The seamstress awoke in dark room. At first all she could make out were dim shapes and dull murmurings. Was she dead? She then felt a warm hand on her cheek. She was vaguely aware that there were candles over her head... slowly the room came into focus. She looked up and saw the same warm blue eyes that had guided her through that awful procession.
Surely I must be dead, she thought, as he is here.
"Are we in paradise?" she asked as he gently caressed her face. He smiled.
"Perhaps," he said with a soft smile. "Not the one you imagine though."
She blinked and slowly her eyes focused on the surroundings. It was a dark room, with no windows and several people huddled nearby.
"What has happened?"
"We have been rescued," said a brusque voice from the corner. She tried to sit up.
"Easy," the gentleman with the kind eyes said as he supported her.
"I do not understand," she said, holding her hand to her forehead.
"You fainted," said the man with the kind eyes. "The Pimpernel caught you. He rescued all of us," he said, gesturing to the room with his free hand. "We are safe."
"You mean..." she could not quite accept it, "you mean we are alive... we will live?" the question sounded simple, but she could not help it.
The man with the kind eyes laughed. "Yes, my dear little seamstress, we are alive. And with the help of the Pimpernel and his friends, I am certain that we all shall live."
"I do not believe it," she whispered.
"No, Missee, none of us do," said the gruff voice. "But rescued we all were. And me all set to have that close shave too." Some of the others couldn't help a little giggle at that. All she could do was turn back to the man that still held her in his arms.
"How long have we been here?" she asked.
"Not long," he answered. "About an hour."
"But how did we get here?" she asked, her hand rubbing her temple.
"In the smoke and confusion I found you – the Pimpernel had caught you, and he and I carried you together to the wagons he had waiting."
"Everyone was running away from the bloody axe, and this fella of yours was the only one stupid enough to be running towards it!" a woman laughed. The seamstress smiled.
"You found me?"
"Never let you out of his sight for a moment, he did."
"I told you I would not leave you," he said, stroking her chin. She threw her arms around his neck and couldn't keep from crying. He gently rocked her as she tried to come to terms with all that had happened so quickly. He wrapped his arms around her tightly and kissed her forehead.
The seamstress wasn't sure how long they were in that room. She drifted in and out of sleep while they waited. The man held her in his arms, unwilling to let her go for a moment. Finally he shifted and she awoke to find masked men entering the room. The Pimpernel, she realized.
"We are moving you tonight, citizens. Be ready to go quickly and as silently as possible when the word comes. There is a wagon of coffins – we will quickly load you into the bottom of the wagon – two by two, and then place the coffins above you. It is imperative that you remain absolutely silent once you are in the wagon. I hope some of you have rested, as there will be no rest at all until we are out of the city. Once we have cleared the city we shall go straight to Calais where a ship is waiting, for England and a new life."
"Thank you," one of the women said quickly.
"It is an honor to serve you, citizeness," the man bowed, then left. Everyone in the room looked at each other. The seamstress counted eight people including herself and her protector. It was a great risk these men were taking on, trying to save all of them when they had no idea who they were.
"This is probably due to you, Monsieur," said the gruff voiced man. He nodded at the man with the kind eyes. "The name of Evrémonde inspires protectors."
"I wish I could take the credit for this," her friend replied, "but I cannot. I have no powerful friends in England."
"You must have had some protection. I hardly think the Pimpernel would go out of his way to protect a baker like me," said the gruff voiced man.
"The Pimpernel is non-discriminatory," her friend answered with a bit of a smile. He met the seamstress's eyes and kissed her forehead.
"Thank you for looking after me," she whispered. "I wish there was something I could do," it sounded so small, but she meant it.
"Tell me your name," he said simply.
"My name is Annette."
"Annette," he smiled. "I am Sydney Carton."