A/N: Elyse3: In the movie with Anthony Andrews and Jane Seymour, yes, Marguerite did have auburn/ brunette hair. However, in The Elusive Pimpernel Baroness Orczy describes Marguerite often as having "a golden mane," or "fair hair." I'm going by that.

Chapter IV

The Orders

I

On the outskirts of a town sat a small, insignificant house. From one grimy, dirt painted window came the feeble glow of a fire. Citizens passed it with hardly a thought- it usually housed the poorest of poor

"New orders?" My Lord Hastings inquired, scratching his head as he peered over Lord Antony Dewhurst's shoulder.

Lord Antony remained silent, still reading the last few lines of the letter. "... there you will be greeted by an old woman. She will help you, for she holds herself in my debt no matter my protests. I have given her further orders to give to you which you must follow without hesitation or question."

He glanced at Hastings to see if he'd finished. Getting his answer, Antony folded up the paper, his eyes grazing the small drawing of the star shaped flower before he cast it into the fire.

"We just finished our mission," Antony began crisply, "so it's off to Paris we go, my good friend. We leave this evening, if possible."

Hastings smiled with eagerness at the prospect of the next adventure.

"All three trapped in the Temple Prison?" He asked in a hushed voice.

Antony nodded solemnly, drawing on his cloak and checking a few papers he had had with him since the two entered Melun.

"No doubt a foul scheme of that little man, Chauvelin," Antony mused, "Perhaps he means to catch us all this time."

Hastings let out a chuckle at the determination found in the Frenchman.

"Of all citizens the chief had to make a fool it had to be the one that holds grudges the longest. Come, Antony, we must make haste."

The two men set out towards the gates and passed through them with minimal difficulty. The road they took north to Paris was long and uninteresting. The two Englishmen coaxed their horses faster, for Antony sensed a dark feeling of foreboding hovering above them.

They entered Paris at daybreak as farmers requesting to market their goods. Before they had taken ten paces a stooped old woman approached them, a smile of undeniably pleasure spread across her wrinkled face.

"You are his friends?" She asked amiably in a weathered voice. Not waiting for an answer, she thrust a thin folded bit of paper at Antony.

"How do you know we can be trusted?" Hastings asked in a low voice, drawing the old woman from the street. The woman looked at the two with watery blue eyes and replied, "He told me who to look for."

Hastings did not need to ask who "he" was. Obviously this old French citizen had been the one Sir Percy mentioned.

"Excuse me," she began, her voice rasping with age, "but I must return to work. I shall see you again."

Without another word she turned and hobbled away. Antony slipped the paper into his pocket and hurried down the street, Hastings at his side.

"What are the orders?" Hastings whispered. Antony shook his head, and walked faster. The two ducked into a dark inn and found a table the lanterns could not reach. It was morning, and a few men slept soundly with their heads on the table, a mug still gripped brutishly in his meaty fist. The sounds of dishes being washed and merry chatter of the serving women captured a guest's attention before the hushed murmurings of two farmers would.

"This evening?" Hastings hissed worriedly, "If Armand and Sir Andrew are also trapped in the prison, how can we help them all escape?"

"We have the woman to help us," Andrew replied in a hushed tone, "she delivers food to the prisoners, and has lost all suspicion or cause of doubt from our enemies. She is a useful ally," he added thoughtfully, twisting the orders in his hands.

"So much could go wrong..." Hastings trailed off, biting his lip. Antony smiled warmly at him, "Faith, my friend. Trust the captain. He has never failed when it comes to Chauvelin's schemes."

II

Legs stretched out stiffly before him, Armand opened his eyes slowly and watched the flap at the bottom of the door slide away. A bowl of dark food was kicked into the cell, and Armand reluctantly reached down and picked it up. He held the rough bowl in his hands, but his thoughts were elsewhere.

It had been seven days since he'd been imprisoned, and the grief for Marguerite's death was still painfully near. A hatred for the French citizens beat through his veins with such vengeance it would frighten those who knew him that he could harbor such thoughts.

Absently he turned the crude wooden spoon in his hands until he realized with a jerk there was a scrap of paper curled around the handle. It was so dirty and old Armand could understand why he hadn't seen it before, but the writing on the opposite side was fresh and the scribble of a star-shaped flower filled him with hope.

Be prepared to leave this evening. Wait for your dinner to be delivered, and that will signify that your cell door will be unlocked. Listen closely to the outside of your door, and when the guards leave their post, escape as silently and quickly as possible.

Armand smiled slightly. He had wondered when Percy would make a move to escape. Armand's respect for his leader soared higher than before as he thought that he himself could not be able to plan an escape if it had been Jeanne.

With new determination swelling in his heart, Armand let his mind drift to happier times. Before Marguerite died, before his cowardice betrayed his captain, even before the beastly revolution had begun. Days of innocence, of simple joys, days of unquestionable trust for all those he knew.