Camille looked at Ada. She was so exhausted she couldn’t pull her thoughts into order.
Molyneux leaned towards her again, his round face softening.
‘Everything is a choice, Camille. We both remember your father’s lessons. I think we both know he would have done the right thing. What are you going to choose?’
A riot of emotion stole the breath from her lungs. For a brief second, she was back on the riverbank in the gardens of the house at Henley, her father in rolled-up shirtsleeves reading to her.There is no fate. No destiny. Everything is a choice.
‘Give me two weeks.’
Molyneux folded up the paper and held it out to her.
‘You have four days.’
12
On the Way to the Au Petit Suisse
They were thrown out of the carriage into a gutter on the Rue de Grenelle. Ada landed on top of Camille and heard heroofas her weight forced the air out of her. She rolled sideways into a puddle of something dubious. Oh, well, she’d had a worse dunking in the open sewer that was the Seine.
As the carriage rattled off into the dark, she sat up, shaking her skirt, and bent to help Camille.
On the other side of the street, a passing gang of men leered at what they thought was a clandestine tryst. Ada made a rude gesture.
Camille straightened her cap and they started towards the Au Petit Suisse.
‘Well, they were charming.’ Ada gingerly touched the tips of her fingers to the bruise on her cheekbone.
Camille gave a noncommittal grunt in response.
‘Was that really the docteur Olympe spoke about?’
‘Unfortunately.’
‘Oh. He’s very young.’
‘Old enough to make my life unpleasant.’
Ada considered asking Camille what she was planning to do about having the two most dangerous forces in the city demanding the impossible, but she knew how to read Camille’s mood. The edges of her mouth were turned down and she was walking with jerky, anxious speed. It felt impossible that it was only yesterday morning they’d been setting out for the Conciergerie job. The last two days had been some of the longest of her life. She needed a night’s sleep or as much coffee as the Au Petit Suisse had to offer. Planning could come later.
They turned into the Rue de Vaugirard and let themselves in through the street door. As they entered the apartment through the double doors painted in white, pale blue and gold, Ada spotted Olympe peeking out from the bedroom. Her eyes glittered like jet. Still keeping to herself. Ada didn’t blame her. It was a miracle she trusted them at all.
Ada and Camille went to the front room to find the others.
‘You’re late.’ Guil was cleaning their scant stock of weapons.
Al was sprawled in a chair flipping through a stack of National Convention speeches. ‘I almost started to worry. Then, you know, I remembered I don’t care that much about any of you and I had a snack instead.’
Guil ignored him. ‘I assume this does not mean good news.’
Camille dropped onto a seat by the fire, rubbing her eyes. ‘No. Pretty bloody terrible news.’ She ran through her rendezvous with the Royalists and their unexpected detour with the Revolutionaries, explaining the demands from both sides to hand over Olympe – and their threats against the battalion. Too many late nights in a row had her feeling almost drunk with tiredness. And now she knew she wouldn’t get much sleep in the days to come.
‘Ah. A tight spot, then,’ said Guil, passing an oiled cloth over a blade.
Al counted the days on his fingers. ‘If we’re starting tomorrow, that takes us to the twentieth.’
‘The Festival of the Supreme Being,’ said Ada. ‘I suppose they don’t want someone as dangerous as Olympe on the loose with such a big public event going on.’
Al turned a page of his newspaper. ‘I still vote we hand her over.’
