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“You know what I want already.”
“I don’t know who he is. I need more time.”
She shook her head. “No, no, no. That is not the correct answer. I suppose I shall have to help you with this as well. I don’t know why Madame asked you to locate our friend. You seem woefully inept.” She walked her fingers up his arm. “But I shall help you.” She tickled him under the chin, and he bore her touch, bore it all for Gabrielle. If she hadn’t been sitting in La Force, days, perhaps hours from death, he would have reached over and snapped this woman’s neck. And God damn the consequences.
“How can you help me?”
“Say please.”
When Gabrielle was safe, he would kill this woman. He would kill her slowly, make her suffer. “Please.”
“I have it on good authority that our friend is back in London. Your orders—and make no mistake, they are orders—are to return to that miserable city and seek him there. You already know his inner circle.” She held up two fingers. “Ffoulkes and Dewhurst. Let them be your guide.”
“I’m not leaving for London,” Ramsey said. He wasn’t about to leave Gabrielle at the mercy of these bloodthirsty barbarians.
“Then why ever did you send the men who might have helped you expose our friend home to London?”
“I had nothing—“
She held up a hand. “Stop. Lie to me again and I’ll make sure your Gabrielle goes to the guillotine tomorrow.”
Ramsey lifted the roll again, but his stomach roiled at the thought of eating another bite. “I’ll go to London, but I’m taking her with me.”
“That’s impossible. She’s imprisoned in La Force.” She was toying with his hair now, and her fingers brushed the skin of his neck. His flesh crawled.
“That’s your doing.”
“Au contraire, citoyen. I warned you. Now you see that disobedience has consequences.” She tugged his hair, and he caught her hand. But instead of crushing it as he wanted to, he held it as a lover might.
“And if I obey?”
“Then you shall be rewarded. Your Gabrielle goes before the revolutionary tribunal in the morning. Yes, I see that surprises you, but we are efficient in Paris when sufficiently motivated.”
He did not have to wonder what had motivated the tribunal.
“If you are gone by morning, I will make sure she is given a fair trial.”
Ramsey laughed. “There’s no such thing in Paris these days.”
She shrugged. “Some are fairer than others.”
“I want you to get her out, and I want her on the packet to London with me.” He squeezed her hand.
She shook her head. “Impossible, even for me. I cannot undo what I’ve done. Nor do I want to.”
When his hand would have tightened, she pulled hers away. “I can buy her time, and that is all. Perhaps with enough time, she might be rescued.”
“By whom? You want me to betray the one who could rescue her.”
“Choices, choices.” She stood. “Be out of Paris by evening or I promise you, all will not go well at the tribunal in the morning.” With a swish of her red-and-white-striped skirts, she walked away, disappearing into the crowds at the Palais-Royal, leaving him more despondent than before.
—
Gabrielle had never been fond of needlepoint. She found it dull and pointless. But after a half day in La Force, she realized its appeal. Needlepoint gave her something to do with her hands, something to occupy her mind. She could count stitches, and this kept her sane when her thoughts threatened to overwhelm her.
She didn’t know how the men kept themselves sane. Some played cards or chess, but most stood idly, hands in pockets. She would have been screaming, “They will kill us!” and tearing at her hair. Instead, she was eternally grateful to the duc’s daughter—she had been the young man’s sister, not his wife—for offering to share her needles, thread, and a scrap of linen.
She heard the sound of one of the guard’s boots approaching but didn’t look up. This she considered progress. She had jumped whenever she heard anyone approaching for the first two hours she was here. It was quiet in the cell—remarkably quiet for a cell housing twenty-three people—and one could hear almost everything. The prisoners did not talk much among themselves, but she had heard one or two low conversations. Gabrielle had been surprised to learn that the prisoners were free to walk about the prison during the day. The cells were not locked. But there were rumors of an impending massacre in the prison of Saint Pélegie and all the prisoners in Paris were nervous, not wanting to be caught in the courtyard by an angry mob. Gabrielle could have told them that their cell would not have saved them from a determined mob, but her companions did not need her dire pronouncements.
