But it was James, easing his arm around her shoulder and pulling her up.
‘Cam, thank god I found you.’ He brushed his palms against her tear-stained cheeks. When had she started crying? ‘Are you okay? Are you hurt?’
‘Molyneux,’ she mumbled. ‘Uncle Georges…’
‘Molyneux did this to you?’
She shook her head. ‘No. James – he’s dead.’
‘What?’
‘Dorval stabbed him. He said – he said there would be consequences.’
James looked away, pushing his hair back from his face. For a moment, he looked so young. Once, when they were children and playing in the river that ran through the Henley house’s garden, they’d tried to catch frogs in kitchen jars. But James had fallen, dropping a jar onto a captive frog and killing it. He’d cried for hours and buried the frog in a flower bed.
She took his hand, winding their fingers together. ‘I’m so sorry.’ Her voice sounded strange to her. Distant and hoarse.
‘Dorval made it out of the theatre fire?’
‘Apparently.’
He cursed and squeezed her hand. ‘We’ll get them back, I swear.’
She caught his sleeve. ‘James – Olympe, she… I…’
‘Not now. We can talk when we get you somewhere safe.’
‘No. I have to find Ada – and Al. Where are they? Ada was supposed to meet me here but she’s not – she hasn’t…’
‘Maybe she had to hide out somewhere.’
‘I should look for her.’
James’s brows knit together. ‘We can’t draw any extra attention to ourselves if Dorval is still around. We should get back to the safe house and lie low.’
‘I can’t. I have to try—’ She tried to go, but still holding her hand, James pulled her up short.
‘No, I won’t let you.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘It’s dangerous, and you’re not well – you’ve hardly recovered from the fire. You’re no use to anyone like this.’
‘If Ada is out there and needs help—’
‘Cam, stop it. Ada isn’t stupid, she’ll know to go back to Saints-Innocents or to the Au Petit Suisse. So will Al, you know this isn’t the first time he’s vanished. Please. Ada wouldn’t want you to get yourself into more trouble.’
Her exhaustion won out over her worry. If she tried to hunt for Ada now, she thought she might pass out. The space she knew should be filled with grief at Molyneux’s death was instead a grey pool of tiredness. As though her grief had been worn out.
‘Maybe she got caught up in the crowd and has gone straight back to Saints-Innocents. Maybe she’s just as worried about me…’ She let James slide an arm around her waist and lead her towards the water taxis that plied the bridge-less stretches of river. The familiar strength of his arms was comforting, the callouses on the fingers that gripped her, his wood smoke and carbolic scent.
‘You’re probably right. We’ll go back to Saints-Innocents and Ada will be waiting for you. It’s going to be okay. You did it. Your plan worked.’
Camille remembered the recoil of the gun as she fired at Olympe, the hot bloom of blood across Molyneux’s chest as the knife sank in, and she knew James was wrong.
Nothing was ever going to be okay again.
A Boat on the River Seine
