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“None at all.” He pulled her with him, but she kept pace, running beside him. They swerved around small groups of people in the streets, dogs, wheelbarrows, and several casks of wine outside the door of a wine shop. “We have to get off this street. Too busy.”
“Over there?” she suggested, pointing to a smaller street intersecting them.
He didn’t like that it led them closer to the Conciergerie, but the half dozen men behind him were more of a concern than the prison looming ahead of them. He angled for the side street, pulling her after him. The fastest member of the Guard was right behind them. Honoria looked over her shoulder.
“Didn’t there used to be more of them?”
Laurent glanced back. Somehow he had to find a way to double back and head away from the prison. There were likely to be even more guards there. “What? That bunch isn’t enough for you?” he quipped.
In front of them, another half dozen guards turned a corner and started down the side street. He and Honoria slowed.
“That bunch is more than enough for me.”
“I agree.” He grabbed her hand and slid into a narrow alley. “This fête is too much of a crush, and I don’t care for the theme.”
Behind them, the first of the Guard charged in after them.
“There’s no way out of this alley,” Honoria said, echoing what he’d been thinking. “We’re trapped.”
“Try the door.” He pointed to a door across from her. She wiped the blood from her hand on her trousers and tried the handle. When it didn’t move, she shook her head and hurried to catch up with him.
“Locked.”
“What is it you English say? Bloody hell?”
“Yes.”
“Well, bloody, bloody,bloodyhell.”
Honoria ran for the next door, tried it and all but fell inside. “Monsieur!”
“Right behind you.”
He slipped in behind her, closed the door, and searched frantically for a way to lock it. He recognized the rectangular metal rod and slid it into place. “That won’t hold them for long.” Glancing around the small room filled with bolts of cloth and a sewing machine in a corner, he finally spotted a staircase and pointed. “Up we go.”
They started up the staircase just as the pounding on the door started. The building appeared to be a typical French shop on the ground floor with living quarters above. Patrons would have entered through the door on a busy street. Considering how narrow the alley was, the back door was probably rarely used and had been all but forgotten. Based on the fabric in the back room, Laurent assumed the shop sold cloth for patrons to buy and make clothing or linens. Not everyone could afford a modiste or the new fashion of ready-to-wear garments. On the second landing, Honoria bent and clutched the railing.
“One moment,” she panted. “I’m bound so tightly I cannot breathe.”
A crash sounded below. “That’s the door.” He took her hand. “Hurry.”
They started up the next and last set of steps just as a door opened on the floor they’d left. A woman holding a basket of linens shrieked and stepped back into the room, closing the door behind her.
At the top of the steps was a small attic area. Laurent had to bend in order to avoid hitting his head. A small bed and a few hooks for clothing were here, probably belonging to a servant or shopgirl. On the stairs behind them, he could hear the sound of boots and men’s voices.
“What now?” Honoria gasped, still trying to catch her breath. “We cannot hide here. The Guard will search the entire house. Once they even bayoneted our mattresses.”
“I suppose we have only one choice then,” Laurent answered, crossing to a small window that looked out onto a sloping roof. Several chimneys of varying heights exited the building here, puffing out trickles of smoke.
“You cannot possibly mean—”
“We jump out the window?” He unlatched it and pushed it open. “That’s exactly what I propose.”
