In the Jardin des Tuileries
Ada found the Duc de l’Aubespine sitting on a bench under the trees that lined the walkway in front of the National Convention headquarters. He wore a neatly tailored frock coat and britches in cream and olive silk, roughly ten years out of style. He was younger than she’d expected. Somehow, from all that she’d read and heard, she was expecting a hunched, elderly man poisoned by years of sinister experiments in darkened rooms. Instead he was tall and upright, his icy blue eyes alert as he watched the passing crowd. He’d abandoned the powdered wigs so popular with the aristocracy, and instead he wore a felt hat with an unobtrusive tricolore cockade pinned to his lapel. Ada smiled. It was something else to see a man like him attempting a republican disguise no less.
She steeled herself, then marched over with the brisk assurance of Camille when she was on the warpath.
‘Citoyen Aubespine. My name’s—’
‘I know who you are.’ The duc looked her over with an attentive eye. ‘Is Mademoiselle Laroche not joining us?’
Ada folded her hands in front of her. It felt as though the duc’s sharp gaze could see through the well-tailored, stylish dress she’d chosen, to the scared girl playing at dress-up who was hiding underneath. She wished Al was with her. He would know how to talk to someone like this.
‘Camille is busy. I’ve been sent to escort you to the meeting.’
The duc regarded her dispassionately. ‘I see. And am I meant to take it on trust that this time our charge will be safely waiting?’
‘Do you want the girl or not?’
‘I made it abundantly clear to Mademoiselle Laroche that if she fails to deliver on her commitments again there will be consequences.’
‘Which is why I’m here,’ Ada said. ‘Taking you to get what you asked for.’
The duc sighed, and slowly levered himself off the bench. ‘Ah, if only the rest of life were so direct and simple. Lead on.’
Legs shaking, she took the duc back towards the bridge, picking through the crowds. The parade had filled the Jardin des Tuileries only an hour earlier, pouring around a pyramid shaped to represent the monster of Atheism. The pyramid was surrounded by statues depicting Egoism, Ambition and False Simplicity. An effigy of Wisdom still smouldered where it had been burned earlier in the day. If Ada hadn’t been so tense, she would have rolled her eyes. Clearly the other monsters of Hypocrisy and Pomposity were lost on the Revolutionary Committee of Public Safety.
It was faster heading back to the Left Bank as they were moving with the tide of people being drawn to the Champs de Mars. James and Camille must have had enough time to get into position by now.
The crowd was dense at the foot of the mountain, singing raucous versions of the hymn of the Supreme Being and ‘Ça Ira’, their cockades pinned jauntily to their lapels and hats. Ada stopped at the base of the mountain. She could see figures dotted about it, but she couldn’t make anyone out.
‘What’s the meaning of this?’ barked the duc. ‘Is it a joke?’
He tried to settle the brim of his hat lower and slouched. Ada reflexively touched her hatpin, feeling the wind tug at the wide brim.
‘No. I told you, this is the meeting.’
‘Are you mad? Here?’
‘Why not? Half of Paris is here, what better place to be lost in the crowd?’
The duc pursed his lips. ‘Clever.’
Ada folded her hands in front of her again. ‘Yes, we are.’
Now, they had to prove it.
5
At the Top of the Mountain
‘How do you do?’
Robespierre. President of National Convention, member of the powerful Committee of Public Safety and architect of the Terror that had murdered her parents.
Camille held out her hand, hoping it wasn’t too clammy. Robespierre glanced at it, then briefly inclined his head. Camille clasped her hand behind her back. Olympe dropped a curtsey then slid as far behind Camille as she could manage.
‘A strange get-up for … a lady, citoyenne,’ he said, regarding her trousers and short jacket.
Molyneux gave her a pained look. ‘I had rather hoped you’d wear that lovely dress from dinner. I know you ladies worry about day dresses and evening dresses but trousers are hardly the solution, I’d have thought.’
