“Argenteuil,s’il vous plaît.”
“Argenteuil? That’s miles away.”
“I’m aware of it.”
The two women climbed inside. Verity stared out the window. “The mob will pull us limb from limb should they suspect we’re aristocrats.”
“But why are we going there?” Henrietta watched her, confused. “Do we have time?”
“My uncle owns a boat. I can think of nothing else.”
“Your uncle? Can you trust him? It doesn’t matter. It’s too far. We won’t get back in time.”
Verity placed her hands on her cheeks her eyes wild. “What else can we do?”
“We’ll have to steal one.”
“Steal a boat?” Verity’s eyes widened. “Are you mad?”
Henrietta grabbed Verity’s wrist and gave it a shake. “We are about to break the laws of the Republic. What matter if we stretch them a little further?”
“Perhaps you’re right.” Verity tapped the roof of the carriage. The panel slid back.
“We have changed our minds, monsieur.”
They’d gone about mile when Verity had him stop.
Henrietta wanted to scream at the time wasted as they climbed down onto the road. Verity had no plan. It would be impossible to find a boat. But apparently undaunted, or else driven by desperation, Verity picked up her skirts and hurried into a dark alley.
Henrietta ran after her.
Somewhere, a baby cried, and cats yowled. The unnerving sound of running feet came closer and louder. The hairs quivered on the back of Henrietta’s neck. The stench of an open sewer made her gag. She held a handkerchief to her nose and stayed close to Verity.
They were approaching the river. The mist cleared and allowed a glimpse of the swirling waters below them. Verity descended a steep stairway. Shadows moved beneath a bridge farther along the riverbank. People were settling there for the night. Henrietta held a hand against the hard ball formed by the jewels in her skirt pocket, which banged against her thigh. She must not lose them. They raced along the river path keeping their distance from the edge. Below, was a smelly black mass of putrid water. Henrietta shivered and drew her cloak closer, the mist touching her face like a dead hand.
At last, Verity stopped. Two wooden row-boats rocked on the water, stoutly secured to a post with thick ropes. A boy stretched out in one, asleep.
Henrietta hurried over to untie a boat.
“Shouldn’t we ask? We’ll be in terrible trouble if we’re caught, Henrietta,” Verity whispered.
“We’re in terrible trouble now.” Henrietta’s cold fingers worked at the rope knot belonging to the empty boat. “We’re just borrowing it.”
The boy opened his eyes, spying them, he picked up a length of wood. He climbed to his feet. “What might you be doing, Mesdemoiselles? These boats belong to my papa. He will be very angry if you take one.”
Henrietta smiled at the boy. Upright, he appeared older, bigger, and stronger, than she’d first thought. “We are in urgent need of a boat. We’ll pay. A short trip.”
He yawned and scratched his chest, then grinned as if he’d seen so much of life already, this was of no surprise to him. He dropped the piece of wood. “How much will you pay?”
Verity took money from her reticule and held it out to him. He counted it. “Very well. But I shall come too.”
“You will row the boat for us?” Verity sounded relieved. Horatia was too, she’d rowed on the river at home, but she was slow.
“You are not strong enough to row against the current,” the boy said. “We’d be gone the whole night.”
Verity nodded. “We must go upriver a little way, not far.”
He cocked his head. “Then why don’t you walk?”
