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“I can’t make that promise, but I will promise to do all I can to make sure all of us make it out safely.” He leaned down and kissed her softly. “I wish you were far, far away from here,” he whispered so only she could hear. “You don’t belong in a dungeon.”
“I quite agree,” she said. “But there’s nowhere else I’d rather be right now.” She laid her head on his shoulder again, and he leaned his cheek against her hair. The scent of lavender rose up, and he closed his eyes, trying to commit her scent and the feel of her body pressed against his to memory.
Finally, Dewhurst, who had lit the torch two or three times over the course of the day, announced it was almost time to go. The party rose, stretched out legs and backs, and moved out of the cell and into the dungeon. Laurent motioned them to form a circle. “Ernestine, you haven’t studied the map I made as closely, so I’ll remind you that up those stairs and through the door is a workroom. It was where the knights stored herbs or provisions. If I remember correctly, it also has large tubs for washing. There might be maids working there when we go through. I’ll go first and take care of them. You two follow. Get off the ground floor as quickly as possible. It houses the National Guard stationed here. Dewhurst, wait at the top of the steps to receive Marie-Thérèse and take her through the passage to Mackenzie.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You can escort her with me. Once we have her, we are done here.”
Laurent inclined his head. “Of course.” He met Dewhurst’s gaze briefly, then looked back at the women. “Once we make sure no one is about, you two follow me. I’ll lead you to the Grande Tower. Keep your eyes down. Honoria, what do you say if someone asks what you are doing?”
“Changing the prisoners’ linens, citoyen.”
“Good. And if the guard answers that Citoyenne Capet washes her own linen. You say?”
“Under orders of Citoyen Robespierre, I am to confiscate the linen of Citoyenne Capet and replace it with that of the republic.”
He nodded. “Ernestine, if you are asked where the regular maids are?”
“I say...Citoyen Robespierre replaced them with us.”
Laurent nodded. “Last chance to change your mind, Mademoiselle de Lambriquet.”
She shook her head. “Madame Élisabeth will not leave. I will not be alone, and even if I were, it is a small sacrifice to make.”
Laurent took her hand. “I promise when this is over and you are out of danger, everyone shall know of your bravery and your sacrifice.”
“I know”—she tapped her heart—“in here that what I do is right. That is all that matters.”
“Ready?” Dewhurst asked. The three of them nodded. Laurent led them up the stairs and out of the dungeon.
***
HONORIA COULD NOT TELLif it was the steep staircase or her fear that made it hard to breathe, but by the time she reached the door leading to the workroom, she could hardly catch her breath. Laurent opened the door and stepped inside. She and Ernestine waited until his all-clear sign, then filed in behind him.
The room was just as he had described, with worktables in one corner and large tubs for washing at the far end. Long, thin windows let some light into the room, but it was already growing late and the light was gray at best. Aprons and linens hung from a clothesline. Honoria crossed to them and found them quite dry. They hadn’t been washed that day. She tossed one to Ernestine and tied one around her own waist as well.
Lord Anthony came in behind them, surveyed the room, and seemed satisfied with what he saw. With a quick salute, he returned to the dungeons, closing the door behind him. Laurent lifted a hamper from beneath the garments on the clothesline, dumped what looked to her like table linens in it, and handed it to Ernestine. “Ready?” he asked.
Honoria feared her voice would falter so she merely nodded. He looked so much like one of the National Guardsmen in his uniform that her heart thudded even harder than it had been. She took a deep breath, forcing her breathing to slow and her hands to cease shaking. When they refused to cooperate, she tucked them behind her skirts.
She needn’t have worried. The first part of the mission went exactly as planned. They came across no guards on the way to the apartments housing the royal family. Presumably the bulk of them were at the entrance to the Temple, their concern being keeping the prisoners in and the mobs out. Laurent led the way with confidence. He did know the Temple very well, and should anyone have spotted them walking, they would not question that he belonged there.
But once they entered the floor where Madame Royal and her aunt resided, they did come across two guards. They were crouching by the doorway, throwing dice, but they stood immediately when the party approached.
“Citoyens,” Laurent said, doing his best to make his accent coarser. “I’m to escort these maids to Citoyenne Capet’s room. They will collect her linen and replace it with fresh linen.”
The guards looked from Laurent to Honoria and then Ernestine, who held the hamper and stared down at it.
“The prisoners wash their own clothing and linen,” one of the guards, a lad who could not have been older than sixteen said. “That’s on the order of Citoyen Robespierre.”
“Orders have changed,” Laurent said. “We are to confiscate the prisoners’ linen and replace it with that of the republic.”
“I haven’t seen you before,” said the other guard. He was older, closer to forty, and he looked directly at Honoria. “I’d remember a face like yours.”
Saints! She knew her looks would cause her in trouble. “Citoyen Robespierre replaced the other maids with us.”
The guard narrowed his eyes, and Honoria felt she should say something more. “Will you allow us to pass? We must wash the linen before we can go for the night, and the hour grows late.”
“Where are your papers? Your orders?” asked the older guard.
