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Alex waved a hand. “I think I am smarter than Louis XVI. We’ll be careful, and we’ll see His Majesty safely to Austria.”
“Wait a moment.” The conversation continued, but Tristan pulled her back slightly. “You are traveling to Austria?”
“Someone has to take the king, and it makes sense for a young boy to be traveling with his mother and father. Honoria is far too pretty. She’ll attract attention. Montagne would also insist on traveling with her, and he might be recognized as the marquis. Undoubtedly, the king, who knew Montagne before, would be more comfortable with him, but we can’t risk it. They go to London. I go to Austria.”
“And then where?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps I’ll travel with the king’s party to Vienna. Surely they need actresses in their theaters.”
He stared at her for a long moment, and she knew what he was thinking. Tonight was their last night together. Tomorrow they would separate, possibly forever. But if she thought he might offer her tender words or beg her to come to him in London, she was wrong. He released her hand and sat back, seeming to pay rapt attention to the discussion. Alexandra didn’t know why she should feel so disappointed.
***
IT WAS BARELY EIGHTin the morning when Alexandra and Honoria arrived at Montagne’s pied-à-terre. “This really is the perfect place,” Alex said. “I’ve walked the Boulevard du Temple hundreds of times and never even noticed it.”
“Wait until you see the interior,” Honoria said, leading Alex through a gate and into a small garden that had grown quite wild, but had probably been lovely when tended. It was lovely still, if untidy and shadowy. But the overgrowth served their purposes, and Alex was glad to slip under the cover the gloom provided.
Montagne and Leroy were already inside. The locksmith had agreed to the plan and his part in it, seemingly without reservation. Alex didn’t think she would have been so eager. But she hadn’t spent months in La Force either. Leroy was grateful for his rescue.
Ffoulkes had gone to the safe house, and Tristan and Dewhurst would arrive later, after Dewhurst secured the transportation for the night.
“Nothing to do now but wait,” Montagne said as Honoria went to stand beside him. “I, for one, plan to sleep for a few hours. If I’d known I’d be spending the night in that mausoleum, I would have furnished it.”
Alex was not deceived. Laurent and Honoria would probably not be sleeping in the marquis’s bed—at least not right away—but no one knew what tomorrow would bring. She was tired as well, but someone must keep an eye on Leroy, so she volunteered to wait in the salon that opened onto the garden for the others to arrive.
The salon possessed chairs upholstered in cream and blue. They did not look comfortable, but Leroy promptly fell asleep in one. Alex paced to keep awake. She hadn’t slept well either. She tried to lean against Tristan, but he had not been able to settle all night. She ended up trying to sleep propped up against a cold stone wall.
About an hour later, Ffoulkes made his silent entrance. Alex had been watching for him, else she wouldn’t have seen him. He nodded at the sleeping Leroy. “Are you on guard duty?”
“Yes. Dewhurst and Chevalier haven’t arrived yet.”
Ffoulkes pulled a stack of papers from his waistcoat and laid them on a table. “I imagine Montagne and Miss Blake went straight to bed.”
“I can hardly blame them. If all does not go as planned tonight—”
Ffoulkes lifted a finger to his lips. “Don’t even think there’s a possibility of failure. We will succeed. We have to.” He reached into his coat pocket and removed the slippers she’d described to him the night before. “Are these what you need?”
She took them. “These are perfect. I saved them from the days I traveled in the troupe. They are what all the rope walkers use to keep their feet from slipping. In what state did you find the house?”
“Ransacked. Mattresses slashed. Cupboards left open and all the dishes smashed.”
“Did they discover the attic?”
“They did, but they must have exhausted most of their energy by then. It had been searched but not vandalized. Of course, the soldiers didn’t find our hidden compartments. I moved some of the materials to another location and brought these here.”
Alex knew better than to ask for any details, but she suspected it might be the location Mackenzie or the Pimpernel were using to hide in Paris.
“Why don’t you find a room and get some rest,” Ffoulkes suggested. “I’ll watch Leroy. I need to speak with Dewhurst as soon as he arrives at any rate.”
“Are you sure?” But she had already found a large jug and was on her way to the fountain in the garden to fill it. She disliked wearing the same clothes for days, but she could tolerate it if she had a chance to wash.
Water in hand, she found a small bedchamber that was still bright, despite the curtains being drawn. She would have liked to open them so the sun flooded in, but she contented herself with the slivers of sunlight and the little warmth the winter sun provided. Alex stripped and used the dusty linens she found in a clothespress to wash her body. Then she washed her undergarments and laid them over chairs to dry.
Next she climbed into the chilly bed. The sheets smelled musty, but they were clean, and it felt good to lie on a soft mattress, her head cushioned by a pillow. She woke when the door opened, her hand immediately grasping the knife she’d placed under her pillow in case she needed it. But it was only Tristan at the door.
Only Tristan who made her heart thunder when she saw him. Only Tristan who made her forget to breathe.
He peered inside, and spotting her in the bed, moved inside and closed the door.
