‘We are doomed,ma chérie,’ Lu Lu moaned into her hanky, ‘quite doomed! This road is haunted by revolutionaries. We will now facela guillotinewith the rest of Versailles…’
‘That was nearly thirty years ago, Lu Lu,’ Sophie remonstrated, ‘and we will not facela guillotinefor a few pigwidgeoned dunderheads!’
She swallowed painfully. Somehow, using Matilda’s favourite phrase made her chest ache all the harder.
And yet the rider did not move, forcing the coach driver to slow to a standstill on the deserted Chartres road, in the middle of the black night.
‘You ladies had best leave this to me,’ the coach driver said.
‘I think not.’ Sophie replied, gripping the crossbow beneath her domino. ‘Bonsoir!’ she called.
‘Bonsoir. You have come from Versailles,non?’ the rider called out.
Sophie frowned at the lean figure, just visible in the gloom ahead.
‘Versailles?’ she challenged, wishing her sisters were there to witness her accent. ‘Mais non.We’re just ordinarysans-culottes,escorting this ordinary coach and its ordinary passengers?—’
‘Somewhere warmer,’ Lu Lu interjected, glaring at Sophie.
‘Indeed?’ the rider drawled, leaning forwards on the pommel of their saddle. ‘And there I was thinking you might be ladies from Versailles who’d run into a spot of bother. But since you’re so veryordinary…’
Sophie frowned, sure there was something familiar about the voice. Then the rider shrugged before swinging a burgundy silk-lined velvet cloak over their shoulder with such decided style that Sophie’s suspicions were redoubled… before she realised.
‘Madame Montmartre!’ She gasped, her eyes as round as saucers. ‘I’d recognise one of your exquisite cloaks anywhere!
‘Ah merci,Mademoiselle Fairfax.’ The petite modiste grinned. ‘They aretropelegant for a common footpad,n’est-ce pas?’
Sophie gazed in admiration as the modiste trotted forward, while Lu Lu stared in silent shock. And yet now she’d identified her, the figure couldn’t possibly be anyone else. From her dark, expressive eyes to the daring cut of her riding breeches, the lone rider was clearly the revolutionary modiste.
‘But yourbreeches,Madame Montmartre!’ Lu Lu half wailed, half exhaled in admiration.
The modiste inclined her head most graciously.
‘I made them myself,’ she said, ‘for I do not see why the gentlemen need have all the trousers to themselves.’
Sophie briefly recalled Phoebe saying something quite similar.
‘Ma chérie, those breeches are too divine!’ Lu Lu said, elbowing the coach driver out of the way to get a closer look. ‘And is that silk? Your shirt?’
‘Oui. A silk shirt and woollen cloak– for the cooler nights,’ the modiste clarified, only too happy to share the secrets of her outfit with a favoured customer.
‘La, I must have my own,’ Lu Lu replied longingly.
‘I would be only too happy to oblige,’ Madame Montmartre replied, her pearly teeth catching the moonlight. ‘Which is the reason I am here.’
‘To take our orders?’ Lu Lu frowned doubtfully.
‘Non, non, though I would be happy to another time,’ she beamed. ‘I came because I overheard the plot against Mademoiselle Fairfax, and I believe in freedom above all things.Vive la révolution!’
For a second, no one said a word.
‘Do not attempt to negotiate,’ came a muffled shout from within the coach. ‘Revolutionaries are cunning criminals!’
‘I think you have some greatstupideinside,oui?’ Madame Montmartre said. ‘Maybe I should just shoot him.’
‘A very kind offer,’ Sophie said quickly, beginning to think she’d underestimated Madame Montmartre significantly, ‘but we left two gentlemen in Versailles intent on committing murder in my name and I’ve no desire to add to the body count.’
Briefly, a memory of the duellists in the flickering lantern light reached through her thoughts, prompting a fresh surge of dread.
