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She thought he rolled his eyes, but the light was behind him and she couldn’t be sure. He squeezed her hands and let her go. A moment later she was running across the rooftops of Paris.
***
SHE MET HIM IN THEmorning, passing close to him without acknowledging him, and pressing the pass and a note into his hands as they moved in opposite directions on the street near the Tuileries. His gaze lingered on her longer than she felt was safe, but she resisted the urge to do the same.
She moved on, wishing she could sleep for several hours, but knowing she had too much work to do to prepare for the evening. When she arrived home, she locked the door and went straight to the attic. Honoria sat with two candles burning on the table, illuminating the paper she used to create false passes into La Force. Ffoulkes was out, tasked with identifying a locksmith who was imprisoned. The plan was to free him and then ask for a return favor—helping them break into the king’s cell in the Tower.
Montagne sat with the map of the Tower, moving small objects about on it. He’d been assigned the task of determining the best way to reach the king’s cell undetected. Only Dewhurst was unoccupied. He lay on one of the beds, tossing an apple into the air and catching it. When Alex entered, he was the only one to acknowledge her. “Don’t make me a girl this time.”
She removed her cloak and scowled at him. “Hello to you too.”
He took a bite of the apple. “My mood isn’t as cheery as yours. I didn’t spend half the night rolling around in bed.”
“Jealous?” Montagne asked from across the room.
“Not really.” Dewhurst took another bite of the apple. “He’s not the sort I fancy.”
Dewhurst was notorious for favoring pretty but vapid young ladies. Alex went to the trunk where she kept her costumes and theater makeup. “That’s probably because he can string three sentences together at a time.”
“Too bad they’re all about the glory of the revolution.”
That was too bad. She couldn’t argue there, but she was beginning to hope Tristan might be seeing things differently. He must know that after they rescued the king, he would have to leave the country. The guards would mention that he had been at the Temple with a pass, and he would become a traitor to the republic. Alex doubted anyone but Robespierre and a handful of Jacobins would know of Chevalier’s duplicity, though. They couldn’t afford to let it be known that Louis Charles had been rescued from under their noses.
Alex considered her costume options. She’d wait until she saw the locksmith to choose a costume for him. She had no idea whether he’d be short or tall, robust or puny. Instead, she focused on the costumes for Dewhurst and herself. They would go as members of the National Guard charged by Robespierre to move the locksmith to the Conciergerie for immediate execution in the morning. The lists of the condemned were read daily and those whose names appeared were sent to the Conciergerie for their last night. The list had probably already been read for today, and she and Dewhurst would pretend the locksmith had accidentally been left off.
“I can’t make you a girl,” she told Dewhurst, pulling out two jackets she could fashion into those like the guard wore. “We’re going as members of the National Guard.”
“That won’t fit Chevalier,” Dewhurst said, pointing to the smaller of the jackets.
“You and I are going,” she said.
“Change of plan. Ffoulkes wants Chevalier to go in. After last night, we can’t be certain you weren’t identified.”
“I wasn’t identified, and in any case, I’ll be in disguise.”
Dewhurst shrugged. “Take it up with Ffoulkes. I want the big cockade.”
Alex blew out a breath. There was no point in taking the matter up with Ffoulkes. He was the Pimpernel’s second-in-command. She followed his orders or left the Pimpernel’s service.
“Dewhurst won’t let anything happen to Mr. Chevalier,” Honoria said, glancing up from her work. “Will you, Tony?”
“I’ll keep him safe and sound.” Dewhurst’s tone was snide.
“Plus, these passes will be so good no one will look twice at them. They’ll be in and out and back in an hour.”
Alex glanced at Dewhurst. “If anything happens to him—”
“I won’t touch a hair on his head. Not until after we rescue the king, anyway. Then...we’ll see.”
“I thought I was the first man you wanted to kill after we rescued Louis Charles,” Montagne said without looking up from his map.
Dewhurst stood. “How about I kill you now?”
Honoria slammed a hand on the table. “Stop fighting, all of you. You’re interrupting my concentration.”
Dewhurst sat back down, his eyes locked on Montagne, who smiled smugly from across the room. Alex blew out a breath and found a jacket she thought would fit Tristan, then began to create the disguises.
By the time Tristan arrived, Ffoulkes had returned and they’d all sat down to dinner. She ushered Tristan to the attic where they ate the soup and bread Ffoulkes had somehow managed to procure. Tristan took a bowl without comment, sitting beside Alex and keeping quiet. He ate very little, offering Alex the remainder in his bowl.
