Isabella lifted the hood of her velvet cloak, hiding her dark brown
curls
beneath it.
"It is imperative that we act--and act quickly," she whispered as she
and
Connor made
their way through the quiet, nearly deserted street,
"So many lives hang
in the
balance..."
He smiled endearingly at her worry,"I know, Isabella."
"...Chauvelin will NOT hesitate..."
"I know, Isabella," Connor repeated calmly.
"What is imperative," their leader repeated,"Is that you keep safe,
Isabella.
If there is
one thing we must avoid, it is allowing Chauvelin the opportunity to
find out
our hands in
assisting the Pimpernel. Lest we find ourselves with stretched necks.."
Connor's eyes twinkled merrily in the dim moonlight,
"Stretched
necks--perish
the
thought."
"A sense of humour is NOT necessary, Monsieur MacLeod," Isabella
hissed,
while Lady
Eliza attempted to hide a chuckle.
"Indeed--it is not necessary," the other woman said with a brisk
nod,"However, this is
where we must part. God be with you, my friends."
Isabella smiled, squeezing the other woman's be-gloved hand,
"God be
with you,
Lady
Eliza. You know that we shall do all that we can to keep Chauvelin from
succeeding."
"I know you shall." Pulling her black hood over her head, Lady Eliza
disappeared into the
darkness.
When she had gone, the two old comrades looked at one another
silently for a
moment.
Neither spoke--then again, neither had to. There was a strange, almost
incommunicable bond
between the two friends.
"I believe we have two options," Isabella said, as Connor took her
elbow,
ushering her
down the dimly lit street.
"Those being?"
"We either quietly find our way to the prison and to the
Pimpernel..."
Connor grinned, seeing the wrinkling of her pert nose at the thought.
"Or?"
"We cause a commotion the likes of which Monsieur Chauvelin has never
seen--nor will
ever see again."
"Then, it's decided."
They smiled at each other, speaking in unison,
"A commotion, it is!"
~*
The two parted company then, and agreed to meet at the gaol before
the clock
struck
ten.
They met again, not far from the gates that surronded Paris' gaol.
Connor
saw that
Isabella had, obviously, changed in the time they had been seperated.
She had
exchanged her
dark satin gown for a red velvet skirt and a peasant's off-the-shoulder
blouse, exposing far more
than was truly proper for a lady befitting her station in life.
"Isabella Katerina Delacroix, I can not, for the life of me, believe
you're
dressed like that!
You look like a common whore!"
A smile widened on her face, her pearly white teeth flashing against
the
scarlet red of
the lip paint she had applied,
"Don't be silly, Connor."
"Isabella--cover yourself at--Isabella?"
As he continued blustering, his friend walked--or, rather,
sashayed--towards
the guards
standing at the front of the gaol. He heard her murmur something in a
disgustingly thick French
accent--much thicker than that which she spoke most commonly. And then,
unless Connor
were mistaken, he saw her slip the guard a small, velvet pouch--no doubt
full
of gold coins. He
shook his head, grinning. The brazen girl had attempted to bribe one of
the
gendarmes. And it
worked. The guard smiled greedily at the pouch, testing it's weight in
his
left hand, before
reaching for Isabella with his right. Barely blinking an eye, she
pulled a
small dagger with a
jeweled hilt from the bodice of her gown, pressing it to the man's neck,
before indicating for
Connor to approach. He did so, still stupefied by his friend's daring.
"We'll tie him up and hide him," Isabella whispered
breathlessly,"Then you
take the
guard. That way you'll be the first man encountered by the Pimpernel
and his
Bounders..and
you'll be able to warn them before they even approach the gaol."
Connor couldn't help but feel somewhat annoyed at her. His amazement
at
Isabella's
bravado had disappeared, replaced by a lingering feeling of displeasure.
He
despised being
treated as though he were incompetant, though he knew she meant nothing
by it.
Isabella laughed, pressing a quick and impetuous kiss to Connor's
lips.
"My darling, this is the Pimpernel we're discussing," she reminded
him, a
hint of teasing
in her tone,"The most daring man in all of France or..Britain, for that
matter."
Connor grinned finally,"You're right. He would use the front,
wouldn't he?"
"Indeed." she laughed.
"However, my `darling`," Connor interrupted, his tone
sardonic,"Chauvelin,
for all we
know, already knows of your--escapade. He could be using us as pawns to
lure
the Pimpernel
in."
"Oh..damn."
"Indeed."
"We need--a commotion."
"Indeed." Connor repeated.
Her blue eyes lit up,"We need---gun powder."
She rolled her eyes in annoyance,
"First of all, my brain is not
little. And
besides that
point, I have a plan."
"And that's supposed to make me feel better?"
Her eyebrow arched and a slow, catlike smile spread across her
features.
"Acquire some gunpowder, Connor. I know what to do with it."
"That's what I'm worried about," he muttered, before disappearing to
procure
the needed
gunpowder.
~*
As Sir Percy, masquerading as the Scarlet Pimpernel, approached the
gaol, he
saw that
the small building was surronded by flames--smoke curling densely in the
night
sky. A slow
smile curved across his lips, realizing that the smoke was meant to be a
warning. In the
distance, he saw two figures on horseback. The slimmer figure lifted
one hand
in a jaunty
salute, before reigning in her white horse and disappearing into the
Paris
night....
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