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Ramsey’s hand was instantly on her back, guiding her, pushing her forward. He would not allow any harm to come to her.
The warden paused at the end of the corridor and took out a set of keys. He inserted one into a wooden door and turned it. It creaked and protested, and he had to yank the door open. And then all of them blinked as the bright sunlight lit the dim corridor. Gabrielle peered into what looked like a courtyard.
“What is this?”
“A way out,” the warden said. “You’d better hurry. When the comtesse does not arrive at the Conciergerie, the search will begin. They will come to me, but our records will indicate she was on the last tumbrel to the Conciergerie. And yet if they press me, I might speak of a brunette Englishwoman…” He gestured into the sunlight. “Quickly now, before thebarrièresare closed.”
Gabrielle stepped into the courtyard followed by the comtesse and Ramsey. She heard the door shut behind her and the creak of the key in the lock. The comtesse gasped and cradled her daughter so she could not see. Gabrielle put a hand to her throat.
The stones of the courtyard were red, everywhere red. Even the stone walls, intricately carved, were splashed with faded crimson.
“Blood,” Ramsey said quietly. “From the massacres. The mobs pulled the prisoners out and tore them limb from limb.”
Gabrielle remembered the stories she’d heard about the mobs, remembered the Princess de Lamballe. Was this where she was stripped naked, beaten, then murdered and beheaded? Was this where she had died? Where so many had died?
“Let’s go before we’re discovered,” Ramsey said.
Gabrielle took a deep breath and followed him through a small gate. They stepped into a narrow alley behind La Force, so narrow they could not even walk side by side.
In the distance, she could hear the wheels of the tumbrels roll.
Chapter 17
Ramsey led the small party—Gabrielle, the countess, and her daughter—through hidden walkways and alleys from the Rue Roi de Sicile to the Île de la Cité, where Notre Dame was located. The distance was not great, which was fortunate as the countess did not appear in the best of health, but Ramsey had no choice but to add to the trip by skirting around a procession of tumbrels then doubling back. Ramsey would have found it amusing that he was leading this party, if he’d allowed himself to dwell on it. Instead, he tried to focus his thoughts on safer topics—those that wouldn’t see him killed by the national guard—topics like his last visit to Paris.
He remembered Notre Dame quite clearly. McCullough had been winning at the tables and was content to stay there all day, but Ramsey grew weary with the games and had decided to walk the city. He’d ended up walking along the Seine and coming upon Notre Dame from the west, as they did now.
The Gothic architecture still appealed to him. And there was that familiar western facade with its pylon. It gave the church an imposing presence, something staid and serious. But then one circled around to the apse and stood before all the flying buttresses and the church was suddenly a work of art.
He had heard the church had been desecrated in the name of the revolution and rededicated to the Cult of Reason. Statues had been beheaded and Lady Liberty replaced the Virgin Mary on the altars.
Ramsey had spent some time inside the building on his last trip, studying the Rose Window. He had attended church every Sunday as a child, and he had dragged his feet and protested as much as he dared. But Ramsey thought had the small, spartan church in Cumbria had a Rose Window, he might have gone voluntarily.
He had always appreciated beauty.
He looked at Gabrielle now, saw she too was studying the cathedral. Her head was tilted back, and he could see her face in profile. She had a strong nose, full lips, and a slash of cheekbones. Like the church, she appeared initially cold and serious. But then she would smile or—better yet—laugh, and she was a thing of beauty.
How would he ever let her go?
He had no choice. She didn’t know who the Pimpernel was, and he was glad. Glad he did not have to betray her in that, though if she ever learned of his treachery, she would hate him just the same.
And what choice had he been given? He was almost willing to sacrifice himself—he deserved the punishment he received for his misdeeds, but he was not willing to sacrifice his family. He had become the earl to save them from certain starvation or worse. What would happen to them, to the earl’s estate, if it were discovered he was not the earl—that the earl had no heir?
His father and mother and younger sisters and brothers would lose the meager cottage and the scant possessions they had. They might even be imprisoned for their part in his charade.
No, this was not only about him. This was about all who mattered to him.
He looked at the comtesse and her small daughter. The Pimpernel was doing good work, but didn’t his own family, his little nieces and nephews, deserve to live as well?
A man stepped away from the north tower and began walking toward them. He was dressed in the striped trousers and carmagnole coat of a sansculotte, but Ramsey recognized him.
It was Lord Antony Dewhurst.
Except for the clothing, he looked much as Ramsey had seen him in London—same inky black hair, same dark eyes and brutish shoulders. His step faltered almost imperceptibly when his gaze met Ramsey’s, but then he hurried forward. He ushered the small party down a set of steps until they were walking along the quay beside the Seine. Only then did he take a moment to greet them. “You must be the comtesse de Tonnerre,” he said. “Forgive my impertinence in not bowing, but one never knows when one is watched.”
“It is no matter, sir, I assure you,” the comtesse answered, still holding her daughter in her arms. The little girl had not spoken, but her eyes took in everything and everyone.
“I did not expect to see you, Lady McCullough.” He turned to Gabrielle. Ramsey was still watching the comtesse and noted that her brows shot up. She had not known who her rescuer had been. Nor did she know how her rescue had been accomplished. To her credit, she did not ask. Perhaps she had learned that in Paris even a little knowledge is dangerous.
