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Back Dangerous Remedy
Chapters (86)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright
  4. Dedication
  5. Epigraph
  6. Contents
  7. Paris, June 1794
  8. PART ONE
  9. 1
  10. 2
  11. 3
  12. 4
  13. 5
  14. 6
  15. 7
  16. PART TWO
  17. 1
  18. 2
  19. 3
  20. 4
  21. 5
  22. 6
  23. 7
  24. 8
  25. 9
  26. 10
  27. 11
  28. 12
  29. PART THREE
  30. 1
  31. 2
  32. 3
  33. 4
  34. 5
  35. 6
  36. 7
  37. 8
  38. 9
  39. 10
  40. 11
  41. 12
  42. 13
  43. 14
  44. 15
  45. 16
  46. 17
  47. PART FOUR
  48. 1
  49. 2
  50. 3
  51. 4
  52. 5
  53. 6
  54. 7
  55. 8
  56. 9
  57. 10
  58. 11
  59. PART FIVE
  60. 1
  61. 2
  62. 3
  63. 4
  64. 5
  65. 6
  66. 7
  67. PART SIX
  68. 1
  69. 2
  70. 3
  71. 4
  72. 5
  73. 6
  74. 7
  75. 8
  76. 9
  77. 10
  78. 11
  79. 12
  80. 13
  81. 14
  82. Postscript
  83. A Ship in Le Havre Port
  84. Acknowledgements
  85. About the Author
  86. About Zephyr

As the rain eased, she headed east past the ruins of the Bastille, towards the crooked lanes and alleys of the poor quarters of the Faubourg Saint Antoine. A knot of alternative theatres and drinking dens lurked on the other side of the city walls, hidden away where no one would look for them.

Light glowed in a doorway. Ada paid a sou to the girl on the door and, edging past two men kissing, she descended into the basement.

9

A Chateau in the Forêt de Saint Germain

The first thing Molyneux said to Camille when he opened the door was that she absolutely must change.

‘I have something that I think will fit you. Come now, Camille, you’re a pretty girl. You’re doing yourself no favours with this silly get-up.’

Camille looked down at her Sans Culottes trousers and shirt with its floppy cockade pinned to the collar, and felt a blush tinge her cheeks despite herself. The carriage had swept up the drive through a row of rigid poplar trees to an imposing stone building with ranks of sightless windows and matching wings splaying out on either side of a grand portico. She’d walked up the sweeping stairs to the door, practising her opening sentence in her head – she was going to take control of the situation from the start. And yet somehow, she ended up doing exactly as she was told.

Molyneux ushered her in and she let herself be handed over to a maid who took her up to a first-floor bedroom and started picking at her clothes and hair. A dress had been laid out already, as though Molyneux had decided that whatever she turned up in wouldn’t be acceptable. It was a simple white thing with a high waist and a broad blue sash that tied tightly over the billowing folds in the modern style. Until Marie Antoinette had famously been painted wearing a flimsy Perdita dress, the style had been considered scandalously close to wearing nothing more than an underslip in public. Ironic that the dress had become part of the rejection of Ancien Régime excess, when it was the queen herself who had made it a fashion statement. The maid arranged Camille’s hair in a loose braid around her crown, then selected a few tasteful pieces of jewellery. Camille wondered whose it was. The dress was youthful, draping gauzy layers so she looked like a classical statue. Or the perfect daughter of the Revolution. As a last touch, Camille pinned her tricolore back onto her bosom.