The following is based entirely on the televised series of The Scarlet Pimpernel. With the exception of Robespierre and The Prince of Wales to the best of my knowledge all characters are entirely fictional. I make no claims for any historical accuracy. In fact, although the use of "ain’t" may be authentic, you will not find it here (a childhood of having it denounced as "common" has left its mark).

I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it. Thanks to Claire for discussion on writing when she reminded me of childhood delight in creating episodes of favourite TV programmes, and to Emma for her encouragement. Last, but not least, to Richard, for providing the inspiration.

Adieu
Denise
7th September, 2001.

As most of the story is centered in Paris I have included some French dialogue. For those of you whose French is on par with my own (abandoned at 13 and barely able to count to 21) I have included translations at the back.

Time Heals All Things.

There was little visual difference between the grey, turbulent sea and the equally grey, storm-filled skies. Only the presence of the struggling sailing ship defined their relative positions. On board even hardy seamen were experiencing difficulties in retaining the contents of their stomachs. However in his cabin Sir Percy leant across his table studying the various maps unaffected by such troubles. The only troubles that concerned him belonged to the De La Bere family, at present residing in the Bastille, but by the end of the week destined to depart to more celestial quarters. The map he was intently viewing depicted the underground catacombs that laced the city of Paris. He frowned at it wondering about its authenticity and above all its accuracy. The existence of the catacombs was beyond doubt but most of the knowledge relating to them resided in the heads of men, many illiterate. To rely on such a map would be foolhardy, he needed to carefully follow its trails, double-checking its references and paths – mostly he needed the one thing there seemed to be never enough of – time. He sighed, an object that had been ceaselessly rolling around the lipped table caught his eye. He reached across and caught it mid-roll. He glanced at the item in his hand, a silver rattle, his daughter’s favourite plaything, how in the world had it got here? Of course, he had been holding it when news of the family’s arrest had been delivered to him. She would be very distressed by its absence, he sighed and smoothed his forehead with his left hand. Perhaps it was time to relinquish his responsibilities and concentrate on his own family. To leave his daughter an orphan would be truly irresponsible. He slumped into his chair, his fingers absentmindedly toying with the silver plaything.

"Every man has a destiny," an Indian visitor to the Prince Regent’s court had announced gravely to the ensemble.

"Pray what is a Destiny? And how does one avoid it?" Percy had flippantly enquired.

The Indian had studied him thoughtfully. Percy had been powdered, wigged and appropriately attired for court in a peacock blue, silk brocade coat.

"A destiny is a man’s purpose for being." There were a few snuffles of suppressed laughter as the collective mind of the court envisaged their idea of the single purpose for man’s existent, which, if one wasn’t careful, resulted in the existence of another man!

The Indian continued, "To avoid it is to avoid one’s true self."

"Then I believe I have found my true destiny," Sir Percy had retorted. "And my tailor will deliver it next Monday."

The suppressed laughter was released. Destiny was not a good topic of conversation, Sir Percy reflected to himself, when ones host felt frustrated by his own! Waiting around whilst his sick, and often mad, father continued to occupy the position he knew he was born for.

The non-amused Indian lowered his voice, "I believe you are destined for greater things than a new suit of clothes my lord."

"Goodness gracious!" Percy had mock-seriously exclaimed. "You can not mean . two new suits!" His expression of mock-surprise added to his audience ‘s entertainment value.

"I believe that beneath your shell is substance."

Percy had merely shaken his head sadly. "Yours is an opinion that I’m afraid few people would share." He waved his hand at the court. "They all realize that it is only what adorns this shell that provide it with any substance at all."

Percy had sighed blissfully, "I’m a very lucky man!"

He looked at the rattle in his hand and smiled at it. He was lucky, but more than that he was careful. He planned for everything and in order to remain lucky it was necessary to leave nothing to chance!

****

Rain continued to accompany their progress from Calais to Paris. Inside the carriage Sir Percy revealed the barest details of his plan to his companion, Sir William.

"Apart from in The Bastille, where exactly are the family to be located?"

"I hope when we reach Paris that information will be available to us," Sir Percy replied. "The Citadel seemed to have captured and announced their sentence with extraordinary speed."

"Why?"

Sir Percy chewed his gloved forefinger thoughtfully. "Perhaps the family have recently acquired a powerful enemy," he said finally.

"Or perhaps an old enemy has recently acquired a powerful position," suggested Sir William.

Percy silently mulled the possibility over for a while. "At the moment I think we are wasting our energies. Why they are there is not as important as how we get them out."

"We are not entering Paris in disguise?"

"Goodness gracious no. We are merely emissaries from the Prince Regent. Plus I’m hoping to mix business with pleasure. Paris holds certain items that a gentleman can not acquire anywhere else," Sir Percy solemnly informed his companion.

"So I have heard," sniffed Sir William disapprovingly.

Percy allowed himself a wry smile. "I was referring to well-cut clothes and extremely quaffable claret."

"Of course, of course," agreed Sir William gruffly. "What else could Paris offer a gentleman?"

Percy grinned. "What else indeed!"

***

The girl smiled enticingly across the room at Sir Percy and Sir William. Neither man acknowledged her and she turned away, vigorously waving her fan in front of her face. Percy picked up the cards that had been dealt to him and studied them. It was a bad hand, not worth betting on. He moved one or two cards around before smiling across at his opponent and casually suggesting the stake. Half an hour later he left the table a richer man.

"Lucky in cards ." started Sir William.

"Lucky in everything else," concluded Sir Percy. "There is nothing like coming up trumps from a truly appalling position to give one a sense of one’s worth!"

Sir William shook his head. "Really Percy! Sometimes I do not understand you. We have less than three days to rescue the De La Bere family and you are wasting time playing cards!"

"I never waste time. It is too valuable a commodity with such a limited supply," Percy rebuked his friend. "By the morning I will know exactly which cells hold the various members of the family.

"So what do we do in the meantime?"

Percy yawned. "Cards are beginning to bore me. I thought I’d try dice for a change. The night is still young."