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“I can do these on the right,” Ramsey told her, “but I don’t have my tools. Do you have an extra hairpin?”
At any other time, she would have found this fascinating. She had never seen a thief other than Cressy pick a lock. She would have liked to watch Ramsey’s long, thin fingers work their magic on a lock.
But that was a luxury she could not afford. She handed him her extra hairpin, one she had specially made and reinforced to pick locks, and began on the first lock on the left. They would leave the center drawer for last. By tacit agreement, they concluded it was the least likely to hold the bracelet. Of course, none of these might hold the bracelet. It might be somewhere else in the room. That table, for instance, or a hidden safe.
She worked on the lock with Ramsey right beside her. The companionship was pleasant, but she couldn’t shake her bad feeling.Allthe drawers of the desk locked? Could their luck be any worse?
“Damn!”
She jerked her head up, losing the progress she had made on the lock. “What’s wrong?”
“I broke the hairpin. I’m sorry. My own tools are…less delicate.”
She looked at his large hands and the small hairpin, which had snapped in two. She could imagine those hands on her skin—strong yet gentle. But obviously stronger than she had anticipated. She’d picked many locks and never broken one of her special hairpins. Quickly she pulled another pin free. “This is my last one.” She gave it to him, holding the end for a long moment. “Be careful.”
“I am careful,” he said, going back to work. “It’s the curse.”
“Stop saying that,” she hissed, beginning on her lock again. The clock on the mantel chimed, and she stopped herself from jumping. But she couldn’t stop her mind from racing. Half past already? They would never finish this in time. The comtesse and her daughter would die.
Perhaps the damned bracelet was cursed after all…
“Got it,” Ramsey said. Smooth as silk, he slid his drawer open. She should have continued to work on her own lock, but she was too curious. What did Robespierre keep in his desk? She glanced over Ramsey’s shoulder and saw paper. It was in neat stacks, meticulously organized. Ramsey lifted the pages, searching underneath. “No bracelet.”
With a sigh, she went back to her lock.Please let it be in the desk. God, please let it be in the desk.She knew Paris had outlawed God in favor of the Supreme Being, but what was one more law broken tonight?
“These papers,” Ramsey was saying.
“Mmm-hmm.” She continued to concentrate on her lock. Almost there…
“They’re full of names, lists of names.”
Snick.
She wanted to jump for joy. Instead, she did a little dance in place. She heard Ramsey chuckle and glanced at him. He was stuffing papers into his coat. “What are you doing?”
“I’m taking these.”
“I can see that. Why?”
“These are the lists of the condemned. These might even be those slotted for the guillotine tomorrow.”
She watched as he shoved more papers into his coat. “Do you think taking those papers will save them?”
“No, but it might slow the government—if one could call these bloodthirsty monsters a government—and give the prisoners a little more time. Perhaps your Pimpernel can get them out.”
“Perhaps.” She watched him for another moment, cramming papers into his bulging coat, and flattening them so no one would know of his theft. She would not have thought Ramsey a man who cared about the lives of people he’d never met in a Paris prison. She couldn’t have said why she thought he was helping her, but she had never thought it was out of altruism. Now she wasn’t so sure. There might yet be sides to Ramsey she didn’t know.
Gabrielle went back to her drawer, sliding it open. Unlike Ramsey’s drawer, this one did not contain any papers. It did hold several boxes. She lifted one, shook it, and heard a rattle inside. Her heart kicked in her chest. This might be it. She tried the lid and found it secured tightly.
The keyhole was tiny. It would take her precious minutes to pick.
“You found something.”
She nodded. “Locked, of course.”
She heard him mutter about the curse, but at least he was wise enough not to speak the words aloud. “I’ll start on another drawer and leave the delicate work to you.”
She nodded and continued to work. She hated these tiny locks. They were dainty and easy to damage. Then she’d have no choice but to break the boxes, risking the contents inside. She was not opposed to stealing them, but they were not small enough to hide on her person.
