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She nodded slowly, gracefully. “Yes.” Her knees wobbled again, and she thought she might fall if she didn’t grasp on to something soon.
“So even the English are not safe,” a young girl said. The duc’s son put his hand on her shoulder. Gabrielle studied them. His wife or his sister? Not that it mattered. She would be dead soon—days, hours…
Diediediediediediedie…
She clenched her hands, digging her fingernails into her palms.
“No one in Paris is safe,” she managed. Her voice sounded strangely calm. It was almost as though someone else were speaking.
“Do you mind if I ask why you have been imprisoned?” the duc asked.
Gabrielle let out a shaky breath and considered. Should she tell them? It wasn’t a secret anymore. If she didn’t tell them, they would all whisper and gossip about her. Of course, they would anyway, but now she would know their topic—was she or was she not in league with the Scarlet Pimpernel?
She swallowed. “I’ve been accused of conspiring with the Scarlet Pimpernel.”
A few gasps sounded in the room.
She lowered her lashes. “It’s not true of course,” she said for the benefit of the guards. “There is no Scarlet Pimpernel.” She dug her fingernails in again, drawing blood.
“A false accusation,” the duc said, cutting his eyes to the guards as well. He knew she was lying. They all did.
“Yes,” Gabrielle agreed.
“Who accused you?” the woman who had spoken earlier asked.
Gabrielle smiled. She would give them more gossip than they’d had in a week. “This is Paris. My lover, of course.”
—
Ramsey found Madame’s assistant at Le Grand Véfour. She sat at a small round table, coffee and a roll set before her. She was dressed as a sansculotte and surrounded by the same. Those men and women were reading the gazettes and discussing the news. She held her own paper and appeared to be perusing it leisurely.
Ramsey did not wait for an invitation to take the empty chair opposite her. She didn’t look up. “Do you know what I’m reading?”
“I don’t care.” He hadn’t eaten in too long to remember, and he bit off a piece of her roll, gulped her coffee down. It was black and cold, which meant she’d been sitting there some time—waiting for him.
“I am reading,” she continued, turning the page, “the list of those executed recently. They publish the names, did you know? I suppose that’s so everyone can keep up.” She twisted her face and put her hands on her hips, speaking theatrically. “I planned to buy bread from Maurice today,” she said in a low, blustery voice, “but I see he’s sneezed into the basket. I’ll have to find a new baker.”
Sneezing into the basket. Poking through the window.He hated these euphemisms for those who had been guillotined. “You’re not amusing.”
“No?” She blinked, all innocence. “Why not? Surely no one you know will soon sneeze into the basket.”
He reached across the table and grabbed her arm, digging his fingers into the soft flesh. “I should kill you for what you did.”
“Go ahead and try, but one word from me, and these men and women will tear you to shreds and parade your remaining pieces all around the city.”
“I’m not afraid of you.”
“Are you afraid for her?”
Ramsey clenched his jaw.
“Release me, or I won’t help you.”
Slowly, he lifted his fingers from her arm.
“That’s a good boy.” She patted his arm.
Ramsey felt rage whirling inside him, panic too, but he shoved it all down and said calmly, “What do you want?” He knew there would be a trade. She wouldn’t help him—help Gabrielle—if he didn’t give her something.
