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The line moved forward and Tristan slumped down, as though settling in for a wait. Alexandra had smudged her face with dirt and kept it down. Of all of them, she was the most likely to be recognized, though it was doubtful these guards had spent much time at the theater. He wanted to take her hand and hold it both to reassure himself and her that this nightmare was almost over. He shouldn’t be pleased to flee to England. His first loyalty for so long had been to France. But he didn’t recognize France any longer. He didn’t recognize Robespierre. He had joined the patriots to avenge the deaths of his parents and his sister. But this reign of terror was not what they would have wanted for their beloved homeland. Daily executions and neighbor turning on neighbor was not what his brother at the front fought for.
It was time to leave Paris, time to allow old wounds to heal and scab over, time to let himself feel again. Alexandra had made all of that possible for him, and right now only a few people stood between them and their future.
He nudged the horses forward, and they were close enough that they could see the three guards. Two were quite young. They earnestly checked papers and waved travelers through. They were not experienced enough to be able to detect forgeries, and Miss Blake’s work was so expert that even a more knowledgeable guard, like the one sitting to the side, would probably not have known the papers as fakes. Tristan had looked at them and been fooled at first glance himself. Only the smallest signs gave anything away. The older guard, though, was no one to worry about. He had a woman with him, and they were leaning against the guards’ small building and laughing. He passed a flask to her and she drank, then passed it back. They glanced at the travelers with only a fleeting interest.
Two more groups and it would be their turn.
“Oh, no,” Alex murmured.
Tristan’s skin immediately went cold.
“What is it?” Dewhurst asked, keeping his gaze focused on the line behind him.
“I know the woman with the captain. If she recognizes me, we’re done for.”
“Who is it?” Tristan asked.
“Élodie from the People’s Theater. We’ve known each other for years. I don’t think she has any loyalty to the revolutionaries, but if she sees me she might accidentally—”
Dewhurst was pretending to stretch and leaned slightly out of the cart to get a look at the actress. “What do you mean she has no loyalty to the revolution? She’s obviously taken with the captain.”
“With the theaters closed she needs a protector. We all have to eat”—Alexandra watched as Élodie drank from the flask again—“and drink.”
“Keep your head down and she won’t notice you,” Leroy suggested.
“No.” Dewhurst’s tone was firm. “We can’t risk it.” He stood and jumped out of the cart.
“What are you doing?” Alex asked.
“Getting you out of here,” he muttered. “Go without me.”
“No!” Alexandra hissed. “You cannot stay. It’s too dangerous. You were seen at the Temple.”
“Let me worry about that.” And then without another word, he strode toward the captain and the actress. “Excuse me!” he said loudly. “Aren’t you that famous actress from the People’s Theater? Élodie Michel?”
Élodie put a hand to her cheek, which had turned a pretty shade of pink. Dewhurst slid in front of her to block her view of the passing carts. The group in front of them moved forward, handing their papers to the younger guards who had all looked over their shoulders with interest at Élodie and the captain.
“We can’t let him do this,” Alex muttered.
“What do you propose?” Tristan asked, his hopes of a life with her in England fading as quickly as the sun in the late afternoon sky.
“I don’t know, but we can’t leave him behind.”
Tristan glanced over at Dewhurst, who was gesturing animatedly. He couldn’t see Élodie as Dewhurst had blocked her completely. The captain’s gaze was also on Dewhurst, his brows drawn together in annoyance.
“We must leave him behind,” Leroy said, surprising them both. “He’s made his choice and if we fail now, his sacrifice is for nothing.”
Alexandra looked at Tristan. Tristan nodded. The locksmith was correct. No one would have chosen Dewhurst’s path, but he was on it now, and they could only make it more difficult if they strayed from their own.
The group ahead of them moved forward, and the guards looked past them. “The gate closes in five minutes!” one called. “Have your papers ready. If you are not through before the gate closes, come back first thing in the morning.”
A few people groaned at the suggestion they might have to stay the night in Paris. One of the guards, a blond with blue eyes, motioned them forward. “Papers,” he said. Tristan offered his and Leroy’s while Alexandra handed hers to the guard on the other side, an auburn-haired boy with ruddy cheeks. He glanced at her papers, then walked around the cart inspecting it.
The blond inspected his papers, then looked at Tristan, Alexandra, and Leroy. “Going to Normandy?”
“Oui, citoyen.”
“Does everything look as it should?” he asked the auburn-haired guard.
