A young boy with blond hair, dressed in the rags and dirt of a street child, half walked and half trotted warily yet swiftly down the busy Paris street, keeping an eye out for carts and horses, as well as for any adult who might push or shove him out of their way. Nothing marked this child as different from any other waif who lived on the street save two things: he had come out of a supposedly empty storehouse registered to one M. Gardiner, and he was rather better fed than most children who lived by theft. His cheeks were full and he did not have the desperate, wild look so many of his sort carried with them. Instead he moved with a confidence and purpose that was at odds with his unkempt look.

A silent onlooker shadowed the child as he made his way down several blocks, between two houses, and around a corner. There the boy paused for some time, carefully looking up and down the street. The watcher, a well dressed blond man, observed him from a distance, unwilling to reveal his presence. At length his patience was rewarded. The child stopped and leaned against a good sized tree as if resting for a moment. He looked about carefully. Then, with the air of one who is experienced in such matters, he furtively reached into some crevice of the tree and withdrew a paper, which he quickly slipped into a pocket of his trousers. He turned and began to go back in the direction he had come from.

The child's actions were so swift and furtive that the watcher was caught off guard. He tried to hurry to keep sight of the boy as the small blond head moved into the busyness of the street, but soon the child was out of sight. The onlooker pulled up short and thought for a moment. Then he turned and went a different way, disappearing down an adjacent alley.

Wickham barely managed to make it back to the storehouse owned by M. Gardiner before Jules did. He stood with his hand against the brick wall of the building breathing heavily, as he watched for the child to return. He had to find out what was in the boy's pocket!

Jules was not aware of anyone watching him so when he rounded the corner he ran neatly into Wickham's grasp. Wickham seized him in an instant. Jules' eyes widened as he felt Wickham's hands grasping his shoulders and collar, pulling him up short. He struggled to break free. "I haven't stolen anything! Let me go!"

"Not so fast. What did you put in your pocket? Give it to me!"

"It isn't yours! Let me go!"

"You little thief!"

Wickham lifted the boy up and held him up against the wall of the building, keeping his feet from touching the ground. But Jules wiggled so wildly, his arms and legs flailing in every direction, that both of Wickham's hands were kept occupied; he could not reach into Jules' pocket and take the letter himself. "Stop moving! Be still!" he ordered, to absolutely no avail. A few passersby looked at the two of them curiously but a glare from Wickham in their direction was enough to make them avert their eyes and move away. Few people in Paris these days were willing to risk themselves for anyone else.

At length Jules ceased his wriggling and writhing. He glared resentfully up into Wickham's face, ready to struggle again if Wickham resumed his manhandling. Wickham returned his fierce look. Both of them were breathing heavily.

Then without warning Wickham's features softened. He set the child down on the pavement, steadying him so that he stayed on his feet. "My apologies, sir. Are you hurt? I thought that you stole something valuable from a friend of mine."

The sudden change in tactics left Jules off guard. "What? I am not a thief! Monsieur Darcy asked me to get something for him, so I did!"

Wickham's eyes widened; then he smiled triumphantly. If Jules had been better acquainted with Wickham, he would have been afraid of that look. "Monsieur Darcy! Of course! As fine a gentleman as ever lived."

A look of confusion crossed Jules' face. "Do you know Monsieur Darcy too?"

"Naturally. He and I are old friends! And I am also acquainted with his wife, Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy." Wickham observed Jules briefly, tilting his head to get a better look. "In fact, now that I think of it, didn't I encounter you once while you were on an outing with Mrs. Darcy, when she was still Miss Bennet?"

"I . . . think so. " Jules struggled to recall.

"I am sure of it. Miss Bennet and I walked together in the park, and you were there with us! So you see you and I are already acquainted. It is a pleasure to see you again. I would never have grabbed you the way I did just now if I had recognized you straight away! I hope you are none the worse for wear." He made a show of dusting the boy off and straightening his clothes, ignoring their ragged condition.

Jules gave a sigh and brushed at himself as well, standing up proudly before asking the logical question, "Who are you?"

"My name is not important. Darcy asked me to come all the way from England to help him, so here I am! But I made a dreadful mistake in taking hold of you, thinking you were trying to steal from him! I am terribly sorry for my mistake. Darcy would be so angry with me if he knew. You will not tell him, will you?"

Jules shook his head. "No."

"Merci beaucoup! Now, what are you supposed to do with that letter?"

"Mr. Darcy said to give it to Monsieur Gardiner without delay."

"Then you had better get on with it. You would not want to disappoint Monsieur Darcy, would you?"

"No!"

"Very well then. But I am afraid that I might have damaged your letter when I was holding you up against the wall. Perhaps you should have a look at it before you give it to Monsieur Gardiner, just to make sure that all is well."

Jules looked down at the pocket that contained the letter. "Have a look?"

"Of course! What if the page is torn and Monsieur Gardiner cannot make out what it says? What would you do then?"

"I don't know." He looked worriedly at the ground and then back at Wickham.

Wickham decided to hazard a guess. "Can you read?"

"A little. Maman-Madam Gardiner- has been teaching me."

"Then I shall help you with the difficult parts, if there are any. But a clever young man like you should have no problem reading a short message. Be quick now- take a look!"

The boy hesitated but Wickham gave him a friendly nod, and after a brief mental struggle Jules slowly withdrew the letter from his pocket. He carefully unfolded it and read aloud, "All is ready. We leave at dawn tomorrow. Be prepared."

Wickham gave what sounded like a laugh to Jules. He did not realize that it was a triumphant, gloating laugh, not a laugh of relief. "What a clever student you are! You read that perfectly. Now put it back in your pocket and hurry inside to Monsieur Gardiner."

Jules smiled proudly. "Oui, monsieur." He started to walk away, but turned back. "Don't you want to come with me?"

"No, I have something I need to do. Be sure not to tell anyone that I grabbed you by mistake, please!"

"I won't!"

"And don't worry, young monsieur. We shall see each other again soon!"

The Paris sky was weeping great drops of spring rain when a man dressed in plain working clothes pulled up in front of Monsieur Gardiner's storehouse the next morning in a simple wooden cart, just as the sun was starting to rise. He jumped down from the seat and strode to the door of the long, low building, knocked twice slowly on the front door, paused, and then knocked three times quickly. He listened for an invitation to enter but, hearing nothing, opened the door anyway.

The storehouse was dark, with a passageway on one side and a series of rooms opening off of it. A lengthy walk separated him from the doorway to the first room, where Gardiner's bed was set up. The rooms behind Gardiner housed Mrs. Gardiner, Jules, and the few belongings they had managed to bring with them out of their house. "Hello!" Darcy called as he approached the first doorway, drawing on his memory of the building to guide his steps. "Are you here? I have come to take you out of this place."

"Mr. Darcy?" Mrs. Gardiner's voice came floating to him through the dim light of the hallway.

"I have papers that will allow us to pass through the city gates," Darcy went on, moving closer. He could not see Mrs. Gardiner but her voice came from the first room, where she was undoubtedly with her spouse. "You will pretend to be my sister and her husband, and we will be traveling to our poor uncle's funeral just outside the city. It is not a foolproof scheme but it was the best I could come up with on short notice."

"Darcy!" Was she greeting him or warning him? There was a fearful quality in her voice.

He stepped through the doorway and into Gardiner's bedroom, wishing his eyes would adjust to the darkness more quickly. "We should leave now, before the sun is any higher. We will arrive at the gates just as they are changing shifts, which will make it easier for us to get through. My papers giving safe passage ought to hold up for the scrutiny they will receive, but if they do not, we will have to-"

"Monsieur Darcy!"

At the sound of Jules' terrified voice Darcy stopped mid-step. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness he looked about, alarmed, and saw Gardiner lying on the bed. Gardiner was frowning and shaking his head. Standing at his side, next to the bed, Mrs. Gardiner was openly weeping. Where was Jules? A whimpering sound off to one side drew his attention to the boy, who was in the worst place imaginable. Wickham held the child by an elbow, none too gently, in the far corner of the room. There was a look of triumph on Wickham's face, in sharp contrast to the despairing look on Jules'. Darcy's heart dropped as he took in the situation. His horror was complete; he could not move.

"So, the great Fleur de Lys is none other than Fitzwilliam Darcy of Derbyshire!" Wickham sneered. "I never dreamed that my work for Robespierre would tend in this direction! Where are all your clever tricks now?"

"The game is not over yet," Darcy said, unblinking. He forced himself to appear calm but every muscle in his body was tensed, ready to spring into action.

Wickham tilted his head slightly, considering him. "I never thought you were clever enough to devise the disguises the Fleur used so freely. But then that general slowness may have been part of your disguise all along. Perhaps I underestimated you."

Darcy ignored the taunts. He looked around the room before addressing Wickham again. "If it's the Fleur you want, let the Gardiners and the boy go and I'll come peacefully."

"Do you really think I am enough of a fool to take you at your word?"

"I promise you, Wickham, when the time comes you shall have the pleasure of witnessing my death."

Wickham did not take the bait. "You are in no position to negotiate. I already have you surrounded. Guards!" He lifted his voice on the last word.

Darcy executed his sudden plan. He turned and bolted from the room at a dead run, turning and dashing madly towards the entrance, but soldiers were already flooding in from that direction. He spun and rushed in the opposite direction, towards the back of the building, but had to retreat before still another group of revolutionary guards. There was only one other exit available. Darcy threw himself at the single window in the hallway and was gratified when he cleared the frame and sailed through the opening headfirst, turning in the air and landing on his back onto the wooden sidewalk outside. His view of the cloudy sky was quickly blocked out by the end of a musket pointed into his face, only inches away.

Wickham's eyes gleamed with triumph when the soldiers marched Darcy back into the small room. "You can see that I finally have the upper hand, Darcy. You managed to elude me for some time, but that just makes my victory all the sweeter!"

Darcy drew himself up to his full height and lifted his chin proudly. "You have not won yet, Wickham. My hand is not yet played."

"What do you possibly think you could do now?" Wickham scoffed. "I know all about the schemes you invented, the tricks you devised, the sleight of hand to turn attention in one direction while you were working in another. I have the advantage. Your element of surprise is gone!"

Darcy's defiant smile did not waver. "You would like to think so."

"But my job will not be done until I have all your helpers in custody- your friend Bingley and your cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam to name a few. I'm sure there are others."

Darcy did not flinch. "How do you think you will lure them in? They will not sacrifice themselves just for me. The Fleur is more important than any one man."

"Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam may not be willing to sacrifice themselves for you, but you can be sure that Elizabeth will!"

Darcy's expression changed. "What? No!"

It was Wickham's turn to smile. "Nothing would bring me more pleasure than to have Elizabeth see your humiliation. I am going to write a letter to your dear wife, letting her know that you are in custody. She will come running to your side, desperate to be with you one last time before your trial."

"My trial?" Darcy echoed blankly.

"My dear Darcy," he said mockingly, "you do not think that you will be able to escape revolutionary justice this time, do you? The game is up."

"Do not bring Elizabeth into this!" Darcy exclaimed. He gulped, trying to collect himself. "Have your moment of revenge, Wickham," he added after a moment. "Humiliate me all you want. Kill me now if you wish. But if you have any sense of honor left, if you ever cared for her at all, leave Elizabeth alone!"

Wickham wagged his head at the soldiers around Darcy. "It is out of my hands. My men all know that I have captured the famous Fleur de Lys. Do you think I could release you now? Even if I wanted to, which I certainly do not. Robespierre would have my head. But if Elizabeth will come here in person I may find it in my heart to try to intervene for her aunt and uncle. Who knows? Perhaps he will be merciful."

"You will never release the Gardiners or their son. You simply want to have Elizabeth in your grasp once again."

"She will come if you send her a message asking her to come to Paris immediately."

"I will never write such a thing! She cannot travel to Paris alone, so either my cousin or Bingley will have to come with her."

"Which is exactly my plan. I will have you, Elizabeth, and at least one of your cohorts! You will write what I tell you!"

Darcy gulped hard. "You cannot force me!"

Wickham tightened his grip on Jules' arm, making the boy cry out. He looked at Jules, then the Gardiners, then back at Darcy. "That is true; I cannot force you. But if you do not cooperate with me, I have no reason to keep the Gardiners under my protection."

Fury swelled in Darcy's chest and he took a quick step forward. "Protection? They have no protection! You mean you will denounce them if I do not do as you wish! Have you not a shred of decency anywhere within you? How can you call yourself a man and leave helpless victims to their fate? How can you call yourself an Englishman?"

Wickham was unmoved. "The choice is yours, Darcy. Make it now! "

Darcy hesitated. Sobs from Jules filled the air while Darcy looked between him and the Gardiners on the other side of the room. Then he slumped, placing a hand against the wall to keep himself upright. "Write your letter," he said hoarsely, with his eyes fixed on the ground, and Wickham took that as his admission of defeat.

Oh no, the very worst has happened! What do you think will happen next? Please leave a note and let me know! I love to hear your thoughts-Elaine Owen