" cried Marie. "She's hungry. Hurry man! Get some supper on the table."

A look of fear on his face, Hastings interrupted. "Remember what the master said."

"Oh nonsense!" sang Marie merrily. "I'm not about to have the poor child starve to death."

1 "Fine. Glass of water, crust of bread, and then…"

"Oh, Hastings! Have a heart," broke in Ffoulkes cheerfully. "She is not our prisoner, she is our guest!"

"Alright, alright. But keep it down. If the master finds out about this it will be our necks." Poor Hastings was terrified, but I was so hungry I didn't really care. They made me a wonderful meal. Under Marie's guidance, Elton, the cook, made a delicious French dinner. Marie, Ffoulkes, Elton and I sat around a great dining hall table that looked like it hadn't been used in years. Hastings, who looked very put out, joined us, as did the rest of the household staff, who hesitantly wandered in one by one. After a few moments I found myself surrounded by nineteen very dejected men, Marie and the young woman I had seen in the arms of Ffoulkes just a short time before. They were all dressed in the fashion of the day, and only now did that my hunger was satiated did my appetite for intrigue begin to grow. It was quiet at first, and I looked hesitantly at Marie.

"Marie?"

"Yes, child?"

"Will you tell me about 'the master'? What is his name? Why was my brother his captive? Why..."

"Child, you ask too many questions. Perhaps you should start by telling us who you are." I nodded sheepishly.

"My name is Marguerite St. Just. I live," I paused and swallowed hard. "I lived in Paris." I was immediately interrupted by a thousand questions.

"Are you a republican? Do you support the king and queen? Are you a Christian? Why did you come to England?" The voices overwhelmed me, but one look from Marie silenced them all.

I sighed. "When I was younger, yes, I was a republican. I believed in equality for everyone." I felt the discomfort around me, and I knew I needed to explain. "I was once engaged to the son of an aristocrat, who's name was St. Cyr. When my fiancé's father discovered our arrangement, I was put into prison. Not just any prison, but the infamous St. Lazare. Do any of you know what sort of women were sent to St. Lazare?" My voice colored with a bitterness I was fighting to control. I took a deep breath. Silence hung on the air like smoke on a still day. "On the fourteenth of July, I was finally freed from prison. I was bitter, but I never meant anyone any harm. It was by accident that I told a very important man about the incident between this aristocrat and myself. My fiancé's entire family was sent to the guillotine, every single one of them. My fiancé's father, mother, little darling sisters, his brave little brother, even my fiancé paid for his father's foolishness with his life. And their blood is on my imprudent hands." I had never told anyone that, not even Armand, why had I poured my whole story out before these complete English strangers? Not only were they strangers, but they were royalists to boot. Overwrought with emotion, I buried my face in my hand.

"I'm sorry, ma chere," said Marie softly. "Would you like to go to bed now?"

Inhaling deeply, I finally regained control of myself. "No, I'm alright. Will you answer my questions now?"

"I would be delighted to…" Poor Ffoulkes was cut off once again by Hastings.

"You know the master doesn't like having that story repeated."

"Aw! Hastings! The poor girl has just bared her soul before us. She will be living here for quite sometime, she deserves to know the story."

"Fine. But it will be your neck and not mine if he ever finds out about this."

Swallowing hard, Ffoulkes turned to me. "His name is Sir Percy Blakeney. He is a baronet." He paused, not knowing where to go from there.

"Has he always been like this?" I asked, helping him along.

"Oh no! Mademoiselle. He used to be very loving, caring, and compassionate. Believe it or not, none of us are his servants. You are surprised? You will find many surprising things in this house, Mademoiselle. We are nothing more that a group of his closest friends who have dedicated our lives to him." That explained their clothing. I smiled. One mystery down, about a million to go. "He is just like his mother, God rest her soul. She died a madwoman, and now Percy has inherited her malady. He isn't very rational any more."

"Will he ever recover? Is this condition permanent? Can it be cured?" I could feel my heart breaking for the pitiful creature, but I somehow understood that that was the very reason he did not want his story repeated. He had no desire for pity. I made up my mind to treat him as I would any other man. I asked, but I did not receive a reply. There was panic written on the faces of my new friends, and they were frozen to their seats in horror. Silence reigned over the dining hall, and I could feel his eerie presence directly behind me. I was so overcome with fear, that I could not even turn to face him,

"What are you doing here?" he growled. "Do you realize what you could have done?" His voice was an unbearable roar, and in the silence that followed, every single person fled the table, except me. I was still fearfully fixed to my chair. "Get out of my dining hall." His voice was hideously low, barely a whisper, but insidious, crawling into my ear, freezing my brain. I couldn't move. "GET OUT!"

Without a word I fled the dining hall. I raced up the stairs into my quarters. I grabbed my cloak from the hook Marie had placed it on, and quickly left the room again. I breezed past a worried Marie and a disturbed Ffoulkes as I dashed down the stairs.

"Mademoiselle St. Just!" he cried. "Where are you going?"

"Promise or no promise," I said, fighting the tears in my eyes. "I can't stay here another minute!" I flew out the door into the front lawn. I ran through the menacing gates, and into the barren English countryside. Taking the road, I ran blindly away from the great manor house.

I continued running as long as I could, stumbling into potholes and being scratched by the overgrown brambles along the road. Exhausted, I finally arrived at a tavern. Hoping that no one had followed me, I slipped inside. It was dark and damp, and the place smelled of beer and body odor. I was reminded of Paris when I met the hungry, vicious stares of the bartender and his assorted motley guests. Absentmindedly, I placed my hand in my apron pocket, which held all the money I possessed, and that was not very much. Laying a coin on the counter, I requested a glass of sherry from the tavern keeper.

"Listen, wench," he laughed at me. "We don't take none o' that Frenchie money 'ere."

"Please, it is all I have."

"I won't take none o' that money." He came around the bar and sidled towards me. "But, I suppose an arrangement could be reached." He slid his arm around my waist, and drew me close to him. I smacked his face, hard, but he only laughed at me. "Hey! Lookit 'ere, Jerry! We gots ourselves a tough little viper. Come on sweet 'eart, give old John a kiss, will ya?" He leaned his fat, ugly face towards mine, and I fought to get away from his vice-like grip. My sharp French wit came to my aid as I spat in his face and stomped his foot. Yelping in pain, he released me, but I was quickly caught by one of his barflies. There were at least five of them, and I was far too weak, especially after running for so long. They were grabbing at me, tearing my cloak, my apron, my dress. My hair had long since fallen from its simple knot and was now in my face and my eyes and my mouth.

The strongest of the men had wrestled me to the floor, and while I valiantly fought back, I was unable to match his strength. John the bartender was on top of me in a moment, slapping my face, swearing at me. Then he kissed me. His filthy mouth covered mine. I was unable to move, for he had forced all of his weight upon me. I could not even scream in the hopes that some passerby would hear me and come to my aid. Suddenly the door of the bar burst open and as the bartender released me I saw none other than Sir Percy Blakeney storm through the door. He was all about the tavern, fighting with a ferocity and strength I had never seen in a human being. The fight was beastly, but soon, the bar was emptied. I had been cowering on the floor, scarcely able to move due to the bruises I had received from the men. I had seen Lord Blakeney's valiant fight for my honor and my life, but I had been unable to aid him. As the last of the men drug himself painfully away from the scene of the fight, Lord Blakeney's eyes met mine for but a split second. A look mingled with anger and sorrow filled his eyes just before he collapsed senseless to the floor.

Spurred to action by his collapse, I rose to my knees, unable to stand, and crawled round the bar to find a rag and some cool water. Shyly, I crept to his side, fearful of his great size and terrible anger. I knelt by his side and pressed the damp rag to his forehead. After a moment or two, his eyes opened weakly. He brushed me aside and wordlessly pulled himself to his feet. I attempted to raise myself also, but I was so bruised that the pain pulled me back to the floor. Silently, the great hulking man picked me up from the floor. As he moved slowly towards the door, I lost all consciousness.

I awoke in my chambers in Lord Blakeney's house. Marie sat by my side, and in the shadows of the farthest corner, was the great hulking shape of Sir Percival Blakeney. Painfully, I sat up in bed. Cooing softly, Marie tried to force me to lie back down. I brushed her aside, and got out of bed.

Slowly and painfully, I made my way to Lord Blakeney's great form. "Why aren't you being attended by your men?" I asked as I placed my hand on his shoulder.

"OUCH! THAT HURTS!" He cried ferociously as he jerked away from me. In the brief instant I had touched him, I had gotten blood on my finger from a wound in his shoulder.

"Well, it wouldn't hurt if you would have let someone put a bandage on it," I replied smartly.

"Well, if you wouldn't have run away, this wouldn't have happened," he grumbled.

"Well." I said shortly. "If you wouldn't have frightened me I wouldn't have run away!"

"Well, you should learn to keep your nose out of other people's affairs," he yelled.

"And you should learn to control your temper." I yelled back, matching his tone. He opened his mouth to reply, but had no answer. He turned away from me. I motioned to Marie to bring bandages and water. She nervously came to my side, handed me the requested items and backed away again. "Hold still," I told him. "This may hurt a little."

He tried to pull away, but I held his arm firmly. I took a cloth and dipped it in the basin of warm water. Biting his lip he kept from yelling at me as I firmly placed the damp cloth on his injured shoulder. As he relaxed, I slightly loosened my grip on his arm, and tried to be gentler with his tender shoulder.

"By the way," I said shyly. "Thank you. Thank you for saving my honor and my life."

Surprised, he looked at me. "You're welcome." It was the first time I heard him speak that his voice didn't growl. This time, his voice was soft and smooth, almost warm.

After the little incident between Lord Blakeney and me in my bedroom, Marie confined me to my bed. For days, I lay there, restless but still in pain. For some days I did not see Lord Blakeney after I had bandaged his shoulder. On the second day of my confinement, Ffoulkes came to visit me.

"Mademoiselle St. Just, how are you feeling?"

"Please, call me Marguerite. Sore, but terribly bored," I replied with a smile.

"Is there anything I can get for you?" He was so sweet and dashing in his manner. I remembered what he had said about not even being a servant, but simply a dear friend of Lord Blakeney's, a dear friend who had dedicated his life to one in need. I wished I had a friend like that.

"Have you any books?" I asked sheepishly.

"Books?" he asked. I could tell he was surprised. "Mademoiselle, we have more books than you could read in a life time," he said gaily. I smiled.

"Have you got any fairy tales? Perhaps Charles Perrault's story of the little cinder-girl?" I was so excited I was shaking.

Shaking his head, he chuckled. "I'm afraid not, Marguerite. But I shall see what I can find."

As I thanked him, he bowed and left the room.

He returned about an hour later with a book tucked under his arm. The book looked new, but I could tell it had been read with great care a number of times. He handed it to me, and I looked at the cover.

"The Misanthrope?" I asked. "I'm not familiar with this work."

He laughed. "It's a play written by one of your own countrymen, Moliere, in 1622. Its rather a comedy."

"Does it have a happy ending?" I asked girlishly.

"Well. I don't really know. I've never read it."

"Oh. Well, I'll give it a try. Thank you ever so much, Ffoulkes."

"Please, call me Andrew. No one calls me Andrew anymore."

"Thank you Andrew." I smiled sweetly. He was so dear.

Finally, the protective Marie allowed me to leave my room and walk about the grounds. Everyday I would go visit the stables, and take one of the lovely steeds out for a walk. I never rode, because I didn't know how, but I did like to lead them about. There were so many things about this place that I questioned, such as what Lord Blakeney did with his time, and why I never saw many of the other men around, and why even Andrew would disappear for a while. I had learned that there were simply things one did not ask, and while my curiosity burned, I thought it best to keep my questions to myself. Lord Blakeney had done his best to control his temper that day in my room, and I thought it only fitting if I did what he asked of me.

That night I was invited to dine with Lord Blakeney. It was the first invitation he had made since the very first night I had been here. Knowing I had no good reason to decline, I accepted. It was nothing formal, we simply sat at the table together and we didn't really talk. He did not seem as angry as he had before. He seemed, well, almost friendly, in a quiet sort of way. His blue eyes didn't have the harsh edge to them, and he was almost gentlemanly in his table manners. I tried not to be surprised at the difference in his behavior, but I was rather shocked when he pulled out my chair when we had finished. I simply didn't understand him. Perhaps there was more to this man than his madness. I was beginning to wonder if he was truly mad at all. But why the façade? I simply didn't know.

I had read The Misanthrope twice since Andrew had brought it to me. It was a wonderful play, full of comical irony, but Alceste made me so angry. He was so cynical. I hoped I would never become so cynical about life, for certainly nothing good ever came of cynicism. Having finished my second reading of the play, I put the book down on the stand and stared out the window. I was bored. At that minute Lord Blakeney interrupted me with a tapping on my shoulder.

"I have a surprised for you," he said. He was short and to the point, but seemed, different. He still played the madman, his hair wildly mussed; his clothes fine but tattered; yet he was almost shy. "But! But you must close your eyes." He looked pleadingly at me. I played along with his game, and shut my eyes. He took my hands, which were shaking terribly. Noticing his hands were shaking harder than mine were, I relaxed a little. His large hands were surprisingly soft and his touch almost gentle. His graceful movement pleasantly shocked me as he led me, wherever we were going. He did not carry himself with the same swift angry stomping step that I had seen him use so often. He was so light on his feet, I wondered if he was a good dancer. It was a silly thought, for graceful or not, he was still a mad man. Or was he? I still couldn't decide. Finally he stopped and I heard a door open. Taking my hands he led me through the door, and positioned me in a certain spot; he must have had this all planned out.

"Can I open my eyes yet?"

"No! No, no, no. Not yet. Just stay right there." With a swift sliding sound, I felt the warmth of sunshine pour over my body, Lord Blakeney hesitated a moment, then spoke. "Alright, open your eyes."

Opening my eyes, I found myself in the most wonderful place I had ever been. Three stories of bookshelves lined each wall. Magnificent Baroque and Rocco gilt paintings graced the ceilings and marble pillars stood guard around the fireplace and doors, but the books caught my attention. I had never seen so many books in all my life. I ran to the nearest shelf, and began reading the titles, consuming the words like a flame consumes paper. There were books on art, architecture, science, politics, animals, plants, and, on the grandest shelf sat book after book of my beloved fairy tales, all brand new. The little cinder girl, the beauty and the beast, snow white, all of my favorites, and some I had never heard of before sat there, begging me to read them. I picked up my favorite of all, the beauty and the beast, and spun around the library, dancing in my excitement.

"Do you like it?" In my exaltation, I had nearly forgotten Lord Blakeney.

"Like it?" I squealed. "Why, its wonderful! It's like a dream! Thank you so much! Thank you Lord Blakeney!" Without even thinking about my actions I ran to him and threw my arms about his waist, for I could not reach his neck. Suddenly, I realized what I was doing, and I froze. He cleared his throat and backed away. The wild look returning to his eyes, he turned away and began to leave.

"Please! Lord Blakeney! Don't leave!" I had spoken without thinking, but I meant the words I said. Turning back to face me, his features softened as the mad look left his eyes.

"Call me Sir Percy." His voice was smooth and gentle. Who was this man? Was he mad? Was he sane? His eyes met mine for a moment, and I saw a glimmer not only of a sane man, but also of a handsome, intelligent, kind aristocrat. The moment passed.

"Sir Percy, will you read with me?"

"I don't read anymore. If you will excuse me, I need to go." With that, he turned on his heel and left the library, and as usual, I did not see him for days.

Some weeks later, Sir Percy returned, Richland Estate was all abuzz.

"He is truly mad!" cried Hastings.

"I think it's wonderful!" cried Andrew.

"Oh goodness," said Marie, when they told her what was happening. No matter whom I asked, no one would tell me what was happening. The minute I started asking questions the whole household began avoiding me like the plague. Finally, after I had interrogated Andrew to no avail, I hid myself in the library with all of my new books. If they were too good to tell me what was going on, I didn't really care.

I had just lost myself in Gulliver's Travels, when I felt someone's hand on my shoulder. I turned and found myself face to face with Sir Percy.

"Sir Percy! You startled me!" But Sir Percy did not say a word; he just starred at me with his wild eyes. "Sir Percy? Did you want something?" Had he stood there staring another moment I probably would have fled in fear, but the muscles in his jaw relaxed, and he suddenly spoke.

"Mademoiselle, I have a favor to ask of you." He hesitated, not knowing where to begin. "I have decided to reintroduce myself into English society." I have to admit, I was startled and my face showed it. Sir Percy grimaced at my look, but continued. "My old friend the Lord Grenville is having a ball and I have decided to attend. If you will allow me, I would like to escort you."

I was speechless. Once again, a thousand questions flooded my mind. The situation was so very strange. Was Sir Percy really mad? If he was, why did he want to go to a ball? If he wasn't, why did he act like he was? I did not understand. I looked at Sir Percy, his earnestness written clearly all over his face. He had been so kind to me, he really had. He could have imprisoned me, he could have starved me, beat me, a thousand other things. But he hadn't. Not only had he treated me civilly, he had protected my honor in the tavern, he had given me a beautiful wardrobe and a library full of books. How could I refuse him a favor that may help him get his former life back?

"Sir Percy, I would be honored to go to the Lord Grenville's ball with you." A boyish look of surprise and excitement crossed his face.

"Really? Do you mean it?"

I laughed. "Why of course I do!"

"HAAAAAAAASTINGS!!!!!" I held my ears as Sir Percy stood at the door and bellowed for his friend. "HAAAAAAAAASTINGS! Sink me, man, but you take a demmed long time!"

I had never seen Sir Percy like this. He was, well, normal! He behaved like every aristocratic fop I had ever seen parade down the streets of Paris. He turned to me.

"La! M'dear. Whatever is the matter? Why the surprised look upon your face? Sink me! Am I truly behavin' that odd?" He grinned with a joy I had never seen in a human being before. "HAAAAAAASTINGS!" He cried, just as poor Hastings flew in the door.

"Forgive me, milord…" began Hastings.

"Oh, come off it! Sink me; you would think I was your lord and master. La! What a ridiculous thought! Hastings, Mademoiselle St. Just and I are off to London. Gad! We cannot appear at milord Grenville's without lookin' our best, wot?

Hastings gaped at Sir Percy with a look of shock and astonishment. Eying me cautiously, he pulled Sir Percy outside of the door. I did not try to eavesdrop, but Hastings was so loud in his condemnation of Sir Percy's actions, that I could not help overhearing their words.

"Good God Percy! Are you mad?" I could not help but think that was a rather strange thing to say to him, and I smirked in spite of myself. "You could ruin everything! Do you know who will be there? The French have sent Gaston Chauvelin to spy on us. You know as well as I do what he is looking for, and you also know her history." My history? Whatever did that mean? Was he referring to the Marquis St. Cyr? But, I had told them the truth! Hastings had sat there as I had told them all what had happened. He couldn't possibly think that I was dangerous could he?

"La! You are a foolish fellow." There was that tone of voice, the mannerisms that I didn't recognize, the fop. "Gad, do you think she is a threat to us? Sink me! You heard her tale as well as I. If you are referrin' to the St. Cyr incident, why, she's cleared her own name. And you should not worry yourself about that Shovelin' fellow. He shan't find what he's lookin' for, he hasn't yet." Why did they keep mentioning Chauvelin? What did he have to do with these men in their bizarre masquerade? I was so confused. Whatever was going on?

So baffled was I, that I did not hear the rest of Sir Percy and Hastings' conversation. I sat, lost in my own thoughts until the two men reentered the room. Hastings was furious, but Sir Percy was in a good humor. "Mademoiselle, prepare yourself to travel. We are off to London!"

We left for London that very afternoon, much to the dislike of Hastings, and the joy of almost everyone else. Andrew and Marie were overjoyed, but nervously advised Sir Percy to "be careful." I was still very confused, and wanted so badly to ask what was going on, but Sir Percy and his friends obviously didn't trust me, or they would have told me. I hated not knowing what was going on, and it made me rather insolent.

All the way to London, Sir Percy chatted cheerfully about clothing and horses and how he missed society.

Daringly, I questioned him. "Tell me, Sir Percy. Why is Hastings so angry with you for wanting to come to London? And why were Marie and Andrew so anxious for your safety? If you are quite as well as you act, there is no reason for them to be in such a state of distress."

A fleeting look of anxiety crossed Sir Percy's handsome face. I was afraid that such a question had offended him, or worse yet, brought about a bought of madness. My words had been inclined do so before.

"Well," Sir Percy began slowly. "They are simply worryin' about me. Foolish devils think I'm still a little loony, if you'll pardon the expression. Maybe they're right." A dark mood descended over the carriage, and Sir Percy's jaw tightened, as did his grip on the reins. Stunned, I shrank from his side. I had done it again. He was not fully well, but he was trying; and there was I, pulling him back to his madness.

"Sir Percy," overcoming my fear I reached out and touched his hand. He tried to shake me off, but I held firm to his hand. "I'm sorry. My words were callous. Will you forgive me?"

He nodded curtly, but we continued our journey to London in silence. I was fitted for a gorgeous gown of shimmering gold. I had never seen a fabric that danced in the light the way this one did. A golden tiara was purchased for my auburn hair, and sparkling gloves to match. I do not believe that even Marie Antoinette owned such a gown. I tried to protest, but Sir Percy ignored me completely. It seemed that I was to be dressed in whatever manner pleased Sir Percy.

After the fittings and purchases and orders, Sir Percy and I returned to Richmond. He had not said a word directly to me since our conversation on our way to London. I was ashamed at my impertinence, but I had apologized, and there was nothing more I could do. Sir Percy drove the horses hard back to Richmond, almost seeming to revel in the wildness of the speed and the dangerousness of night. I let the beauty and stillness of the nighttime fill me, thinking little of the man sitting next to me.

The days before the ball flew swiftly by, and I was beginning to get nervous. I had not been born to privilege. I was a lowly French orphan, little more than a pauper. I was certain that the English nobility would be appalled by my lack of manners and style. When I told Andrew of my fears, he laughed.

"Don't be silly Marguerite. Most of the English aristocratic society has fewer manners than the peasantry of France. They are crude, cruel and very stuck upon themselves. Just be yourself and you'll be the darling of England." I smiled at his encouragement. Andrew was so sweet to me.

The day of the ball finally arrived. Marie put the finishing touches on my hair, and draped my shawl over my shoulders. I met Sir Percy in the foyer, and I hardly recognized him. His blonde hair had been brushed to a golden shine, styled as elegantly as I had ever seen on any man. His dress was impeccable, right down to his complexly knotted cravat, starched lace cuffs, and polished heeled shoes. The wild look was gone, and Sir Percy Blakeney, bart. had become the most handsome man I had ever seen. Our eyes met. His eyes were full of passion, but not madness. His look made me blush, but it was not the look that I had seen from so many tavern patrons in France. It was something much deeper, less lustful and more passionate.

"Gad, I'm speechless m'dear," he said as he bowed to me. I returned his greeting with a curtsey.

"Sir Percy, you look wonderful as well." We simply stood there and stared at each other. His passionate gaze became more intense, and my cheeks began to feel warm. Just when I was beginning to think I should faint for his ardent look, Hastings entered the room, cleared his throat in a very self-important manner, and announced,

"Your carriage is waiting, Percy." Obviously, his fears about the evening had been calmed, for he smiled grandly, and bowed us out of the room. Andrew and Marie were at the door to bid us farewell. Andrew squeezed my hand.

"I'll see you shortly, Mademoiselle St. Just. Never fear!" He smiled warmly as I took Sir Percy's arm and allowed him to escort me to the carriage.

The Lord Grenville's ball was like a fairy tale come true. The beautiful people I had read about danced gracefully across the ballroom floor. The Prince of Wales, ladies in waiting, duchesses, glittering gold, sparkling silver and dazzling diamonds filled my view. Nervous but not intimidated, my natural French jois de vivre sparkled from my eyes and I felt as if I glowed. At the dinner table Sir Percy and I were surrounded by a fascinating company: the Prince of Wales, Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, Lord Tony Hastings (my dear friends!), the Comtesse de Tourney and many other titled folks.

"Sir Percy, it is demmed good to have you back in our company. I trust your health is fully recovered," said the Prince. I had learned he and Percy had been great friends before Percy's malady, and they were reveling in each other's company tonight.

"Sink me, but I never felt better in my life!"

"Gad, Percy, but you are accompanied by the most beautiful woman in England. Mademoiselle St. Just, it is an honor and pleasure to have you among our midst." I blushed profusely and laughed a little as I inclined my head to graciously acknowledge the compliment.

Lady Digby broke into the conversation. "La! Sir Percy you have missed the most talked of news of the century. There is an Englishman, known as nothing more than the Scarlet Pimpernel. The demmed fool races about France rescuing those poor persecuted aristocrats. And the French are just furious, sending spies over searching for him. He is the toast of London! I am absolutely sure he is the most handsome man on the face of the planet.

"Nonsense woman!" cried her husband, Lord Digby. "Everyone knows he has a severe limp, no teeth and warts upon his nose."

"Bite your tongue, sir!" giggled the Duchess of Longbourne. "He is brave, manly; the dream of every young girl."

"I think not," stated Sir Andrew. "I have heard he is a dolt, and seriously lacks any form of manners."

"La, but you men are droll!" Cried Lady Digby.

"Gad!" Cried Percy. I looked at him in apprehension, what if he was ill? "I am about to be a genius!"

"Hurrah!" Exclaimed the Prince. "Have you one of your ridiculous rhymes for us Percy?"

"I may," sparkled Percy. "Let me think. Ah, yes! Here it goes.

They seek him here,

They seek him there,

Those Frenchies seek him everywhere;

Is he in Heaven?

Or is he in Hell?

That demmed illusive Pimpernel!"

I laughed at Sir Percy's doggerel until tears ran down my face. Cries of hurrah! And bravo! Filled the air. Witty sallies about ladies seeking the Pimpernel and the Pimpernel cutting short the executions abounded until the steward burst through the door.

"Monsieur Gaston Chauvelin, ambassador of the Republican Government of France," announced the man, and silence descended over the room.

After the proper introductions, Chauvelin made his way through the silent crowds to my side. "Why if it isn't Mademoiselle St. Just!"

I nearly dropped my wine, and Sir Percy grasped my arm to keep me from sinking to the floor. "Steady, m'dear. I'll keep you safe from him."

Ignoring the great hulking man at my side, Chauvelin took my arm and led me onto the dance floor. His manner became much more sinister once out of hearing.

"How is your brother, mademoiselle?"

I shuddered. "Well, I hope."

"As do I, for he was arrested yesterday."

"Arrested?" I was furious. "Whatever for?"

"For plotting against the Republic and consorting with an enemy of the Republic."

"An enemy of the Republic? Don't be foolish, Chauvelin." I clenched my teeth in hate of the man holding me close.

"I have in my pocket a letter proving that your brother is in league with the Scarlet Pimpernel. He will die at the guillotine, unless…." His voice trailed off suggestively. I looked at him expectantly. "You must find the Scarlet Pimpernel, and…"he paused dramatically "…you must marry me."

At that moment the dance mercifully ended. I was seething. "Never," I hissed. At that moment Sir Percy appeared from nowhere.

"Good God, Mon-sue Shovelin'. Have you been stealin' Mademoiselle St. Just's heart? Sink me, but I'm afraid that's the very reason I have brought her here tonight. You must relinquish her to me at once, wot?"

With these unexpectedly gallant words, Sir Percy whisked me onto the dance floor. He held me tightly and I could feel his muscles trembling beneath his gorgeous raiment. I quivered at his gaze; it was so passionate. At the first opportunity, Sir Percy led me to a conveniently hidden balcony. The fresh air was a relief, for I was faint from his attentions. Silence hung heavy in the air. I admired the moonlight on the gardens below, and felt Sir Percy's ardent eyes on my face.

"Mademoiselle," he began hesitantly. "Are you, are you happy here, in England?"

"Oh yes! Very much so," I turned to meet his eyes, admiring his strong fair face. My voice trailed off as I thought back on the words of Chauvelin.

"But what?" asked Sir Percy, filling in the words I could not speak.

"I miss my brother. He is in very great trouble; he has been arrested. He never was very good at taking care of himself." I started rambling nervously, for I had no desire of sharing Armand's charges with Percy. I remembered how much Percy hated Armand's revolutionary ideals. What I could never share was that Armand was one of the celebrated bounders of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel; poor Armand would be a laughing stock, betraying all the ideals he has been preaching.

Percy took my hand, stopping the words that flew from my mouth unchecked. "Then you must go to him," he said heavily.

"What? I thought..."

Percy cut me short. "Go back to Paris, to your brother. He is your family, and if you think he needs and that you can help him then you must go."

I squeezed his hand, but he did not respond. That old familiar mad look had taken over his eyes. The muscles in his jaw tightened as he released my hands. He began pulling at his hair, and I realized what was happening. I grabbed a manservant passing the doorway.

"Sir Percy is ill. Order his carriage and fetch Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, right away." He nodded his acquiescence and hurried off. Andrew appeared within moments.

"Dammit all!" he cried. "Go and make our apologies to the prince. Inform us at once when the carriage is ready." I left the two men alone, poor Andrew turning desperately to Sir Percy.

The ride home was violent and silent. Andrew drove Sir Percy's horses hard. When we reached Blakeney Manor, I was left to my own as Percy's friends helped him to his room. They muttered among themselves, and I once again felt like the outsider I had been when I first came to Richmond. My friends had deserted me in favor of their mad master, and I was alone again.

After packing my bags, I wrote notes of farewell to Marie, Andrew and Sir Percy. In each letter I thanked them for their attentions and kindnesses. I will be the first to admit to the tears that smeared the words of my letter to Sir Percy; I had thought I could change him, heal him. I was wrong and now all I could do was pray that Sir Percy would one day be well enough to read my letter. I borrowed one of Sir Percy's carriages and rode all night, until I reached Dover. I boarded the first packet set for Calais and prayed I would reach Armand in time. I did not know what I would do for my poor brother, but it must be something.

When I reached Paris, I went to Gaston Chauvelin's office, only to already find him comfortably back to work. I didn't know how he had beaten me back to Paris, but it didn't matter.

"Well, my dear Marguerite, have you considered my proposition?"

"I will never marry you, and I do not know who the Pimpernel is. What is there for me to consider?"

"You would not marry me, but you show kindness and attention to that thing of a man in England. He's a madman, Marguerite! Give me a name Marguerite! Who is that madman?! Tell me his name, and where he lives. Then we will discuss a bargain."

"Why is he your concern?"

"Tell me, damn it!" In his passion, Chauvelin had cornered me once again. His hands held my arms tightly and he pressed my back against the wall of his office. The fear on my face brought about a reality check for Gaston Chauvelin. His grasp loosened, and he lowered his voice to a whisper.

"Forgive me, Marguerite, my darling. I did not mean to frighten you. I am merely concerned for your brother's safety." Still he held me close against the wall, and I began to tremble in my fear. He misunderstood my trembling. He leaned close, whispering intimately in my ear.

"Margot, I know you want me. I can feel your desire for me. Do not deny yourself the happiness of having your brother, and having me. Give me the name and residence of the madman at the ball." His lips were mere centimeters from mine and his breath came in heavy, passionate gasps. I would not let him kiss me, I would not!

"Alright!" I cried, startling him from his intentions. "His name is Sir Percy Blakeney and he owns Blakeney Manor in Richmond, although I do not know why it concerns you."

"It concerns me, my darling, because I happen to know that the Scarlet Pimpernel is the owner of Blakeney Manor, I simply did not know who owned it. I shall go to Richmond and kill this public nuisance!"

"NO!"

"Never fear, my pretty little wife-to-be! I shall return to marry you as soon as the job is done."

"Please, don't! He's not hurting anyone. He's kind and gentle! He's never even been to France," I lied. I honestly didn't know if he had been or not.

"Why, if I wasn't sure of your feelings for me I would think you were in love with this madman."

"He's not a madman, Chauvelin; you are!"

"If you're not for the Republic, you are a traitor. You will die the same death as your brother!" Before another word could be spoken, I was taken to the prison, and cast into the same cell as my brother.

My joy at seeing Armand was tainted with worry for Sir Percy. I had betrayed the Scarlet Pimpernel. Sir Percy was going to die and it was entirely my fault. I should have never come back to Paris. I had little time to weep for all of our sad fates, when I heard a key in the cell door.

"Hurry along dearies," cackled the old haggard woman jailer. "Robespierre wants to see the two of you."

A group of five soldiers and the old jailer led Armand and I away from our cell, but not to Robespierre's office as we were expecting. We were rushed out of the prison into a tiny alley. The old woman motioned for our silence as we were motioned into two empty wine casks in the back of a broken down cart. From inside the cask I could hear the five soldiers mount their steeds and I felt the cart begin to rumble over the cobblestone streets of Paris. It felt like an eternity in that dank wooden cask; but after a while I felt the cart pick up speed, and soon we were racing along smoother dirt paths, rather than the noisy rough cobblestone city streets. Sometime later, the soldiers, who turned out to be none other than my friends from England, released us from our casks. The old woman was my dear friend Andrew Ffoulkes, and the soldiers company included dear, fussy Hastings.

We road in a carriage to Calais and on the way I explained to Andrew what had happened. I was ashamed at my weakness in dealing with Chauvelin, and Andrew was in a panic when he learned that Chauvelin was headed to Richmond. Once we boarded the Day Dream, which I found out was Sir Percy's own yacht, we sat down to a meal, but none of us were hungry.

I feared to ask how Sir Percy was, but I had to know. Slowly, I was able to coax the whole story out of Andrew. Sir Percy had struggled with madness since the death of his father. It would come and go; at times Percy would feign madness to protect his identity. He had done as such with me. My dear Armand had been taken prisoner when Percy was struggling with a bout of his madness, and I too had suffered at times because of his sad malady. It seems that the only cure for this madness was to be loved by someone and return that love. It was Percy's father who kept the madness at bay, but once he passed away Percy was tossed into the sea of madness. His friends were dear to him, but even their love was not sufficient all of the time. I had been the first person to have a lingering effect on him since his father.

"That is a tragic story, Sir Andrew, but it does not explain one very important thing. If Sir Percy is truly insane, how did he come to form the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel?"

"Life's little quirks never fail to amaze me, Margot. In Percy's moments of rationality, he devised this grand plan for helping his friends in Paris. Even in his moments of darkest madness he is able to plan and execute the most daring of rescues. I believe the League has been the one solitary thing that has kept him from going over the edge completely."

As the conversation died, we all sank into our solitary thoughts. The journey to Richmond felt an eternity, but according to Andrew we made very good time. Andrew also said that we should arrive only a few hours after Chauvelin, and that there was a good hope we would be able to help Percy yet. I wanted to be as optimistic, but I knew Gaston Chauvelin's ruthlessness far too well to hope that he would be persuaded to spare Sir Percy. Once in Dover we obtained a carriage, and Andrew drove as though fire were on the wheels. A mile from Richmond, an axle broke, and despair descended over our group. Not one to be defeated easily, I took to my heels and ran towards Richmond. I reached Blakeney Manor to find the thirteen remaining bounders celebrating the capture of the French mob that had attacked the house. I looked among the prisoners and did not see Chauvelin anywhere. I flew up the stairs to the forbidden west wing, knowing I would find Sir Percy there. I flung open the doors to the first chamber, where a horrible sight met my eyes.

Chauvelin's sword was menacing Percy's bare throat, and Chauvelin's wicked voice mocked Sir Percy's pathetic last moments.

"What's the matter, Sir Percy? Too kind and gentle to fight back? You loved her, didn't you, you beast? Did you really think for one moment that she would want you, when she could have me? Prepare to die, Sir Percy. It is my delight to be of service to the Republic of France and have done with you once and for all."

"NO! STOP!" Chauvelin froze and Sir Percy's crazed eyes met mine.

In a flash Sir Percy was on his feet and had taken a rusted rapier from the mantle. Chauvelin was no match for the sheer strength of Sir Percy Blakeney. Within moments Sir Percy had pressed Chauvelin through the open French doors to the railing of the balcony. Terror seized Chauvelin, who dropped to his knees to beg for mercy.

"Please," he began to whine, unbecomingly. "I'll do anything. Don't kill me."

Percy's voice growled. "Get out." Sir Percy turned his back on Chauvelin and came towards me, his eyes gentle and passionate. I never saw Chauvelin until it was too late. Sir Percy cried out in pain and wildly stumbled backwards, forcing Chauvelin back as well. Terrified of the enraged Sir Percy, Chauvelin tripped and found himself tumbling over the rail of the balcony to his death. I was so little concerned I did not even see him fall.

Sir Percy collapsed and I flew to his side. I screamed for Andrew and Marie, wildly doing anything I could to stop the blood flowing from Percy's side. Percy was holding on to the last threads of consciousness.

"At least," he gasped, "I was able to see you one last time."

"No," I gasped. "Don't talk that way! You're going to be fine." I was determined that he would live. I worked to loosen the cravat about his neck so that he could breathe easier.

"Maybe…maybe its better…this way." He gasped painfully.

"Of course not! Just hold on! You're going to make it." He didn't hear my last words as he slipped into the realm of unconsciousness.

"Please, come back," I sobbed into his shallowly heaving chest. "I love you." I didn't notice Andrew and Hastings and the doctor had come into the room, and I didn't notice my frock covered with the blood of Sir Percy Blakeney. Andrew gently pulled me away from Percy's rapidly failing form. Weakly, I fought him, but when I was unsuccessful I buried my face in his shoulder and sobbed. The doctor and Hastings struggled to carry Percy from the room to a bed, and Andrew gently picked me up and carried me to my room, where he smoothed my hair until I fell asleep.

I didn't know long I slept. When I awoke it felt like the middle of the night, and I had the eerie feeling of being watched. Groggily I looked about the room and in the darkest corner sat a great hulk of a man. The imminent death of Sir Percy was playing tricks on my mind, for I was certain it was he in the dark corner of the room. I knew it couldn't be him. I sat up and reached for the flickering candle that had been left on my nightstand. The eerie figure in the corner did not move, but it did not go away. I must still be dreaming, I told myself.

Shaking my head, I moved to the window and pulled back the drapes. It was not midnight, as I believed. Outside the sun was shining and the birds were singing. Were it not for the tragic occurrences of, well however long ago it had happened, it would be a beautiful day. Absentmindedly I smoothed out the wrinkles in my apron, only to find myself covered with thick, rusty streaks of blood: Percy's blood. Tears flowing from my eyes, I sank to my knees on the cushioned window seat and rested my head upon the sill.

I jumped to feel a hand upon my shoulder. "La, m'dear, but I never could bear to see a pretty woman cry. Dry your eyes, won't you?" I froze. It was his voice. I shook my head and refused to turn around.

"Don't play cruel tricks, Andrew!" I gasped, hoping beyond all hope that it was not Andrew standing behind me.

"Gad, m'dear, Andrew's in London. Its me, won't you turn around and see?"

Slowly I turned from the sunny view outside of the window. I found myself staring at more than six feet of a gloriously-clad Percy Blakeney. Still convinced I was dreaming, I could do little more than stare at him.

"What is it m'dear? Is my cravat crooked? I had a devilish hard time tyin' it this morning, what with that irritating little knife wound under my arm." I burst out laughing as I had never laughed in my life.

"Your cravat is perfect!" I gasped between peals of laughter. "YOU are perfect!"

"Gad, I don't believe I'd go that far, m'dear." I was so overcome with joy I flung my arms around the most reachable part of Sir Percy Blakeney, his waist. He flinched in pain and I pulled away. "Demmed uncomfortable things, knife wounds," he muttered and sat down next to me on the window seat.

"Oh, Sir Percy! I'm so sorry!"

"Think nothin' of it m'dear." He took my limp arms and laced the about his neck. "There, now that's better for both of us." The playfulness in his voice died away as he pulled me closer to him. His face was so close to mine that I could feel his warm breath upon my cheek. Slowly and gently he pressed his lips to mine.

"I love you, Percy Blakeney," I whispered as he released me. "My Prince Charming!"