A/N: Well, it's been a few years since I've even looked at this story. But when someone on The League lit said they finally had a category for our beloved Pimpernel, I figured it was time to dust it off. If you were one of the three people who read it when it first came out, I have made a few revisions. Drop me a line, let me know what you think. At the time I originally finished this, I had begun work on a prequel. I just found the files, and if the feedback is plentiful, it too may make an appearance. Now, on with the show:

Ariette de Mercy stepped out of the carriage and stared in awe at the majestic English manor. Bright torches on the lawn illuminated the night and created a glow that she had seen miles before she had arrived.

Her stomach fluttered with nervous energy. She shook it off, reminding herself of the task at hand. She had to do this! She had not traveled all the way from France to run away frightened. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a well-worn piece of paper. Scrawled on it was:

Sir Percival Blakeney is the Scarlet Pimpernel

She put the paper back in her pocket and looked again at the manor. She took a deep breath and marched bravely up the front walk. Her parents and brother had given their lives to the Revolution and she would lose the only family she had left if this Blakeney didn't help her.

To look at her, she was a lovely young woman of twenty-one. She had brown eyes and long, wavy auburn hair that came down to the middle of her back. She was dressed in a simple black traveling dress.

As she waled up to the door, she noticed other carriages. A party, great! No doubt Blakeney was celebrating his escape from near capture, she mused. She reached the front door. She heard laughing and talking coming from inside the house. Ariette grabbed the brass doorknocker and let it fall. Moments later the door opened. A man in a powdered wig and green suit opened the door.

"May I help you Miss?"

Ariette spoke slowly, not wanting to reveal she was French. "Yes, I need to speak to Sir Blakeney, please."

The man looked at her, clearly amused. "Well, Miss, as I am sure you know there is a party going on. Lord Blakeney is otherwise occupied with his guests, but perhaps you can come back . . . . . "

Ariette cut him off. "This is a matter of great importance; I must speak to Sir Blakeney. It's about the Scarlet Pimpernel."

The doorman cocked his brow. "Very well, Miss, please come in." Ariette entered the great hall.

"Wait here. Who shall I say is calling?" She stared at him in silence.

The doorman sighed. "Very well, Miss."

She watched him as he walked into a large room to her right. He walked over to a finely dressed man who she was certain was Blakeney.

Sir Blakeney was tall. He had blonde hair and was very handsome. Ariette shook her head and sighed. So that was the man Marguerite St. Just had landed and gotten Armand and herself out of France.

As the doorman talked to him, Sir Blakeney looked at her, curious. She looked straight at him, refusing to be intimidated. Blakeney said something to the doorman. The doorman nodded and walked back to her.

"Miss, follow me please. Lord Blakeney will meet you in the library." Ariette nodded and followed him. He led her into the large room. He bowed and then left her, alone.

She took in her surroundings. The room was decorated lavishly. It reminded her of the houses she used to work in when she was a child, before the Revolution. She sat down on a comfortable, overstuffed chair.

"Would you mind terribly, if I asked you to move? That is my favorite chair."

It was Blakeney. Silently she stood up.

"Mademoiselle, you know who I am, but alas I don't know who you are."

Ariette smiled smugly. He knew she was French before she had said a word. He was indeed perceptive, but then he was the Scarlet Pimpernel.

"My name is Ariette de Mercy."

He nodded.

"You are perhaps a friend of my wife's?"

"I knew your wife and Armand back in France, yes."

"But you wanted to speak to me?"

"That is correct."

"And why is that?"

"I need your help Sir Blakeney. But I have no desire to continue this charade. I know you are the Scarlet Pimpernel. And I need your help."

Percy was unsure how to react to that. He adopted his foppish facade.

"La, What trajectory! You are amusin'. We all heard that demmed Pimpernel was captured weeks ago!"

Ariette sighed. Was he actually going to deny it? She pulled the paper out of her pocket and handed it to him.

Percy looked at it. He thought he recognized the handwriting. "Where did you get this?"

"Will you help me?"

"I can't. It's all over now."

"Not quite, Sir Blakeney. You and your League have to help me free my friend."

"What is so special about this friend of yours?

"My friend is all I have left. My family gave their lives to the Revolution! My friend took me in when we both had no one. He is all the family I have. And now you owe it to us to help."

Percy stood up. "I owe it to you?"

"Yes. It is because of you, my friend is in jail and will be executed in three weeks!"

"Who exactly is this friend of yours, Mademoiselle de Mercy?"

She walked over to him.

"Chauvelin."

To be continued . . . . . . . .

Feedback is greatly appreciated. The good will be framed, the bad will be used as lining for the kitty litter box. Never mind that I don't actually have a cat. Part two will be up soon.