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Then they’d furnished the attic with a small stove for warmth, three narrow beds, a dresser, a wash stand and basin, a table and chairs, and an escritoire with a very wobbly leg Honoria complained about whenever the table and chairs were full and she was forced to use it to make forged documents. Alex rather liked the attic space and spent more time here than she needed, considering she had access to the entire house at any time. The room was small and dark but comfortable.
Except for the fetters hanging on the wall.
But she preferred not to look at those or consider their purpose. This was the fifth safe house Alex had lived in over the past year, and she was rather weary of moving. She was rather weary of Paris, but the Pimpernel needed her for this mission. She could not let him or the little king down.
At present, only she and Ffoulkes occupied the attic space. Dewhurst had gone out with Hastings and Honoria and her marquis were resting—or so they’d said—in the bedroom below. The other members of the League had moved to another safe house. Alex did not know where it was, and she did not want to know.
A week or so ago, she had passed Sir Edward Mackenzie on the street, but they had not even glanced at each other.
She had heard Sir Andrew Ffoulkes come in. He’d used the lever that rang a bell in the attic when one of their own entered through the cellar door. She hadn’t known it was he, but she was glad to see Ffoulkes rather than Dewhurst or Hastings. Ffoulkes had been with the Pimpernel.
“Whom do you have?” she asked now, laying her pistol down and peering at the stack of folded papers.
“Chevalier.”
She raised a brow.
“The Pimpernel met with him today, and he gave us these letters copied from Robespierre’s personal correspondence. I glanced at them and they’re quite damning. And so you see, Tristan Chevalier is not the pinnacle of loyalty you thought him to be.”
“Did the Pimpernel tell you that or is that a conclusion you have come to on your own?”
Ffoulkes tapped the papers. “He gave us these papers to be used against Robespierre.”
She shook her head. “He gave those papers to a man he thinks is a patriot like himself because he wants to stop the reign of terror his superior has unleashed on France. Had he known that man was the Pimpernel or a royalist sympathizer, he would have sent him to the guillotine without a second thought.”
“Even if it compromised him in the process?”
“Yes!” Chevalier was absolutely one for sacrifice. She had known that about him the first time she had seen him.
“I think not.”
She rose and paced the attic. “Because you haven’t looked him in the eye. I have, and I promise you, Chevalier is the wrong man. He will not help us. He will die first.”
“The Pimpernel does not agree.”
She rounded on Ffoulkes. “Did you tell the Pimpernel him I wished to speak to him?”
Ffoulkes leaned back in the chair, crossing his legs. “Yes, and he thinks that is unwise at the moment. He asks you to trust his judgment and proceed with the plan.”
She glanced toward the corner of the attic and the fetters that hung there. “And if I refuse?” She gazed directly at Ffoulkes.
Ffoulkes shrugged as though they’d had this conversation a dozen times before, which they had. “Then we send Honoria.”
Alex stood at the table and placed her palms flat. “The result will be the same. He will not betray his country or his principles. You know I am no coward.”
“No one would ever accuse you of lacking courage, Alex. You’ve done more for our cause than—”
Alex cut him off. She didn’t need platitudes and compliments. “Then you know my objection does not stem from fear.”
“Then what is it?” Ffoulkes stood, his endless patience finally breaking. “Right here we have all we need to blackmail him.” He pointed to the papers. “Everything we have worked toward for weeks is in place. We won’t have another opportunity like this.”
“I know but—”
“But what?”
“I don’t know.” She threw up her hands. “I have a bad feeling.”
Ffoulkes cursed under his breath. Even though he knew she was no lady, he still always afforded her the courtesies he would have given to a lady. “A bad feeling. The entire country has a bad feeling, most especially the condemned sitting in their cells, waiting for the tumbrels to take them to the guillotine in the morning.”
