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She did as well. Sometimes she even closed her eyes when she was working. She didn’t know if she wanted to share these traits with Ramsey. It seemed every day she discovered she had more in common with him than she thought.
And yet he still hadn’t explained the woman in the Palais-Royal to her. And that wasn’t all. There was something else he was hiding.
He rose and turned the latch on the door, peering out into the corridor. “It’s clear.”
“Should we lock the door again?” she asked.
“It will take time.”
She didn’t like being out in the open, but she hoped to conceal their theft from Robespierre as long as possible—at least long enough to deliver the bracelet to Citoyen Toulan at La Force.
He bent, going to work on the lock. It was quick work now that he knew it so intimately. The lock snicked back into place, and Ramsey took her hand. She imagined her boy’s disguise would make the two of them look strange should someone come upon them. Ramsey led her the opposite way from which they had come. At the end of the corridor, they found a set of stairs and started down. These would lead to the back entrance, but she hoped to follow them all the way to the cellar and hide there until morning.
Dawn was hours away, and with Ramsey’s warm hand in hers, it was not hard to imagine how they might spend the time. They reached the ground floor and turned toward another set of stairs, leading to the cellar, when the door opened and a man stepped out.
Gabrielle blinked, recognizing him from a drawing she’d seen on pamphlets in the Palais-Royal—Joseph Fouché, a Jacobin and member of the Convention. He was a particularly ruthless member, if the accounts in theTimeswere to be believed. She wondered briefly exactly what he had been doing in the cellar before Ramsey yanked her arm.
“Run!”
Chapter 15
It was the bloody curse of the bracelet, and nothing could convince Ramsey otherwise. He all but yanked Gabrielle off her feet and dragged her to the door leading out the back of the Hôtel de Ville. Fouché was yelling something at them, but Ramsey wasn’t particularly interested in republican speeches at the moment. He was more interested in saving his neck from Fouché’s favorite razor.
He burst into the cool night air, pulling Gabrielle along with him. At this time of night, there were no guards at the back of the building, but all it took was for someone to yell, and the patrols already conducting domiciliary visits would come running. As Ramsey and Gabrielle ran from the lantern light and plunged into the darkness of the street, Fouché did just as Ramsey feared.
The sound of dozens of boots behind them spurred Gabrielle to run faster. That was Ramsey’s first instinct as well, but he slowed her. “Where are we going?”
“I don’t know! We must find somewhere to hide.” She had her hand clutched over the bracelet in her coat pocket. Ramsey would have liked to throw it into the Seine, which wasn’t far, but he glanced around him instead.
They stood in a patch of darkness, but houses with lanterns spilling waves of light were all along the street. Step into one of those pools, and they’d easily be seen. They could crouch between the houses, but out in the open, their chances of evading the patrols or the national guard, should they come running, were slim. All it took was for some concerned or patriotic citizen to look out of his window and call out.
Gabrielle squeezed his hand tighter. “They’re coming.”
Indeed, the first members of a patrol were rounding the corner just down the street where Ramsey and Gabrielle had paused. Ramsey took one last look around. “There!” He took her hand and began running.
“A church?” she panted. “All the priests who wouldn’t swear loyalty to the republic have been arrested. Our friend Fouché saw to that. If there’s a priest in there, he won’t help us.”
At this point, Ramsey was just hoping the doors weren’t locked. He raced past a large elm and up the steps. The church was of limestone, as were most of the buildings in Paris. Its structure was Gothic style with three styles of columns on the facade. An old church, then. This had possibilities.
If they could get inside.
He tried the door, found it locked, and swore.
“They’re headed this way,” Gabrielle told him. “I don’t think they’ve seen us…yet.”
“Step back.” He pushed her to the edge of the stairs and off to the side.
“Why—wait! You can’t kick the door in!”
He backed up another pace. “Why not?”
“This is a house of God!”
“I’ll worry about him later.” It was either kick in the door or die under the blade of the guillotine. God would understand.
He hoped.
Ramsey charged the door and kicked hard. With a crash, the heavy wooden door flew open.
