The Charnel House
Ada stood outside the door to the charnel house, hand resting on the latch when it jerked under her hand and she was face to face with James.
‘Oh. I was just going for water. Here, let me take that.’
He lifted the parcel of food from her arms and she found herself following him inside mechanically. The coffee, the withered apples, the stony pain d’égalité seemed a useless offering as he laid it in the middle of the room. Olympe was awake, and Camille had changed. She still looked half-dead, though she’d made an effort to tame her hair and find the cleanest trousers available. Ada pushed coffee towards her, avoiding her eye.
‘How’s Guil?’ she asked.
James replied. ‘The same. I don’t think he has a fever, at least, so there’s no infection. We should pick up some fresh bandages if we can. And I think we’ll need to roll him so the wounds can get some air.’
‘That’s good,’ said Ada, only half-listening. She couldn’t help but snatch glances at him out of the corner of her eye. His high cheekbones, his floppy blond hair that curled at the nape of his neck, his clear, honest eyes. No wonder Camille liked him. Ada wasn’t an idiot, she could see he was handsome even if she wasn’t interested in men.
For a moment, as the bitter coffee burned her tongue, she wondered exactly why she’d given up her whole life for Camille.
Ada fished out the sealed letter and handed it to her. ‘Al gave me this.’
‘Where is he?’
‘Gone.’
Camille muttered under her breath as she broke the seal and unfolded the paper. Her face went pale.
‘What is it?’
‘An invitation to dinner. From the Revolutionaries.’
Olympe drew in a sharp breath. ‘Docteur Comtois?’
‘No. Georges Molyneux.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Did you say Georges Molyneux?’ James frowned. ‘As in our fathers’ old friend? The one who always had sweets in his waistcoat pockets?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘I didn’t realise he was mixed up in this.’
‘He hired us to get Olympe back for the Revolutionaries. He says he wants to talk. For old times’ sake.’
Ada folded her arms. ‘And you believe him?’
Camille looked at the letter in her hand. ‘No. Not particularly.’
‘It’s got to be a trap, to isolate you from the rest of us.’
‘Then why bother inviting me? They could snatch me off the street like last time.’ She tapped a fingernail on the side of her coffee cup.
‘You aren’t seriously thinking of going, are you? The deadline is tomorrow. We don’t have the time for you to make any more mistakes.’
Camille’s expression turned stormy.
‘If I refuse, what will happen? They threatened you, Ada. I don’t want to get on their bad side just yet.’
‘So you’re going to be a complete idiot and do what you’re told, then?’
Camille’s mouth fell open. Then she gathered herself. ‘There are other reasons to go. Information, for a start. We have the beginnings of a plan but the more we know about what they want, the better chance we have of pulling it off.’
