To their left was another rope indicating a door.
“Through the palace or down the stairs?” she asked, already knowing the answer.
He looked into the pitch black of the servants’ stairs, and she peered past him, doing the same.
“We’ll take our chances with the darkness,” he said. “Keep a hand on each side to guide you. I’ll go first. If you fall, you can crash into me. I won’t let you tumble down the stairs.”
“And if you fall?” she asked, as they started to descend.
“Then I’ll probably break my sorry neck,” he quipped.
Travelling the path that all-but invisible servants had used for centuries, they ended up at a dead end, probably having missed half a dozen doors that the true palace staff knew by heart to get them into each room.
When they could go no farther and a solid wall was in front of them, Malcolm pushed to the left and a door opened, letting in the dim light of the cellar. It seemed as bright as the noonday sun.
Blinking, they crept out. Cavernous areas under stone arches housed rounds of cheese, bottles of wine, and root vegetables. Naturally, servants crisscrossed their path, carrying baskets of this and trays of that, but with Malcolm dressed as a baker and Serena in her plain daytime dress and a cotton bonnet on her head, no one gave them a second glance.
They still had to escape the palace and the grounds, but they had gone down one level too far.
“Sorry,” Malcolm said. “I believe I overshot the mark, as they say.”
“I don’t relish going back in there,” Serena confessed, nodding at the passageway door.
“Let’s take the regular stairs to the kitchen,” he suggested. Ascending the crude wooden staircase, they came up beside the main kitchen area, next to a storage room filled with sacks and crates.
“A little better,” Malcolm quipped since they could see an exit beckoning them outdoors. Together, they moved swiftly toward it.
“Mademoiselle Renault,” she heard behind her just when she thought they would escape undetected.
And this time, Serena recognized the voice most certainly belonged to the emperor. Turning slowly, she noticed he had a madeleine in each hand and a questioning expression upon his face.
“We’ve been looking for you,” he said.“La Rousse.”
“I ... that is ... I,” she stuttered as terror threaded her veins, stitching her feet to the floor.
“Hurry,” Malcolm implored her as he took a few steps toward the door and freedom.
Napoleon’s eyes narrowed. “Well, baker, you are not mute today, I hear.”
Serena gasped, realizing Malcolm had destroyed his disguise for her sake. She gasped again as two Imperial Guards rushed down the main stairs.
Napoleon’s usually pleasant face became an unreadable mask.
“She is there,” he said casually, gesturing to her with one cake before biting into the other one. “And take him, too.”
“Serena!” Malcolm’s voice awakened her from her frozen fright. Grasping her skirts, she raced for the door leading to the courtyard.
Malcolm had pushed the heavy door open before she reached it, so she slipped easily through. Outside, they climbed a short flight of stone steps from the servants’ level and found themselves in the courtyard at the back of the palace.
With armed guards behind them, they didn’t slow down.
“Keep running,” Malcolm urged, grasping her hand and directing her as he had when they’d waltzed.
“That was easier than I’d thought it would be,” she said in jest to chase away the fear.
He squeezed her hand. “Easy as falling off a horse,” he agreed. “Except for the guards chasing us and the others marching about the yard, and the gates on three sides. The sooner we—”
A shout followed by another came from the other side of the enclosed courtyard, and more guards swiveled in their direction.
