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—
“What do you want?” Alexandra Martin demanded when he knocked on her door the next day. Ramsey had spent a long night going from door to door and house to house, calling on every old friend and acquaintance he knew, looking for help. Most had fled the city or refused to open their doors to him. The few that did confirmed his worst fears: Gabrielle was as good as dead.
“Alex, I need your help.”
She shook her head, disgust in her eyes. “Do you know how much trouble you caused me? Do you know how many people I had to bribe to stay out of prison?”
“I’m sorry. May I come in or do you want to speak on the street?”
She gave a huff of revulsion and opened the door wide. He stepped inside, moving forward so she could close it behind him. The house was in disarray. Clearly, Alex was relocating.
“You’re leaving?” he asked.
“Should I stay here and wait for you to denounce me?”
The barb stung, but he could not allow it to penetrate. “Where are you going? Back to London? Another safe place in Paris?”
Alex folded her arms. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
He raised both hands. “Fine. Don’t tell me. Idon’twant to know, but I do need your help. We can’t leave Gabrielle in La Force. We have to get her out. I’ve been thinking about it, and I have a plan—“
“It won’t work.”
Ramsey scowled. “You haven’t even heard it yet.”
“No. You are the one who has not heard. Gabrielle is no longer at La Force.”
Ramsey all but stumbled back. “No.”
“She’s already gone before the tribunal.”
Ramsey reached for his pocket watch before he remembered he did not have it on him. If any of the peasants had seen it on him, they would have known he was wealthy and might have accused him of being an aristocrat. Ramsey didn’t need the watch, though. He’d heard the bells of Notre Dame on his way to the Boulevard du Palais and the Palais de Justice. It was barely nine in the morning.
“The tribunal wasted no time beginning proceedings today,” Alex said, as though reading his thoughts. “The Viscountess McCullough has been sentenced to death by guillotine.”
The world stopped for an impossibly long moment. His vision dimmed and he heard nothing but the heavy thump of his heart. His knees felt like jelly, but he forced his legs to hold firm. His world was ending, but he would not give up without a fight.
His world. Gabrielle was his world. He could not allow her to die.
“I see by your reaction you didn’t know.” Alex’s voice sounded far away, and Ramsey strained to focus on her, to comprehend the sounds coming from her lips.
“They took her to the Conciergerie. No point in bringing her back to La Force.”
Ramsey grabbed hold of Alex’s shoulders. For a petite sprite of a woman, she was surprisingly nimble. She pivoted on one foot and spun behind him. She swept his feet with her own, and he went down to his knees, the blade of her dagger pricking his throat.
“Kill me,” Ramsey said. “It’s no less than I deserve.”
“I’d like to kill you, traitor,” Alex hissed in his ear. “But I don’t want to clean up the mess.”
She kicked him forward, and he would have splayed on the ground if his hands hadn’t come up in time. Hair hanging over his eyes, he looked up at Alex. “When?” he asked. “When will she go to…” But he couldn’t say it.
“Tomorrow. She dies tomorrow.”
“I won’t give up. I’d rather die than let her go without a fight.” He rose slowly to his feet again, determination steeling him with untested strength.
“If you think you can rescue her, then you are already dead. Even the Pimpernel has never snatched anyone from the jaws of Madame Guillotine.”
“Then we rescue her from the Conciergerie.”
